Soul Trade Read online

  “Let’s get her out of here.” Domino.

  Her head was banging against the floor. Dirty tile floor she’d seen many times. She could hear her head steadily knocking against it. Why wouldn’t it stop? She just wanted it to stop. She just wanted to sleep.

  She was being lifted under the arms and by the legs when she went away again.

  Chapter 2

  She felt fingers pulling her eyelids open, heard a voice sounding like sex and whiskey speaking to her in urgent tones. She seemed to slam back into herself all at once, and was suddenly hyperaware. She sat straight up, her face banging against his hard chest muscles, taking great gasps of air into her lungs. It was as if she’d been holding her breath for long minutes on end.

  He sat back on his heels. “Holy shit.”

  She looked up at him, still taking huge breaths. Aw hell. It was the bum from the park bench. Fabulous.

  “I thought you were dead.” His face was covered by his long, scruffy beard.

  She wondered what bits of food might be stored in there and tried not to gag. Still, she was struck by how kind his eyes were.

  “So did I,” she murmured between breaths. She moved backward, away from him, her nose crinkling. The dude needed a shower.

  “You had no pulse.” He shook his head, his face incredulous. “I checked. You weren’t breathing and you had no pulse when they dropped you off here.”

  “They dumped me in the park? Nice.” It could’ve been worse. At least it hadn’t been a dumpster.

  “Your angel is watching out for you tonight, lady. No doubt about that.” He looked her over. “You have somewhere to go?” His eyes darted around them. They were much more alert than earlier in the evening, when he’d been staring off into space, seemingly unaware.

  “Sorry, you’ll have to find your own place. I’m fresh out of friends,” she said, trying to stand up.

  He placed his hands under her elbows, lifting her to her feet. “Are you okay to stand on your own?”

  “I think so.” She frowned. There was an awareness about him that didn’t jibe with his appearance.

  Then it hit her. Crap.

  Narc.

  “Get away from me.” She backed away, started walking. The world tilted and she slid sideways.

  He caught her. “Easy now. You’re cut. Someone tried to cut your throat. Didn’t do a great job at it, thankfully. The bleeding has stopped, but you need help. A doctor.”

  “I know what you are. Get away.” If she was seen talking to a known narc, her days—minutes more likely—were definitely numbered.

  “Look, you won’t get far in the state you’re in. It’s pretty obvious that somebody has it out for you. I have friends who could help you.”

  She barked a harsh laugh into the cooling night air. “Oh really? I think I’ve heard those words before. And look how I ended up.”

  “It doesn’t have to be this way,” he said, his voice softening.

  A fresh wave of nausea hit her and she fell to her knees, hugging the deep indent that was her stomach. Sweat popped out all over her, and her damp hair hung in her face. It stank. Domino’s buddy hadn’t washed it. And now she had puke all over her.

  He moved quickly, bending down to help her.

  “Get away!” She gagged. “You reek, pal.”

  He laughed, the sound low and genuine. “I’ve got news for you, lady. So do you.”

  She guessed she did. She chuckled and fell on her side, drifting away for a moment. When she opened her eyes, she was looking sideways at two sets of black-uniformed legs walking purposefully toward them.

  An urgent ruffling of feathers and a shrill screech above her reminded her of the round, amber eyes of the owl. She felt her eyes widen.

  Cops. It looked like they were coming for her.

  The hobo had apparently heard the footsteps and turned toward them. His feet were facing away from her.

  Without warning, one of the cops kicked the hobo in the chest, sending him falling backward.

  “Whoa! Undercover officer, asshole!” the hobo said.

  The officers worked silently, one grabbing Robyn’s arms, the other grabbing her legs.

  Robyn screamed and kicked. This wasn’t right. Cops didn’t just come at you and drag you away. They read you your rights. They handcuffed you. They didn’t just grab you and carry you off the way these two were doing.

  The undercover cop moved fast, jumping to his feet while brandishing a pistol.

  Robyn tried to kick her legs. She fought to free herself, but the cops easily held her in place. She felt like a fly in a spider’s web.

  “Let her go! I’ll shoot both your fucking heads off!”

  They were unfazed, didn’t even take the time to glance at him.

  Robyn’s blood went cold. What kinds of freaks were undeterred by a gun pointed in their direction?

  “I mean it! Put her the fuck down! Now!”

  They continued carrying her—barely winded by her frantic fighting—toward the street and their waiting, unmarked van.

  Unmarked van. Robyn saw it from upside down as they carried her toward it. Oh Christ. This was bad.

  These weren’t ordinary cops. These weren’t cops at all.

  “Shoot them!” Robyn screamed. “Jesus Christ, shoot them!”

  He shot one cop in the leg. The cop paused for a moment, without dropping Robyn, and tested the leg while the other cop watched, then continued walking.

  What in hell is going on here? Robyn twisted until she could clamp her mouth around the arm of the cop who was holding her arms. She took a mouthful of his flesh and bit down as hard as she could.

  He didn’t even pause. It was as if he didn’t feel it.

  Several gunshots rang out, and bits and chunks rained down on Robyn’s face and arms. She looked up at the headless cop, who was still trying to claw at her legs even as she felt herself drop to the ground.

  She scrambled backward, a scream caught in her chest.

  “Holy shit,” the narc said, holding his arms out to her, moving toward her. “Come on!”

  Robyn pushed herself up and ran toward him.

  “You can run?” he asked her. “Good.”

  “Like the devil’s behind me.”

  “Do it.”

  And they ran.

  Chapter 3

  They ran through the woods surrounding the park. If it weren’t for the full moon, they would have no light.

  I can’t believe I’m actually doing this. She was stumbling through dark woods with a hobo she knew nothing about—scratch that, a narc she knew nothing about—trying to put as much distance between herself and the park as she could before more inhuman creeps came after her. What the hell was going on?

  Branches scratched at her cheeks and she tripped over things in her path, but she kept going.

  “You okay?” he asked her, his breath coming out in harsh puffs.

  “Never better.” Was it possible to sleepwalk through a dream this vivid and realistic?

  “Almost there.”

  They broke through the woods and entered a clearing.

  This was crazy. She was blindly following this guy, but the alternative wasn’t great. “Where are we going?”

  “To my place,” he said. “It’s well hidden, for obvious reasons.”

  “To your place? I’m not that kind of girl.”

  “Damn, and I’m all hot and bothered, ready to jump your bones. Shooting the heads off people who keep coming at you really gets my motor running.” He looked back at her. “You really are a bag of bones, by the way. You need a good meal.”

  “On the top of my list of priorities. Right after we hide from the headless guys.”

  Everything was hyperreal to her. For the first time in years, Robyn actually felt alive. It took running for her life to realize that she actually was alive.

  They came to a log cabin on the river. She could see that the place was well hidden. Trees surrounded the cabin on all sides except for the side by the
water. She imagined that the only way to enter the place was by boat, or by some long-forgotten, rarely travelled dirt road.

  Or by foot. Like they had. She glanced behind her. Nothing but trees and dark shadows. She hoped to hell there was nothing hidden in there.

  They made their way up an uneven hill and finally came to the door.

  “You don’t get many visitors here, I’m guessing.”

  “No. That’s the way it has to be. Nobody knows about this place except a very choice few. And now you.” He glanced down at her as he opened the door. “I’m trusting you with my life, here. There are several characters of ill repute who would just love to find out who I really am and kill my ass. Okay?”

  “Hey, you helped me back there. Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.”

  And it was. She may be a broken-down, heroin-addicted hooker, but she wasn’t a liar or a thief. She knew she was full of contradictions, that most drug addicts would steal the eyes out of someone’s head for their next fix. Not her.

  She’d only sold her soul.

  Robyn froze in the warm glow of the lamp the narc had turned on.

  “What?” His eyes widened.

  “I think I know why those things are after me.”

  “Well enlighten me, since I’m in this up to my neck now.” He came toward her, hazel gaze on her face.

  “You know when you said that you thought I was dead back there? That I had no pulse?”

  “Yeah.” He said it slowly.

  “Well, I think I had been dead. I think—for some reason—I came back.”

  “Okay…”

  “I think they’re after me because I reneged on a bargain I made.”

  The narc stared at her, realization dawning in his face. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”

  “No. I’m not. I said I’d sell my soul for one last fix, and a guy appeared and gave me this.” She dug in her back pocket and brought out the vial of sparkling powder.

  “What the hell is that?” He reached to take the vial from her.

  She closed her fist over it. “It’s my last fix.”

  “Let me get this straight,” he said. “You sold your soul for one last fix, which you’re holding in your hand.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then you died, but miraculously came back.”

  “Well you were there, for Christ’s sake. You saw it happen.”

  “I’m not saying it didn’t. I’m just trying to get this shit straight in my head. That’s what we’re saying happened, right?”

  She sighed. “Yes.”

  “So the devil didn’t get your soul.”

  “Right. And he’s sending out collectors to get it.”

  The narc tilted his head back and looked at the ceiling. “Holy hell.”

  “Definitely Hell,” she said. “I guess I’m in a wee bit of trouble.”

  He looked back down at her, mock surprise his face. “Oh, you think?”

  †

  “But you didn’t take that last fix,” he said.

  “No, I didn’t,” Robyn said. “So in a way, I’m the one who got gypped. Not Satan.”

  “Well, it appears that he doesn’t see it that way. He gave you the fix. You didn’t take it. Not his problem.”

  “Jesus, whose side are you on, anyway?” She shook her head. “This entire thing is ridiculous. People don’t really sell their souls, right? The devil doesn’t really show up and offer them a deal, right?”

  “You tell me,” the narc said. “Did he?”

  “I don’t know. I wasn’t quite in my right mind at the time, what with jonesing and saving some woman’s life and all…”

  He held out his palms. “Whoa, whoa. Back up. What was that? Saving a woman’s life?”

  Robyn wished she hadn’t mentioned it. She’d have to relive it now, in the telling. “Yes. I was looking for my connection. He was late. Fucking with me, I’m sure. And this woman was being attacked. I stopped the attack, but…”

  “But?”

  “But he got me instead. I thought he’d killed me. He choked me.” Robyn lifted her neck to show him.

  “And then he cut you. Yeah. You’re a lot tougher than you look. What happened, exactly?”

  “It happened when I went after him. He was going to rape her.”

  “She got away?”

  “Yeah.” Robyn looked down. “She’s fine, I think. I hope.” Otherwise Robyn herself was raped for nothing.

  The narc reached a hand out to Robyn. The look in his eyes, bordering on pity, told her that he’d figured out that Robyn had taken her place in that department. She flinched back. “Don’t touch me.”

  “I’m sorry. Look, you need to clean up. You look like a walking nightmare. Go get in the shower. I’ve got food in the cupboards, too. And in the fridge I think I have some beer.”

  Robyn looked down at herself. Blood stained her top and the legs of her jeans. It was amazing she was even standing. “I guess I do need a shower.” She crossed her arms over her chest and looked at the windows covering the side of the house facing the lake. Moonlight floated on the water’s surface. “You need one too.”

  “Right after you.”

  She paused, looking again out at the water. “It’s beautiful here, the view of the lake.”

  “Yeah. I love it here.”

  “Keep an eye out, okay? I don’t think those last two… whatever they were, are the only ones he’ll send after me.”

  “You mean the devil.” He was trying out the thought on his own tongue, but he didn’t sound like he disbelieved her.

  “Yeah. His… collectors.”

  “I’ll keep watch. The bathroom is through that door.” He pointed to a door right off the living room.

  “Thanks.”

  She didn’t know how long she had before more came after her, but at least this time she’d be clean and have some food in her.

  She stripped out of the filthy clothes that clung to her body. Dirt, and blood—and God knew what else—encrusted them. She planned on throwing them away as soon as she had fresh ones. The narc must have clothes she could wear, even if they were big on her.

  So what was she waiting for? She stood in front of the mirror, staring at her image. She barely recognized herself. Beyond skinny, pale, her eyes wild looking.

  She dug the vial out of her jeans’ pocket. Clutched it in her hand. For some reason, she didn’t want to let it go. Put it down.

  No. One last fix. She looked down at her hand. Slowly opened it. The vial lay in her palm, the glass warm against her skin. The powder sparkled and glowed, pearly, many colors, like a rainbow.

  Put it down. You don’t know what it will do to you or what the hell it even is. But a part of her didn’t care.

  She realized that the cravings were gone. They had been ever since she’d died for that moment and come back.

  “Which time?” Her voice sounded loud, echoing in the bathroom.

  She had died during that attack, hadn’t she? She’d come back that first time. But why?

  His voice was muffled behind the door. “Did you say something?”

  “Just talking to myself,” she said. “Do you have any fresh clothes I can wear?”

  He paused for a long moment. “Yeah. I do.”

  “Thanks.” She slowly reached out for the button to plug the sink, then placed the vial on the porcelain.

  “Do you want me to put that vial somewhere?”

  “Not yet.”

  Another pause. “Okay, let me know.”

  She would. She’d let him know. She’d jump right on that. Hand it right over.

  She shook her head. She was starting to feel punchy.

  Been a hell of a day.

  †

  When she pulled the shower curtain back, she saw a pair of faded jeans and a black T-shirt folded on top of the sink. Hanging on the hook beside her was a big, white, fluffy towel. This was good, since she’d forgotten to look for one before she’d stepped into the steamy shower.


  Not taking her eyes off the clothes, or the vial that still sat on the sink, she toweled herself off. The towel was softer than she preferred. Beggars can’t be choosers, but she liked rough towels. She wanted to feel the fabric rough against her skin.

  The clothes were definitely women’s clothes. They were much smaller than anything the narc would wear, and they had a more feminine cut to them.

  She wondered where he’d found them.

  Oh Christ. I hope he’s not some kind of weirdo who has women buried out in the woods around here. She stifled a hysterical laugh. That would be just her luck. Out of the frying pan, into the fire.

  Robyn held the jeans up. They might fit her, but she’d have to roll up the legs. She pulled the jeans on. They were a little big, but they were fine. She turned the bottoms under. The T-shirt would work. She liked black, and this one was solid black with no logos. Just a regular, crewneck tee. Perfect.

  She toweled her hair off a little more, then searched the bathroom drawers for a comb or brush. She found both in the middle drawer. She frowned and lifted them to the light. Long, dark hair. She felt odd adding her own auburn hair to mix with this woman’s hair. She was wearing some other woman’s clothes. Using some other woman’s comb and brush.

  Who was she? Or were there more than just one?

  Robyn combed her hair out quickly, watching her pale face in the mirror. She was somebody she hardly recognized anymore. But at least she was clean.

  Are you really? She shoved the thought away. She wasn’t stoned, and she wasn’t filthy anymore. It was a start.

  She carefully picked up the vial and placed it in her front pocket. She’d have to find a better place for it before it broke.

  What a waste that would be.

  But what the hell is in it?

  “Everything okay?” the narc called out to her, his voice sounding farther away. He must’ve been in the kitchen.

  She went out into the living room. He was cooking something on the stove.

  “I hope you don’t mind spaghetti. I found a can of mushrooms, some canned tomatoes, and some pasta in the cupboard. It’s nothing fancy, but it’ll help you get some strength and energy back. I have a feeling you’re going need it. We both will.” He turned to look at her, his eyes sweeping over her, then dropped his gaze and turned back to the stove.