His fingertips skimmed against the lip of the jar. His eyes were still closed, and from the deep noise in the back of his throat, she was thankful he wasn’t looking at her. Moments passed. Finally, he said, “The darker ones cling to your tongue. The bitter burn of bad decisions coating them. The purer ones light your sinuses with that perfect pepper prickle.”
Callie struggled to remember a time when the Soul Charmer had shared so much or been so direct. Maybe sleep deprivation was good for their master-apprentice relationship.
Callie struggled to remember any taste or smell to the souls she’d encountered. The aching fire and the subtle pleas were all she could recall. “Can you taste them only in the jar?”
The clean chime of the storefront’s bell charged through the conversation. The Charmer’s eyes shot open, and his surly tone returned. “I wouldn’t be very good at my job if that were the case. Now get out there and help the customer. I need to handle this.”
He still cradled the 1420 jar, but Callie wasn’t going to bother asking what he needed that specific soul for. The Soul Charmer wasn’t much for sharing plans, and whatever he was getting up to wasn’t going to be a good time. It never was.
She edged through the passage to the front. A clump of ashes filled the incense trays on the counter. She was probably supposed to swap them out, but her nasal cavities could use a break from the potent patchouli. Derek’s hands were at his side, but his fingers twitched like they wanted to go for the folded knife in his right pocket. He wasn’t looking at her, which meant she was going to have to actually deal with a customer. Was it wrong to hope Derek had sent them away?
A stocky woman stood on the other side of the counter. Her eyes were too close together, but shot daggers all the same. “Where’s the Soul Charmer?”
“He’s busy.” Derek injected peak menace into the words, his body, everything. If Callie hadn’t known him, she’d have hauled ass out of the room.
She did, though, and she also was obligated to talk to the woman. Because magic and money. “I can help you.”
“You?” the woman sneered. A white crust caked the corners of the woman’s mouth, and her pupils had absorbed a milky white film. Double junkie: drugs and souls.
Callie put on her best customer service voice. It sounded like the end of her shift, but still minimally bitchy. “What do you need?”
“Soul Charmer knows me.”
So much for hospitality. “That’s nice.”
After half a minute of hard stares from both Callie and Derek, the woman said, “Fine. I’m here to pawn. Need some cash for the weekend.” She brushed a scab off her forearm.
“Okay. How much do you need?” Callie had listened to the Charmer do this negotiation a few times, and could at least get things going.
The Charmer didn’t do too much pawn business. Technically, people could choose to pawn their soul to him for cash. The catch of course was he would rent their soul out until they returned for it. So you’d probably get back a soul more saturated with sin upon pick up. The kind of person who was okay with pawning their souls tended to be more concerned with their next high than any celestial repercussions. Who cared about rising to Heaven when you could get high now?
“A grand.”
Callie almost laughed in the woman’s face. She couldn’t feel souls the way the Charmer did, but it didn’t take any magical ability to know this lady’s soul was bargain-basement quality. “Are you willing to part with it for three months?”
“What? The Soul Charmer doesn’t ask that. Get him out here.”
Derek’s hand found Callie’s behind the counter. It was warm and soft, and the squeeze he gave her told her good things lay ahead. “Donna. We both know the Charmer isn’t going to give you more than five hundred bucks.”
“She don’t know that,” the woman—Donna’s—conspiratorial whisper was loud enough the Charmer had probably heard it.
“She does,” Callie deadpanned.
Donna’s lips pulled into such a tight pout they were liable to crack. “Fine. What’ll you give me?”
Callie stepped around the counter, and discovered the real reason the Charmer kept the incense burning. Whatever was beneath this woman’s jacket may have died. Callie stepped backward for the air space, and then folded her arms across her chest. She pretended to appraise the woman. She could hear the woman’s soul asking for help—though she suspected it’d be happy for the reprieve—and all she could see was the smudge of blood at the collar of the woman’s shirt and a darker substance smeared across the green cargo pants she wore. Neither told her shit about the woman’s soul or its value. Normally this would be the time to call the Soul Charmer up front, but he’d just flap his hands at her and tell her to do it anyway. Might as well avoid it.
“I can do $300 for seven days or $400 for ten.” That sounded realistic, especially given that the woman had clearly done this before.
Derek gave her the most infinitesimal nod. A tiny tangle of worry in her belly eased. She hadn’t completely borked it yet.
Donna huffed, but it was all for show. “Ten days for $400?”
“Yep. Pawning isn’t a way to make a living.”
“I didn’t come here for your judgment.”
Callie almost laughed. Literally everyone came here to escape judgment. Escaping judgment is what kept the Soul Charmer in business. “That’s nice. You taking the deal?”
Callie flexed her arms. When Derek did it, he looked bigger and more menacing. She probably looked like she was hugging herself.
“Fine. Give me the money.”
Callie resisted the urge to tell the lady to fork over the soul first. The Soul Charmer would have done this with style, but she wasn’t a real soul magician. The magic simmering inside her wasn’t wholly hers, and she barely knew the basics of how to manage it. The latter was what
