He made a dark sound deep in his throat. Donna jumped. Callie said, “Thank you.”
A moment later he returned. “Boss says you can handle it.”
If she could have swallowed her own tongue, she might have. “Are you sure?” she asked for the sake of the customer. She let her fear flush her cheeks.
Derek nodded. It was a somber motion. Slow and understanding.
While Callie had a couple months of practice taking rented souls out of hosts, she’d only ripped the real soul out of a person once. Nate. He’d tried to kill her, he’d tried to kill Derek, he’d angered the Soul Charmer, and the threats that trickled from his bloodied mouth had forced her hand. Or maybe she’d just been too fucking angry. She’d thought about that night in the old airplane hangar a hundred times in the days since, and she still couldn’t say what made her take his soul. She had taken it, though, and now it rested in a tiny jar in the back corner of the Soul Charmer’s storage shelves. Her fingers began to quake and chill, but she had enough distance from Donna to know it wasn’t the woman’s soul-renting past that was freezing her. It was worry. It was regret. It was being a goddamn asshole to her mom.
Zara.
Callie had taken Nate’s soul, and he’d taken her mother. Now the bastard was missing, and Callie was supposed to just—what—rip another person’s soul out like it was nothing? Like the last time hadn’t cost her mother fingers? Like it wasn’t still costing her? Unshed tears welled at her eyelids. She gritted her teeth and forced them to hold the tight line.
Callie fought to keep her tone even, to hold back the guilt grinding against the back of her throat. “Now’s not a great time.”
An icy storm raged in Derek’s eyes. His ire at the Charmer was her beacon. It was her redemption. It was all she had right now. He lifted a hand to proffer an empty jar. She took it, and managed not to swear. The glass warmed her palm. The smoky black finish beckoned her attention. It was just a container in the same way a gas station was just a small grocery store. This jar was made to hold those souls detached from a body. Other objects worked, too, but her flask and these jars were some of the best. If you trusted the Soul Charmer, which she did when it came to magic shit.
The Charmer put on a show when delivering souls to renters. He faked like he could anoint them. He spoke words of power that had nothing to do with the soul’s movement and everything to do with making his client feel like they were partaking in something powerful. They were, Callie supposed, but not in the way they imagined. She blinked, and the image of souls vying for escape from the Cortean well flashed behind her lids. Not now. Callie knocked her chin a little higher, and then stepped toward Donna. A chill bit at her fingertips. She touched the jar’s glass, and it muted the frigid effect on one hand. Callie shoved her other hand in her pocket. The fleece inside her pocket clung to her skin. Donna’s soul was missing enough pieces to kick her magic into gear. What was going to happen when she was full-on soulless?
Callie bit the inside of her cheek. Might as well find out.
She rolled the jar in her palm until it had Donna’s full attention. The woman strove to stand still. Her need for a fix made her forearms and cheek twitch. Her feet stayed glued to the borderline gooey carpeting.
“Are you ready?” Callie asked loud enough to pretend she was asking Donna and not herself.
Donna closed her eyes, and flung her arms wide. The Soul Charmer wasn’t the only one for dramatics, apparently. “Just take it.”
At least Derek was the only person who would witness this. Callie’s heart pounded loud enough to thrum in her temples. She looked to Derek. Could he read the panic in her eyes?. He held Callie’s gaze for a moment, and everything slowed. Her breathing, her heart, her fear, her guilt. It’s funny how that tiny quirk of his lips, and the softening scar on the bridge of his nose, and the kindness in those grey eyes could offer respite, but they did. He did. He nodded once more.
You can do this, she reminded herself. It sounded like a lie even in her head, but the fact was she was going to do this. Fake it till you make it or some shit.
She pressed the open mouth of the jar to Donna’s chest. Callie locked her elbow in close to her ribs before her arm could start shaking from the cold. She stared at the other woman’s sternum like the soul would give her a little wave. It did not. Donna started to lower her arms. Callie needed to think. This wasn’t about Donna. This was about magic. About souls. About homes. She focused on the warmth in her belly, on the cold creeping over her arm. She focused on the magic reacting to Donna and marshaled it toward the jar. The jar appeared to soften to a cloudy grey. Callie pushed the magic further until it touched Donna. It stung, but Callie kept pushing, ignoring the bite. Come to me, she called to Donna’s soul. When it didn’t budge she tried again. This was about home. Couldn’t you use a break from the battering she’s given you? Let me give you a safe home. A breath away. That did it. Only it was too quick, too much.
Donna’s soul leapt from its safe body into the jar, and Callie rocked back on her heels from the force. Heat flashed against her palm. No, her hand was burning. The jar slipped from her grip. Flames danced
