The Soother (2 page)

“Bevva, shush. I hear something.” She batted an enormous mosquito-like insect away and cocked her head.

“What you hear is a diva ready for the main stage.”

“True,” Calliope said to placate her sister. “But I hear something else.”

Two seconds later a distinctive high-pitched wail forced them to cover their ears and take a step back.

“Oh, no.” Bevva latched on to Calliope’s elbow and pulled.

Digging in her heels, she said, “I have to help.”

Bevva nailed her with a not-on-your-life glare. “This is none of our business. Let’s just get out of here.”

“I can’t.” Complete truth. Perhaps her soother needs had crushed any sense of logic, but with what could only be called an unrelenting gnawing in her gut, Calliope had no choice but to follow the howl of the banshee and either try to help the death spirit’s quarry escape the claws of the reaper, or soothe those left behind. Resolved and ready to attack her mission, she shrugged and gave Bevva an easy out. “Go if you want. I can handle this one alone.”

A mass of curly hair seemed to spark and sizzle as Bevva whipped her head around to glare at Calliope. “As if.”

Deep down, she knew Bevva would react this way, but it still did her heart good to know she could always count on her sister.

“But if we’re doing this, we’re going in stealth.” Bevva narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips in thought.

She smiled at the flaming twinkle in Bevva’s eye. “I couldn’t agree more.”

Calliope lifted her arms above her head and locked fingers with Bevva. Together they quietly chanted. “Make us one with the dark. Make us fly like a lark. Give us strength for our task. Nature goddess, this we ask.”

The air shimmered with magick. The two witches working together, melding their magickal capabilities into one magnified the effect. The tingle of magick coursed through Calliope’s veins as their call was answered. With both sisters now dressed from head to toe in black, including cloaks to cover their skin and Bevva’s unruly hair, they blended with the dark atmosphere. The banshee cried once again, signaling an imminent death. This time the sound rocked Calliope’s soul and had her taking one last deep breath before running straight into the unknown.

• • •

“For the love of — ” Krystoff’s words, as well as a chunk of flesh, were cut off with the slice of the whip against his cheek. The taste of blood filled his mouth. He turned his head and spit it out, narrowly missing one of the lurking creatures that stood just inside the stone circle. Too bad the wind hadn’t carried his spit a foot farther. How had a simple spell gone so completely wrong? He should have been able to flash away. Cursing himself to the underworld and back again for the mistake he had yet to identify wouldn’t save him this day. Nor would he undo his deed if he could. A promise was a promise, after all. What he needed right now was a little magick and a lot of luck. Or a lot of magick and a little luck.

As the shadows of the Mistropans crept closer, Krystoff heard the high-pitched cry of the banshee and was fairly certain his luck had all but ran out. Her tortured moan raised shivers along his spine and had his tainted half-wizard blood growing ice-cold. A banshee only cried like that when someone was about to die. Present circumstances what they were, he had no doubt she wailed for him. Though he couldn’t see her, he knew she sat somewhere amongst the shadows, waiting for him to draw his last breath.

Menacing eyes cast judgment from near and far in Mistropa — the realm his mother called home. Who knew the creatures she now considered family would ultimately be the death of him? Yes, while he may despise it, he’d finally come to admit — if not accept — his lineage was at least in part, shadowed.

A ghostly form stood in the distance. Speaking of promises … Scout, Krystoff’s one and only friend, stepped forward, yet not close enough to stand inside the circle. Hope blossomed. Scout was a nomas, a species of drifters who had the power to flash, track, and kill undetected from realm to realm without the need of a portal. Considering Krystoff had bailed Scout out of more than one situation, he was certain Scout would do the same for him.

A dark figure approached. “Have you changed your mind, Krystoff?”

Many Mistropans were made up of a bunch of half-breeds, quickly cast out of their circles for their impurities. According to his mother, this one would soon be a member of her court. A purebred. Powerful. Malevolent. Dark features, dark skin and long, black hair framed the hard lines of an unmarred face.

“I have not, Eron.” Krystoff’s head snapped back with another flick of the whip. Clenching his teeth against the sting of pain, he knew he’d bear a matching pair of scars should he survive. Death or not, he refused to do the bidding of his mother’s people. And where was she now?
Ah, yes
. His eyes locked on hers. He defiantly held his mother’s frigid gaze, refusing to allow her to disappear in the forest of shadows and mist. She’d come out to watch her only child be tortured, and now she’d have to look him in the eye as he died. That would be his one and only gift to her. If he could find a way to haunt her from his grave, he’d do that, too.

“Then you will die here and now.”

“So be it.” Krystoff’s words were directed at the woman he had never understood, the woman even a son couldn’t love. He meant every word. If today were his day to die, he would die with his head held high. That didn’t mean he’d go down willingly. Scout’s presence aside, he still held hope he could get himself out of this hell.

Eron tied a large barb to the end of the whip, then smiled and held it over his head. He brought the whip down in a wide arc. The fall cut into Krystoff’s chest and dug deep. Eron pulled down and the barb on the end filleted Krystoff wide open. White-hot pain shot through his body. Krystoff roared, the sound full of brutal anguish. If he hadn’t been strung up, he would have fallen to his knees in blinding agony. Surely his innards were now lying on the ground. He fought to stay conscious, glared at the female who bore him. His vision grew clouded. He shook his head and forced his eyes open. Found Scout’s pale face again. Scout glanced at the queen of Mistropa, then looked at Krystoff and gave a quick shake of his head. A second later, he disappeared. Krystoff waited for him to return. He did not. The pain quadrupled with the rejection. Scout had just sealed his fate. Now Krystoff had two people to haunt — and hunt — from the underworld.

Eron swung again. Krystoff gnashed his teeth in anticipation. Before the leather made contact, a fireball shot out of the woods and disintegrated the whip. Eron was left with nothing but the handle knot in his hands.

Two cloaked figures entered the circle. Krystoff smelled the familiar earthy scent of magick, and a small part of him rallied. Perhaps his luck hadn’t completely run out, but with his guts spilling onto the ground below, he had to wonder if luck had appeared a little too late.

Fireballs continued to arc across the sky, illuminating the circle and the surrounding woods. Eron vanished. Screams drew Krystoff’s gaze to the heated show playing out in the stone circle. Shadowed beings dove for cover. Smoking hides proved some hadn’t managed to move quickly enough. A gust of wind blew the hood off the fire wielder’s head. A wild mass of hair the same color as the fire shooting from her hands spilled out.

Her partner stayed hidden beneath the cloak. Krystoff watched that one closely while fighting against his restraints. The banshee wailed louder. The would-be rescuers covered their ears. He didn’t have that luxury. No doubt his ears bled from the impact of the piercing sound. Not much time left. The life source of his magick was slowly leaching out of his body even as he fought to contain it. All the pain had him mentally bellowing right along with the death phantom. But that sound he kept inside. Outwardly, Krystoff clenched his teeth harder and lifted his chin.

The cloaked form reached up and shoved her hood back. A pale face with black stars forming a crescent shape around one eye, tilted up, and this time his eyes met a sea of blue. His breath stuttered, from death or from her unique beauty, he did not know. She placed her hand over his heart and for a moment it was as if all would be well again.

She closed her amazing blue eyes and took a deep breath, then stood on her tiptoes and placed her other hand against his bloodied face.

Open those eyes, angel
. While unable to speak, Krystoff hoped she could hear him. He no longer wished to see his mother when he passed to the afterlife. This one, the one with the angel eyes, was all he wanted to know.

Her eyes popped open, wide and questioning. “What did you do? Why would they do this to you?”

Such empathy. Such sadness. All for him. For that, he would give her the truth. “Blood … magick. They … want. Gave … my … soul.”

Calliope still had no idea why she’d done it. But with the help of her sister, she’d cut the dying man down and carried his body through the forest and straight to her bed. She hadn’t heard the cry of the banshee since. Oddly, they hadn’t encountered any resistance from the shadowed creatures after their initial attack either. With her help, the prisoner may have cheated death. For now. Perhaps he’d deserved to die after all.

Carrine, the Brennan sisters’ mentor and confidant, had always told her to pick her battles wisely. This had probably not been the wisest of choices. He’d played with fire and sold his soul. Technically, he’d said he’d given his soul, but no one did that. Not willingly. There was always an exchange. His words had been so stilted and cryptic. Maybe she’d misunderstood. She didn’t think so. Even now, shadows prowled beneath his skin. Exhausted from the gloom within the sleeping man, Calliope shook her head and sighed. Blood magick should never be toyed with.

Unless he found a way to recover his soul, the shadows would grow until they consumed his body, ultimately turning his mind as dark as the realm they’d just left. The odds weren’t in his favor. History showed once a soul had been removed, the chance of getting it back was nearly impossible. And yet she had brought the soulless man into her home.

Shadowed creatures rarely had redeemable qualities. But something about him called to her, and she held out hope he would live and find a way to conquer his demons. Her pulse jumped at the thought. She cursed her romantic heart.

Calliope hadn’t heard from Bevva in a week and already missed her terribly. After toting the heavy body for hours and arguing about where to take him, her sister had reluctantly agreed to help take him to Calliope’s house. Then with a chaste kiss to the cheek, she’d hit the road. But not before she’d nicknamed the poor man Charmer, swearing he must have charmed Calliope for her to take such a risk. Calliope disagreed, but the nickname stuck. And Bevva flew the coop. Fight, then flight, seemed to be Bevva’s motto. Hopefully she’d head over to the realm of Saharren and let a certain guardian help her refill her magickal well. The two were destined to be together, whether the fire witch wanted to admit it or not.

Calliope studied Charmer now, stretched out on her queen-sized bed with his arms tight against his sides, and dried yarrow leaves she’d ground into a powder covering his stomach wounds. She might have bathed him in burdock to ward off infection, and she might have burned angelica root to call upon the angels, but no way would she do more than that to ease his obvious pain. Singing to him, bathing him and brushing his hair didn’t count. Absolutely not.

For no other reason other than something to do, Calliope readjusted the sheet over his legs and gently pulled it up to his waist. She kept her eyes on his face, a face she’d memorized over the last several days. Dark eyebrows had yet to relax and she knew if Charmer ever opened those eyes again, they’d be the color of rain. His black hair, just long enough to comb her fingers through — not that she’d done that more than once or twice, or a thousand times — currently laid in a disheveled array upon her blue pillow. His caramel-colored skin lacked the luster that came with good fortune and health. His torn cheeks, so gaunt, reminded her just how long he’d been unconscious. How much longer could he survive without eating?

Sighing, she squeezed more aloe onto his cheeks and then sprinkled another dose of yarrow into the cuts. Rearranging the leaves on his chest, she pressed them farther into the wound and ignored his painful groan. Her gaze skimmed over his sleeping form. She’d seen more of this man’s tall and lean body in a week than any other in the last five years. Another time, another place, any other set of circumstances, and she may have actually found him attractive. But not now. Not knowing the little she knew about him. That little
soul
confession of his was monumental. She refused to believe the stirring in her stomach was anything more than anxiety.

Winded from the small task of tending to his injuries, she lowered herself into the bedside chair and looked down at her hands while stifling a yawn. Chipped black nail polish showed the evidence of her anxiety. She’d chewed her nails to the quick and that had been on the first night. Her distress over his pain and the error in her judgment had the soother in her severely drained.

What was she thinking? Eventually Charmer would wake up and then what? So far the rest of the coven didn’t know she’d come home. She’d had her home built on the very edge of town for a few reasons — most importantly privacy and the lack of emotions that ultimately came along with a community full of moody witches.

But just now she missed the camaraderie only her coven could give. A quick glance at the calendar reminded her the celebration of Lammas — the first harvest — was only two days away. The witches would have been planning and decorating the town for at least a week, if not more. Normally Calliope would have joined them, reveling in the laughter and smiles that always accompanied this holiday.

Normally.

Needing at least the small boost the sun would give her, she left her unconscious patient to his healing and stepped out onto the front porch. Stretching toward the pale blue skies, Calliope tilted her face to the sun and let the comforting heat seep into her chilled body. Being a soother came with a vast number of side effects. Her blood mirroring her emotional state was just one of them. Thankfully, the boost she got from the tiniest of smiles made it all worth it.