Her Soul for Revenge (Souls Trilogy)

The sun had set, and the smell of smoke was in the air. Something in Abelaum was burning; I could see the plume of smoke rising over the trees to the south. The air felt strange, it felt charged. Like a livewire sparking electricity through a pool of water.

We drove into Abelaum with the headlights off, and as we reached town, I spotted the cause of the smoke: the Food Mart on the corner of Main Street and 1st had been burned to the ground. I stared as we drove past, the parking lot closed off with ribbons of yellow tape.

Police were everywhere, and the sharp scent of blood and gasoline was in the air. As I glanced over, a body bag was lifted from the concrete and loaded into the back of the van.

“Shit is escalating fast,” Juniper said softly.

“The God won’t waste time,” I said grimly. “Its return to power is too close for It to start slacking. It’s only going to get more vicious. More violent. And now It has Jeremiah to carry out Its will.”

“Not for much longer,” she muttered. I knew how badly she’d wanted to do it herself: she had wanted to end Jeremiah’s life by her own hand, and I didn’t blame her. But things had changed now, the danger was greater and far more urgent.

I needed to end this, and end it quickly.

Jeremiah had only a fragment of the Deep One’s power, but even that made him a significant threat. The power contained in him had been palpable when I’d seen him in the woods, but it was also chaotic, difficult to grasp the true depth of.

I wasn’t entirely sure what I’d be up against.

My own power was growing all the time, as all soul hunters’ did. Every soul brought greater strength, and Juniper’s had increased mine to levels I was still uncertain of. I rarely had a need to flex my full strength, so knowing what I was capable of at this point was difficult. But I sensed the changes in myself. Manipulating the energy and aether around me was easier than ever.

The whites of my eyes were darkening too. The golden irises I’d always had were deepening in color. If a demon grew strong enough, their eyes would turn black entirely.

Like the Archdemons. Like Callum.

I couldn’t match beings like that yet. But damn, I hoped I was close. I was going to need it.

Everything just smelled wrong, and it got worse the closer we moved toward the Hadleigh house. Rain streaked over the windshield as we drove, the road briefly illuminated by a flash of lightning. I was glad for the rain; it would cool down my raging body temperature and keep Juniper better hidden.

When we reached the property, approaching it under the cover of darkness beneath the trees, we found it had changed since we’d last been there.

The huge lawn, usually pristinely trimmed, had grown long and wild. White mushrooms had sprouted up everywhere, so prolific there was a stringy, pale webbing spread across the lawn between the various clusters.

The driveway was packed with cars, and through the lit windows, I could see a crowd of people gathered in the living room. They were young men and women with tired, wide-eyed expressions. I spotted guns on the counter, but no one seemed ready for an attack. They were drinking beers, conversing quietly.

There was no sign of Jeremiah.

“I’m going to go find him,” I said. Juniper nodded, her shotgun gripped tight in her hands. “If shit goes south, you leave. Understand?”

She narrowed her eyes. “If you need my help, then —”

“No,” I said, crouching over her, my voice tight with the desperate hope she’d understand. “Juniper, if I can’t kill him, then things are far worse than I thought. If I can’t kill him, you need to get out of Abelaum. Get out of the country. Go as far away as you can.”

She looked away, shaking her head. “I’m not making any promises, Zane.”

It was the best I was going to get. She was smart, and she knew what she was capable of. If it came down to it, she’d know when to run.

Even if it hurt.

Even if it meant leaving me to die.

“Stay hidden, and wait for me,” I said. Crouching low, and moving fast, I made my way out of the trees and toward the house.

It smelled even worse inside.

Black patches of mold had grown on the walls, and the white carpet looked dingy and yellowed. I made my way down the hall, sniffing the air, assessing who all were in the house with me. There were eight humans in the living room, and half of them were deeply intoxicated.

“Tommy never should have gone with him,” someone said, sniffling, a tremble in their voice. “I tried to tell him —”

“Sshh, shut up,” another voice snapped. “Don’t let him hear you talking like that. This is a bad time to start getting all sensitive about this shit, get it? We knew some of us would die. We’ve been told that from the beginning.”

I eagerly licked my lips. Lives would indeed be lost — all of them. I still couldn’t smell Jeremiah. There was just that overbearing stench of mold and rot tickling my nose. Maybe he was out. That at least gave me time to set up a lovely little Welcome Home present for him.

Those eight humans didn’t stand a chance. It was almost too easy. When I walked into the living room, their blank faces stared at me with utter confusion, unmoving. Their bodies tensed in their seats, their wide eyes blinking rapidly.

Not a single one of them had their weapons close at hand. And this was supposed to be Jeremiah’s chosen few? What an embarrassment.

Slowly, one of the men stood. “Who the hell are you?”

I stretched my arms, gave a comfortable little groan, and said, “Me? Oh, I’m just a messenger.”

They frowned, looking amongst each other in confusion. Some of them looked nervously at their weapons. More of them were getting to their feet.

“Messenger?” the man said. “What…what’s the message?”

I cleared my throat, hands clasped politely behind my back. “Ah, give me a moment. I’ll have to recite it from memory. Let’s see: To the evil human-sacrificing cunts that call themselves Libiri” — I crossed the room before any of them could react, grabbed a man’s head in my hands, twisted it, and ripped it off his body — “fuck you.”

Chaos erupted. They tried to reach their weapons, but humans were just so pitifully slow. I caught another, ripped open their throat, and flung their body across the room to crash against another one before he could make it out the door. Blood spattered across the walls, across the window, across the perfectly clean white couches.

There was something really satisfying about fresh blood against white cloth. It was honestly kind of poetic.

Within minutes, eight bodies lay at my feet. I cracked my knuckles and waved out the window toward where I knew Juniper would be watching. I hoped she’d enjoyed the show, because there was more to come.

I got things tidied up. I moved the bodies up on the couch and smeared a little more blood around to make a lovely “Welcome Home, J” message on the wall. Then I took a seat, picking bits of flesh from beneath my claws, and waited for the guest of honor to walk in the door.

I didn’t have to wait long.

Within minutes, I heard tires crunching on the gravel driveway. Tension knotted through my muscles, eager for what was to come. My foot tapped impatiently, the scent of the blood around me making my mouth water. Footsteps approached the front door — Jeremiah wasn’t alone. At least three others were with him.

The door opened, and Jeremiah stepped inside, flanked by three men. The moment he saw me, he froze.

I smiled, wrapping my arm around the decapitated body beside me. “Hey, buddy. Welcome to the party.”