I awoke early, once again feeling vibrant and alive. I still was unused to the feeling, and relished the newness. I figure at some point I would acclimate, but until then, I wanted to remind myself how amazing this felt, that the boons Wayward Souls offered were potent and worthwhile. Maybe a good night's sleep was not enticement enough to venture into the lair of the enemy on Christmas Eve, but it did tip the scales slightly. I knocked out my morning pushups and situps easily. I need to start thinking about getting a pullup bar or something, add more to my regimen.

  I showered and mentally checked in. Craig, distant and unruly. Tracy, even farther away and vaguely quiet. Chevy was… near? I toweled my hair off. How did she get here if Tracy was her means of transport?

  I dressed quickly, somewhere between curious and concerned. I threw on an insufficiently warm coat and stepped out into the same harsh chill as last night. People at work yesterday had said this was maybe going to be the coldest Christmas in years. The relative warmth that had melted off the snow and ice earlier in the week was now firmly replaced with this freeze. No snow was forecast, just austere, grey, and cold.

  I didn't see any sign of Chevy. So I had the experience of trying to locate someone entirely through the use of this sense. It was actually incredibly difficult to pinpoint where she was. It was no easy feat to move and determine if she was closer or farther. If anything, it was good I had a chance to practice it now. I finally had it narrowed down to a black, somewhat crinkled pickup, an older model. Chevy was nestled in the passenger seat, soundly asleep. No one else was in the truck. I looked to see if I saw anyone around, did not and rapped sharply on the window.

  “Son bitch!” Chevy slurred groggy, muffled through the window. She turned bleary eyes to me. “Oh,” was all she said.

  “Can we talk?” I tried not to yell, but I also wanted her to understand me.

  Chevy opened the door, and sideyed me, content to stay in the seat. “Sup.”

  “What are you doing here? Whose truck is this? Did something happen?” I felt in that moment like a hassled parent, toeing the line between concerned and frustrated. If Chevy was bringing strangers here, how long until I was made?

  “I've got a recruit,” Chevy said. “It's his truck.” She considered. “Nothing happened.”

  I waited. Chevy didn't offer anything else. “There's no one else here, Chevy. Who's the recruit?”

  “Damian. Dame. Big D. He's cool.”

  “I don't need other congregants. I need to get more resources first. I'm working on getting an in with Smith. I don't have time to manage another person. I appreciate you trying to be proactive, but save it until after Christmas.”

  “Not for the congregation.” Chevy smiled. “He wants to be a full member.”

  “He wants to be knifed?” I was a little floored. “Like… you told him what goes into it?”

  “Yeah, give up his immortal soul. He was down.”

  “You told him he would do whatever I say? That he's losing his free will?”

  “No. Dumbass. He just wants to be part. Join up. Fight heaven. I didn't tell him the rest.”

  Shit. Chevy was ice cold. “ Okay. Where is he?”

  “Dunno. Around?” Chevy shrugged. “Probably went to buy cigarettes. Should take up vaping. Easier.” She pulled a vape out of her outermost hoodie. With a sage nod, she took a hit.

  “Well you should have at least let me know. Any reason you didn't text?” I continued to ask, even though Chevy seemed content to let it be done.

  “Don't have your number. You figured out I was here. Oh, there's D.” Chevy nodded her head presumably in his direction.

  I turned around and came face to face with a giant. Well, more like face to chest. I wasn't short, but this man made me feel that way. Six foot and plenty of change to spare, he was a gargantuan black man. His head was shaven with a thin chinstrap beard. He wore a pretty thin jacket, but didn't appear cold. The cold was probably afraid to piss him off. Chevy wanted me to pull my Implement on this guy?

  “Uh hey,” I said weakly.

  “Sup” he said. His voice wasn't as deep and bassy as I had expected. It also was friendly and warm, with a smile that made even Smith's grin look dour and forced. He immediately took me from “how is Chevy friends with this guy?” to “who wouldn't want to be friends with this guy?”. “You Jeremy?”

  I nodded. “Yep. Chevy told you about me?”

  “Yeah, I like selling my soul. Pisses off my parents,” Damian said, matter-of-factly.”

  “But like, this is really selling it,” I said. I don’t know why I did. It felt different. Weird. I could easily justify pricking Carl. I felt sorta bad about Terry, but I also didn’t feel that sense of reluctance I did here. Dude just thought he was sticking it to his parents. He had no way of knowing how different this one would be. That I did nothing for it- that it had just been presented to me, felt like cheating somehow. The difference between hunting for your own meat or buying it at the grocery. Except it was even more than that. I was hunting for souls, and this felt fundamentally wrong. I should be the one deciding who, not Chevy.

  “Okay, then sell me,” Damian said, still smiling. “What do I get in return?”

  “You lose your free will and do what I say,” spewing the truth, horror in my mind. There’ d be no way he’d acquiesce to that.

  “Hah, Chevy, you listening to this guy?”

  “Yup,” Chevy said, not looking at us. She was studying her phone screen with blase passivity, completely at odds with the emotional gravitas of selling me her friend’s soul. That just made this feel worse, that she could just fork him over and be calmer about it than me. That I didn’t know the guy and I cared more about doing this than she did.

  But then I realized. She hadn’t actually seen or experienced much of the Implement. Carl and Terry had left already. All the stuff I had been doing with her… well it was weird, but it wasn’t supernaturally weird. I just came off as some guy with a knife, with a homeless guy and Tracy in tow for my funny cult. Shit. How would I even relay this to her?

  “I mean it’s kinda serious man, it’s your soul. Is this the guy with the land, Chevy?”

  “Huh? No, that’s Robbie. Dame just likes doing this thing. I figured you didn’t want anyone else in your congregation yet, the way you yelled at Tracy.” (I hadn’t yelled at her, had I? I had groused a little, maybe.) “But he could do the other thing, with the knife.”

  Okay. Going through with this seemed like a really bad idea. She had no idea what was about to happen. Damian had no idea what was about to hapen. I did know what was about to happen but I had no idea how Chevy would react. But also, there was no way in Hell I was doing it out here. I could at least stall for a moment. “Let’s go back to the Haven, so I can avoid any uh, intruding eyes.”

  “Have to clean up after the knife, I’d guess,” Chevy added. Oh she definitely had no idea what she was putting Damian into. There was no conceivable way she’d be okay with this. There’d be no way she’d want him to go through with this. But I could see if I could reverse it. If Chevy reacted poorly, maybe I could just release Damian. I had no idea about how I’d go about that. Maybe just hold the Implement and loose the oath? Not the best thing to hinge my hopes on, especially if Chevy reacted poorly. Either way, she’d get to see it in action.

  We walked up the stairs to my apartment, opening the door. “Little cold in here,” Damian remarked as we walked in.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

  “So uh, the way this goes, you say something like ‘You can have my soul,’ and then I prick you with the knife and collect your blood.” I drew my Implement, letting the matte black blade tug at the light in the room. “You still want to do this?”

  “Yeah man, no big.” Damian held out a palm. “I ain’t using my soul, you can have it.”

  I clenched my jaw slightly, and pricked him in the palm. Immediately, blood began to seep out of the wound, puddling in his extended hand. I stared at it with a measure of… despair? How could I be so excited in the abstract, to make a living for myself, and then in practice, just feel terrible about it? It was irritating how difficult it was to do this kind of thing, how often would I have to do it before I could feel okay about it? Maybe I’d been a dick to Carl, but I wasn’t going to be an asshole to anyone else, I just wanted to live up to my job. I wanted to succeed. Settling my thoughts, I resolved to not be awful to Damian. I could control him, but I’d only do so if necessary.

  Easy.

  I held the Implement over the wound, and the blood slowly blobbed up toward the blade, like beads of wax in a lava lamp. Chevy had been looking on boredly until this moment, and her eyes gradually widened as the blood rose and soaked into my knife. It sucked in the blood, vanishing it into the black, leaving no sign on the blade. After sealing the bond, Damian’s palm fell to his side. I returned the Implement to its sheath, carefully monitoring Chevy.

  “Shit man, that should have hurt more,” Damian said, looking at his hand. I looked at the palm. I had never really payed attention before, seeing as how I hadn’t wanted to keep looking at Carl, and I didn’t look under Terry’s shirt, but apparently even the wound from the Implement would go away. His hand was unmarred except for a slight smear of blood across it. He shook his hand as if trying to dislodge something.

  “What. The. Fuck,” Chevy breathed. Her voice had a tremble to it, laced with awe and fear in equal measure. “Tracy wasn’t lying. Thought she was just having fun, telling a weird story, or a dream or something. Shit. That’s real.”

  “Yeah, it’s really real,” I said. “Uh, Damian.” I grasped the Implement. “Go make breakfast for Chevy and me.” That didn’t seem so bad, right?

  “Sure thing, boss man.” Damian was smiling still. “Man you weren’t kidding about that, I really am just gonna do what you ask. Shit, man.” Damian shook his head as he went to the kitchen. He looked into the fridge. The fridge that was practically empty save for the leftovers from visiting Smith. “Not much to cook with here,” the man stated solemnly. “I’m gonna have to go get some ingredients, see you in a bit.” He then walked out the door, leaving Chevy open-mouthed.

  “Okay, I’m glad I didn’t get knifed. Shit.” Chevy still seemed in disbelief. After Tracy’s relatively stoic acceptance of things, I had forgotten how actually insane the Implement really was. I had been a little lulled by that, and Chevy brought me back to the reality of realizing how utterly ludicrous it was. It was sheer fantasy, implausable, a dream, a nightmare, something that couldn’t be really explained. Unless everything about me and Wayward Souls was true. And I watched Chevy’s brain rattle down that path, headed toward the only actual conclusion. This was all real.

  “Shit. That’s tight,” Chevy said. Huh?

  “You just sold me your friend’s soul, Chevy.” I said it with some small measure of piping disbelief. “You didn’t know this was going to happen. How are you okay with it?”

  “Well, I’m getting a free breakfast out of it,” Chevy said. “And D’s a really good cook. Win-win.”

  “Yeah, but I could ask him to do something harmful or awful. I control his soul.” Maybe she was in denial.

  “Yeah but you didn’t. Trace told me you made your roommate apply to get a job. That’s kinda shit, but like, I get it. Rent is shit. If that’s the worst thing you do, not much worse than any other roommate. D’s good people, you seem like good people. It’ll be fine.” She considered. “Trace said she could also boss your stabbed people around. I thought she was just on one. Can I do that?”

  “I’d have to tell them to listen to you. Since Tracy’s in charge, I think it’s probably best just to leave that power with her. Maybe after I can expand, I can get you some authority over them. But right now, I don’t think there’s enough people for that. I’ve only got Carl, his dad, and now Damian.”

  “Could I get you another person, if I can also tell them what to do?” Chevy asked, her voice almost back to her normal bored tone. She was either incredibly callous, or very mentally flexible, to have taken this in so readily.

  “I don’t know, I don’t want people figuring out something’s up-”

  “It’s my sister. She sucks. She outed me to my mama. She always is borrowing money from her. Goes out to the clubs and just wastes all of mama’s hard earned paychecks. Mama just lets her do it. It’s pretty fucked.”

  “Okay but how would you get her to release her soul?” I didn’t really want to ensorcel someone else before Christmas at least, but Chevy seemed a little dogged about this. I thought about how unhappy my family made me feel. If I could control Daryl just long enough to make him fuck off from my mom’s life, I would try pretty damn hard to make that happen. Chevy probably felt the same way about her sister. “I assume she isn’t just going to do like Damian did.”

  “She’s real easy, Jeremy. Like, just offer her some cash or something. Or some pills.” Chevy stated bluntly.

  “Okay, but I don’t have pills, and the cash I do have is going to go toward feeding Craig for the next twenty minutes, and then I’m tapped out.”

  “I can get you something she’d like. If you do this. Do we have a deal? I’ll do whatever you ask. Best cult member ever. Promise.” Chevy looked at me beseechingly. Her tone was maybe only a little more clipped and bitter, but it still came through. She really wanted this. I could get another person and Chevy’s loyalty all in one sweoop. It didn’t seem that implausible.

  “Yeah. Deal.” I held out my hand, then jerked it back with a “Fuck!” “I’m going to be late for work. Shit, I got wrapped up in what you were doing here. Fuck, Sherrie is going to bitch me out. Damnit. I’ll be back this afternoon. Fuck. Shit. Say hi to Tracy if you see her. If you leave, just lock up before you leave. Do not let Craig have my shepherds pie.”

  I rushed out the door, only catching a belated “Uh huh,” from Chevy. Then I rushed back in. “Forgot my backpack,” I said sheepishly. I could fill my water bottle at the fountain in the store, as tepid and gross as its water was. I practically sprinted to work, and for the first time, I think really understood what my boon of vitality entailed. I hadn’t really pushed myself, my pushups and situps coming easily to me. It had been some time since I really ran. I used to do sprints in high school and hated them. But I ran in a way that would have left my high school ass in the dust. I don’t think I had ever run that quickly. I had definitely never run that quickly over that long of a distance. I felt the burning in my lungs, sweat dripping from my brow and running down my neck. I was definitely exerted. But I also had made it to work on time.

  “Holy shit, I’m awesome.”

  Sherrie would have to find some other tardy employee to berate.

  *****

  I approached the table out front. My shift had ended, mercifully. It was a complete madhouse, the last Friday before Christmas. Unfortunately, I worked Christmas Eve. So I’d probably see even worse on Sunday. At least I had Saturday off, although that meant seeing Smith both tomorrow and the day after. And I actually had Christmas itself off I intended to fully enjoy it by not dying at Central United the night before. Realistic goal, I hoped.

  Sandra was sitting at the table, wearing a different floral dress but a much heavier coat over it. It really seemed like pants weather to me, at a minimum. Although the sun had had all day to bring some warmth, it had not. The table was cold, the wind was light, but still cut to the soul in the frozen air, and my breath frosted heavily on the air, as I blew out a sigh before sitting in front of Sandra.

  “Didn’t think you were going to,” she said, a tinge of curiosity infecting her tone.

  “Maybe I thought about it.”

  “And what’d you decide?” She asked, a little bit of bated enthusiasm. Her eyes glittered just a touch avariciously.

  “Well, I thought I might join up. With you.” I tried to keep my tone as plain as I could. Boredly dickering.

  “Just like that?” Sandra slowly drew her Implement.

  “Nah, there are strings attached.” I fixed her gaze with my own. I could not break eye contact. I had to pull off this cavalier attitude. She had to want me, not the other way around.

  “Such as…?” Sandra asked.

  “Woo me.” I kept my eyes on hers. I didn’t flinch. “Wine me and dine me. Dinner tonight. Your treat.”

  “My treat?” she repeated incredulously.

  “Yeah. Take me on a date. Really show me you care.”

  Sandra sputtered. “I… you… you want to go on a date?”

  “You want me to join up or not?” I kept my gaze level. At ease. Relaxed.

  Sandra paused. “I mean, yes, I want you to join. But a date, really?” Okay, that actually stung a little.

  “What’s wrong, are you not single?”

  “No I am but-”

  “So then it’s not an issue. I’m single, you’re single, we work for the same company, so that’s a little awkward, but I don’t see you at the office much. You know the little bistro about a mile down the road? Let’s go there.” My grin was probably a little predatory. “Give me your best sales pitch over dinner.”

  Sandra actually groaned. “Okay, but just this one date. Then you join up.”

  “If you wine me and dine me properly yes.”

  “If I wine you and dine you at all,” Sandra retorted.

  “Hey, it’s not me trying to recruit you. If you don’t want me, I can keep to myself, and you can deal with Christmas Eve all on your own.” I stood up.

  “No no, hold on. Wait. Don’t walk away yet. We can go to the bistro. I’ll pay. We can talk then. What time?”

  “Seven works for me. Here’s my number.” She sent me a text so I had hers. “See you tonight.”

  “Yeah. See you,” Sandra replied. It had all the enthusiasm of a eulogy.