Soul Trade Read online

  The smell of frying mushrooms, garlic, and onions made her stomach whimper. She was suddenly famished, and didn’t mind the faint scent of hobo that lingered.

  Still, he must’ve cleaned up in the kitchen sink some, because he looked and smelled a lot cleaner than he had before. “It’s great, thanks.”

  “It’s been a while since I’ve been here. I wasn’t sure if I had much that was edible. But this will work.”

  Robyn sat on a stool at the counter and watched him cook. The place was open concept, and the counter served as a bar as well as a place to eat.

  “Who was she?” she asked him. She had to know what was causing the air to thicken uncomfortably between them.

  “She was my wife,” he said, not turning around. He added some seasoning to the food.

  “Where is she now?” It was clear that the woman was no longer here. Was he expecting her to return? Hoping that she would?

  “Dead.” His tone rose just a little as he tried to make it sound like it didn’t bother him so much anymore.

  “I’m sorry,” Robyn said. She was both relieved and disturbed by the idea that the woman wasn’t coming back. She frowned as she realized that she still felt like an intruder in the woman’s space.

  She didn’t ask what happened. He’d tell her if and when he wanted to tell her.

  “My name is Robyn, by the way.” She left out her last name for now. It would just be nice to think of him as something other than “the narc”.

  “Toby,” he said, his tone returning to its regular, low, gravelly sound. “October.”

  They’d stick with first names for now. “Nice little place you have here. Comfortable.” She was feeling a little ridiculous making small talk. What next? The weather?

  What were they going to talk about? Headless cops clawing at her, still trying to grab her when they should’ve dropped?

  They’d have to talk about them. There would be more; she was sure Toby was right about that.

  “Thanks,” he said, dishing pasta into thick, sturdy-looking bowls. “We bought it about three years ago, but didn’t get to use it much.” He looked up at her. “I haven’t had much time to clean things out.”

  Robyn nodded.

  He opened the fridge and came back with a container of dried parmesan cheese and shook some onto his pasta. He placed it in front of her bowl. “I don’t see a use by date. Eat at your own risk.”

  Robyn shook some on her own pasta. A little parmesan cheese past its prime was the least of her worries.

  They ate in silence for a while.

  “What do you think happened to them, after we ran?” Robyn asked him. They had run like hell, not pausing to look back. Had the cops just kept on stumbling around, grasping for her? Had they finally dropped?

  “I listened to my scanner while you were in the shower. Nothing. Maybe they grew new heads and went about their merry way of trying to drag somebody else to Hell.”

  “So they’re still out there. Marvy.”

  “Yeah,” he said around a mouthful of pasta. “And probably looking for us.”

  “Looking for me,” Robyn said.

  “Looking for us. I’m in this now. And I am the one who pulled the trigger, remember?”

  “Thanks for that.” She finally took a bite of her own meal and her eyes almost rolled back in her head, it was so good. “Mmmm. Wow.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Not finished,” she said, still chewing. “You don’t need to keep helping me. I don’t want to put you in danger. I can figure it out on my own. Been doing that for some time, now.”

  He barked out a laugh. “Yeah. Wonderfully.” His face turned serious. “What happened to you, Robyn?”

  She knew what he meant. How did she end up such a mess? A heroin addict on the streets, willing to do anything for her next fix. The walking dead.

  Robyn stared at him. He had no idea what he was asking her to tell him. It was a wound she’d rather not have ripped raw at that moment, if it was all the same to him.

  She said nothing. Looked at him with the same blank stare she’d given so many people in the last few years.

  He held up a hand. “Your business. Sorry. Look, I’m not leaving you alone in this. I’ve never seen anything like those things, but all I know is: they weren’t natural. You can’t fight them on your own. They’ll get you eventually.” He watched her for a long moment, gathered their plates. “I’m gonna take a shower. Scream if you need me.”

  “Right. Will do. So how do you think we can stop them?”

  “Weapons,” he said with a grin. “Really, really good weapons.”

  Chapter 4

  He looked nice without the beard. He had a kind, open face.

  “I like it,” Robyn said.

  He smiled. “Thanks.”

  He took the first shift, let her sleep curled up in the spare bedroom. He was torn, it seemed, between wanting to offer her privacy but not wanting her out of his sight. Finally, she’d talked him into letting her sleep in the spare bedroom off the living room. He could practically hear her blink, she was sure. The walls seemed paper thin, and there were no sounds in the house.

  No television. No radio. Just the shifting sound of him moving around out there. The lights were off. He was alone in the dark. She knew why. He couldn’t see what was out there in the dark if the lights were on. But they could see him.

  She shivered under the covers. The early spring air was still cold overnight, even though the days could be in the eighties. Like today was.

  She thought of a night about two years ago, when the snow was falling heavily, swirling all around. Snowing so hard she couldn’t see the road. Almost missed seeing the woman waving her arms and running toward her car.

  Robyn tugged the blankets higher around her. She’d slept for maybe a half hour and had lain awake the rest of the night. She felt cold all the way through to her soul.

  She thought of the vial. She’d found a tiny, bejeweled box in one of the drawers, within which a pair of silver, cross-shaped earrings lay. Celtic crosses. Delicate and beautiful.

  The vial lay between them.

  Toby had asked her what she wanted to do with it.

  She’d said she didn’t know yet. They couldn’t very well just toss it. Christ knew what was in it.

  They couldn’t take it to the nearest lab to be tested.

  Not the nearest, maybe, he’d said. But he knew somebody who could test it. He was a narc, after all. He knew some good people out there. People with access to fancy equipment. People that could be shady as hell when the situation called for it.

  But the thought of somebody else even touching the vial sent panic jolting through her. She wanted to sleep with it gripped in the palm of her hand.

  But what if it broke?

  What if I tried it? her mind whispered. Just a little.

  It could kill you.

  Yes, it could. So?

  She argued with herself half the night.

  Her muscles were sore. Her throat hurt where the lowlife rapist had cut her. But otherwise she felt okay. No cravings. Something had happened after she’d ODed and been brought back to life by Toby. She actually felt half decent.

  Until, while drifting between sleep and wakefulness, she saw the swirling, sparkling snow and a shape in a long, fitted, blood-red coat waving her arms in the air.

  Just like when it happened. The night that changed the course of her life forever.

  Robyn sat up, gasping, and hugged her knees. She buried her face in her hands and tried not to scream. Beads of sweat had popped up along her hairline, making her hair feel damp, and a drop trailed its way down between her shoulder blades. She shivered.

  I can’t take this. I can’t take not forgetting. Not obliterating the horror of what I’ve done. What I’ve caused.

  She lifted her face and drew a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “I can’t live with this sober. I need something,” she whispered to the empty room. She stared at the shadows in t
he dark, as if waiting for an answer.

  None came.

  She stood and padded to the tiny box on the dresser, lifting it into her hands. She lifted the lid and gazed in at the little vial of sparkling powder. Sparkling almost like the swirling snow that day.

  Carefully she pulled the top off the vial.

  You snort it. Anything in a vial like this, anything powdery, is snorted.

  She poured a neat line on the back of her hand. Amazed at how neatly it came out. As if it knew exactly how to fall on her skin.

  Her skin tingled. A zing of pleasure moved through her.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered to the empty room, and snorted the line.

  †

  A billion fingers of bliss feathered through her. Every cell burst with almost unbearable pleasure. Fireworks in a kaleidoscope of colors flashed behind her eyes, and she reached out with both hands to touch them, stars and squiggles zigzagging and shooting across her field of vision.

  She felt herself laughing, the most joyous laugh she’d ever heard, and smiled at the sound, wanting to hear it forever, not wanting it ever to end. Her heart was open. She could feel it. There were no walls around her: for the first time ever, she was sure. Her heart was reaching, reaching for any soul that needed her, all on its own.

  A high, gorgeous voice sang somewhere, and Robyn strained to hear it. She was flying. Her soul was flying around her. She could see herself sitting back against the bed, smiling.

  The beautiful, clear song turned into a high-pitched screech. The sound of large wings moving through the air, battering against glass.

  Robyn frowned, turned around. She was floating, but the colors were gone. Suddenly there were only shadows. She sensed something there with her, watching. Something was coming toward her. A dark, shadowy figure that filled her with inexplicable fear and dread.

  She began floating backward. The sound of huge wings continued battering against glass. What was that? She was too afraid to look away from the dark figure. His head was lowered, but she sensed him looking at her.

  He lifted his head, and the sound of a deep inhalation of breath came from him. Robyn’s breath caught in her throat. She couldn’t breathe.

  Oh my God. I can’t breathe! I’m going to die!

  The sound of shattering glass and the sheen of clear, blinding white, beating through the air; the sound of screeching almost breaking her eardrums. Huge, pearly feathers beat around her, enfolding her, and her breath came back into her in a whoosh!

  “Robyn!”

  She opened her eyes and bent over, gasping. “Yeah.”

  A pause.

  “Yeah?” He sounded pissed. “Jesus!”

  She looked up at Toby, who stood over her, hand on her arm, eyes wide and alarmed. “Bad dream.”

  “Like hell!” He held the vial in the palm of his hand, lifting it to her face. “Bad trip is more like it.”

  Robyn straightened, still weak-kneed but unwilling to show it. “Oops.”

  Toby stared at her. “You really don’t care if you die, do you?”

  “It didn’t kill me. I’m fine.” She cringed inwardly at her own words. She sounded like every other druggie making excuses for their addiction.

  “Robyn, more of those things could’ve come after us. You’d be gone if they had and I wasn’t with you. You can’t fight them off if you’re too busy tripping. Don’t you get it?”

  She nodded, still catching her breath. “I get it.”

  “We don’t know what this shit will do to you.”

  She said nothing, but felt a cold wind wrap itself around her. She hugged herself. “Christ it’s cold.”

  “That’s what happens when you break a window during a bad trip,” Toby said, stepping over to the shards of glass lying beneath the broken window. “I thought it was those zombie things breaking in. But it was you. You were gone. Out of it.”

  “I didn’t break it,” she said.

  “Right. Who did?”

  She held out her hands. “Look. No blood. No scratches. I didn’t break the damned window.”

  He looked back at the window. “Who did, then?”

  She followed his gaze toward the window. What was she going to say? A giant, white bird from her psychedelic trip? She pulled it into the real world somehow? Riiiight.

  The bird had saved her ass. She knew this on a visceral level. She felt without question that she’d have been a goner if it hadn’t shown up.

  “Whatever. I have to fix this. Board it up for now. After that, do you think you can handle staying awake and lucid while I sleep?”

  “Yeah.” Her tone was so matter-of-fact that she wanted to laugh.

  “Good. That would be good. Now help me fix this.”

  “That was the last time. I’m done. I just needed to know what was in that vial.” Why was she was trying to explain herself?

  He turned and glared at her. “And you know what? If you think I’m going to try to keep your stoned ass alive while you ride the magic dragon, you’re dead wrong. You’d better make a decision right here and now. You either live or you die, because I have a hell of a lot better things to do than trying to save a lost cause. You hearing me?”

  She nodded. Why was he trying to save her anyway? He didn’t owe her anything.

  “So which is it?” he asked, looking down at her.

  Well, if he was willing to put his ass on the line for her, she really should give it a go. “Live.”

  “Good. Then help me fix this window, would you? I’m freezing my ass off.”

  †

  Robyn sat on an old, overstuffed chair, legs slung over one fluffy arm, with a cup of instant coffee in her hands. It was surprising how good the stuff tasted. She used to buy instant coffee when she was a college. Couldn’t be bothered buying a coffeemaker. Or maybe she thought she was a rebel.

  She stared at the television. A local news channel was on, sound off. She read the headlines under the screen and watched the faces mouthing silent words. Her neck ached. Her head ached, and her body yearned for the sleep that hadn’t come for her.

  Toby slept on the sofa. He refused to leave the room, and his eyes opened each time she left the chair. He didn’t trust her not to take off and look for another fix somewhere. Why should he? He’d seen enough druggies to know what they were like. It was amazing that he’d given her the benefit of the doubt earlier. Trust was earned. And she’d blown it.

  She didn’t trust herself. Hadn’t in a while. She wasn’t known for her good decision-making abilities anyway.

  Her gaze flicked from face to face, headline to headline. Until one headline made her sit up straight, sloshing tepid coffee on her arm.

  “World-famous multi-millionaire dies–again!” the headline read.

  Robyn turned the sound up. A pretty brunette cheerfully chirped, “Only a day after being revived on the operating table, multi-millionaire real-estate giant Brantford Haus was found dead in the swimming pool at his mansion.”

  “Holy shit,” Toby said, sitting up and watching the television closely.

  The news anchor continued, “Just yesterday Haus suffered a severe allergic reaction to the anesthesia used while undergoing a plastic-surgery procedure, and actually died for close to two minutes on the operating table. Fast-acting doctors were able to combat the reaction and revive Haus, who called it a miracle.

  “Haus was kept overnight for observation and released this morning. However, this evening friends found him dead in his swimming pool. An odd and disturbing discovery. Police do not suspect foul play in Haus’s death at this time.”

  Robyn felt a chill slither through her. “That’s shady.”

  “Sounds a bit familiar, doesn’t it?”

  “What do you want to bet that he made a deal for those cool millions of his?” Robyn said, watching as Toby left the sofa and headed toward the window.

  Toby squinted out at the orange and pink horizon. “That’s what I’m thinking. Sometimes people just get lucky, but other times,
you gotta wonder. I always wondered about that bastard.”

  He turned toward her, long and lean. “All that cash and all those women, a new one weekly it seemed. Christ, you’d think he was Hugh Hefner.”

  Robyn snorted. “Don’t even get me started on him.”

  Toby chuckled. “Well, it does happen for some people. They have nothing and they pull themselves up by the boot strings, or suddenly they make really good. But sometimes…” He shook his head, long, dark waves curling around his ears.

  He needed a haircut. Robyn was sure it wasn’t exactly first on his priority list. But she didn’t exactly look stunning either.

  “You just wonder,” he continued. “You know?”

  “He did look like he died and forgot to drop,” Robyn said. “But he’s been looking like that for a while.”

  “Hence the plastic surgery,” Toby said.

  “Plastic surgery makes people look worse. Christ, he looked like something out of a wax museum.” Robyn started pacing. “I feel like a goldfish in a bowl right now. I feel like we have to do something. I mean, what are we waiting for? More of those things to come get us?”

  “Nice use of the word ‘us’.” Toby lifted an eyebrow.

  “Well, what was all that crap about not leaving me, blah, blah, blah?”

  He lifted his hands, palms up. “I’m just yanking your chain, Robyn.”

  “Very funny.” Robyn crossed her arms over her chest.

  “I have a friend who might be able to help us with weapons. As we’ve discovered, regular guns aren’t going to do much other than slow them down, if there are more. I don’t think we should take chances.”

  “Hope for the best, prepare for the worst.”

  “Right.”

  Robyn lifted her hands. “Okay. Let’s go see your friend.”

  †

  “Woods or water?” Toby asked her as they left the cabin.

  Robyn looked out at the blackness. She couldn’t see a single tree from where they stood. They wouldn’t see anything coming at them. Then again, the devil’s minions—or whatever the hell they were—might not be able to see them, either. But she wasn’t going to count on it.