Soul Thing Read online

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  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

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Contents

  Copyright

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Love Urban Fantasy?

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  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

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  I hope you enjoyed this first part to The Game of Gods Series. The series...

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  About the Author

  EXTRAS - LEILAS CLIPPINGS

  Acknowledgements

  Prism Press, Perth Australia.

  Copyright © 2018 Lana Pecherczyk

  All rights reserved.

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book was originally published under the title ‘Hunting for Witches’ with the ISBN: 9780994313911 published 2015 but has been edited in this new edition for reader enjoyment.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Text copyright © Lana Pecherczyk 2018

  Cover design © Lana Pecherczyk 2018

  Interior design © Lana Pecherczyk 2018

  www.lanapecherczyk.com

  LANA PECHERCZYK

  In loving memory of my mother.

  Who, when we were too poor to own a television set, took me to the library and told me I could do anything I set my mind to.

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  CHAPTER ONE

  SOONER OR LATER I had to stop feeling guilty about killing my mother. I had no memory of it, and I was a baby when it happened. As if I could control it. It was time I started thinking of myself.

  Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee, I thought as I curled my fingers into fists and punched the air. Now or never. I rounded the corner to the kitchen and planted my feet squarely in front of Aunt Lucy. “I’m moving out,” I blurted.

  Aunt Lucy turned, eyes blinking. She wore colorless clothing to match her gray hair, and never used makeup. The only inspiring thing about her appearance was her glass bauble necklace. She pulled her arms out of the sudsy sink and tapped her gloved fingers on the porcelain bowl. The action sent baubles clinking and a tiny waft of lavender perfume floating my way. Deliberately, slowly, she removed her second skin, one finger at a time and then dabbed her hands with a tea towel. Despite her careful charade, thoughts collided behind her steely gaze.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said through gritted teeth.

  I took a step back and darted a glance at my sister, Leila, as she sat at the grand table reading the newspaper. The ghost of a smile danced across her delicate features but she covered it with a sip of coffee, then turned the page, pointing to an article in an evasive gesture. “Oh, look at this one,” she said.

  Ignoring her, I held up my key. “I’m not being ridiculous. Kitty’s leasing her apartment and I can move as soon as my probation is over. I’m half packed.”

  Leila spat coffee everywhere and then grimaced at her accident. She slammed her mug down. “Now, look what you’ve made me do. I wish I had a normal sister.”

  I snatched a towel from the rack and mopped up her mess. “Yeah, well I wish my sister didn’t hate my guts for something I can’t control—”

  “Uh, uh. We’re not going there.” Aunt Lucy cut me off, raised a finger, and then turned her back on me to help Leila dry her precious clippings. “What did you find today, sweet-heart?”

  My jaw dropped. I’d given her monumental news, and she’d turned her back on me.

  “Look at this one.” Leila tapped an article. “The Church is recalling their latest safeguard against witch possession. Apparently, there was a faulty part in the device or something. It would be nice for them to get one invention right, don’t you think? And this one, see?” She held up another clipping. “The DNA test used to identify maleficent victims isn’t accurate because there haven’t been enough cases of possession over the last four years to benchmark—you know, since the Purge.”

  “Tsk, tsk, such a shame.” Aunt Lucy rubbed Leila’s shoulder affectionately. “Never mind, sweet, it could be a good thing. Only a few possessions in four years isn’t bad. But just in case, we’ll continue to go to church like they told us. It’s worked so far, right? We’ve never seen a witch in town.”

  Leila hummed in agreement.

  I scowled at them. A woman moving out of home was not to be taken lightly. Witches attacked females—it had something to do with our higher estrogen levels—but like Leila said, since they’d burned half the female population in the Purge, there were few cases of possession. The world had relaxed and being a woman wasn’t so bad anymore.

  I waved the key in the air. “Um hello? Did you hear what I said? I’m moving out.”

  “You stubborn girl.” Aunt Lucy shook her head at me. “You’ll be labeled a whore, just like your friend. I should never let you have that job at that devil’s playground. It’s caused nothing but problems.” She pulled off her headband and threw it on the counter, releasing her gray hair from its c
aptivity.

  Did she just call Kitty a whore? Hang on—did she called me a whore?

  “After all I’ve done for you,” she continued. “I housed you when your father abandoned you, I put up with your criminal ways, I even let you get a job when there’s so much to do here at the vineyard. You’re going to throw it all in my face and leave a week before the food festival.” The tenacity of her words caused a coughing fit. She wheezed and spluttered into a quickly grasped tissue. The sour stench of smoker’s breath hit me moments before her pungent lavender perfume. I flinched and tried not to screw up my face. The bad-girl smoker habit was such a contrast to her drab, gray attire. Seriously, brush your teeth.

  With shaky hands, she reached for a glass of water and took a sip. Aunt Lucy ran her boutique vineyard estate with an iron fist, but quit smoking? Impossible. She downed the water in gulps and held up a finger indicating the conversation wasn’t over. When she finished, she busied herself with drying the dishes. The muscles in her shoulders and neck grew rigid as she mulled over her next words. Finally, she picked up a spoon and waved it at me. “That sin-bin you work at is just a lawsuit waiting to happen.” She opened the cutlery drawer and slammed the spoon in place. “I can’t believe it was allowed to open in the first place.”

  Leila snorted in sympathy.

  In an effort not to roll my eyes, I stared at the sparkling black and white checked floor. There she goes again, spouting her devil nonsense.

  “The Cauldron,” I said, “is not a ‘sin-bin’ or a ‘devil’s playground.’ It’s a legitimate establishment where people can enjoy a drink or a meal, and learn about the history of witches.”

  Leila laughed. “You can’t be serious, Roo. It’s a mockery; they poke fun at the myth, not teach the reality.” Her last words came through a clenched jaw and she shuddered.

  It was true. The Cauldron was a clichéd, witch-themed bar. It resembled something from Halloween, and served cocktails like ‘The Holy Grail’ and ‘Brew to Forget.’ Taxidermy crows peered down at you as you ate, but it was harmless fun. And I felt at home there.

  I shrugged. “If it makes people feel safe and confident they have one up on witches, who cares? I get paid, and all I have to do is serve drinks and look pretty with this thing hanging around my neck.” I flicked my slick UV-liquid filled probation collar. It made me special. “I’m accepted for who I am. Besides, it’s coming off in a few weeks and I’ll be free to do what I want. Everyone with opinions can bite me.”

  I added the last bit in an awkward rush and, as if sensing my unease, the skin underneath the collar itched. I slid my finger over the watery surface, tracing it around to the clasp at my nape and scratched. Oh, that felt good. I’d be glad to have it off in a few weeks when my sentence lifted. I smiled at the notion. After one thousand and ninety-five days I’d finally be able to touch people without risking an electric shock, annoying alarm, or being covered in an embarrassing UV staining liquid. I knew that using witchcraft didn’t mean I was a witch. But nobody else did. They thought that because I told my ex to take a long walk off a short cliff—and he did—that I might be one of them. Only I knew the truth. Just a few more weeks to keep my secret under wraps and then I could be out of here. My moving to Kitty’s tomorrow was a temporary layover. Soon, I planned on a complete fresh start.

  Turbulence gathered on Aunt Lucy’s face when she caught my smile. “Who’s going to want you after what happened to your last boyfriend?” She flung a china plate down, and it whirled on the bench top. “You were only cleared of murder because of lack of evidence. Nobody trusts you. Even your workplace won’t want you then. You’re an asset while you have that freak show happening around your neck. But when that’s gone, what value will you bring to the show? Will you whore yourself out, too?” Her hands shook, and she clicked her tongue as she picked up another utensil.

  Like Kitty? I was sure she wanted to add.

  “We need you here, Roo. The grapes won’t pick themselves and there is so much work to be done before the food and wine festival, it’s simply not possible. Your father left you in my care, and that’s where you will stay.”

  My hands balled into fists. He left me in her care. Her words cut to the core and stung every time I heard them. I knew he left because he couldn’t stand the sight of me, but did she have to remind me? It’s one thing to call me and my friend a whore, it’s another to bring my useless father into it. I clenched my teeth. “My father lost any say in my future when he ran away after my trial.”

  “You know very well he’s classed as MIA by his military unit. He left your guardianship to me in his will, and since then I’ve been running myself ragged to help you out. Not that it’s done any good, mind you. You’re as ungrateful as the day you arrived.”

  My eyes flared. Every day off from The Cauldron, I worked the fields, picking relentlessly. I worked hard, damn it, she had no right to say those things. Besides, my father hadn’t been on a tour of duty at the time of his disappearance. In fact, I was pretty sure he’d been on personal leave, somewhere. How convenient for him to blame work for his substandard parenting. The truth was his daughter had been declared one step above the enemy, and he was embarrassed and ashamed. Well, the joke’s on them. I could do everything a witch could do, except hop from one body to another. The thought gave me a sobering dose of reality. I was bad news for anyone close to me. If they knew I could do the same thing as the enemy... I shuddered, not wanting to finish the thought.

  Sometimes, I dreamt I’d be able to help people with my skills and be praised for my uniqueness. I could cure sickness, or remodel fractured bones just by willing it so, but it was a dream. In reality they’d burn me.

  “Well, my mind is made up. I’m leaving,” I said. “I’ll come back to help serve at the festival, but I won’t live here.”

  Leila made a derogatory sound and feigned interest in another article. I squinted at her. Our matching eye color was the only thing that marked us as sisters. Actually, hers were the brown of a deer and mine were more like honey, so maybe I clutched at straws. The similarity stopped there. I stood tall, athletic and sun kissed from my days in the vineyards; she was short, pale and curvy with black hair. Sometimes I thought I was adopted, but since Leila had witnessed the death of our mother during my birth, I didn’t think so.

  Maybe she was adopted. The snide thought tiptoed into my mind.

  Leila stood suddenly, dragging her chair across the floor. The scent of daisies filled the air as she left the room in a flurry. I sighed and pinched the bridge between my eyes. I had to get to work. A black mark across my name was the last thing I wanted the day before my performance review. What if Aunt Lucy had been right, and they didn’t want me after my collar was removed? I couldn’t exactly show off my witch-like abilities and I hadn’t planned beyond moving into Kitty’s. I still needed a job. Guess I’d cross that rickety bridge when I got to it.

  “See what you’ve done?” Aunt Lucy turned on the guilt trip. “You can’t leave her, Roo, she needs you. I’m not going to be around forever and who will look after her then?” She aged ten years in an instant and forced a cough to prove her point. Her gray hair looked limp, her skin sagged, and her wrinkles turned into deep canyons. Maybe the stress of having two girls dumped in your care after a war wasn’t good for your health—especially when one suffered from post-traumatic stress, and the other was in trouble with the law.

  “You’ll be better off without me.” My shoulders slumped as I backed out of the kitchen and walked to the front living room thinking, twenty-four was a good age to move out—well, almost twenty-four. Back in the old days, before the War-of-Witches, women were allowed to move out whenever they wanted. But since the WOW, women could only move out if they were conviction free and over twenty-one. And since I was a few weeks away from three years with no incidents, it was my time.

  “This isn’t over, Roo,” Aunt Lucy called from the kitchen. “Don’t expect to be welcome back here after you move out.”

&n
bsp; I lifted my brows at the photographs lining the walls, daring them to taunt me, but the ancestors of my mother remained silent. I gazed at the pictures. It was supposed to be historical, like the house, but it haunted me to stare at dead people. It was more like Death Row.

  Shivering, I grabbed my belongings from the settee and moved to the door, then smoothed my black uniform shirt and slipped my yellow motorcycle jacket on.

  “Roo, wait.” Leila crashed down the stairs on the far side of the room. “I have something for you.” She arrived with a glass jar filled with curious little plastic squares that chinked as she moved. “I can’t let you leave with this hanging over my head, so here goes.”

  Whoa, this seemed like a big deal. She pulled out a green computer chip, and turned it over, lost in thought as she gazed at it. The look on her face made me think it hurt to touch, but I knew it didn’t. How could it?

  “I made some memory bytes for you. Actually, I haven’t made them for you but they are about you, so you should have them, they’re pretty much all the same,” she babbled. “You should take them with you, then maybe I’ll finally be able to sleep.”

  “Right,” I said slowly, chewing my cheek. What was I supposed to say to that? Um, thanks. Sure, no problems, I’m happy to take your jar of nightmares. I opened my hand and caught the microchip in my palm. The little thing was almost weightless but felt as heavy as an elephant—the big one that sat in her room my entire life.

  Leila refused to speak about her nightmares, so her therapist had asked her to record them. She’d been doing that for as long as I could remember. I’d often heard her screams at night, followed by shuffling as she gathered the tools needed to make the recording. If I went to her door, I’d see a faint blue glow shining through the cracks. Nobody had seen the recordings yet, so I knew this was a big step, but that’s as far as my insight went.

  “I don’t mean to look at you the way I do and talk to you the way I do…” Her voice softened as it trailed off. “My brain says you’re my sister, and a little baby couldn’t possibly be held responsible. But my heart hates you for taking our mother’s place in this world. I’m sorry; it’s something I can’t help.” She looked away with her shoulders hunched. “You have to believe me. I don’t mean to feel that way. I just do.”