Father Giles stood waiting next to the very last pew. His left hand was balanced on the back of the bench, fingertips fat against the wood.
He stepped forward and took her hand in his. “Praise be.”
“In his name,” she said automatically, but the ingrained words left dry wood on her tongue. She swallowed hard.
The priest didn’t look like he did on television, but most people didn’t. He also didn’t look like the man she’d met before. He had carried himself with an air of nobility then with the kind of stance that said, “I miss the ways of 1800s Spain.” Now he couldn’t meet her eyes. His attention was snapping around the room. His hair was an unkempt mat, but his vestments were pressed to perfection.
“Come, come.” He urged her forward, and she recoiled at his ripe odor. His mistook the move for hesitation, thankfully. “We cannot wait.”
He hurried ahead, and she tried to wonder about priorities that put bathing behind ironing one’s clothing. She didn’t even own an iron.
The hawk mark on her wrist heated. Raised white drops poured into the black ink until the dark bird became something brilliant. She approached the gateway, and the mark grew brighter. The glow was a reminder to start pushing with her magic. She did not have time to be felled by metaphysical barriers. She and Father Giles moved through the gateway and down the stairs efficiently. He didn’t say anything about the relative ease in which she passed through the invisible partition, but simply nodded like he’d made a very good decision. Like he’d done anything that got her into this place. It wasn’t his magic, and she was doing him a favor.
All that righteous anger evaporated the second she saw the soul well.
When she’d sneaked in before, the well had been full. The grey veil between worlds stretched across the top edges of the black and gold pool. It was no longer contained by the boundaries of the bricks. The grey barrier stretched out, up, and over the well. The layer separating here from purgatory heaved when she walked into the room. She knew there weren’t bodies on the other side, but swore handprints were pressed against the taut material.
“You can see we need you to get to work.” Father Giles gestured to the well. Helpful. Like she hadn’t noticed the nebula shoving itself into their world.
She’d found a small cooler inside the Soul Charmer’s desk. It had contained empty soul jars. She’d brought it. “How many do I need to remove?”
Father Giles was standing on the opposite side of the room from her—an entrance to purgatory roiling between them—and he still had the audacity to scoff at her. “You’re the hawk.”
Now was not a good time to call herself a baby hawk, but it was tempting. “Not the hawk, a hawk. A new hawk. I wasn’t your first pick for a reason, Father.”
The Church liked to preach about kindness and offering aid to those who needed it. Father Giles must have forgotten, because the next words out of his mouth were, “If you can’t figure out what needs to be done, the consequences will be on your soul.”
Her soul? Please. “I have no shame in wearing the scars I’ve earned.” Sometimes she slapped on the ones for her family, too, because it was right. “But make no mistake that this well and your lack of knowledge about it does not make anything that happens all my fault. You chose to rely on the Soul Charmer. I’m here to help. Maybe you could be less of a dick about it.”
“I—I—I—”
Yes, she’d just called a priest a dick. And while technically she’d done so in a church, it was beneath the church, which felt like less of a blasphemous way of thinking about it. “I’m here to help. I’ve got nine jars, and I’ll do what I can.”
Father Giles stopped his gaping. “Thank you, and I gather your mentor did not tell you much about this well.”
Mentor? She might have laughed if her nerves hadn’t been shot. “He made me promise to tend it, but didn’t say much more.”
“Yes. Part of our responsibility—your responsibility—is to maintain a balance between here and the other side of this well. These souls are brought here as part of an act of contrition.”
“What if they just sit on a shelf and don’t get rented?” That was too much trust to put in the Soul Charmer’s abilities.
“Being in our world without a host is not a pleasant experience. It is considered to be a provoking part of the journey.”
“So does the Charmer return the souls to you after a certain amount of time?”
“He can release them after a period, yes.” Father Giles stiffened. “But now is not the time to worry over such things. This well is a problem. Get it back into its bounds before it burdens my church and the parishioners.”
How it would jack up the cathedral crowd, Callie didn’t know. Luckily, she also didn’t have enough energy to care right now.
Callie carried her little, soft-sided cooler closer to the well. Who knew the perfect packaging for a lunch tote was also great for gathering souls. Versatility was key, she supposed. Her levity vaporized. Her own soul was suddenly too big. It was as though it had doubled and redoubled within her chest until she had so much soul in her body it was tightly caged and only her bones kept it from flashing out and escaping.
The well roared.
Voices upon voices upon voices called out. Some called to her, others simply screamed. Languages she didn’t know and unintelligible keening assailed her. Fight or flight was riding her hard and the urge to drop the cooler and cut out grabbed her. Her fingers began to loosen on the handle when she heard
