soul program 01 - heart and souls Read online

  Contents

  Copyright

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty One

  Chapter Twenty Two

  About the Author

  About the Author

  On a Red Horse

  On a Red Horse

  Whispered Desires

  Copyright © 2015 Monica Corwin

  Editor: Paula Dooley

  Cover: Love, Lust, and Lipstick Stains

  All rights reserved.

  HEART AND SOULS

  Monica Corwin

  To Gabriel. My own personal angel.

  Chapter One

  Constance Grace sat bolt upright in a dark alley, the water from the day's thunderstorm already soaking her clothes. Dirty brick walls and refuse crowded close, even though the alley stretched pretty large for the crumbling part of town. The smell alone might cause her another death if she didn’t get out of there. Rotting vegetables or human remains lay beyond the far dumpsters and Constance had no plans to seek it out.

  She rubbed her wet cheeks with dirty hands and grimaced. Her pores were never going to forgive her. The sweetness of chloroform the man had pressed against her face stuck to the back of her throat and nose. Realization struck hard.

  "Great. I freaking died. Again."

  As soon as she said it, she felt another presence nearby. Well, besides the dead man lying down the alleyway with her knife in his leg. He took one of her souls so she didn't care about his safety. The soul was lost, even though he held it in his chubby little body only feet from her. It had been tainted when he'd claimed it for his own, and now Constance could never recover it.

  He'd come at her from behind or he wouldn’t have gotten close. She remembered planting her foot long knife clean through the center of his thigh before she’d blacked out.

  You know the Fathers say "freaking" is close enough to cursing.

  The voice slid into her head without using her ears—male, resonant, and deep. After the shock of his voice in her brain she tried to shake it off. One day she would force him to speak to her properly, and on that day, they would have reckoning for all the times he’d gotten inside her mind without permission.

  Mind-to-mind communication had long been the only way Xander would ever talk to her. In fact, she often feared it to be the only way he could communicate. In the three years since their partnership began she hadn’t heard him utter so much as a syllable.

  Connie reached into her pocket and removed a fob watch on a long delicate gold chain. Her recent murderer hadn't stolen her watch at least. He must have run as soon as he accessed her soul in case her Reaper waited nearby, or he could have been experiencing severe blood loss. The worn metal gave way as she pressed the button and lifted the face. The hands rested silent and still, but the moment she pressed her thumb to the front of the watch the time jumped to the correct number, exactly forty-seven minutes later.

  "I died forty-seven minutes ago. Why'd it take you so long to get here?"

  Traffic.

  "Ha ha, very funny."

  He moved forward, stepping into the light. His perfectly contoured shaved head caught the street lighting, illuminating the tattoos spreading from ear to ear around the back of it. Aramaic symbols covered his skin from neckline to forehead. He might have been handsome if not for the tattoos marking a clear "fuck off" to anyone and everyone. Not to mention the scowl. Or the midnight darkness making up his eyes. Not a pinpoint of light in his gaze, just black.

  Connie and Xander had always maintained a strange relationship. On one hand he scared the ever-loving shit out of her, being a Reaper and all. On the other, they had been working together for so long now they'd developed a familiarity between them, maybe like an older brother. She'd never had a sibling so she couldn't be sure. But she'd never felt closer to another soul.

  She lumbered to her feet, wet and shivering in the chilly night air.

  Xander removed his heavy leather coat, stepped closer, and placed it over her shoulders.

  "Thanks." She shoved her arms into the sleeves. He towered over her—easily over six feet—so the hem dragged on the ground. She hiked it up, holding the mass of leather out of the muck.

  The scent of apostolic incense floated up from the fabric of the coat as she moved, and Connie groaned, thinking of her boss, Father Reynolds. She didn't look forward to his impending call. The boss had probably already heard about the soul loss, and they were never good to put on the day's safety report. Regardless, the soft smoky incense combined with the heavy leather gave her a grounding point—reminding her of Sundays in church with Xander. She breathed in the scent, took it into her lungs, and let her shoulders hang loose. She relaxed for only a heartbeat.

  With a sigh she pulled her long wet hair out of the collar of the coat to hang down her back in a tangled up mess. "Let's get back to the church so we can get this over with." Connie headed toward her car, but Xander stopped on the street and pointed at his own. Connie had no problems leaving her vehicle there in the open. The blackened windows and license plate screamed "church issue," and no one stupid enough to fuck with it lived on this block. She longed to shiver in the comfort of her own vehicle, though. "Really?"

  Protocol.

  "And we're all for protocol, aren't we?" She let out of a long sigh and walked toward his immaculate Mercedes. Black, of course. When one entered church service they renounce creature comforts, but Xander had made some deal with Bishop and got to keep the car. Once they were both inside he turned up the heating in the seats and vents. As she lifted her fingers to allow the warm air access to her tingling digits, she groaned. The noise must have sounded indecent to Xander but she didn't care.

  "I still can't believe you left me there for forty-seven minutes. Also, once I go in for testing you need to send someone for my car. And someone will have to find my service weapon from the evidence bags after they revive the asshole in the alley." She wouldn't have left it if it was her choice but the weapon would now be part of the investigation into him both robbing her of a soul and his death. Once the Reapers got ahold of him though, he might prefer to stay dead.

  You'll need to add pride to your list of sins at confession. And I know you have more than one knife. What possessed you to come out here alone?

  "Pride, huh? I didn't plan on being jumped and stripped of a soul, nor did I think I'd find anyone in the chop shop. I wanted to try and get a read on the new location. And I do have other knives but that one had sentimental value. I caught my first perp with it."

  Well, I didn't expect to be stuck in traffic so I guess we're even.

  Connie dropped her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes. Traffic didn’t exist anymore; no one had vehicles except the rich and the church. She let it go, however, for the time being. With the loss of this soul only seven of her souls remained. She might be able to earn it back if she explained to Bishop the circumstances. The tradeoff didn't seem worth it. As Father Superior of the Reaper Element he skeeved her out even more than his brethren.

  Every single day she regr
etted having stepped foot into Bishop's office. Consecrated ground or not, it made her skin crawl. Bishop’s main office had looked like any other at the church, but walking through the doorway of his workspace felt like pushing through a wall of water. He did some pretty powerful magic in his space and it held a taint from all the souls passing through his door. Ever since that day, Reapers and she did not mix. Bishop could likely be credited for scaring her off them all.

  She shivered at the thought. Bishop had spoken to her for the first time when she’d visited. The only time. Even now as she thought about it, the memory of his actual words eluded her, trying to remember the conversation made her head ache and her eyes burn. She shook it off and took a deep breath. Of course, the man the Reapers reported to for duty, the one doing the tattoos and rituals involved in all the secret Reaper stuff, was bound to be a little...weird.

  The car sped them toward the church at fifty-five, the exact speed limit. Connie wished she could slow the car down, but Xander was not the type to be bargained with. She’d tried within the first year of their partnership to get him to drive faster than the speed limit but the gaze he’d leveled on her for speaking about it had been chilling and she didn’t repeat the mistake.

  "You know, your driving might be the cause of your inability to be on time."

  You know your ego might be the cause of your inability to keep yourself alive.

  She huffed and looked out the window. "Yeah, yeah. Get me to the hospital, alright."

  As expected, her phone began to ring, vibrating against her thigh. She rearranged yards of leather to find it and flipped it open to show the face of her boss, Father Reynolds.

  "Ah, Constance. I’m pleased to see you unharmed."

  She smiled down into the kind and gentle face of her mentor. Father Reynolds was pushing sixty, but still had the young air of someone half his age. His hair was a shock of solid gray and cut short—the only part about him telling of his age. He barely had crow’s feet around his eyes.

  "I’m fine, Father. Wet, but fine."

  He shook his head and scowled in his usual manner. Their next sparring match would be brutal. Bruises still marred her arms where he’d rapped her with a solid wood fighting stick earlier that morning.

  "You have lost a soul, Constance. You’re not fine. You need to come in for the usual exams before you can continue with your duty."

  She stifled the urge to argue. "Yes, Father."

  The tests. Always with the tests. She had been knocked out with chloroform, but her motor skills were intact. The only issue was the soul loss, and she’d known from the moment she woke up she wouldn't be getting that one back.

  "Thank you, my child. I’ll speak to you soon."

  She closed the phone and dropped it into her lap. The tests were even worse than losing the soul. The actual test only took a few minutes at most, but the pain involved could cripple a person if they weren’t prepared.

  She lifted the right sleeve of the jacket, revealing a black leather band covering her forearm from wrist to elbow. Carefully, she unclasped the two braces resting on her inner arm and parted the leather. Before she opened it all the way she glanced at Xander.

  He fixed his gaze on the road.

  A sapphire-colored soul-mark covered her flesh, like a tattoo, from the delicate bone at her wrist to the soft bend at the joint. She swallowed, hard.

  Part of it was gone, erased from where it had been only hours before. The delicate swirls of blue stood out against pale skin. No one knew why soul-marks had certain colors but she always loved the blue, ever since she could understand the significance. When she’d first noticed her soul-mark it had only just begun to bloom on her arm: nine delicate swirls of sapphire blended into the white of her skin. As she aged, the soul-mark grew with her, expanding until it reached its maturity when she’d turned eighteen. The soul-mark had once taken up the length of her arm, but now two pieces of the puzzle were gone, stolen from her. On her last soul loss, her ability to appreciate music had disappeared. She feared what else she’d lost this night.

  She closed the braces and slid the jacket sleeve back down.

  Is it bad?

  She swallowed, measuring her answer. Talking to Xander about one’s soul could prove to be a dangerous business, even more so because Reapers had direct access to each and every soul. From the little she’d learned about Reapers since she’d begun working with Xander she knew he could see her souls inside her when he looked at her. All the magic and mojo involved with Reapers gave Constance nightmares, so she stayed far away from their lore and legend. Not all cases required working with the Reapers, and Connie preferred those.

  "It’s not as bad as it could have been. It’s only about a square inch removed. Nothing is visibly altered and the lines remain clear and unblemished."

  Good.

  Her heart resumed its usual beat as she watched the crumbling houses along the road. This part of town held nothing but drug addicts and soul-swappers. All of them too far gone for the Church’s help. Embracing the Church would save them, in more ways than one. Some of them believed going to the Church meant giving up, even if the consequences were purgatory or hell. Talk of seeking out the unsaved and bringing them into the church by force had run rampant for a while, but the Father Superior informed the parishioners he meant to give the people some free will. He explained to the congregation no one can be forced to accept God’s love. Constance never had a choice. The church or nothing. It had given her sanctuary when she had nowhere else to go. She shook the memories away and focused out the window. To her relief, Xander held his peace until they arrived at the church. Once parked, she twisted out of the seatbelt and opened the door.

  Do you want me to go with you? For the tests?

  Connie almost laughed out loud. A Reaper present for a soul test. Sure, right.

  I promise not to look.

  "No, thank you. I’ll be fine." She took off his coat and hefted it across the center console. Before she could slip out he grabbed her arm and she made the mistake of meeting his gaze. He released her after a moment.

  Connie valued Xander as a partner, but he still scared the shit out of her. Like most churches in the city, the medical section consisted of gray weathered stone and dark alcoves. She entered through the employee entrance and stood in line for the next available nurse. The inner waiting area resembled a hospital—minus the long lines, and with the added benefit of immediate service. Soul care was not taken lightly within the Church.

  She stepped up to the nurse’s station and put down her fob watch on the counter.

  The nurse handled it reverently, opening the face. "Constance Elizabeth Grace. Born 22 December 2102 in New Haven, New York."

  "Yes, ma’am." Connie couldn’t help sounding wary.

  The nurse returned her watch and wrote something on the paper. "Are you a part of the soul-theft division?"

  "Mass theft section, ma’am."

  The nurse arched an eyebrow and gave her the once over. Connie liked to think of herself as compact...unfortunately she hadn't found a t-shirt that said that yet. Others saw her as too short, too thin, too anything that might mean she couldn't do her job.

  Connie frowned severely, and the nurse, undeterred, continued with the paperwork. Once she finished writing she hit the buzzer for the side door. The room she ushered Connie into was plush. Bookshelves lined one wall floor to ceiling, their inhabitants no doubt all about the fall of democracy and the rise of the church’s reign.

  She took a deep breath as the nurse left and settled into a cushy armchair.

  Only minutes passed before the priest entered without so much as a shuffle, made the sign of the cross, and perched across from her in an identical armchair. "The nurse tells me you have lost a soul."

  Connie swallowed, trying not to think about it, and nodded.

  "Souls lost in the service of the church can be reclaimed under the right circumstances."

  She shook her head. "No, Father. I was foolish and pr
ideful, so I think this soul is gone for good."

  He nodded with the solemn air of a seasoned practitioner.

  Connie undid the braces with reluctance and removed the wet leather. The Father reached out and held her wrist with a delicate grasp; his fingers sat cold against her pulse point as he inspected the skin around her soul-marks and forearm. "They seem to be nice and clear. I’m going to touch the part of the soul-mark closest to your wrist now." He extended a long slim finger and placed it on the coil of color closest to her hand.

  Connie gripped the chair. A slice of pain ripped through her from head to toe, as if someone tried to crack her like an egg. The last test had been the same except this prod went deeper into her soul-mark and deeper into her soul. She prepared for more, but the priest released her arm and allowed her to cover herself once again.

  "Clear and unblemished. I think you’re probably fine to return to duty, but be careful in the future. Are you sure you don’t want me to speak to the Bishop on your behalf?"

  Connie shook her head and adjusted the leather band until it sat comfortable again. "No, thank you, Father. I will go to confession tonight and learn from my mistakes."

  The priest stood and she followed suit. He extended his hand toward the door, her cue to leave.

  Now she needed to go find Father Reynolds to get her next assignment. Trotting off half-cocked had been a mistake. If only she’d taken the day to rest like he’d told her to, she wouldn’t be down one soul right now. The last case closed without a bang. They’d busted the chop shop with the help of the Reaper deployment element, but something nagged at Connie. She went back, hoping to find a clue as to what bothered her. Her intuition hadn’t let her down yet. Well—it had now.

  Father Reynolds knelt in prayer in the far side of the church, the part open to the public. Connie waited in the back until he finished and caught his eye as he moved to leave. He motioned her to follow him. "Constance, your life would be less filled with grief if you would but listen to me. Or to your Reaper."

  She resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the mention of listening to Xander. "Yes, Father."