Soul Stealer (30 page)

“Claudia, it’s Iola. I just wanted to say … I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have run off like that, it was ridiculous. I know how you feel about me and I care for you a great deal as well. You’re my best friend Claudia and you’ve always been there for me. So, yeah. That’s it. I’m sorry. Please, give me a call when you get this. Bye.”

She hung up, biting her lip, then looked around her cute little apartment with the huge picture window. Yes, it was time to move.

Iola yawned, padding down the hallway to her bedroom. She hadn’t slept much the night before and a nap was in order. She had a lot to digest from the day.

Essum woke as the doctor was bending over him. The doc had the shoulder of Essum’s gown pulled to the side, and was poking around one of the gunshot wounds. Essum got an eyeful of it himself, knowing full well that a half-healed wound like that after just one day was probably ringing a lot of alarm bells in the doc’s head.

He had to get out of here. They’d know he wasn’t human, that he was –

The fuck was he doing worrying about this? That bullet wound hurt like a fucker, so the meds were wearing off. Essum closed his eyes and reached out to the mind of the doc, brushing against it, then frowning.  When he’d seen the doc before he’d become solid, many months ago, he couldn’t get a read on the guy but that wasn’t too unusual. He was never as strong when he was “ghosting” as he was when he was actually fixed in place.

But Essum still couldn’t get in. The doc was still completely locked down to him.

Frustrated, he tried reaching out further, to the next room. Some old guy next door was in ‘cause he got loaded and hit his head. Concussion, but he’d make it. His mind was a damn open book. Unfortunately, he wasn’t a sinner. That boost might have been helpful.

Essum’s telepathic feelers were working, but the doc’s neurons were not translating. Basically. It made him uneasy, since he knew very well what kind of being tended to be shut down to his ilk.

“Well, there’s definitely no infection. Have you always healed so fast?” The doctor’s tone held no traces of curiosity or wonderment. He was a real pro at this.

“I don’t get hurt much, I really don’t know.”

“Well, you’re lucky. I guess, depending on your point of view. I wouldn’t want that particular cop after me.”

Essum just ignored that comment, opting for the whole
pretending I’m asleep
routine.

“You’ve got probably another day before you’re fit to go before a judge,” the doc said, carrying on anyway. “I just wish I knew how you were healing like this.”

Essum opened his eyes again, turning his head to face this angel-human crossbreed. “Isn’t it a shame that I’m the one that gets to be a medical miracle?”

The doc
leveled eyes on his, and Essum actually felt himself wanting to pull the sheet over his head. Fuck, the guy had cold-and-pissed down to an art form.

“It is a shame. A fucking, crying shame.”

With that the doctor was gone, and Essum pulled the hospital johnny back up over his wound, cringing as the skin pulled on his back with the motion. He wondered how many slugs had hit him, tried to go back and count the gunshots he’d heard, but there’d been two cops. Hard to tell the number of shots; it was just really, really loud.

The bed was half-reclined, so sitting upright wasn’t that much of an altitude change but it was a victory all the same. His back and chest were stinging like a bitch but he thought he might be okay to walk. He just needed clothes.

The hospital room door swung inward, and he actually jumped.

Praesul was in the doorway and Essum had the sense to be afraid. The thing that had started like mist was now passable for human, except for strange eyes that were bright orange-gold where most people would have brown or blue or green. He was pale, like one whose skin had never been in the sun and instead dwelled below ground with damp and cold and things that slithered.

He even creeped Essum out.

The feeling was short lived. The door shut as Praesul entered the room and Essum went from scared to pissed.

“Thanks a lot of hanging me up to dry for the cops, asshole. You wanna see what bullets do? You know about guns, don’t you?”

Praesul shrugged. “You’re fine. We’re getting out of here. Rise above, Essum.”

Essum clenched his jaw. “I’m handcuffed here, man. They probably got a cop outside the door -”

“I sent him down to the cafeteria. He had a sudden case of extreme and severe hunger. And as for those,” Praesul just nodded to the metal bracelets binding him to the bed. “I don’t think we need to worry too much.”

The loop around Essum’s wrist opened all on its own, and he pulled his arm free, rubbing the skin with his other hand. “Great. Thanks.”

“And now you need clothes. Wait here.”

Praesul left the room again, while Essum tried out his legs. They held, the room didn’t spin, his balance felt okay again. Yep, his body had metabolized those meds fast. He knew he was past bleeding, but those stitches stung. He dropped the johnny and walked naked to the attached washroom. Exit wounds in the front, looked like about three. When he turned and tried to check out his back by looking over his shoulder, he saw stars.

Jesus, that really still hurt. His back was still covered by bandages anyway. He could see the crap they smeared on him in the operating room, too. It made him eye up the shower with complete lust, but practicality won.

He needed to get out of there.

Praesul returned with scrubs, work boots, and a hooded sweatshirt. Not super-warm, but better than going outside bare-ass, that was for sure. The scrubs were thin and he was likely about to freeze his nuts off but he’d have to cope.

Praesul led the way down the hallway and it was like a coordinated attack on the psyches of everyone that tried to stop them. They each took a side and sent every doctor and nurse that approached them off in the opposite direction, convinced they had something else they needed to attend to.

Praesul didn’t head for the street, though. He headed down to main floor and then down a hallway that made Essum pause.

“Where are we going? Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

“I left something here before. I came back for it.”

Save him from cryptic bastards. He would have hit the guy if he thought Praesul wouldn’t turn around and smite him where he stood. Praesul just kept walking, and honestly Essum considered leaving him there.

But his own morbid curiosity kept him behind Praesul, walking down the dimmer hallway in to the psychiatric ward.

There was no way for him to know who they were going to see. Essum couldn’t have imagined that when they stopped outside a door and peered through the reinforced glass that it would be Charlie Goodwin inside, lying in bed, peaceful as a babe.

When Essum did a scan, there was a strange warmth to poor Charlie’s noggin. He wasn’t deranged, he wasn’t sick. Not anymore.

Essum backed away one step as the full essence of Charlie hit him. He was completely forgiven, wiped clean.  Only one thing could do that, and it certainly wasn’t someone like Essum.

“Isn’t he interesting?” Praesul whispered, inhaling deep as though
savoring a smell.

“I know this guy,” Essum muttered. “I had him set up to be my bait and switch. I almost did it, too. He was going to be the vessel for another Sin Eater to inhabit once I took over the Sin Eater’s body.”

Praesul raised an eyebrow. “Interesting.”

“Well, my plan was -”

“Clearly a failure. Yes, I understand. But someone has been on this level forgiving people. So he is … pure.”

Essum’s emotions were
difficult. Part of him was really wondering what the fuck would happen if Praesul took Charlie’s soul. It seemed too sparkly clean, frankly. Essum actually doubted that Charlie’s soul was removable at that point.

And another part of him wanted to get away from Charlie. He’d made this man do very sick, deplorable things. Essum knew a lot of it came from his own lack of a form to perform any kind of deplorable act. It was strange how they became so lustful when they’re without a physical body. Now that he had one the memory of what he had Charlie do nearly shamed him, made it seem so small and stupid. He had Charlie set up to be a sin machine, hoping Voro’s
decipio
would absorb enough evil power to take out Voro without a fight at all so Essum could step right in to Voro’s body.

It had been a hell of a shock when Voro took himself out. Really fucked up the whole plan. Pissed Essum off something fierce, too.

But none of that had been Charlie’s fault, and in the meantime he had gotten himself forgiven. He seemed beyond touching. If this had been the Charles Goodwin he’d first met, he would have looked around for anyone else.

Praesul
was eyeing him up like a beggar at the feast.

“He could be enough to finish the transition.”

Essum looked from Praesul back to Charlie’s sleeping form. “Do you think you can absorb him?”

“I know I can.”

The power began to build, raising the hair on Essum’s arms. At the slightest brush of that energy against him he held his breath, feeling his heart speed up and his cock harden. But through it all, nothing held his attention like Charlie.

Essum honestly had no idea what was going to happen.
It was an alien feeling to him, and he was desperate to see what came next.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Separation anxiety
, Raphael thought, watching Patrice suck the peanut butter off her thumb. The motion of her lips made that thing below his waist stir again despite his misery at the thought of her leaving. He ordered all lower body parts to stay put. She was showered and dressed for work. She would be late if he bothered her again.

She smiled at him across the small kitchen table, and when her eyes travelled down over his bare chest and arms her eyes got even brighter. He loved the way she looked at him. It was like she couldn’t get enough just of the sight of him. He knew none of his senses could be sated when it came to her.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay here?”

He nodded, leaning forward and stretching out his arm towards her. She took his hand without question, smiling again. “I’ll clean your place for you.”

She frowned. “Is it that dirty?”

“No. But it means you’ll have nothing else to do when you get home tonight.”

She laughed, mouth wide, and he was smiling like a goon again. This was very much her, no nerves, no pretense. This was really Patrice. Maybe it was just the angel in him, but he was definitely in love with her. His heart was wide, dying to be accepted, and nothing else mattered until the moment she would say she loved him.

And yet he didn’t need to hear it. As long as she wanted him around, he was happy.

“I will be home as soon as I can, I promise.”

“I’ll be waiting. And missing you.” He kissed the back of her hand, letting his tongue dart out to taste her knuckles. She exhaled with a quiver, and he smiled. “You have the same reaction to me I have to you.”

She shook her head. “You’re determined to make me late.”

Raphael stood, her eyes going to his crotch. He knew what she saw. He pulled her to her feet, pressing her against him by her lower back. She gasped, but he was kissing her again, warming even more as she relaxed against his mouth, her body going fluid against his. It was instant, and he loved that she was this comfortable with him.

When he palmed her butt she giggled, backing away and poking him in the chest. “You are so much trouble.”

“If this is trouble I really like it.”

She was giggling as she put her jacket on then slung her bag over one shoulder. “I’ll miss you, Ralph.”

“I’ll miss you, Patty.”

She was smiling and blushing when she left. Absolutely beautiful.

On his own, Raphael laid out flat on the sofa, the smell of Patrice surrounding him as he crushed the air from the cushions and pillows. He was completely and deliciously exhausted, eyes sliding shut as his mouth refused to stop smiling.  He felt as though he’d never known happiness until that moment. It was that warm floating sensation that caused him to drift off.

His dreams were not exactly memorable. They flashed from one nonsensical scene to the next, until one misty thought where he was outside, in the sunshine. Patrice was there, and some young man, perhaps her brother. Their hair was exactly the same color. The three of them were having a picnic; sharing grapes, cheese and crackers, relaxing on a blanket spread out over incredibly green grass. It was lovely; he had never felt such lightness and contentment. Until clouds rolled in and a cold wind kicked up, scattering napkins and paper plates to the corners of the park, which were all black shadow and drawing in closer and closer …

Without warning his stomach lurched and he sat up, heart tight and head reeling. He had to blink a few times, catch his breath. He didn’t know this feeling, it was like he had to do something that he didn’t want to do, but he had no idea what it was exactly.

He squeezed his eyes shut, but nothing kept his heart from feeling like he was missing something very important. Was this panic? Anxiety? It could be.

He got to his feet, his body needing to move. Raphael returned to the bedroom, put the rest of his clothes on, jacket included, and headed for the door. Something was pulling him.

The feeling was somewhat familiar out in the open. It was like a string was being tugged, leading him towards where he needed to go. He’d felt it before as an angel when a human he’d blessed had passed away. Raphael had escorted him to the hereafter, led by a feeling like this one. But that had been a joyous pull. This one felt wrong.

Perhaps it was because he was more human now than angel. It clouded the intentions of the force that mov
ed him so that everything felt unknown. And a little frightening.

Charles Goodwin blinked against the lights that suddenly sprang to life in his room. He didn’t know t
he two men that were walking into his room, and before he could say anything his blood ran cold.

The one with the dark, smoky skin was bad news. That was pretty obvious. And the bald fellow didn’t look like a Bible salesman, either. Charlie cranked his eyes shut, willing them to vanish back into his nightmares; praying to wake up before anything bad happened.

“Charlie.”

His eyes flew open without his will. The voice wasn’t in his head; it was coming from this bald man with the ice-cold eyes standing in front of him now. It was The Master.

Tears sprung to Charlie’s eyes, and he covered his face, shaking his head back and forth. “No,” he wailed. “No no no nonononononono -”

“Charlie,” the master snapped. “Don’t be rude. Say hello to my friend. This is Praesul.”

Charlie just shook his head.

“Charlie,” the voice was warning now, like one would scold a child. “You’re being rude. This man thinks you’re very, very special.”

Charlie kept his eyes closed but he stilled. He could remember hearing that before, his mother’s friend who thought he was special, too. The same man that had touched Charlie inappropriately. And done other things, too. Charlie wasn’t interested in how this man thought he was so special.

“Charlie, look at me.” This wasn’t the master, this was a voice so deep and terrible it made Charlie’s stomach flop sickly.

“No,” Charlie whispered, feeling himself weaken.

“Charlie, I’m not here to hurt you. I promise.”

He was evil, Charlie could taste it. But he cracked one eye open, raising his head up to this new and terrifying being. Being because he wasn’t a man, Charlie could tell that right away. He was bigger and more horrible than any man Charlie had known, but he couldn’t be denied. His will pressed on Charlie like a stranger on a crowded bus.

Charlie tried to breathe, still waiting for the nightmare to end. When he met the eyes of this shadow-man he tried to crack down on his mental barriers, willing his brain to remain his own private place. It was what Jasper told him to do. Jasper, who was dead now.

Charlie felt his cheeks cool, and he realized he was crying. Jasper had tried to help him, tried to protect him from The Master, and now Charlie was all alone …

“I know,” The Master said, almost sounding sympathetic. But Charlie had learned how to spot a liar now, and he stopped crying as The Master continued. “It’s unfortunate about Jasper, but he’s gone to a better place. And he wants you to come, too.”

Charlie felt his heart flare with faint hope, but he didn’t dare trust it. The Master had lied to him for a long time and when he considered trusting him again a little bit Charlie felt exhausted.

“No,” he said, shaking his head defiantly. “I don’t want to die. Even in here life is so beautiful now. I feel so much … lighter.”

The Master nodded. “I know. One of those men forgave you for everything you did, didn’t he?”

Charlie smiled, remembering how that love had beamed down on him from the handsome man with the dark-blonde hair. He had said Charlie was forgiven, and Charlie had felt the golden light flow through him from fingertip to toenail. Even though he’d been in the home of a woman he’d violently killed and the shame of that act weig
hed him like a ball and chain, the forgiveness was still light and love and relieving.

“I am,” he found himself saying. “I am forgiven, and it’s beautiful.”

The dark man spoke next. “You’re very lucky Charlie. That man helped you, and now he’s in me. I can feel that part of him inside me, and it’s calling out to you. Can you feel it?”

Charlie got very still, not wanting to believe it. The man made it sound like that beautiful man was gone, and that couldn’t be. Charlie didn’t want to think about that. Not him, he was too lovely …

He inhaled on a sob, the golden light inside him ebbing, almost like it was reaching to the man. He stepped closer to Charlie, and Charlie felt the pull even stronger.

“Interesting,” the man whispered, studying Charlie like something in a museum. “Your soul is beautiful, Charlie.”

Charlie cried out, his eyes locked on the man’s own, sucking him in closer and closer even though he hadn’t moved at all. It didn’t hurt; it just felt like toppling forward, and before he could put his hands out to catch himself all was darkness and he was no more.

Fire seared his skin, burning, bending his back with agony. The flames licked at him like demons, determined to pull flesh from bone while he was awake to experience the exquisite pain of hell. His head echoed with the screams of others in torment, their screeching like claws on the inside of his skull, trying to gouge their way out.

Saleem woke with a cool hand on his arm, a second hand pressed to his forehead. He blinked against the sweat stinging his eyes, wiping at them with a hand that was quaking. He had stopped screaming, and when he could focus he saw Claudia, refreshingly normal, washed in the blue glow from the television across the room. Her brow was puckered with concern.

He exhaled slowly, sitting up from where he’d slouched in the crook of the sofa arm and back. Claudia folded up next to him, legs bent underneath her, pushing her hair behind one ear. “Are
you okay?” she finally asked.

He knew if she could see him clearly she’d notice his reddened face and pinker ears. He’d never been so embarrassed before. Shouting and crying like a child from a nightmare.

“Fine. I get these nightmares sometimes …” he tried to shrug nonchalantly and coughed, confirming the lie as he started hacking with a throat parched from screaming.

She reached a hand out, rubbing circles on his shoulder. “You were giving the most ungodly screams, Saleem. It scared the shit out of me.”

“I’m sorry. I think it’s from not eating all day, gorging and then falling asleep again.” He ran a hand over his hair, realizing he was damp all over with a light sweat. “That one was really bad.”

She settled back against the opposite sofa arm, studying him with, well, cop-face was the only way to put it. He knew she was smart but this was the first time he’d gotten a sense of how shrewd she could be. Even if it was mostly show he was willing to bet it had frightened a few people before.

“I’m okay,” he assured her, patting her foot next to him.

Claudia covered a yawn with her hand, breaking into giggles. “So much for the hard ass routine, hey?”

“Back at ‘ya,” he said, making her giggle again.

“I’m tired,” she said, stretching her arms out to the side and leaning back. He pulled his eyes away from the front of her T-shirt as she did it, feeling his face warming again.

“Take the bed,” he said, suddenly interested in a frying pan infomercial on the television. “This couch is comfy.”

“Nah. I’ll take the couch. You sleep in your bed tonight. I stole it from you once already.”

“Too bad. I’m out here.”

She exhaled, and he found the exasperation adorable on her. “Fine,” she muttered. “I guess we’re both sleeping out here.”

He frowned and she leaned forward, pulling the blanket off the back of the sofa and settling it across her lap as she cuddled next to him under his arm, resting her head on his chest, cradled sideways into him like she’d been made to fit there.

Saleem was frozen in place, not sure what to do. So he fixated on her face, watching her eyes close, eyelashes long and dark as they rested on her cheek.  She sighed, and his body loosened, letting her collapse against him in complete trust and relaxation.

He put a hand down on her hip, the other came to rest on her hand where she had rested it on his chest, close to her face. His eyes closed, head resting against the cushions behind him.

He wasn’t nervous about her being this close. It felt perfect, actually. He had no need to push her away, or try to get her naked for that matter. She had to sleep. That was his main priority.

“Wait,” he grumbled, sitting up so she had to do the same. She was looking at him in surprise. “You’re not sleeping on the couch.”

Claudia frowned and looked about to argue until he shut the TV off, gathered her up in his arms, carrying her down the hall to his bedroom. He set her down as she found her voice.

“Saleem, I’m not kicking you out of your bed.”

Her voice was different. He was aware of the intimacy of this situation as he replied, “We’re both sleeping here.”

Her eyes met his. “What?”

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to try anything on you. But I can’t have you sleeping on the couch.”