Soul Bond

A NineStar Press Publication

www.ninestarpress.com

Soul Bond

ISBN: 978-1-64890-731-9

© 2024 Mell Eight

Cover Art © 2024 Melody Pond

Published in January 2024 by NineStar Press, New Mexico, USA.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact NineStar Press at [email protected].

CONTENT WARNING:

This book contains sexually explicit content, which may only be suitable for mature readers. Depictions of bullying and stalking.

Soul Bond

Mell Eight

Chapter One

WORD ON THE street is you can help me find something I’m looking for, Hew said as he took the empty chair at a four-seater table adjacent to the bustling bar. The tavern wasn’t fancy, but it was located in one of the steadier lower-class neighborhoods. Hew had heard they watered their beer down with actual, clean water, and the bar patrons were primarily there to relax after work rather than get drunk and be rowdy, including the three people now staring at him, mixed expressions on their faces.

The man to Hew’s left was rat-faced and scowling, but he was also leaning away as if he wanted to escape before this conversation escalated. The woman on Hew’s right was homely and broad, with the shoulders of a person who worked the docks and a nose that had been smashed and not healed properly. The man directly across from Hew was the one he was actually interested in. He went by the street name Skink, and he was as skinny as his namesake with a pinched face and long nose, but his eyes were shrewd as he took in Hew’s feigned nonchalance.

I’ve been known to help a friend or two with some issues, Skink replied with an easy shrug. But I don’t know you, stranger.

Hew leaned forward slightly, although he kept his hands in view to show he wasn’t offering a threat. I could be an excellent friend to have.

He slowly reached into his tunic, brown and homespun. He might be in one of the better lower-class neighborhoods, but Hew wasn’t about to come here dressed like someone who didn’t belong. The coin he pulled out glimmered in the glow cast by the candles in the flickering overhead lights. The silver chit—a quarter silver coin in proper parlance and equal to five full coppers—continued to glimmer as he set it on the table.

If you have more of those, I agree we could be great friends, Skink said, eyeing the chit. He looked back up at Hew rather than taking the coin, his eyes narrowed. Tell me what I can help you find, friend.

Hew leaned closer and lowered his voice. Someone who can help me with a magical issue I’m having.

Skink immediately leaned back and the rat-faced man let out a snort and stood. I’m not being part of this, he snapped out before heading over to the bar to order another drink. The dockworker crossed her arms over her chest, flexing impressive arm muscles, but otherwise didn’t react.

Magic is illegal, punishable by death, Skink finally replied. Keep your coin. I’m not helping anyone and getting my own head chopped off.

Hew reached into his tunic and pulled out two more silver chits, laying them on the table with the first one.

I’m not looking to cast magic. I need someone to help me solve a rather, erm, delicate issue I’m having because of magic.

Hew didn’t know whether it was the three coins, which likely equaled what Skink made after six months of work, or the way his cheeks heated with embarrassment as he stumbled out those last few words, but Skink scowled and scooched his chair closer.

You go to the mage corps? Skink asked. The crown mages are trained to help people like you.

Hew shook his head. I need more, um, discretion, than they’re capable of, if you know what I mean.

Skink snorted out a laugh. Yeah. ‘Discretion.’ Those mages take your name first and call for the guard second. Claim it’s so the guard can help investigate, but most of the people foolish enough to go to them for help end up behind bars themselves, their names smeared publicly. Okay, I see what you mean, he added, still laughing. Sorry for asking a stupid question.

What sort of person uses a fancy word like ‘discretion’ anyway, the woman suddenly chimed in, her glare at Hew pointed and angry. You one of those hoity mage corps yourself?

Hew shook his head. No. I’m someone who would like to avoid their attentions at all costs.

He’s no mage corps lackey. But I think he’s fancy enough to have a fourth chit in there to ensure we both think so, Skink said, cutting in sharply.

Only if you have a better answer for me than what little you’ve given me so far. It was Hew’s turn to frown in suspicion.

Skink let out a bark of laughter. All right, friend. I have what you need. Down at the corner of Peony and Hillside Roads is a small magic shop. It’s run by a complete charlatan, you understand, so the mage corps turn a blind eye.

Makes a wart cream to magically remove warts, the woman added, touching a raised spot on her cheek. "Doesn’t touch my