Frost clawed at her neck. How many times had these guys rented to be throwing off this kind of chill? The screen said they were at the third floor. Creep-O stepped in front of the doors, but turned to face her. That shit was not an accident. Only ax murderers and assholes made eye contact in an elevator with uninterested strangers.
The nasty wisps of his soul began to catcall. Which circle of Hell was dominated by men who catcalled? Was there a deeper one for those who bore their misogyny so deeply in their souls that even it couldn’t resist rasping the filthy, unwanted things it’d do to her? She fucking hoped so.
Her voice box was locked in a cage of ice. Her grating attempt to speak only earned her a prurient grin of cracked lips. The younger man was pointedly staring at the panel of buttons. He’d get a stellar seat deep below, too.
Her magic prickled beneath the frosty layer. She didn’t need to speak to stop him. She didn’t need her hands to shove him. These men had tattered souls, though. They didn’t need to know what she could do. The screen displayed a bright, red five. Creep-O didn’t move, and his companion didn’t acknowledge the intimidation.
Callie inhaled and pulled the energy around her in close. It coalesced into a cobbled cloak, every bit the patchwork quilt her grandmother had atop her bed. The chill began to ebb. Her limbs broke free and she stepped forward. She met the douchebag’s eyes, and delighted in the panic. He narrowed his gaze, and his arms locked. He was readying for something, but she wasn’t about to find out what. Her magic barrier bumped his soul back, and she slipped past and onto the fifth floor.
She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of looking back. Her magic, though, stretched behind her until the man’s soul could no longer be sensed.
Callie ducked into the stairwell before she could run into another soul user. She didn’t care if they weren’t hostile. She needed a goddamn second. When the heavy, fire door clapped shut behind her, she let out a long breath. Hospitals used to be her favorite place. It was the kind of truth she never said aloud, both because it made her sound like a masochist and because it meant admitting she’d lost a key part of herself. Her life had been on track to saving people’s lives. She’d been living an above-board life. Now she ripped souls out of people, doled out the equivalent of celestial cheat codes, and had done enough bad shit to earn her twenty to life. Not exactly an upward trajectory.
She began descending the stairs to her mother’s floor. This visit wasn’t about her. She wasn’t here to reminisce. No one was rubbing the loss of potential in her face. She’d came here on her own. It’d been a few years. She needed to move on, and, honestly, it could be worse. No one had chopped off any of her fingers.
Hospital’s fourth floor was quieter. No one was lingering in the hall when Callie entered. For the best. No one would peg her as the “let’s just take the stairs” type. The television in the waiting area was on, but no one was watching. Callie used the brief moment to gather herself. She watched the news loop on the screen. The world’s problems could dwarf hers. The ticker proclaimed one of the blow-hards in the Op-Ed department of the local newspaper was calling for congress to act against soul renting. Congressmen were commenting on potential legislation holding those who pawned their souls responsible for the crimes committed with them. Good God. They had no idea how soul magic worked, and they were still trying to control it. The last thing she needed was the Soul Charmer on national television being questioned about the nature of soul rental and how to regulate it against crime. How long would it take the local diocese to get involved and quash this?
So much for a distraction. Callie refocused on the hospital, on finding Zara.
Double doors were down to her left. The red glow of the card reader told her it was the ICU before any signage did. The nurse’s station was also on the left. Callie checked her phone. No new messages. Josh hadn’t given her the room number.
Three nurses were behind the desk. Two were busy with charts, but the one seated at the desk offered a wan smile. Callie didn’t recognize any of them, and the brick of shame she’d been carrying crumbled. None of these people knew her past. Today she could be normal—a woman who was worried about her mom.
She stepped up to the desk. A brushing chill hit her, but the subtle stiffness of her knuckles was nothing after the elevator event.
Callie offered her own tired attempt at a hello. “I’m looking for Zara Delgado.”
His smile faded. “Are you family?”
Either they were suspicious of her mother’s circumstances or the family parade was in town. Knowing her crew, it really could be either. “She’s my mother. My brother Josh was here earlier. He called me.” Was she talking too much? Did this nurse suspect she’d seen her mom before the hospital?
Maybe the nurse’s stare was the result of hour eleven of a twelve-hour shift.
“Is she okay?” Callie added, and shot a pointed look at the doors to the ICU.
The nurse nodded. “She’s stable. They’ve got her down in 443.”
He pointed to Callie’s right.
“Thanks so much.” She hurried away from the desk before he could ask more questions. She was running on limited time, and she needed to see Zara was recovering for herself.
“Visiting hours run until four,” he called after her.
She couldn’t stay here that late anyway. Callie turned left twice more before she found room No. 443. The door was slightly ajar, but Callie rapped a quick double tap on the wood
