“Where did they go?” she whispered.
Derek’s hand held steady on the doorknob, but his eyes darkened and followed her. “He’s probably got them downstairs.”
“Not whoever did that. The pictures. All the pictures are gone.” Each frame was bare. The glass on the floor made sense, but the images were gone as well.
Derek let go of the door and stepped closer to Callie. His arm slid around her waist. His hand on her hip grounded her. She could do this.
“Souls and pictures? Did these guys even look at the till?” Derek left off the assholes, but Callie heard it.
“The glass isn’t gone enough for them to take the photos. They should be here.” This wasn’t right. It didn’t make sense. Benton’s picture had been on this wall, and now he was gone. His picture. Maybe the soul he rented. Darkness skittered in her periphery, but when she turned there was only broken glass and dust bunnies.
“Fucking weird, doll, but we need to get downstairs.”
A hard crack and a painful moan reached from beyond the basement door.
“You’re right. Sorry. Savannah’s got the upstairs covered.” She even managed not to be bothered by trusting a woman she didn’t know. That was probably a lingering effect of sleep deprivation.
The rickety stairs might have unnerved Callie at another time, but not now. Regret sank its fingers into her belly, and with each swaying step down into the basement it twisted and curled. Her own fingers itched with the memory of flames and burning flesh. Remorse rolled her insides. Callie bit back a groan.
Another whack and clatter stretched from beyond the short hallway. Beck had led her down this hallway last time. To the lone room at the end. She’d found Tess—who had been stealing souls from the Charmer and siphoning bits of souls from unsuspecting chakra massage clients—bound to a metal chair. Callie wanted to believe magic had overrode her moral code that day. Tess had been packed with borrowed souls, and the flames had come easy and fast. The truth was Callie had done what she’d needed to. Protecting Derek, getting the Charmer off her back, those had been her priorities. She needed to be a better person, but walking across the dusty, cracked concrete floor of the cellar that was a regular player in her nightmares, she doubted today was that day.
“At least there isn’t blood here.” Derek’s voice was low, but none too quiet. He wasn’t concerned about what the Charmer was doing inside the interrogation room.
Yellow light spilled from the open doorway.
“This is bullshit,” a male voice said. His words were followed by a spectacular crash. A wide shard of wood shot through the doorway and clapped against the wall behind them.
Callie paused and simply looked at Derek. What the fuck are we getting into? His subtle nod said he got her.
Derek eased around the corner first, and paused inside. He blocked the light, shuttering the hallway into shadow. Callie took a moment to ground herself. She shoved at her senses, and stretched her magic forward into the room. Derek straightened his spine, and his hair almost grazed the top of the doorframe. Callie wasn’t sure if it was the magic bypassing him or what laid beyond, but she pulled the magic back. Power wasn’t rippling from the room.
That couldn’t be right. The Charmer never dropped his wards.
“Derek,” Callie said his name softly, but the wariness in her voice rattled the syllables. He didn’t acknowledge her. She rested her palm on his back. The leather between them was cool. She said his name again. He took in a big breath, and his muscles moved and tightened beneath her hand. This was off. Derek was listening, but not moving. Power wasn’t throbbing through the basement. Derek was blocking her view on purpose. He was protecting her, as always. The regret in her belly shoved back until it knocked her spine. She bent her knees and hoped she could hold steady a little longer.
With only enough volume to reach Derek’s ears she asked the big question, “The Charmer isn’t here, is he?”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Beck picked up a shard of wood—what had once been the leg of a stool—and smacked it against the wall. The brittle wood, already fractured, splintered. Pocks of white dotted his reddening face as the wood flakes fluttered to the floor in a blast of furious snow. “How the fuck does she know the Charmer isn’t here?”
Good question. Callie pushed forward past Derek. He didn’t stop her, but he didn’t make the task easy either. The nine by nine room was littered with broken bits of furniture. Even the lone metal folding chair in the corner had dents warping the back and the seat, and the legs were akimbo.
Beck glowered. His ire wasn’t focused. His nostrils flared, readying to pick up the scent of war. Callie wasn’t about to step into that path. Derek stayed close at her back. Given the disheveled room and its occupants she wasn’t about to complain. The other man in the room hardened his gaze on Callie, though. He slowly opened his mouth until a resounding pop echoed. It was a stretch of the jaw, a move she’d witnessed before in others. Here, though? Now? It was ominous. It was the snap of broken things, a threat of separation, and a warning in a lone, jarring act.
“Better question is where the fuck is the Charmer.” Derek’s voice was a slap of cheap whiskey against a sore throat.
Beck blustered up to Callie. Derek leaned forward until his nose was level with the other man’s eye. “No. I get she’s your girl now, but we ain’t skipping over how the fuck she knows.”
“The room is fucking empty. She’s smart.”
