“I’m ready, please,” it called.
The soft words among the hungry many caught her attention. This wasn’t about the magic or about escaping for a night of sin for these souls. This was about redemption. What kind of asshole would she be if she let this go on? Father Giles didn’t want to share the particulars about what happened if this well was ignored, but Callie could imagine souls who weren’t ready escaping. She could picture them bypassing the whole atonement bit and sneaking around the law. As much as she was a fan of flipping the bird to the rules, she wouldn’t want more people at risk. She didn’t know if those souls would sneak off to be reborn or latch themselves onto unsuspecting people or simply disappear, but none of those options were acceptable.
Callie knelt next to the well. The floor was cold, and despite the denim she wore the stone bit into her knees. She unzipped the cooler and removed the jars. She lined them on the ground next to her. The well heaved and jerked toward her. Her own ward snapped up to block it. The well surged up the invisible shield in front of her, and poured over top. She blocked that, too.
“Climbing on me without consent has never ended well in this world, and isn’t going to end well for you, either,” she said. Father Giles shifted uncomfortably, but she wasn’t talking to him. If she’d had a knife on her, she probably would have brandished it, too, to make a point.
The swelling edges of the veil receded enough to let her focus. She uncapped the first jar, calling to the polite soul who promised it was ready. It stretched forward. The shining strands pierced the gelatinous barrier, and slipped into the jar. A second soul wrapped itself around the trailing threads. It knotted itself into the other soul. The other souls bashed against the border, begging for release.
“Do you want him to come with you?” she asked the first soul. It didn’t seem to be bothered by the second soul hitchhiking. Could one find family in purgatory? Seemed like that’d be counter productive but hey she wasn’t the man in charge.
The first soul tugged the second one along with him, and all Callie got was a plea. Good enough for her. “You’ll have to unbind yourselves in the jar, though,” she said as she capped them inside with a twist of the lid.
Souls gathered in clusters before her. A dozen charged on her like this was a football game and they were determined to break her defenses with teamwork. They slammed hard against the veil closest to her face. Her protection wobbled and heat poured through. Fire ripped across her cheekbones. She closed her eyes and slapped her hands against her cheeks. Snuffing oxygen wasn’t going to dampen these flames. She gritted her teeth, and opened her eyes. The souls on the other side were rallying. A great ball of light was forming before her, just on other side of the charcoal net. She held a hand out toward it. Flakes of black ash and sticky red clung to her body. She ignored it. Her face would heal. Souls that would pull this? They might not.
Purgatory wasn’t a team sport.
She shoved her hand forward and past the wall she’d erected to ward the worst of the souls’ effects on her, and punched her fist straight into the other side of the veil. She bit the inside of her cheek. They would not hear her scream. Electricity sloshing with the power of ocean waves surged up her forearm. It was dark and frigid. It was feverish. Her hand locked like all the muscles had hyperextended. She turned her arm and forced her hand to cup the soul collation crafting the ball. She snapped her fingers shut on them. An explosion flared behind the tinted wall. A mini supernova flaring orange and yellow and then cooling to an echo of white. She released her grip, and bladed her body away from the veil until her hand was free.
Skin was a memory. Her fingers were only bone now, burned clean of muscles and tendons. Bits of flesh still clung to the back of her hand. She slammed her magic out around her body, until she was wrapped in a soul ward cocoon. She took a deep breath, and the muscles began to reappear. Two more breaths later and light brown skin started to grow in patches along her fingers. Finally, after five long seconds, her hand was back to the same status as moments earlier, down to the chipped blue nail polish.
Father Giles prayers filled the room. He kept to the classic Spanish, and called only on the Lord to protect them. Callie didn’t mind that he was including her in the request. She would get the rest of the required souls out of the well, and then get the fuck away from anything that could literally melt her face off if she screwed up.
The process was easier after that. The souls rushed forward alone, and she began to pick whichever ones battered the veil the hardest. Taking out the troublemakers might buy her more time. She’d prefer to let the Charmer be the next person to visit this well, but if not, she didn’t want to be in this place every other day. As she siphoned off the souls, the energy of the room settled into something less frenetic. Her organs no longer screamed from the sharp shove of her own soul. The well’s contents slowly slipped back into the boundaries. She stuffed two souls to a jar twice.
She zipped the cooler lid closed again, this time with the eleven souls stacked safely in their jars. She stood, and looked to Father Giles for the first time in twenty minutes. He had pressed himself against the far wall, but clearly had been watching her the whole time.
“Your hawk is quite bright,”
