She bumped her elbow against his ribs without any force. “For the pickup—”
“I know, doll.” He reached forward, and tugged the hair tie from her ponytail. His forearm brushed her jaw. She started to lean into the touch, but caught herself at Beck’s cough. Derek brought her hair forward over a shoulder. His fingers lingered in her tresses for a moment. “Hair down is better. Ponytail is your get shit done look.”
She huffed. “Ponytail is my fuck blow-dryers look.”
His deep, bourbon-drenched grumble would have made her stay, if this wasn’t so important. She took hold of his tee shirt, and tugged him forward with it. Their kiss was hard and far too short, but it was a promise and a threat. Come back or I’ll come for you met I’ll return for more of that and more of you.
“Thanks,” she whispered. He trusted her to do this alone. He wasn’t going to fight her battles for her, because sometimes she needed to be the one who handled shit. Sometimes she needed to protect him. Doing what it takes was in her DNA. Like called to like there. He lifted his chin toward the door, his masculine endorsement of the plan. That man was better at nonverbal communication than she was at words.
Beck pulled open the Soul Charmer’s door, and Callie stepped through first. This place had brought nothing but torture, murder, and depravity into her life, but it’d also brought her Derek. For the first time, she was eager to find a soul and return to the Soul Charmer’s shop in downtown Gem City.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The Railyard was one of the few areas in the city that tourists would frequent at night. The designated pick-up point from Anonymous Souls was in front of a pottery place in the bustling district. The sidewalk wasn’t packed, but a steady stream of people hurried past Callie.
Ruby’s Ceramics, though, was packed with people painting and laughing. The pottery shop was part gallery, part bring your own booze and make shit classrooms. This evening it looked to be heavily leaning on the latter. Almost every table had two bottles of wine on it. Callie hadn’t painted pottery before, but with a solid buzz she’d be willing to try. That is, if she ever got to have a normal night that didn’t involve clandestine meetings and missing people.
Callie and Beck stood outside of the small studio and waited for their dealer to arrive. Icicles stretched from the lower points of the street lamp, but the lamp’s steady golden flow wasn’t hindered by frost. The snow had stopped, but the temperature was steadily dropping. That’s how the desert worked, even in the winter. Getting colder was part of the package. Callie tugged her scarf higher to touch her chin. Derek had given her this one. It was thick, knitted wool the color of a cabernet wine in a dark corner. It wasn’t what she would have picked for herself, but it was perfect. It was cozy and vibrant and carried enough of Derek’s scent to remind her he’d have her back even if he weren’t here.
Beck cupped his hands over his mouth. Steam slipped from the edges. “Hope these people are punctual.”
“If they’re trying to steal business from the Charmer, you’d think they would be. If they’re too late, people will go to someone else.”
“Maybe. Some people aren’t the biggest fans of our boss.”
Understatement. “Some people? No one likes him, but there’s never a shortage at his place and he’s always there…” Callie’s mouth moved ahead of her brain, and the last words trickled out as she mentally twisted off the tap.
Beck knocked his shoulders back. His chest was broader; he was bigger. The hawk on Callie’s wrist probably did the same thing. That proud puffing could be a good deterrent to a fight. Not that she was trying to start one.
She quickly changed the subject. “Do we look like we’re planning to party later?”
Callie bounced on the balls of her feet, hoping it looked like she was keyed up—from excitement or coke, she didn’t care. Either way it diffused the jitters.
A puff of smoke carried his staccato laugh into the night air. “I’d buy you were ready to hit a bar and dance.”
“I wouldn’t mind a drink, if I’m honest.” Focusing on their conversation helped steady her nerves. Or maybe a swig or two from one of the bottles of wine inside the pottery joint.
Her magic was mingling with the crisp air, and she stretched it behind her. The men and women hurrying along the sidewalk steered clear of them as a result. The people were far enough from her to keep unnatural ice from coating her skin. She was at peak cold, and could really do without magical bullshit. However, she did catch snippets of sensation from the passing souls. Guess the Charmer had been right about hearing them. None were saying enough to grab her, but the subtle chatter was enough to remind her of the stakes here. If the Anonymous Soul team had stolen the Soul Charmer’s wares, any of these people could die. They could rent a soul to not feel guilty about cheating on their taxes or for having some no-strings-attached sexy times, and die as a result. As much as she found the whole celestial loophole a gross cheat, the penalty for use sure shouldn’t be death.
“It’s six,” Beck said.
A moment later a black van rolled up to the curb. The passenger side window rolled down.
A thirty-something woman leaned toward them from the driver’s seat, shadows hiding her face. “You order Anonymous?”
Callie put on her best imitation of the customers she hated the most. “That’s me! So glad you found it.”
“We set the spot.”
“Ha! Right! Well…” Lord help her if this woman wanted her to get inside that van.
“Hold on.” The woman’s three-pack-a-day rasp slid past the window before it rolled back up.
The engine
