The Soul Consortium by Simon West-Bulford Read Free Book Online

should you know me?”
    Keitus Vieta set his cane on the bed and sniffed the air in long slow gulps, fingers raised, playing with the air around him as he stalked the room. Fairy tales about ogres scenting the blood of hiding children crept into my mind as I watched. It was at that moment of scrutiny I realized something about this man was utterly wrong; primal instincts had roused something in my mind, warning me he could not be real, and I struggled to rationalize what my senses could not.
    He crouched over a mug of cold coffee left on the bedside table, picked it up as if it were a wounded starling, then pressed it to his cheek. I could only stand and watch in frozen fascination as he rolled his tongue over the handle, across the lip, and around the base, his gaze upon me as the cold dregs pattered onto the carpet like blood.
    “Mine,” he whispered.
    Resisting the creeping fear, I grappled with the facts before me. Persuaded by an unknown motive, Keitus Vieta had visited the scene of my crime, and amongst his bizarre intentions, he wanted to conceal my mistakes, wanted to protect me for some reason. This man, whoever he was, wherever he was from, needed me. I had no idea why, but for now, all I needed to remember was that his need must be my advantage.
    “What did you do to the police outside? You must know they will be looking for you after tonight,” I said. “Are they drugged?”
    Keitus placed the mug within the folds of his coat. “Not drugged.”
    “What then?”
    “Empty now.”
    “What does that mean?”
    “Too many questions. Be content with the knowledge that I am here to help you.”
    “But why? Did you have something against Kriefan Mack?”
    Keitus placed his index finger against his tongue and rubbed the saliva against his thumb as if testing something. “You help me. So I help you.”
    I squeezed the gun inside my pocket, fighting an urge to rip it out and level it against his forehead again, scream at this strange man, and demand he start making sense. He saw the twitch of my hand in my pocket, and the feeling of cold dread visited me once more.
    He smiled, perhaps believing I would not be intimidated.
    On impulse I wrenched the gun out as his eyes widened in excitement. Sweat coated my palm, my heart thumped inside my throat, and as if from within a dream, I actually heard myself whimpering when I pressed my weapon against the old man’s forehead once more.
    We stayed in that pose for the longest time—my fear mingling with his fascination—until at last Keitus wrapped his frail fingers around the barrel and freed the gun from my trembling hand. As he had with the empty mug, he slid his tongue across the metal, tasting the handle, the orifice at the end of the barrel, the trigger, then passed it back. “No, not ready yet. Not at all ready.”
    I let my arm go limp, almost dropping the gun. “What isn’t ready? What do you mean? Please.”
    “I am a collector.”
    “Of guns?” I knew he meant something else, something more sinister. My legs began to shake.
    “Of … life. And death. Your gun is not ready yet. You still have a little time. More people to kill. More gifts to bring me before our partnership ends.”
    I shuddered, leaned over him in spite of my growing weakness, a vain attempt at intimidation. “Our partnership is over tonight. You might need me, old man, but I don’t need you.”
    “You have always needed me.”
    “Bullshit.”
    He retrieved his cane from the bed. The stone seemed a little brighter than earlier. “Remember Graham Adams? I was there.”
    I felt my heart stop, waiting for him to tell me more.
    “You told everyone that his foot had been trapped in the pond and that you tried to save him, remember? Who do you think pushed his ankle through the bars of the trolley they found when they dragged his corpse from the water? Did you think you were lucky? That fortune fell in love with you that day? Was it then you began to believe that Fate had plans for your