Soul Deep: Dark Souls, Book 2 (2 page)

Moving as one, the Watchers steadily climbed the stairs.

“They’re here,” he told Regan, who stood abruptly, donning her trademark air of indifference.

He shot her a you’re-not-fooling-me-so-don’t-even-try look, then focused his full attention on Cal.

“Where is he? Where’s the boy?” Cal always got right down to business.

Reluctantly, Regan moved aside to reveal the child.

Their leader approached Benjamin with wary reverence, his golden head bleached by the harsh, midafternoon sun. Cowering beneath Cal’s mercurial gaze, the boy stumbled back, stopping only when the back of his shoes struck the wooden railing.

Marcus didn’t blame the kid for wanting to flee. Cal was…intense, to put it mildly. Add to that his height of nearly six and a half feet, and he had the potential to strike fear even in a grown man’s heart.

“Don’t be afraid,” Cal rasped, and the boy visibly relaxed. Intensity aside, the man had always had a calming effect on humans. Maybe it had something to do with his saint-like features or the mellow, almost hypnotic cadence of his voice.

Whatever the reason, Marcus was grateful for it because the last thing he wanted was to upset Benjamin. From what little Regan had learned from the kid, fear was the catalyst that had triggered the chemical reaction that had pulverized his parents.

Assuming it was a chemical reaction. Right now, the only thing they could be sure of was that they couldn’t be sure of anything.

“Are you an angel?” the boy whispered, reaching out his hand to tentatively swipe at the air around Cal.

Cal stilled, Jace arched two curious brows, and Marcus barked out a laugh. “Something like that,” he said, since everyone else had apparently gone mute.

Jace and Cal exchanged conspiratorial glances, and Marcus bristled. Ever since they’d returned from their mission in the catacombs, where Jace had fulfilled his destiny by destroying their most powerful enemy, Athanatos, Marcus couldn’t help but feel he was out of the loop. For nearly two centuries, he’d been Cal’s right-hand man, and now he felt excluded, the butt of an inside joke, plagued by an unwavering certainty that these two knew something he didn’t.

Reclaiming his composure, Cal pried his attention from the boy long enough to issue an order. “Marcus, Regan, why don’t you show Lia the bodies? Perhaps she can make sense of what happened to them. Jace and I will speak with the boy.”

Marcus opened his mouth to protest, but his leader shot him a quelling look. “Alone,” he added, his tone non-negotiable.

Biting back a retort, Marcus hastened into the house, feeling as if he’d been sucker punched. Till now, whatever conspiracy Jace and Cal shared had puzzled him, nothing more, nothing less. But suddenly, resentment shot through him, making bitterness sour in his throat and anger bubble in his veins, reactions that were all too human for his liking. One hundred and ninety-three years of loyal service and this was how Cal rewarded him, by treating him like an afterthought.

Inside the kitchen, Lia hunkered over the remains, examining them. She’d been a doctor back when she was human, and in these types of situations her old skills proved an asset.

“I’m not sure what to make of this,” she said. “There are no visible lesions. All their organs have been liquefied, as if they came in contact with some kind of acid. The skin looks practically mummified.”

Regan crouched beside Lia, concern pleating her thin brows. “Is there any way a little boy could’ve done this?”

“A human boy?” Lia shook her head. “Not likely. Then again, I was able to project energy before I turned.” She shot an apologetic grin at Marcus. “Sent you flying across the room, if I remember correctly.”

Since her transformation, Lia’s memories of her past life were somewhat fuzzy, but with each passing day they grew clearer, thanks to the bond she shared with her boyfriend, Jace. Jace was the only Watcher who had a soul—two to be precise, the same two souls that had once belonged to Lia.

A short pause followed. “Unless—” Furrows lined Lia’s forehead, and she grew silent.

“Unless what?” Marcus probed.

“Unless he’s a twin soul, like I was.”

Marcus nodded, satisfied. “My thoughts exactly.”

Chapter Three

Bending his knees, Cal lowered his body next to the boy’s to keep from towering over him. The child’s innocent question had given birth to a slew of his own. “Why would you think I’m an angel?” He exchanged a meaningful glance with Jace, the only Watcher who knew the truth about him—that he was a fallen angel.

The boy bit down on his lower lip and shrugged. “Your skin glows. And you’ve got wings.” He pointed to an obscure point beyond Cal’s head. “They’re very light. Almost invisible. More like a shadow.”

“Fascinating.” Cal shook his head, fighting to subdue a growing sense of unease. “He can see through time,” he told Jace. “In his mind’s eye, my current image is juxtaposed with the one I bore in the past.”

Jace leaned against the railing and crossed his legs at the ankles, looking both interested and skeptical. “What exactly does that mean? Is he a Hybrid?”

All the Watchers were Hybrids. Unlike the Kleptopsychs, who were soulless from birth, Hybrids were born human and only came into their powers much later, when they died and their souls left their bodies. Sometimes, however, there were signs before their transformation, like the ability to read someone’s mind or move an object with nothing more than a concentrated thought.

“Possibly.” Cal hoped the boy was indeed a Hybrid, because the alternative was far more dangerous. “But there’s a far greater chance he’s a seer, or a clairvoyant, as they are known nowadays.”

“A fortune-teller?”

“Not like the ones you’re thinking of. Seers today are just that—
see-ers
. They merely catch glimpses of the future. Their souls are too weak to do much else. But a very long time ago, before souls were divided, seers had unimaginable power. The power not only to glimpse the future but to shape it.”

Jace exhaled a long stream of air. He pulled Cal aside, far enough away from the boy so he couldn’t hear them but close enough to keep an eye on him. “So how’d he fry his parents?”

“All it takes is a vision. He saw it in his mind’s eye and made it happen. Usually the visions come at times of great distress. Fear or pain or sadness can trigger them. Seers were once used as prophets. Through them, the angels shaped the future by making them see whatever destiny they hoped to will into existence.”

Jace shot a curious look the boy’s way. “But that was ages ago, when souls were whole. How can one of these
seers
be living today, in a cottage in Newport, Oregon, no less?”

Cal angled a glance at the heavens, their mysteries locked behind tall, gilded doors that were now forever closed to him. “Interesting question. But even more interesting is why?” He had a theory, but he couldn’t voice it. Not until he was certain. “Why now?”

Back at the Watchers’ complex, Regan stood guard as Ben slept, curled in a ball, a flimsy blanket drawn all the way to his chin. After they’d burned down his house, along with all evidence of his parents’ death, they’d decided to bring him here to Cascade Head, where—at the heart of a sprawling metal construction once rumored to be a secret military base—the Watchers had set up their headquarters a year and a half ago. Reinforced with numerous shields meant to keep their enemies out, the complex was the safest place for Ben.

For the time being, anyway. She knew he couldn’t stay here forever. Regardless of how pure his essence was, he was still human, which meant prolonged exposure to the dark energy her kind emitted would eventually corrupt him.

The thought depressed her. Now that his parents were gone, he was all alone in the world. What would become of the child?

Careful not to wake him, she smoothed down the wild locks of his hair. The uneven tufts felt soft and rough at the same time, like coarse silk. He looked so tiny, so harmless, it was hard to imagine him causing the kind of damage she’d witnessed in that kitchen today.

But he had. He’d admitted as much himself.

He turned sideways in the makeshift bed, an old cot she’d set up in her stark, no-nonsense room. Hardly a room that would appeal to a child. For the first time, she regretted the lack of decor, the lack of warmth or personal detail. The only thing that added a splash of color to the place was the forest green chenille throw she’d draped over his thin body. His small hands fisted around the blanket, drawing it against his chest the way he would a shield. Emotion pooled in her throat, and she swallowed to wash it away. She’d always had the ability to feel, but never with such vivid intensity. Something had changed in her today. The part of her that had once been human had come alive again.

All because of this lost little boy.

“If you’re not careful, you’re going to give yourself away.”

Marcus’s voice startled her, and her gaze shot to the door, where he stood leaning against the doorjamb. Black jeans hugged his long, sinewy legs, and a dark T-shirt stretched over his wide, muscular chest. An uneasy sensation blossomed in her chest, and she looked away. Her partner painted a compelling picture. The kind of picture that could make a woman forget who she was and all the promises she’d made.

But most unsettling of all was the glint of shrewd intelligence she always caught in his eyes. Marcus had a way of looking at her that made her feel vulnerable and entirely exposed.

“I have no idea what you mean,” she lied.

“You’ve been wearing your heart on your sleeve all afternoon. If you keep it up, the others will notice and start wondering if you’re feeding on the sly.”

The most common way for their kind to experience deep, unadulterated emotion was to ingest a human soul, something the Watchers were loath to do. That was the very thing that set them apart from their enemies—the Kleptopsychs and the Rogues—who had no such qualms.

Regan resented the accusation. “That’s a load of bull, and you know it. I’ve never taken a soul. Ever.” Her link to her lost soul was strong, always had been, especially after she’d taken the blood vow. As long as that soul remained in circulation, free to be reborn, she could fight the dark urges that perpetually plagued her kind.

She met Marcus’s penetrating stare in blatant challenge. “Can you say the same?”

“We’re not talking about me.” Swaggering into the room with an arrogant confidence that annoyed the hell out of her, he dragged a chair next to the bed and folded his tall, lean body into it. “What’s going on with you, Regan? I’ve always suspected that you feel a little more than the rest of us, but you’re usually pretty good at hiding it. Lately, though, you’ve grown careless. First there was that whole business with you training Jace behind Cal’s back, and now this.”

She closed her eyes, released a tremulous sigh. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“I can’t.” Concern swam in his dark blue gaze.

“Why? Why do you care?”

He reached out and clasped a strand of her hair, rubbing it between rough fingers. “Because we’ve been partners for over thirty years and I’d hate to see your pretty little head end up on the chopping block.” Briefly, his eyes fell to her mouth, and her stomach clamped in painful response. “That would be a terrible, terrible waste.”

She swallowed her discomfort and fought to ease her galloping pulse, certain he could hear it. “Yeah, you’d have no one to boss around anymore.”

The crooked smile he gave her made her forget how aggravating he was. “I
do
enjoy that. Not that you take orders very well.”

He released her hair and leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers as though struggling not to touch her again. Regan wasn’t sure if the sensation that traveled through her was relief or disappointment.

“So what do you make of the boy?” he asked, abruptly changing the subject.

“There’s no darkness in him. I’m sure of it.”

“We didn’t sense the darkness in Lia either until she died. A twin soul can mask these things. Especially one so powerful.”

“No.” Her tone was adamant. “He has no tainted blood in him.” She realized she was clenching her fists and forced herself to relax.

Marcus eyed her reproachfully. “You’re too invested in this. You’re not thinking clearly.”

He was probably right. Ever since she’d pulled Ben out of that pantry, her emotions had been in a tailspin. She wasn’t used to this, didn’t know exactly how to handle it.

“I know what I feel.”

“That’s the problem. You’re feeling.” Deep grooves lined his forehead. “And so am I.”

“What?”

“You heard me. There’s something about this boy. Something different, potent. And it scares me.”

His confession stunned her. Marcus rarely admitted to feeling anything, let alone fear.

Ben stirred again, and briefly his eyes sprang open. He gave her a tentative smile, his cheeks dimpling, and affection blossomed in her once-withered heart. She fought the urge to stroke his hair again, to let her palm linger on his face.

When she was certain Ben had drifted back to sleep, her attention shifted to Marcus. “There’s nothing to be afraid of,” she whispered. “He’s just a boy.”