“Pests,” The Charmer muttered. He turned toward the back room so quickly his robe fluttered behind him.
Callie grabbed his elbow. It was thin and frail beneath her hand. He hissed, and she let go. “What was that?”
Disgust warped his face. Tight lips, flaring nostrils, the whole predatory lizard look. “A threat.”
“What? No, those were cops, which it probably isn’t safe to discuss. I meant that.” She pointed at his pocket.
“You’re becoming quite observant.” It wasn’t clear if that was a compliment. After a brief pause, he continued, “I was merely keeping their attention away from him.”
Derek.
Sweat dappled his temples. “That’s a first,” Derek said on a reedy breath. Whatever the Charmer had done, it wasn’t only the cops affected.
“We do not need anyone focused on you, especially not those with badges.” The Charmer shooed dismissively to where the police had stood moments earlier. “Your work was exemplary and they will not bother you.”
Callie didn’t quite believe that. Yes, Derek was great at his job, but you don’t bomb the house and work places of a mobster without consequences. The cops may not actually miss Ford, and they may not have a lead, but the rest of Ford’s colleagues knew.
Nate knew. Is that why he was missing?
“Wait. How did you do that? Did you do something to those cops?” The moral grey area was Callie’s favorite, but some shit was too much even for her.
“You’re a novice. You couldn’t handle it yet. I simply distracted their souls with a tug here and there.”
There was an oversimplification if she ever heard one. He’d done something, and whatever it was had been big. The burn in her nose was gone, but an echo of pain lingered in her chest.
She shouldn’t ask more, but she had to know. “Why did it hurt?”
The Charmer watched her silently for a moment. His black pupils widened until they were deep pools demanding Callie’s attention. “The pull and claim of temporary ownership is not a natural process. Do not mention it to the priests.”
She hadn’t intended to return to the soul well. She wasn’t hitting up confession. Why’d he have to bring the men of God into this?
He turned and left the room. Great. More cryptic shit and an order to keep secrets from priests. What was one more bad act when you’d gotten your mother kidnapped?
Derek didn’t ask if she was okay. He didn’t say anything. He opened his arms wide enough that his leather jacket parted, and Callie stepped forward. She pressed her cheek against his black tee shirt. He enveloped her in a protective hug. He didn’t need words. He had actions. The Charmer didn’t doubt his loyalty; he’d burned down buildings to protect him. To protect her. Callie didn’t doubt his love for her either. She didn’t understand it—she’d only been his girlfriend for a short time, but she’d already fucked up enough to get a boot out the door. Right now, though? She wasn’t going to question it. The subtle spring soap he used in the shower tangled with the clean comfort of her laundry detergent, and that made him smell like home. Like safety. Like hers.
Too soon he pulled back. “You steady?”
If she let loose how she close she was to total exhaustion, her resolve might evaporate, and she simply would not crumple on the Charmer’s crusty carpet, and so she simply nodded.
Derek scowled toward the curtain doorway to the soul storage room, and then inclined his head toward the back exit. It was a question.
“Blue’s probably still out front.” She didn’t want another go with the police.
“We’ll move fast,” he said.
He let her walk through the hallway first. The magic didn’t squeeze him the same way it did her. He’d told her it made him want to turn and run, but the magic coated Callie, thick and viscous. The Soul Charmer’s back was to them. Normally he’d jump on the chance to needle her again or demand more from Derek. Though he could sense the shift in the wards, he ignored their entrance. Callie didn’t linger, moving quickly to the exit. She went through the first door into the short, narrow hallway to the back alley, and stopped short. Derek bumped into her back, and she threw out a hand to brace herself on the wall. Her wrist hummed. Not a racing pulse. Not the thrum of fear or the sizzle of soul magic. Just like her flask. Callie slapped a hand to her pocket, and the container was still there. Hidden, empty, and ready to contain the repossessed souls. Magic was at work here. This wasn’t the heady buzz she typically got from the flask when it begged to be filled. This was new, different.
“Doll?” Worry seeped into Derek’s standard stoic tone.
Callie had been in this hallway more times than she cared to, because the back entrance meant dealing with less of the clientele. The wood-paneled walls didn’t match the rest of the interior, and picture frames were squeezed into all of the available space like she was inside the home of someone with the money to support a dozen kids. The glass inside each frame had always been foggy and discolored. The metal around each picture still bore the rust marks and gouges of a long life, but the interiors were no longer empty. Each frame now displayed faces and dates.
Benton’s meth-pocked face cast a sidelong stare from an oval silver frame to her right. Were these mug shots? Today’s date was scrawled on the bottom of the image in lieu of a booking number. Callie reeled back from Benton’s image. If it bore today’s date, how did the Charmer get it up? These weren’t digital frames. The electricity in the building was shoddy, the WiFi nonexistent, and, honestly, what would be the point. She turned to Derek. His eyes were wide, but completely fixed on her.
“What’s wrong?” was all he said, but he’d stitched apprehension into the
