Throwing it away was out of the question. “Is there somewhere safe we can store it until I can focus on it?”
“You sure you want to do that?”
“Want to? Hardly, but if Nate is giving his delivery drivers Cortean relics to let them yank souls, I want to understand them.”
Derek closed his eyes tight as if readying for some unknown blow. “We could ask Henry to help.”
His brother wasn’t the boogeyman, but sometimes holding the sheets over your head really could make you feel better.
Callie understood. “With hiding it or with figuring it out?”
Derek met her gaze.
“Both. I can probably get him to store it in the church, but I think he’s been reading more journals. I lent him the St. Petro one.” There was an inherent apology in his voice.
“If he’s studied it, that could help.” Hopefully. “I was thinking we needed to read it again.”
“He’s read it. Probably has notes, too.” Resignation rumbled with the memory of being second best, and Callie related to that, too.
She’d rather have Derek’s thoughts, but his brother could help now. “Can you call him to get the quill, and then see if he can meet us later tonight at your place?”
Derek nodded, and then pulled a metal shelf away from the wall on his right. A small, metal safe was revealed. He flipped the dial to the right and left and right again. The door opened with ease, and he placed the quill inside. Once it was secure, he joined Callie at the stairs.
“I hate pulling him into this.” Derek’s soft words shook her.
His hand was on the bannister, and Callie rested hers atop his. “I don’t want this for him either, but I think he’s the right person to help.”
“Because of the church’s involvement?”
“Because he’s your brother.”
His hand was warm beneath hers. The muscle in Derek’s jaw twitched, but he nodded slowly.
Two teenagers were inside the shop when Callie and Derek finally emerged from the basement.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
A tall guy shoved a slim brunette woman forward. “You tell her, Brin.”
Brin elbowed him, but was also the kind of teenager who had the confidence to demand shit from adults. That was the kind of attitude safety earned you. Brin’s parents would call the cops for her. Callie’s mom was more the “if the cops show up here, I pretend I don’t know you” style.
“How much does it cost to rent a soul for a night?” Brin asked.
Callie finally understood why the Charmer charged extra for overnight rentals. The collection was going to be a pain, and the work so close together made for busier days than required and fucking kids.
“How many do you need?” Callie replied.
“The price changes based on how many I want? Don’t you have a menu or something?” Oh, Brin. Callie had asked the same thing the first time she’d visited the Soul Charmer’s shop. Bartering for a borrowed soul wasn’t black and white, though, and that meant no price lists.
The tall guy elbowed her again. “Buy more, save more.”
“Business major,” Brin said as way of excuse for the interruption.
Callie needed to move this along. “Do you need two souls or just one for you?”
“Two. We’re going to a rave tonight, and it’s going to be insane.”
Callie tried to remember the last time she purposefully had a crazy night out. One without blood or souls or brandished weapons. She and Derek deserved a wild night with a matching hell-worthy hangover. She’d suggest it to him if they ever got out from under the boulder of obligations with the Soul Charmer. For now, though, he was missing, and she needed to sell these college kids souls to have a debauched night. She almost wanted to double charge them for the reminder of how carefree her life could have been, but then she’d have to admit that her life never could have been as easy as theirs.
Brin didn’t argue at the high price Callie threw out. The Charmer charged more for overnight rentals, and Callie decided the policy should also include a fee for the high probably of getting hammered and forgetting to show up to return the soul tomorrow.
Now was the part she really hadn’t done, picking out the soul for each of these people. They were paying pure soul prices, which was good because that’s all they really had in stock right now. She knew the purest one should be able to be safe with people who weren’t planning to commit murder. Brin and the tall guy were going to get high, dance, and probably screw in the sand. It was a rave, not an occult ritual.
The back room was pristine again. The glass had been swept up, and the wooden picture frames were disposed of. The tile floor had been bleached until the blood was obliterated. Touching the Charmer’s souls without him here sent a spike of dread to the depths of her belly nonetheless.
She’d have to do this sometime, but maybe it didn’t have to be right now. Callie went to the back of the desk and found the drawer with spare soul containers. She pulled a trio of jars from the bin, and set them on the desk. Her flask had two souls from the well, and one from Barbara. She uncapped the flask, and whispered for the soft and sweet soul she’d pulled from the well to come forth. She lifted one of the waiting jars into her palm, and the glass quickly warmed to body temperature. The black of her flask pressed against the rich grey of the jar. The soul slipped out of one container and into the next like a flash of lightning on a cloudy night. She capped the jar, and repeated the process two more times.
Even Barbara’s rented soul wasn’t difficult. Given how many greedy, demanding souls had pulled on hers today alone, she wasn’t
