Soul Weaver Read online

  Nathaniel laid the burned golden patch of his soul against the hole left from her impalement, then withdrew a hooked needle and threaded it from the copper spool in his pocket.

  A few precious minutes were all she needed. If he trapped her soul in her body, mortals would come and resuscitation could begin.

  His quick stitches secured her buoyant spirit. Even if it wanted to, it couldn’t wander away now.

  Searching the clouds one last time, he noted her escorts still hadn’t arrived and their absence was telling. It proved she would have died alone and been lost. Now he hoped she would remedy her situation, reach out and forge ties of friendship… bonds of love.

  Cries from a pair of motorists overhead drew his attention toward the forgotten guardrail and roadway beyond. In the distance, sirens wailed and horns blared.

  His fingertips brushed the woman’s pale lips and they parted, exhaling warm breath across his palm. “Make better use of your time, meira. No one can know when it will end.”

  His skin prickled with awareness as he sensed the belated approach of his angelic kin. He spared a glance at the forgotten truck. Waves of blue-green rippled around the cab. Despite the truck driver’s hand in this tragedy, his soul held a brilliant gleam. It was his light calling attention to their location, which meant Nathaniel’s time had run out.

  They would overlook her soul in its untethered state and therefore his handiwork as well.

  After all, choosing to spare a soul required independent thought. Not an angel’s strong suit.

  He stood drunkenly and gasped through sharp pangs in his chest as his wound cauterized. Palming the shears, he slid his fingers into the familiar handles.

  He lowered his gaze to the woman and felt a sharp stab of regret that he couldn’t lift her up and carry her with him, to heal her fully and make her realize her mistake. Laughter bubbled in his chest, a rough and bitter sound.

  Humans weren’t meant for keeping. For culling and cultivating, yes. But to covet or care for one particular person… no reward could be worth that risk.

  His shears opened wide, sinking their razor teeth into the air and biting down to slice open a rift. He stepped through the portal and straight into the void.

  Chapter Two

  Glittery dust motes coalesced above Chloe in a darting swarm of fractured light. Gold spots swarmed her vision. Pain seared her chest as the dots gathered and crushed downward with brutal force.

  She lashed out, stirring the air with flailing hands and displacing the solidifying mass. Faster and faster the glitter swirled, taking on a masculine form.

  His hard eyes bored into hers. His full lips curled with disgust.

  Her reality slipped as she found herself drawn into the hateful gaze of the insubstantial man looming over her. She reached out to touch him, and his cold eyes narrowed to thin slits. Glaring at her outstretched hand, the terrible pressure he exuded lessened.

  Her skin met his… and passed through. He chuckled darkly and reapplied his bruising strength to the valley between her breasts. He was killing her, and she would die staring at the twisted smile on his face.

  His deep voice rolled through her head. “You’ve taken an innocent life.”

  “No.” She planted her palms where his chest should be, but they met with open air. “Please don’t do this.”

  She begged for mercy he never granted. Her pulse roared in her ears. Her limbs grew too heavy to lift. His hand plunged inside her chest and she screamed….

  Chloe jackknifed off the couch and hit the floor. The book she’d fallen asleep reading thumped onto the carpet beside her. She lifted a hand to her burning throat and licked her cracked lips.

  A dream. He was only a dream. One that ten months of therapy hadn’t been able to erase. No matter what she tried, he kept coming back.

  She trailed her fingers down her neck, past her collarbone, and into the loose top of her nightgown. Tracing the circular scar over her heart, she smoothed the puckered outline from where the pipe had punctured her.

  I’m lucky to be alive, she reminded herself. The other driver hadn’t been so fortunate.

  She glanced around. Everything was as it should be.

  Her book lay open-faced on the carpet. She picked up the paperback and lovingly smoothed the pages before placing it on her coffee table. Her night-light flickered and died as the rising sun bathed the room in a golden glow. The television blared infomercials, but she had no neighbors to care. She had no one at all really.

  Chloe hadn’t always been so alone. The nightmares just made it seem that way. She remembered a time when this apartment had hosted family dinners. When Dad could always be found reading by the fireplace before bed while Mom worked on her latest quilting project in her craft room. They had both passed on now, and their absence left her locked in familiar patterns and surroundings.

  When her breaths came easier and her pulse became less frantic, she rose from the floor and headed for the bathroom.

  She curled her toes as her bare feet crossed from the plush carpet to chill tile. Gooseflesh dotted her arms, but she couldn’t blame the cold for those.

  Her medicine cabinet held a cheery assortment of prescription drug bottles. Her fingertip skipped along the white caps until she found the one she needed and dumped a half dose into her palm.

  Her eyes closed as she swallowed the pill dry, her nose wrinkling at the bitter taste, but already she imagined her hands steadier.

  She would get used to the lower dosage. The key was consistency. Weaning herself from the pharmaceutical crutch wouldn’t be easy, she knew, but she refused to be medicated for the rest of her life. She’d witnessed Mom’s decline after Dad’s death and had no desire to follow in her footsteps.

  With some fortification from her pills, Chloe shrugged off the past eight hours. Once she was dressed in a crisp button-down shirt and khakis, she headed downstairs to open her store.

  Bookcases loomed in shadow as soft morning light crept through the windows. She inhaled the welcome scent of old books on her way to the front door and frowned as a long silhouette slanted across the small outside porch.

  Early-bird customers were a rarity she didn’t mind. Hers must be the only bookstore left that sold more books than coffee, and she planned to keep it that way. She flipped the sign and the lock. An expectant face stared back at her through the glass panel.

  Oh, snap. She’d forgotten she had an interview scheduled for today. Chloe’s hand froze on the doorknob as she made eye contact with the woman. Her interviewee was here. She couldn’t turn back now.

  When her parents had been alive, the three of them ran McCrea Books together. Now Chloe was the lone employee, and it was past time to lighten her burden.

  The store could support another worker comfortably, but the idea of replacing her parents hadn’t appealed to her. It still didn’t, actually. For three generations, McCrea Books had employed only McCreas. Now the paycheck she endorsed would go to someone who wasn’t a blood relative.

  It’s not as if I have a choice. The bills had to get paid around here, and she was falling down on the job. Sleepless nights bled into listless days. Even though her medications helped tame her social anxiety enough so customer interaction was possible, sometimes even enjoyable, they couldn’t fix everything.

  Her nightmares and borderline agoraphobia had spiraled out of control after the accident. Now these four walls acted as her security blanket. They bundled her up and away from the outside world and the bad things that happened there. Opening her door to that world took as much courage as her doctor-recommended doses could muster.

  “Hello? Ms. McCrea?” A hesitant voice pulled Chloe from her thoughts.

  Her cheeks burned. Clueless about how long she’d stood talking to herself before the woman broke the awkward silence.

  Pulling open the door with what she hoped passed for a smile, she said, “I’m Chloe McCrea.” Her palms were sweating, so she shoved her hands into her pants pockets.

  Th
e woman smiled. “I’m Neve Byrne.” She glanced over Chloe’s shoulder. “Mind if I come in?”

  Chloe stepped aside and Neve entered with a wide grin plastered on her face.

  “Wow. This place is gorgeous.” Neve turned a slow circle. She walked to the register and ran her hand across the aged countertop. Her purse snagged on a cup full of pens and sent them skittering across the floor.

  She scooped them up with a laugh. “Sorry about that. I guess I’m kind of nervous.”

  “It’s fine.” Bending down, Chloe lifted a pen stuck beneath a magazine rack by her foot. “Don’t worry about it.”

  When her gaze slid across the floor, she noticed a hint of white sock peeked through the toes of Neve’s canvas tennis shoes. Even the knees of her jeans gaped as her weight shifted. When she leaned over the counter, replacing the cup, her shirt rode up and exposed a ribbon of skin across her midriff. An angry scar ran a jagged, purple line from her navel across the top of her hip bone.

  She tugged on the faded hem and shifted uncomfortably under Chloe’s blatant stare.

  “Sorry.” Chloe cleared her throat, tucking the pen into her pocket while wishing her dad’s attempts at teaching her manners had stuck. “So, are you local? I don’t think I’ve seen you around town.”

  Not that she saw anyone outside of her store these days.

  “No, I moved here last week. Piedmont seems like a friendly place.” She paused. “Have you lived here long?”

  “My whole life,” Chloe said with a trace of pride. “This is home. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

  “That must be nice.” Neve’s knuckles whitened where she held on to her purse strap for dear life. “To belong somewhere, I mean.” She fidgeted some more before exhaling on a rush of words. “I know I don’t look like much, but I’m a hard worker, and I really need this job. I promise I’ll buy a better outfit out of my first paycheck, and the place where I stay has showers….” She paused long enough to gulp down a breath and thrust out an application Chloe hadn’t noticed clutched by her side. “I hit a rough patch back home, so I thought a clean start in a new town—”

  Chloe held up a hand as much to silence Neve as accept the piece of paper. She knew all about rough patches. Even ten months after her car accident, her nights careened out of control whenever her eyes closed.

  She needed help, and from the looks of Neve, she did too.

  “I’ll be honest with you.” Chloe tucked a curl behind her ear and offered an insecure smile. “I’ve never had a coworker who wasn’t listed on my birth certificate, so this will be a learning experience for us both.”

  The subtle offer of employment hung in the air, waiting for an acknowledgment.

  “Thank you.” Neve’s shoulders relaxed for the first time since walking through the door.

  “You’re welcome.” The words came easier than expected.

  She offered Chloe a hesitant smile. “Not that I’m looking to be replaced any time soon, but you should talk to the paper about your ad next time. The words were so garbled I almost couldn’t figure them out.”

  Heat crept into Chloe’s cheeks. With a wince, she recalled the stuttered voice mail she’d left on the local paper’s free employment hotline. “Yeah, I’ll do that.” Free editorial service her foot. At least now she didn’t have to wonder why Neve and a man who didn’t exactly speak English had been her only applicants.

  “So when would you like me to start?” Neve gave her an expectant look, the kind a stray animal gave the unwitting person they had adopted.

  Chloe had thought she could send Neve on her way and think things over before making a commitment. She hadn’t counted on hiring Neve right off the bat, let alone putting her straight to work, but something in her tired and strained face won Chloe over. She was too familiar with the desperate need for relief to turn someone away. “I… don’t know. When’s good for you?”

  Dipping a hand into her purse, Neve withdrew a crinkled brown paper bag and gave it a shake. “I brought lunch.” She shrugged when Chloe’s eyes widened. “I had two more interviews lined up after this one. Just in case.”

  “Then I guess you start now?” Her stomach cramped, so she rested her palm across it. This was nothing to get nervous about. This was good news. Neve’s determination to find work meant she needed the job in a bad way. So she should be a model employee. Chloe hoped.

  “Great.” Neve tucked her food away and set her purse behind the counter. “Do you mind if I make a few phone calls first?”

  Chloe’s upset stomach tightened. Please let this be the right decision.

  As if reading her uncertainty, Neve supplied, “Like I said, there are people expecting me to show up later today. I’d like to call and cancel if that’s all right with you.” She blinked. “You did say I had the job, right?”

  “Oh.” Neve’s courteousness reassured her. “Sure, go right ahead. Things won’t pick up around here for another thirty minutes or so anyway.”

  Tucking the same stubborn curl behind her ear for a second time, Chloe pursed her lips and read over the damp application clutched in her hand. Several fields were left blank, the spaces for Neve’s address and previous address among them. What little information she had filled out looked promising, though. “It says here you have cashiering experience.”

  Neve nodded.

  Chloe chewed her lip in consideration. The till was low after last night’s safe deposit. Even if the fifty-odd dollars she kept on hand for change went missing, she wouldn’t be out much. She made her decision. She would keep an eye on today’s sales, make sure her profits didn’t walk out the door at shift’s end, and give her new employee a chance.

  “Okay,” Chloe said. “Let’s start you out on the register and go from there.”

  Within minutes, Neve had tamed her straw-blond hair into some semblance of order and made fast friends with the cranky vintage cash register. Her easy smile telegraphed an eagerness to please that put the upset flutters in Chloe’s stomach more at ease.

  Something told her hiring an essentially blank slate to work in her store might not be such a bright idea, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. And she figured at the age of twenty-nine, she was due to take a leap of faith in someone.

  “Chloe?” Neve’s voice brought Chloe’s head up. She stood in the office doorway and indicated over her shoulder. “You have a visitor. He says his name is Wayne Durst, from Magazines Unlimited. Are you expecting him?”

  “No.” She groaned. She hated confrontations, but dealing with this guy had been a mistake from the get-go. While his invoices showed up every month on time, her order didn’t. His product had a short shelf life, and the magazines she ordered from him often arrived well past that expiration date. “Send him in.”

  Before Neve could turn, the wiry man slipped past her.

  “Ms. McCrea,” he said as he extended his hand. His palm was damp and his grip tight. “It’s been too long.”

  One of her eyebrows rose, but she played along. “Mr. Durst, it’s nice to see you again.”

  He took the seat she indicated, then pulled a folded paper from his shirt pocket.

  “Now, I won’t waste your time today.” He flashed a smile. “I know you’re a very busy woman.” Concern crept into his tone. “But there is a serious business matter we need to discuss.”

  She took a steadying breath and braced herself. “What seems to be the problem?”

  He smoothed the creases from the paper he’d pulled from his pocket and scanned it over as if he’d never seen the information before. “Well, I have this letter. My boss sent it over this morning, and he asked me to get to the bottom of it. It says you don’t want to continue your business with us.” He shook his head in disbelief. “But surely that must be a mistake.”

  “It’s no mistake.” She kept her tone light. “I’ve canceled my contract with your company, and I’ve requested a full refund for the orders I never received.”

  He refolded the invoice, then pointed it at he
r. “To be honest, I’m concerned for you. Piedmont is, after all, a very small community with such limited resources.” His polite veneer slipped as he leaned forward. “Let’s not make a rash decision. We both know you’ll be hard-pressed to find a replacement at our price or with our distribution.”

  “Mr. Durst, if you ever answered your phone or your e-mail, you would know I contacted you before making my decision.” Chloe sat straighter and tried not to fidget. “I’m afraid my customers won’t purchase at full price material they’ve had access to for several weeks, and I’m not interested in paying out of pocket for materials I only have a chance of selling on clearance.”

  His jaw flexed. “You have to understand this kind of thing happens.” The paper crinkled as his fist tightened around it. “I have your order out in my truck, so there’s no cause for pulling your account.” He tried a smile, but it showed too many teeth. “Mistakes can happen.”

  “Yes, and if you make enough mistakes, then you lose business because of them.” She laced her fingers in her lap. “I’ve gone with another, more reliable company, which is why your account with McCrea Books was canceled. You’ll have to contact one of your other vendors and see if anyone is interested in taking those boxes off your hands at a discount.” She stood and gestured toward the door. “Now if you don’t mind, I have other business matters to attend to.”

  His expression darkened. He shoved off the armrests of his chair so hard that it toppled over when he stood. He made no move to pick it up, just stormed from the room. She hoped stomping his feet made him feel better, because her frayed nerves jangled with his every step.

  “What was his problem?” Neve stepped in and righted the chair before Chloe reached it.

  Chloe gave her a weak smile and leaned her shoulder against the door frame. “I dropped his company from our supplier list.” Then she added, “If you see anything from Magazines Unlimited come through, mark it ‘return to sender,’ okay?”