The Soulkeepers (36 page)

"No." But then he saw it. A long, wrapped
gift leaned up against the corner of his room. He ripped the paper
off and saw a wooden staff, identical to Malini's.

"It says something in Aramaic. Can you read
it to me, Jacob?" Malini asked.

"Sure," he said, turning
the staff in his hands. "It says
anywhere.
"

"If you read the card, it says Gideon made
these from the branches of the tree. Oswald has moved on but Gideon
has enchanted these. They'll take us anywhere we need to go, at any
time," Malini said. "I was surprised she gave me one."

"Do you think there's one for me?" Lilly
said and excused herself to go look in her room.

"Dr. Silva says she's going to help me
figure out what I am," Malini said.

"I have something that will help." Jacob
handed her a box from his nightstand. She unwrapped it carefully
and pulled off the lid.

"The stone!" she said, putting her head
through the cord and holding up the red disc between her
fingers.

"It can tell the future. I think at this
point you need it more than I do."

"Thank you, Jacob. And, something for you."
Malini handed him a tiny box from her pocket. He ripped into it and
found a thick silver ring engraved with Sanskrit. He slid it onto
his finger.

"Did you know this says 'Water'," he
asked.

"Yes, I had it engraved. So, now you read
Sanskrit?"

"I guess so," he shrugged. "I love it,
Malini." He leaned forward and kissed her, their lips starting out
gentle and soft and ending in something that made his heart beat
faster. He pulled away when he realized the door was still open. "I
imagine you're not supposed to be here."

"Nope. As far as my parents know, I am in my
room putting away my Christmas gifts. I believe I'm officially
grounded for life."

Jacob tossed the staff back and forth
between his hands. "Then, I suppose this gift is even more
important because I can't be away from you for that long."

Malini rewarded him with a smile he knew was
exclusively his.

"Does it have the same side effects?" he
asked her.

"No. I felt fine coming over here," she
said. "Maybe we should go next door to say thank you."

"Great idea. I want to give Dr. Silva the
gift I got for her, anyway." He grabbed a wrapped box from his
closet.

"What is it?" Malini asked.

"A pink cable knit sweater."

"What? Have you ever seen Dr. Silva wear
anything but black?"

"No. But I thought it was time she started
dressing for her future."

"Very sweet, Jacob. I'm sure she'll love
it." Malini kissed him again, this time on the cheek. "How do you
think she stays here? I mean if she doesn't age, why hasn't anyone
in Paris noticed?"

"She never told me but I think I figured it
out. My uncle once said that her grandmother lived in the same
house. Obviously, Dr. Silva has never had a grandmother. I think
she ages herself by illusion, and then comes back as her own
daughter. She doesn't come out much. It wouldn't be hard for her to
fool everyone," he explained.

"It must have been hard for her to live her
life in a lie like that, no one ever really knowing who she was,"
Malini said.

"Well now she has us," Jacob said. He held
up the staff. "So, how do these work?" he asked.

"It's easy, you just think about where you
want to go and tap them on the floor," Malini said.

"Now?" he asked, tucking the gift under his
arm and interlacing his fingers with hers.

"Yes Jacob, I'm ready," she replied and he
believed she was, for anything. There was a deep trust in her eyes,
that hadn't been there before. Not ever. Not even before he had
tried to force her to go through the tree. Not even on the beach.
Something had changed. They were bound to each other in an almost
magical way.

"Together then," he said.

They raised their staffs and looked out the
window toward the gothic Victorian, together to anywhere.

G.P. Ching is a short
fiction writer whose work has appeared in various print and
electronic publications. She co-runs DarkSide Publishing with Karly
Kirkpatrick and Megg Jensen, and is a member of the Society of
Children's Book Writers and Illustrators. She lives in Illinois
with her husband, two children and a very demanding guinea pig.
Learn more about G.P. at her blog
So,
Write
,
genevieveching.blogspot.com

Special thanks to the
following people for saving
The
Soulkeepers
from the recycle
bin.

First, I have to thank my late
father-in-law, Bob Ching, who inspired much of this story. I miss
our conversations.

To friends Michelle Moore and Rhonda Kasper,
thank you both for believing in my work when nobody else did.
Michael Brennan, Jeff Smith and Robin Ferrier, thank you for
providing fresh eyes when mine were very tired.

Thank you to my parents, Yvette and Joe, for
supporting my reading habit as a child and my writing as an adult.
And Jon Hall, Annette Wirth, Sue Hall, Joe and Monica Pommier and
Aaron for reading early versions of the manuscript and encouraging
me with your enthusiasm for the story.

Thanks to fellow authors Dawn Malone, Scotti
Cohn, Michelle Sussman and Karly Kirkpatrick for helping to polish
the manuscript to a high gloss.

Thanks to Adam Bedore of Anjin Designs for
the amazing cover art and Jon Hall, Eric Hall, and Kimberly Pommier
for providing young adult advice about the cover.

Thanks to the #fridayflash community who
helped give my writing a voice. All of you are special to me.

Finally, all my love to my partners in
publishing Michelle Sussman and Karly Kirkpatrick who took my hands
and led me to the DarkSide.

The Soulkeepers Book
2

Chapter 1

Closer

Katrina Laudner ached to be noticed. Within
the crowd of college students in the living room of Sigma Nu
fraternity, she danced, careful not to spill the contents of her
red plastic cup. Her denim skirt scarcely hit her upper thigh. Her
cami scooped dangerously low. And the thump-thump of the music the
DJ blasted from the corner pounded its way out of her body in a
rhythm of invitation. No one noticed. Even half-naked, she was
wholly invisible.

"What are you drinking?" a velvet voice
said. He was close, close enough for her to hear over the deafening
music, close enough to feel breath on her earlobe. Katrina stopped
dancing and turned. A boy stood between her and the wall.

"The red juice from the back," she
answered.

He was exceptional in his stillness. The
strobe light made the rhythmic mass of people to their left and
right jerk with the illusion of disconnected movements. But like an
inanimate object, the light had no effect on his image. Every flash
was the same.

"Are you here alone?" he asked.

"Yeah. I was supposed to meet my roommate
but she never showed."

"You're not alone anymore." He stepped in
closer. Navy blue eyes, almost purple, set off his pale skin and
black hair. The overly confident smile on his lips did as much to
entice her as the hard line of the jaw it was attached to.

She took another sip from the red cup. The
juice she'd scored from the man in the back was spiked with
something that burned her throat on the way down. She hoped it made
her nice and numb. Maybe then she could play it smooth. Guys could
smell desperate a mile away.

"Do you know there's alcohol in that?" he
asked.

"Are you a cop?"

He laughed, a dark, hollow sound that
caressed her ear like a lover's kiss. "No."

"Then I can safely say that if I didn't know
it was spiked before, I sure as hell know now. I'm pretty sure this
stuff could remove nail polish." She drank again, but couldn't stop
herself from peeking over the top of the cup. Wide shoulders,
pierced eyebrow—he was rock-star, chiseled-by-the-gods,
gorgeous.

He wrapped his hand around her upper arm,
and pulled her forward, bringing his lips to her ear again. "It's
just...you look underage," he said.

"I'm old enough." The heat from the spot
where his skin touched hers was almost too much to bear. She went
back to dancing a little, breaking the connection.

"Hmm. A lawbreaker, I think. What should I
call such a reckless and wild one?"

"Katrina."

"Do you have a last name or am I to assume
you're so infamous that you don't need one?"

She tilted her head to the side and smiled.
"Laudner. Katrina Laudner. What's yours?"

"Cord."

"Cord like what you open the drapes with?"
she teased.

"No." His expression darkened. "Cord like
what you strangle someone with."

Katrina took a small step backward. She
thought about leaving altogether but then his face relaxed into a
teasing smile. He was trying to be funny.

She shrugged off a foreboding weight that
had settled on her chest. That was the problem with growing up in
Paris, Illinois. She wasn't used to anyone different. She was too
cautious. "Do you have a last name, Cord?"

"No," he said. The corner of his mouth
tugged upward as he looked over the bump and grind on the dance
floor. "Infamous."

"Nice. I'm beginning to think it begins with
a B and ends with astard."

The smile melted from Cord's face, replaced
with an intensity she'd never seen before—well, maybe in some wild
animal show where the predator was about to eat the prey.

Katrina crossed her arms over her chest as
if the position could deflect the raw power he'd turned in her
direction. An intoxicating scent drifted over her, cinnamon,
sandalwood, a dark forest. Closing her eyes, she breathed deeply
through her nose. She was about to compliment him on his cologne
when Cord's touch made her eyes flip open.

He'd moved in closer. While her eyes were
closed, he'd stepped forward until the back of his hand brushed the
bare skin above her elbow. The contact made her ache to close what
little space was left between them. It stirred something deep
within her. Every inch of her became super sensitive, her flesh
reaching out for him, knowing he was the source of some unknown
thrill.

A hot blush crept across her cheeks. She
distracted herself by lifting her cup to her lips again, but it was
empty. Had she drank it all so quickly?

"Can I get you a refill?" he asked.

"Yeah."

He lifted the cup from her grip, never
breaking eye contact. "I'll be back in a moment. Don't move,
Katrina Laudner."

She didn't. He slid gracefully between the
gyrating students toward the back, giving her a delightful view of
the taper of his hair down his neck, wide shoulders, and dark jeans
that hugged the curve of his hips. She wasn't going anywhere. In
fact, if he asked her to stand there all night, she might
comply.

A new song thumped from the speakers and the
crowd went nuts, throbbing to the industrial rhythm. She joined in,
arms reaching toward the ceiling.

"I like this music. What's it called?"

Startled, she stopped dancing. Cord was
beside her again.

"Oh my God, you scared me. Shit, you were
fast."

Cord handed her the red cup, full now. "Do
you know this music?" he asked.

"I think it's from the nineties. Um, Closer
I think. Yeah, it's called Closer."

"I like it."

She sipped her drink, aware that his purple
eyes scanned every inch of her as if he were trying to see under
her skin. Unnerved, she shifted away from him.

"Hey is this the same punch? It tastes
different…like cinnamon or something." Katrina took another sip and
felt the burn travel all the way to her toes.

Cord shrugged. "Where are you from
Katrina?"

The room began to sway and she reached out a
hand to steady herself against the wall. "Paris, I'm from Paris,
Illinois."

"Paris?"

"Yeah, I know. Don't blink or you'll miss
it."

"Oh, I like small towns. I've been meaning
to visit Paris."

"Really? Why?" A foggy weightlessness caused
her to lurch forward.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"I think I've had enough. I better quit
while I'm still sober enough to find my way home."

"That sounds ultimately responsible. Was I
wrong about your reckless and wild ways?"

She laughed. "I have my moments."

In front of her, his muscles shifted beneath
the drape of his shirt. It was some kind of silky cotton, not too
tight, not too loose. The gray fabric beckoned her to reach out and
run her hand up his abs and across his chest. Thanks to the red
cup, inhibition had packed its bags. On impulse, she rested her
palm on his stomach. She swayed on her feet.

A hand caught her lower back. Cord pulled
her into his body, effectively holding her up. Taller, he had to
lowered his chin to meet her eyes.

"You smell good," was all she could manage.
The room floated away. He was her tether to the earth.

"May I walk you home, Katrina Laudner?"

There was no hesitation on her part. She
wanted to fall into him, to press every part of herself up against
his hard body. She wanted to cover herself in that delicious smell.
"Sure, that would be nice."

He reached for the empty cup in her hand,
nesting it inside his own before setting it on the floor near his
feet. Something about the action bothered Katrina and she found
herself staring at the cup. A headache bloomed at her temple.

"Are you going to leave that there? I mean,
I could find a garbage can. It's rude." Her voice sounded muffled,
like she was hearing herself through a thick wall of glass.