Not a Living Soul

Copyright © Clan Whelan Publishing. Cover design by Psycat Studio. Cover copyright © Clan Whelan Publishing. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This book contains content that might be troubling for some readers, including, but not limited to, gun violence, sexual encounters, and adult language. Please be mindful of these and other possible triggers. To Joyce and Darline, my grandmothers. You both were and still are my inspiration. From blindly believing in me and all my dreams, no matter how fantastical they were, to encouraging all paths a story could take, I was lucky to have you for the years we had. Even though you have passed on, I miss you both everyday. Hope your lights are as grand as you deserve. Contents Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty - One Chapter Twenty - Two Chapter Twenty - Three Chapter Twenty - Four Chapter Twenty - Five Chapter Twenty - Six Chapter Twenty - Seven Chapter Twenty - Eight Chapter Twenty - Nine Chapter Thirty Chapter Thirty - One Chapter Thirty - Two Chapter Thirty - Three Chapter Thirty - Four Chapter Thirty - Five Chapter Thirty - Six Chapter Thirty - Seven Playlist Author's Note Acknowledgements Review and Read More CWP Newsletter and Partners CWP Authors and Books Anastacia always felt the eyes on her first. “Please, just go away," she pleaded to the dark soul who followed her from Jackson Square. The desperate prayer went unanswered as her back pressed into the brick wall of the alley, the rough crags of brick pulling on her shirt at her shoulder. Her eyes were clenched shut; her ears strained to hear the groaning soul. The hope that he would stagger away faded with every second. She refused to open her eyes. If she didn’t lock eyes with him, he wouldn't follow. His soul would seep back into the shadows until they caught up to him. They always caught up to the ones with no unfinished business. “Yo-ung la-dy,” a choked voice called out from around the corner, echoing down the alley. A thick, bubbling cough followed. His voice was muffled by the black muck sliding from his mouth. Part of her felt pity for the man. Drowning was always a hard way to go. The uncomfortable pressure of his stare on her made her shift. “The-re you are.” Ordering her eyes to stay closed, she blindly jammed a button on the side of her phone, hiking the volume of her music up to stop his voice from seeping through. A deep wail ripped through the air as her music cut out completely, the phone drained of power. The oppressive presence folded over, prodding at her lips to give entry. “Let. Me. In.” The voice was so close now, Anastacia could hear the intermittent gurgles punctuating his words. Her lips pursed tighter as her mind screamed for help. Feet planted firmly on the ground, hands pushed against the brick, she attempted to ground herself within the physical world. She had not come all the way to New Orleans to be taken over by a dark soul. With a breath through her nose, she opened her eyes in time to see the soul’s expression morph from pride to fear. Jerking back from her, the dark soul flailed into the deep shadows on the opposite side of the alleyway. Reaching toward her, his slick arms waved just short of her face. His mouth opened, attempting a wail that the unrelenting torrent gushing from his mouth transformed into thick, goopy bubbles. Pitch-black hands stretched out of the shadows, claws shredding through the dark soul, hauling the pieces back into the shadows. Once the dark soul was fully consumed, a bulbous head emerged from the absolute darkness and unblinkingly stared at her. Light reflecting off the completely black eye was the only way she could tell they were fixated on her. She nodded to the creature in a curt show of gratitude. Its eyes narrowed and the creature sank back into a darkness deeper than the shadows around it. Then nothing. She was alone. Her head fell back against the bricks as she released a long, slow breath. Their true name was never said, never written in any book. She called them "Gatekeepers.” It seemed to fit, and they had no disagreement with the term as far as she knew. The soul the Gatekeeper reaped didn’t need help; it wanted another shot. As much as she struggled with her life, she wouldn’t give it up to some dark soul who screwed up theirs. If it wasn’t for the Gatekeepers removing the dark souls from the physical world, she might be a lost soul herself. The thought sent a shiver down her spine. Freezing cold draped over her, changing her breath to mist. It was a sensation she thought she left behind. A whisper caressed her heart— a fragment of the soul of someone dear. A fragment carried by a demon. “Don’t let them take you. Save yourself… for me.” “Stop it,” Anastacia hissed. Her eyes examined the sky to ignore the thing at her side. It always came when she was spiritually weak. And when she was alone. It hoped Anastacia would give in to it just like she had. It couldn’t force her. It had to be invited. She wiped at her face to hide the tear in her eye. “Stop using her voice. I know what you are.” “You still have no idea.” A chuckle echoed in the small alley, a mix of the familiar and something darker. “You being chased, baby?”