Soul Catchers

1

LIAM

I’m not afraid of the Big Bad Wolf. He happens to be a friend of mine. Well, the human he turns into during the day is my friend. I’m still working on the wolf. It would help our friendship if I didn’t have to keep him chained to a tree in the middle of the Oregon forest all night long. But seeing as how he’d probably try to eat me if I didn’t, I’ll have to work with what I’ve got.

I’m not sure how much more of this I can take, Liam. Todd sinks to the ground as I lock the shackle around his neck. The collar is so big he could slip it right over his head, but once he turns into the wolf, it’ll fit just right.

There has to be another way. Dry leaves crunch beneath him as he settles cross-legged into the dirt and drops his head into his hands. The sun sinks deeper behind the mountain, sending a chill creeping through the air. Goose bumps pop up all over my body, but Todd doesn’t even react to the cold. He doesn’t react to much of anything lately.

I zip my jacket and shove my hands in my pockets. It’ll be all right. We’ll figure something out soon. I take a deep breath and fill my senses with the woodsy aromas of pine and fir and earth. It’s peaceful out here in the forest. Quiet. It won’t be for long. You’ve managed to control him for over a year now, so it’s getting better, ain’t it?

Todd leans against the beech trunk he’ll be chained to for the night and lets his head fall against the smooth bark. I haven’t done anything to control the monster. Once my body transforms, my mind is useless. He rubs his forehead and squeezes his eyes shut. Full moons always make it worse. Maybe I should go in the cage tonight.

Nah. You’ll be fine. I double-check the chain, making sure everything’s secure. I can see his soul better in the moonlight, so I’m betting it’ll be easier for me to talk to him out here. Especially with the full moon, since he’ll be more powerful.

If you say so. He runs a hand through his matted black hair and fiddles with the collar. If I could kill myself and end this now, I’d do it. I’d have done it a long time ago, after what I did to your mom.

A sharp pain shoots through my heart as I rest my hand on his shoulder and give it a squeeze. Hey, now. You didn’t do anything to my mom. I know that, and I think you know it too. I can’t imagine what it’s like to live with all that guilt. To be forced to go along for the ride as the wolf tears people apart. I shudder thinking about it. But it’s not his fault. He killed the wolf in self-defense, and he sure didn’t ask to be possessed by it.

Besides, if you die, his spirit will just move on to another body. The soul of the wolf can never die, no matter how hard we try to kill it.

That’s why I’m still here. He lets out a long, frustrated sigh and closes his eyes. But you’re seventeen, Liam. You should be out with other kids your age, having fun, flirting with girls. This is no life for you.

"Well, the only way for me to find other kids my age would be to go back to New Portland. And seeing as how I’d be killed on the spot if I stepped foot inside the walls, I’d say living here in the woods is the only life for me."

We’re quite a pair, aren’t we?

That we are.

The sun dips behind the mountain, so he’ll be shifting soon. I picked the strongest, thickest tree I could find to chain him to. We’re far enough away from camp that even if he did get loose, everyone there would be safe. He’d head toward the city if he could break the chains anyway.

But he can’t break the chains. I’m sure of that.

And the people in the city will be all cozy in their apartments, protected by the giant concrete walls surrounding the borders. There’s nothing to worry about. Nothing to be afraid of.

I settle on the ground a good distance away—close enough to talk to him once he shifts, but far enough away that he can’t eat me. Not that I think he could eat me. Todd disappeared about six months before the wolf killed my mom. Everyone assumed the beast had killed Todd too, until we found him passed out in the woods near the mountain a year after my mom’s death. I’ve been working with him for two years now, and things have gotten better. He hasn’t been able to eat me yet. Then again . . . I suppose there’s a first time for everything.

Darkness creeps into the forest as the sun disappears behind the horizon. The moon hangs huge in the sky, a massive red coin floating above the mountain. Todd gasps as the wolf takes hold, his body becoming a shimmering mist as he transforms from human to animal. The change never ceases to amaze me, the way the magic molds his body, taking the dormant soul on the inside and bringing it forward, into control. Thick gray fur rolls over his massive body, and wicked-sharp claws extend from paws the size of dinner plates. He inhales deeply—his canine senses sharpened like razors—and flares his nostrils as he blows out a hard breath.

Good evening, Makkapitew, I say. How are you this glorious night?

The wolf locks eyes with me and snarls. He lunges toward me, and my heart gallops, but I don’t flinch. As soon as he reaches the end of the chain, his head snaps back, lifting his front legs off the ground. I laugh because he looks like a dog that’s run to the end of its leash. A really big dog with huge, sharp teeth, but a dog all the same.

Makkapitew is a powerful spirit, and his soul glows an intense gold, even brighter today because of the full moon. Todd’s soul is still in there, but it’s a dim silvery light at the base of the wolf’s skull—silver because it’s not active now. Once Todd becomes human and is in control of his body, his soul will be the gold one.

You seem extra agitated tonight, Makka. Wanna talk about it?

A growl of warning rumbles from his chest, probably threatening to kill me, though I don’t understand wolf speak.

Ya hungry? I brought you a rabbit. I toss the carcass of a hare in front of him. Normally, the wolf is starving and gobbles up whatever I give him. Sure, he wants human flesh, and he’d prefer to hunt than be fed, but this will have to do.

Tonight he paces back and forth, back and forth, ignoring the dinner I laid out for him. His lips are peeled over his massive teeth, and saliva drips from his incisors. He snarls and lunges for me again, only to be yanked back by the metal collar and chain.

Makka’s soul glows so bright I have to avert my eyes. He strains with otherworldly strength against the chain, causing the tree to crack under the pressure. I’m afraid the old trunk might snap in half if he pulls much harder.

My heart pounds a little faster. Calm down now, Makka. You’re going to hurt yourself. Or me.

A creaking sound reverberates when he lunges again, the metal groaning against his strength. Lead weakens magic, but it’s not strong enough on its own, so I used it as a coating on an iron chain. The two metals together should be enough to contain his magic. They’ve always contained him before.

He stops lunging and starts straining, using his body weight to pull on the chain, the collar cutting into his flesh as he leans into it. He spins around and ducks his head, trying to slip out of the shackle, but it’s too tight. His nostrils flare as he blows out a hard breath and goes back to straining against the chain.

Another clanking sound, and I’m on my feet, my back pressed against a tree. A creak and a groan, and my heart lodges in my throat. This isn’t right. His bulging eyes are fixed on me, his gaze piercing my heart like I’m sure he longs to do with his teeth. His paws slip on the dirt as he strains toward me, but he regains his footing, digging his claws into the earth for traction.

He lets out a strangled growl. The collar snaps at the hinges and drops to the ground with a thud. My body flushes with ice, freezing me to the spot as he leaps toward me, paws outstretched, and swipes his massive claws across my face. Searing pain shoots through my head as he slices through my cheek. I let out a garbled scream and hit the ground, knocking the breath from my lungs. My filleted face burns like it’s melting off the bone, but I manage to scramble to my feet.

Makka’s sudden freedom and the surprise of reaching his prey throw him off balance. He stumbles, and I have just enough time to grab a branch and swing myself up into the tree before his teeth tear me apart. I scramble up the limbs as far as I can go, my palms bloody from the bark embedding in my skin. My fatigued muscles tremble as I grip the branch. He jumps, swiping his paws and snapping at the air.

Blood drips from my face, and a drop lands on his nose. His tongue flicks out, tasting my life force, and he leaps into the air, snapping his powerful jaws again. But I’m too high up, and he knows it. He prowls around the trunk, lips pulled back over his teeth, his gaze locked on mine, growling as I cling to the tree branch. My arms and legs shake with exhaustion as I lie on my stomach, resting the good side of my face against the bark. Dizziness forces me to squeeze one eye shut—I can’t see anything through the other one—and sweat pours off me like rain.

As my strength weakens and my grip slips, the wolf lets out a huff and bounds toward the city. As much as he seems to hate me, I suppose I’m not worth wasting his time on when there are plenty of humans waiting to be devoured in town.

With Makka gone, I dare to reposition myself on the branch before my arms give out. But I still wait an excruciating half hour longer—just to be sure he’s not coming back—before I shimmy down the tree and limp to camp. The world spins, and my stomach roils as I try to breathe with iron lungs. I’m heavy. My whole body is numb, probably from shock, and I collapse at the village entrance.

Gravel crunches under shoes, and people are talking, but I can’t make out who they are. I try to push myself up, but my elbows buckle beneath my weight, and my head hits the dirt.

Help me get him inside, a soothing voice says, and I’m lifted and carried to a room. Stay with us, Liam. Where is Todd? Her voice is melodic, with a hint of panic under the surface.

Pain shoots through my face when I try to open my eyes, and I let out a garbled shout. She rubs something cool on my cheek, and the slicing sting subsides to a dull ache. She tugs on my chin and places a few drops of warm oil on my tongue. I open my good eye and blink at the woman through my tears as her image swims into focus.

Missy has always been like a mother to me. She smiles warmly, but worry furrows her brow. If only you could heal yourself.

If only.

2

WREN

Wren. Little bird, wake up. My mom’s hushed voice tickles my ear, coaxing me from my dreams. My eyelids flutter open, and my vision tries to adjust to the dim lamplight in my tiny bedroom. As the world comes into focus, I notice my lamp is the only thing still standing in place.

My mom hesitates in the doorway and looks around my room. Everything I own has been thrown from the shelves, is knocked over, or lies shattered on the ground. Rough night? She rights a chair that lies on its side.

I groan, kicking the covers off and rolling out of bed. I never asked for the Sense. I was born with it. So were my mom and countless other people, most of whom are dead now. Technically, none of us should be alive. The government has labeled us infected, and if they ever discover we possess magical powers, we’ll be killed on the spot.

Or worse.

Bad dreams, I mumble as she helps me turn my dresser upright.

I do my best to keep my powers hidden, but sometimes I unwittingly use my telekinesis at night. It’s kinda like sleepwalking, but I tend to throw stuff around. Sleep throwing.

A picture has fallen off the wall, and the soft carpet is the only reason it didn’t shatter on the floor. My mirror wasn’t so lucky. A dent in the pale-green drywall marks the spot where it collided with the wall, splintering the glass, turning its reflections into a distorted mosaic of color. My stuffed bunny and a notebook lie in the hallway, and my mom picks them up and sets them on my dresser. I’ve had claustrophobia since I was a small child, and I can’t sleep with my door shut. I start to pick up the rest of my things, but she stops me.

We’ll have to clean this up later if you want to have your morning run before we pick the elderflower. There was a full moon last night, so it will be extra potent.

I rub my eyes and look at the clock lying on the floor. It’s Tuesday, six a.m. Or I could go back to sleep for an hour and then run while you pick the flowers. My head is groggy, my body a lead weight, and my cozy bed beckons me to curl up under the covers.

She looks down, pretending to examine her fingernails, and inhales deeply. I used to love gathering herbs with your grandma. I thought maybe . . . maybe you would enjoy doing something like that with me?

I look at the clock again and sigh. I’m already awake, so I might as well help her. All right. I need to get up anyway. Seth is waiting for me.

Her brow furrows in disapproval.

"You don’t have to say it again, Mom. ‘It’s dangerous for someone with the Sense to be so close to an enforcer.’ I know. But Seth’s different. Even if he did know about my powers, he would never do anything to hurt me."

The enforcers are an elite group of military police who have a direct chain of command all the way up to the president. When the government dissolved the state and local police forces, it gave the enforcers the power of officer, soldier, judge, and executioner. Seth didn’t ask to join; they invited him. And by invited, I mean drafted. Forced.

My mom purses her lips like she wants to say something else, but thankfully she lets it go.

I sigh and fall onto my bed. I’ll go with you, but you have to promise not to talk about healing outside. We’re just picking flowers for the vase in the living room.

A smile brightens her face, bringing the sparkle back to her eyes. I promise. Meet me on the landing when you’re ready?

Okay. I honestly don’t see how she can be so brazen with her Sense when the punishment is so harsh.

Death doesn’t seem worth it to me. She feels otherwise.

My mom says she was born to heal, so that’s what she does. In a hidden room in the back of our apartment, Elaine Lewis, healer of the sick and wounded, sees her patients, using energy and herbs to mend injuries and cure diseases. Somehow, she’s kept her practice a secret all these years, even though I accidentally used my powers in public once when I was little. The enforcers cured me of my infection—or so they think—and as soon as the whole mess blew over, my mom went right back to healing. I don’t share her trust in the people of our community, though. I’ve chewed my nails down to nubs worrying about it.

Dragging myself out of bed, I throw on a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt and head for the park. Gravel crunches under my sneakers as I jog the trail behind our apartment. The sun has barely risen in the overcast sky, a fiery red sphere piercing the gloom. A morning fog rolls across the ground, casting the day in an eerie shade of gray. Though it’s early, plenty of people still bustle about, getting ready for the morning. Joggers dot the running path, while men in suits stop at the coffee stand and rush off to work in their offices.

An empty farm bus rumbles by, the suspension groaning as it splashes through a muddy pothole on its way to the motor pool for a fresh tank of gas. It will double as a city bus until just before dusk, when it returns to the farm outside the city to pick up the workers from their twelve-hour shift. That’s got to be a hard life, working in the fields rain or shine, being away from their families all day long. At least they have jobs, though. So many people don’t.

I make a wide berth around a group of enforcers, in their standard gray uniforms, who stand under a light pole, smoking cigarettes and watching people pass by, their presence—and their guns—a not-so-subtle reminder that laws are not to be broken.

Not that my mom cares about laws.

A woman pushing a jogging stroller smiles at me as we cross paths, and I wave in return. I spot a homeless man huddled on his usual bench, clutching an upside-down newspaper and muttering. Strands of silver streak his tangled chin-length brown hair.

How’s it going today, Mr. Strahan? I stop, fish the dollar I was going to use to buy water out of my pocket, and stuff it into his hand. It isn’t much, but at least he can buy an order of fries or something to ease his hunger pangs. He stops muttering to look up at me, his blood-shot eyes fixing me in a piercing gaze.

It’s still here. His voice is husky, like he hasn’t spoken in more than a whisper in a long time.

I smile. What’s here, sir?

He points to the sky. It’s the moon. Power.

Yeah. There was a blood moon last night. It was supposed to be really pretty, but I couldn’t see it from my window. Citywide curfew starts at dusk, and we aren’t allowed outside our living quarters until morning. Could you see the moon from the shelter?

He’s already muttering again, so I continue on my way. As my muscles warm up, I can already feel the energy inside me calming down, no longer threatening to tear my life apart. Since I never use my magic, it tends to build up and then comes out in an explosion like it did last night. But running helps. I have to get outside to fill my lungs with fresh air and sprint until my legs burn and my heart feels like it’s going to burst. I need to jump and climb and use my body to exhaustion. Exercise is the only thing that keeps the boiling mess inside me at a simmer. The only way I can keep my powers hidden.

As I get ready to sprint, a pair of boots pounds the gravel behind me. Seth. I grin and pour on the speed, taking off before he can catch up. The running track bends left, but I hurdle a park bench and dart down a trail through the trees. The scents of pine and fir dance in the air as the canopy of branches dapples the rising sunlight.

I dash between the pines, and my shoe catches on a root. I go down, tumbling over myself until I skid to a stop just short of knocking my head against a tree trunk. Seth slows his pace slightly but doesn’t stop.

You okay, Red? he calls as he approaches. A mischievous grin fills his face when I wave my hand to dismiss him. He winks as he passes and picks up his pace.

My elbow burns, and blood drips down my arm, the crimson liquid turning black as it mixes with dirt. The cut hurts, but it’s nothing compared to the sting of that nickname. Especially coming from Seth.

I scramble to my feet and sprint ahead, trying to salvage what’s left of this race. I can’t let him beat me, even if it’s on a technicality. Seth may be strong and fearless, but I’m faster. My muscles burn as I pump my legs and carefully scan the forest floor for roots. I’m gaining on him, but he’s almost reached the finish line—the shore of a small lake a mile west of where we started.

I pour on one last burst of speed, but it isn’t enough. By the time I reach the lake, Seth is bent over, his hands on his knees, panting. Not too bad, Red, he says between breaths. But I did beat you this time.

That’s the second time he’s called me Red. My hands vibrate with the urge to smack him with my energy. I tackle him instead.

I plant my shoulder squarely in his stomach, knocking the wind out of him as I take him down. With the element of surprise on my side, I’m able to wrestle his stocky frame to the ground. I pin his thick arms under my knees and press his shoulders against the dirt with my hands. He could easily toss me off, but he lets me have this little victory.

First of all, you only won because I fell. And second . . . A bead of sweat rolls down his forehead, and I release his shoulder to wipe it away. Staring into his chocolate puppy-dog eyes, I almost forget why I’m mad. Almost. Don’t ever call me by that name. You know I hate it. And you of all people should know how offensive it is.

He smiles, the glint in his eyes turning devilish. In one swift movement, he frees his arms, grabs me by the waist, and plants me firmly on my butt in the dirt. Then he kneels in front of me and tucks a stray strand of hair behind my ear.

First of all, he says, attempting to mimic my voice and chuckling when he fails miserably. First of all, he says in his own velvety tone, a win’s a win.

I open my mouth to protest, but he holds up a finger. "And second, you know that nickname has nothing to do with your skin and everything to do with that stupid cloak you wear all the time. Your mom’s a seamstress. She could’ve at least made you a nice jacket or something not so . . . medieval."

I’ve worn a red cloak of some sort since I was a small child. When I outgrew it, my mom would sew a new one, secretly stitching four stones into the hem—coral, opal, onyx, and turquoise. Those four stones together form a circle around me and—according to Apache legend—have a sacred power on their own. But my mom enchanted them to make what she swears is the perfect wolf repellent. I suppose the cloak was cute when I was little. People called me Little Red Riding Hood, and I kinda liked being compared to a storybook character.

But as I got older, the nickname eventually shortened to Red, and it stuck. I hardly ever wear the cloak in public anymore. It’s usually stuffed in my backpack when my mom’s not around. But the name is mine now, and my blood boils when I hear it.

Seth stands, crossing his arms over his chest, and grins down at me like he told a hilarious joke and expects me to laugh. Come on.

I shake my head and rise from the ground, dusting the dirt from my pants. I know where the name came from. I just don’t expect to hear it from you, Seth.

He turns to face me, sighs, and pulls me into a hug. His chin rests on top of my head, and I press my ear