Margaret Ronald - Soul Hunt (Evie Scelan)

MARGARET
RONALD

SOUL HUNT

For my parents, who let me get as many
books as I could carry from the library

CONTENTS

T here arent too many days when I wish I had never heard of the undercurrent, but Halloweens close to the top of the list, right after Marathon Monday and just before the date of the seer enclaves damn holiday picnic.

Halloween traffic for a bicycle courier is usually not much different from your basic day-to-day Boston mess: taxis, buses, SUVs resolutely ignoring the narrow nature of city streets, and an awful lot of cyclist-shaped blind spots. But theres enough of the undercurrent awake and in motion on Halloween that its a perpetual distraction, and this year was no different. In the past, Id had either a clubbing binge with Rena or Sarahs Samhain party to look forward to; this year, Sarah was so busy with managing her community watch that shed had no time for the party, and Rena, well, Rena and I werent speaking. On top of that, I had my own plans, which were not something to look forward to either.

All of this meant that on this particular Halloween, instead of threading my way back to Mercury Courier for another job on my beat-up loaner bike (the replacement ever since a curse-riddled jackass had turned my old bike into aluminum salad), I needed to stop for a moments rest. Not that it helped much; even the salt tang of the harbor couldnt quite cut through the days murk. I locked up my bike by the Boston Aquarium, made my way through a screaming gaggle of kids on their way to see the seals, and damn near collapsed out on the end of the dock.

Slumping against a piling, I closed my eyes. The air smelled of dead fish and kelpthe famous sea breeze that some people find so refreshingand, below that, the many scents that my talent could distinguish, the ones that didnt quite exist in a rational sense. Burnt ginger, clinging to a woman in a business suit stumbling over the uneven paving stones; mud and cheap newsprint, following an entire tour group as they hurried to catch up with their umbrella-wielding guide; damp cats and cinnamon, hovering over the entrance to a building as if it were waiting for someone. Every scent had its meaning, though I could only understand them by association, and every scent laid a trail for someone like mesomeone like the Houndto follow.

Even in my worse moments, and there had been a lot of those lately, I could still focus on those scents, the pattern that they laid over the world, the sense they made. I sighed and blew on my hands, trying to make them feel a little less like theyd been immersed in ice water.

Scelan, a womans voice called somewhere below me. I ignored it, trying to hold on to the pattern a little longer. The scents sharpened, and a tang of fireworks crept through them. I opened my eyes, briefly cringing at the sunlight. No obvious, immediate source, though someone nearby was working magic. That scent is distinctive enough that itll pull me out of anything else.

Scelan! Hound! Are you even awake?

I scanned the docks, then glanced down to see a figure in a heavy parka sitting in a motorboat just at the edge of the dock. The person pushed back her hood to reveal ash-blonde hair streaked with gray and a lined but carefully made-up face. Tessie? I said. What are you doing off your boat?

Technically Im not off it, she said, thumping the hull. Are you free, girl? Somethings wrong up the Mystic, and I might need your nose.

I hesitatedI was free, at least until Tania from Mercury Courier called to find out why I hadnt checked in yet. But there are things you dont do in the undercurrent, and one of those is favors for an unspecified return. It leaves the scales unbalancedand a favor is a dangerous thing to owe. You sure you need me?

Tessie pointed, and I followed her gesture to see a thin line of smoke rising past the buildings. Ill pay your standard rate, contract and everything, she called. Just hurry up and come along.

Coming, I said, and scrambled down the ladder into the boat. Tessie fired up the motor, and we skidded off across the harbor, skirting the yachts and boats drawn up along the shore for the season.

I didnt catch it till just now either, she yelled over the roar of the motor. It might be nothing, but my nets were tangled this morning, and I found two broken hooks in them

In English, please, I called back. I dont speak oracular.

Could be nothing. Could be bad. She shrugged.

That was the problem with magic that let you get a look at the future. Most of the time it was so opaque as to be almost useless. Of the diviners I knew, Tessie made the most sense, and that wasnt saying much.

But how had I missed the scent of smoke? Id even been actively using my talent a moment ago, and this much smoke should have caught my attention immediately. Granted, Id been having off days these last few weeks, and today was no exception, but I was the Hound, dammit. I should have noticed.

I touched the knot of scar tissue at my throat, where a little horn-shaped mark deformed the notch in my collarbone. These days, I was more than just one Hound, if you wanted to look at it that way. Tessie, I said, scooting forward and immediately regretting it as we hit the wake of a returning tugboat. What do you need me for?

She frowned and pulled up the hood of her parka, even though it couldnt have been nearly as cold for her as it was for me in my courier gear. Depends on what we find. Mostly I just want someone on hand in case I have trouble.

Tessies one of the fixtures of the magical undercurrent of Boston, though like everyone who made it through the years of the Fiana, she prefers to keep a low profile. (Im the poster child for why doing otherwise is a bad idea.) As long as Id known her, shed never set foot on land, although the docks, the boats, and pretty much anything along the waters edge were hers to look after. Although I didnt entirely trust hermost magic is founded on stealing pieces of other peoples souls and using them to subvert the laws of nature, so anyone in the undercurrent might regard you as a renewable resourceshe rarely gave anyone any trouble. Come to think of it, this was the most agitated Id seen her.

Just keep your eyes open, she said finally as we coasted below the Tobin Bridge into the mouth of the Mystic River. If something looks really wrongholy shit.

That was an understatement. A small ship, maybe a yachtfrom the looks of it more suited to the high-class marinas wed just lefthad been moored at the end of a commercial dock, next to several fishing boats. Heavy black smoke obscured the entire back end, orange glints sparking along the dock to the other boats. As we approached, a flapping, burning cable smacked across onto the closest fishing boat, leaving a trail of flame that rapidly expanded. This is what you meant by bad? I called, fumbling for my phone.

Tessie shook her head thoughtfully, though her hand on the tiller didnt slacken. Not quite. I thought no.

A blare of sirens echoed across the water, and the sullen glow of the fire was joined by flashing red and white lights. Someone must have called it in before it really got going. I started to relax my grip on my phone, but stopped as a fresh gust of wind carried both smoke and scent across the water to us. Smoke, the char of things that were not intended to burn, and under it an acrid tang that I knew well: sweat and fear. Someones in there!

Tessie bared her teeth, then shook her head. Therell be more in a moment. Hound, can you steer?

What? Nonot well anyway

Then Ill let you off. She did something to the engine, and we skidded across the tops of the waves, right up to the side of the fishing boat. You take care of any people, and Ill start a patterning to hold off anything else in the fire. And keep your senses opentell me what you scent!