Soul Thing (The Game of Gods Book 1) Read online

  My eyes stung. It wasn’t going to get any better than this. For whatever the truth of that fateful night, she had her own version running through her head, and I didn’t need a psychology degree to see it hurt. I wanted to go to her, squeeze her tight, but held back. Something had happened during my birth to make her think I was evil, and after I was accused of bewitching my ex, my name had been used in the same sentence as the enemy. Considering my secret abilities, I knew I was linked to them, somehow. Shame washed over me. If she knew my truth, she’d never speak to me again. I resisted the urge to touch her because my collar would beep at the proximity and she would flinch.

  She lifted her lashes to peer at me, eyes liquid. “Maybe things will be different with some distance between us.”

  Maybe she could relax when the monster was gone.

  “I hope so,” I said. “Goodbye, Leila.”

  “Here take these with you, p-please, you’d be doing me a favor, I can’t do it myself. You’re the strong one in this family.” She stuttered the words, but hope shone through her eyes, at least that’s what I told myself. “I’ll see you tomorrow. It’ll be a new day and we can start fresh.” She handed me the jar.

  Dumbfounded, I watched her walk away. That was probably the longest conversation I’d ever had with her.

  In a daze, I left the house and detoured past the garage. I certainly didn’t want a jar of nightmares and, as Leila didn’t have the guts, I threw them in the garbage. Except for the one in my pocket next to my phone. That one I kept for later.

  CHAPTER TWO

  AS I WALKED into the underground garage, a wall of thick, invisible lavenders slammed into my face. Phwoar, I could almost taste it.

  When I looked up, Aunt Lucy stared at me from the steps that led up to the porch, clutching a whisk, her knuckles white. I slipped my helmet on, snapped its dark visor down and started the engine of my dirt-bike. It didn’t start. After an inward groan, I hopped off and tinkered with the old chain. Sometimes it fell loose. A sharp prick stung my finger as it pinched in the metal. Blood welled and I sucked to ease the pain. When I took my finger away from my mouth, the tiny wound had already healed. Evidence of my freakish nature. I quickly hopped back on the bike, hoping Aunt Lucy hadn’t seen. The engine roared to life.

  Thank God.

  I put my earphones in, straddled the seat and hit play on my smart phone.

  Riding was a guilty passion of mine because underneath the snap of the visor, I could be anyone in the world. And today, surprise, surprise, I wanted to be Prince. I flicked to my favorite song and squished my phone into my jeans’ pocket, then adjusted the choke, shifted into gear and took off. With a mock salute to my aunt, I drove out of the yard, hoping clouds of red dust hit her in the face as I tore down the driveway and onto the country road.

  Lost in the abyss of music, I boogied away the ten-minute ride through the shire of Margaret River feeling the vibration of each note shimmy down to my very soul. The town had a population of about five thousand, except at the start of summer when it swelled to a few hundred thousand for the festival and surf contests. It was a beautiful place to live, with fresh forests, beaches and the best wines Australia had to offer. I nodded and pointed at the trees whirring by, pretending they were people in the crowd at my own concert. Thank you fans, I love you too. I’ll be here all year.

  I’d done it.

  I’d actually done it!

  A big, cheesy grin split my face. Excitement danced up my spine and, by the time I pulled into the rear parking lot at The Cauldron, my mood had been restored. My bar sat on top of a cliff. A sand dune dwarfed it on one side and, on the other, a precipice led down to the surfer’s beach below. I liked to squeeze my beautiful bike between the limestone building and the sand dune so it stayed close all night.

  Two familiar figures loitered at the rear as I wheeled by. In time to the music, I pointed first at the blue and green-haired siren, and then at the grinning, brown-skinned kitchen hand. Alvin jumped off his perch and followed me with his hands behind his head, thrusting and gyrating to a melody he couldn’t possibly hear. His black apron had twisted and his matching black shirt struggled to cover his pudgy brown belly. My surprisingly strong friend swept me off my stalled bike and into an awkward tango where my lanky frame jumbled with his portly one. We thrust our hips and moved our feet to where Kitty tapped her toes and giggled. Alvin danced me back to my fallen bike. Then he spun me around, lowered me into a swoon-worthy dip, and kissed my visor, dark eyes twinkling.

  Suddenly, his expression changed. His fuzzy eyebrows joined in the middle and he released me to point at my neck. Panic surged through me a second before the electric shock did. I tugged off my helmet and let it slip to the floor, dislodging my earphones in the process. The dance beats faded and the incessant beep of my collar took over, dispelling my disco dreams.

  “Damn it,” I said, flinching as I was shocked again. I tasted metal in my mouth and stepped away from my friend. It took a moment to catch my breath. The shock wasn’t huge, but disruptive all the same. “I can’t wait until this thing comes off. Sorry, Alvin.” I smiled sheepishly at him, worried the reminder of my social status would disarm him.

  Alvin shrugged then did the moonwalk to where Kitty sat. I had to remind myself, I was among friends now, and no more of those insecurities please.

  The most beautiful part about working at The Cauldron was being smack in the middle of where the ocean met the earth. The vision drew me to the railing that separated the parking lot from the cliff. I released my tangled hair from its tie and unzipped my jacket. The wind lifted my hair and liberated my scalp. My eyes fluttered closed and, for a moment, I had my own private air conditioner blasting my head. Then the sweat dried, and all I felt was simmering heat—gross.

  “Earth to Roo.” I looked over my shoulder to see Alvin waving his hands in the air. “So when’s the party?” he asked.

  “What do you mean?” I asked, walking back.

  “Babe, you’re not married. You aren’t even dating.” Kitty wiggled her perfectly shaped eyebrows at me and winked. “You’re going to be released back into the wild soon and that’s cause for a celebration.” Her hair—blue at the roots and green at the ends—curled into big retro finger waves that ended below her shoulders. Her Latino heritage was obvious in her curves and olive skin and those mesmerizing lips were all natural—apart from the red lipstick. When I watched them move I was struck with jealousy. I wasn’t the only one affected. Alvin watched her actions too, but his eyes were filled with something other than the green-eyed monster. I often envied her full lips, but said nothing. It was childish and such idle thoughts were the playground of devils, so said Aunt Lucy.

  “You’re single,” I pointed out.

  “Yeah, but I’m Catholic.” She flicked her silver crucifix on her black lapel. “I’ve checked one of the boxes from society’s safeguard against witch possession. You, on the other hand, have not. People will start talking if you don’t date someone soon, and we both know you can’t afford that kind of attention. So, I’ve decided you’re not moving into my apartment if you haven’t checked at least one of those boxes.”

  “Since when do you care what people think?”

  “Babe, I don’t. I’m just looking out for you. You’ve made it clear the only religion you want to join is the Church of Prince, but we all know that’s not possible. Being facetious will only take you so far. If you want to be safe—from witches and public persecution—we need to find you a husband, quick-smart. It’s time to let all the eligible bachelors know you’re on the market. If you promise you’ll let me help you, you can still move in.” She tilted her head with soft eyes. “You can’t be alone forever.”

  I didn’t want to speak about my disastrous love life. “Religion is bullshit. Having a god does nothing to protect you from possession, and neither does a boyfriend. It’s all bullshit and you know it. Nothing can save you.” I kicked the dirt, opened my mouth to say more, but the warning on Kitty’
s face stopped me. She darted a meaningful glance at Alvin. There were things that shouldn’t be said aloud, and I was about to cross the line. I had confided in her about my abilities a long time ago and, rather than report me to the powers that be, she’d asked for a dye job. I smiled thinking about it. But she was right. I knew I wouldn’t go unnoticed for long.

  Kitty, or ‘Miss Kitty Muse’ as the patrons knew her, had no qualms about being the center of attention and performed sexy songs nightly in the bar. She got away with being single because she was a devout member of the local church and, quite literally, there were too many men to choose from. She stayed strategically unattached for a reason: marriage ruined the ‘available’ image of the sexy main attraction—it was bad for business. She went against the grain like I did, maybe that’s why we were such good friends.

  “Your mate’s here,” Kitty teased, and lifted her eyebrows, green eyes twinkling.

  “What? But we aren’t open yet.”

  “We let him in early because he wanted to take some photos or something for his paper back home. Maybe you can ask him out or, better yet, get him to take some photos of you—you know, in your birthday suit.” She found it tremendously hilarious that an American boy, just old enough to drink in Australia but not in his home country, found me captivating.

  “Ooh, me!” Alvin raised his hand in the air like a schoolboy. “Pick me, pick me for a date, not the Yank.”

  Bless their cotton socks for making me feel wanted, but, I screwed up my face at the two of them. I still had reservations with what had happened to my ex. Maybe I had inadvertently caused his death. It happened shortly after we’d first made love and since hexes are transferred via exchange of body fluid, it wasn’t a far stretch to think it was an accident. My fault.

  Witches were evil and now extinct, so it wasn’t like I had someone to train me in the art of witchcraft. I learned by instinct, or random thoughts that usually proved correct. But what if, in my fumbling with witchcraft, I had accidentally bewitched him? The idea plagued me. He’d become stalker-obsessed with me after that first time, and when I got fed up with it, I’d told him to get lost… and he did.

  Death by sex. That’s a first.

  I brushed off my insecurities and turned to Alvin. “Stop teasing me. Anyway, aren’t Yanks from the North? I think Tommy’s from the South.”

  “Ah,” Alvin grunted and grabbed his imaginary wounded chest. When he recovered from his performance, he jerked his thumb in the direction of the bar. “Guess there’s no chance for your mate in there if I’m off the menu.”

  “Look, guys, I’m just waiting for someone special this time, that’s all. Stop harassing me, there’s no rush.”

  “What about Jed?” Alvin asked.

  “My PO? I haven’t really thought about him that way.” Actually, I was fond of my probation officer, but there was no way I’d get mixed up with an officer of the law. His first loyalty would be to his job not to me and, with my kind of secret, it was better to be safe than sorry.

  “Yeah, I’ve seen the way he looks at you.” Alvin lifted his brows suggestively and made a kissy face. “Roo and Jed, sitting in a tree, k-i-s—” I cut him off by punching him playfully in the guts, hoping the action hid my flaming cheeks.

  “I’ll bet he’s gonna love your new look too,” Kitty said. “They both will.” She stood up on three-inch, patent-leather heels. Her uniform puckered in all the right places. As she smoothed the fabric, Alvin followed the movement of her hands down the curves of her body and I felt awkward standing next to her. How did she work all night in those shoes?

  Hang on. I frowned. Did she say I had a new look? That wasn’t possible. Kitty and I dressed alike, except I wore faded black jeans, and she wore a black skirt. I looked down at my own dismal potato sack of a shirt and swiped dust from the collar. “I got dusty on the ride, okay?”

  Kitty giggled. “I mean your newfound appreciation for makeup?”

  “What’s wrong with my face?”

  “Oh, my gawd!” She rolled her eyes at Alvin and he smirked. “Your lipstick! Jeez, fishing for compliments much?”

  “Huh?”

  “Come on, it’s time to open the doors and you’re late, Missy. You neglected the entire prep. You’re lucky Joe’s not in tonight.” She grabbed my hand and pulled me inside, throwing a glance over her shoulder. “It does look hot on you though, babe. You should wear that color more often.” She dropped my hand when my collar announced her mistake and headed for the kitchen. “Even if you don’t want a party, it’s not going to stop me from rustlin’ up some darlings for you,” she said over her shoulder then bustled into the kitchen. “Look out boys, we have a new player in town.”

  “Gidday, Jimbo,” I said as I rushed through the kitchen.

  The chef flicked his slippery eyes to me and, with a short nod, spat a masticated mess into the trash can below. Just as well his head was shaved. He looked so greasy that oil would have dripped from his hair if he’d had any.

  I waved to Courtney, cutting up lettuce at the end of a stainless steel counter. He—sorry, she—batted her false eyelashes and blew me a kiss. Her long, platinum hair was pulled back into a high ponytail and her exotic latte skin and sky blue eyes made her prettier than most women in town. If it weren’t for her prominent Adam’s apple, you’d never have believed a year ago she was a man. Courtney performed in the bar on Kitty’s days off.

  After stashing my helmet and bag in the office, I put on an apron, tied up my hair, and checked my appearance in the last minute mirror by the door. I froze.

  My lips were red.

  They were bloody red.

  Like I’d bitten on a thorn and smeared blood over them. It was insane. My heart fluttered in my throat, and the collar felt uncomfortably warm. I closed my eyes and shook my head but the vision of my red mouth had seared into my eyelids. I peeled one eye open, then the second. Yep, the same ruby-lipped girl stared back at me. I scrubbed my lips in an attempt to smudge the color.

  It wouldn’t come off.

  CHAPTER THREE

  AT THE SIGHT of my new lip color, I quivered. This was not good, not good at all. A physical manifestation of my subconscious desire could be dangerous. Sure, I always thought Kitty’s lipstick was awesome, but I didn’t actually want to change my lip color. If I couldn’t control this kind of subconscious DNA-changing urge, I’d be in trouble. Lipstick was one thing, but what if I changed the color of my skin, or something?

  I gasped and covered my eyes. Don’t think about it. My current skin is just fine. You hear me body? Just fine.

  Why was this happening? Surely I’d know if I was a witch, right? There were so many reasons I couldn’t be. For starters, I was not a ghostly parasite that stole bodies. I had all of my memories from childhood, unlike witches who contrived stories to delude themselves. Also, witches only lasted around three years in any given host before the body decayed rapidly from the inside out. My body was doing just fine. I was as fit as a fiddle and couldn’t even catch a cold with my abnormal fast-healing.

  I sighed. For years I’d ignored the origin of my innate abilities because the truth was too hard to grasp. I patted my pocket, feeling the small bulge of the memory chip. Maybe it was time to find some answers.

  Snapping out of my daydream, my eyes darted left and right to see if anyone noticed my suspect behavior. Then I raced from the office, smashed through the scullery swinging doors and stalked into the front room.

  My admirer stood on the other side of the mahogany bar. He’d been studying his digital camera and looked up wide-eyed. An unlit cigarette dropped from his lips, and he quickly hid the camera behind his back. The cigarette bounced on the bar and rolled towards me.

  “Hi Tommy,” I said, slamming my hand over the getaway smoke.

  “Uh… Miss Roo, I was just… uh, taking photos of your fine establishment… and local attractions.” His southern American accent was thick. “For my editor, you see.” He turned on an angle so his body blocked my view
of the camera. As he stretched, his lean teenager-muscles flexed through his worn blue and gray baseball t-shirt. A couple of years older, and I’d have no troubles adding him to Kitty’s dating list. His dusty cap pushed his curly hair over his eyes and I couldn’t make out his expression. His obvious evasion was like dangling a carrot in front of a donkey. My curiosity piqued.

  I stood on tiptoes to peek over his shoulder at the screen, but he moved to block my view. It became a silent game—I moved, he moved further. He wouldn’t look me in the eye and that was a sure sign of his guilt.

  “I’m sure your editor would be happier with photos from our world class wineries than a couple of taxidermy crows. There’s plenty to see this week with all the festivities. Why don’t you get out there and have a look around?” I asked.

  He continued to rifle through his shots. “Now, now, Probie. Why would I run about town all crazy-like when I could just sit back, enjoy a drink and soak up the beauty here?”

  “What beauty? Stuffed animals?” I asked, thinking he referred to the kitsch-themed decorations behind him—a bunch of black crows and magpies perched on fake, gnarled branches. Our restaurant had an L-shaped bar at the front and beyond that, a small wooden dance floor. A few tables and booths lined the edges of the room, but it was the brooms, crows, cobwebs and witch’s hats hanging from the ceiling that gave The Cauldron its Halloween feel. It wasn’t exactly the epitome of tourism in the south-west of Australia, in fact, it wasn’t very Australian at all. Maybe that’s why it was such a popular night spot.