Page 1 of Deceiver (Soul Chasers #2)

S omething unnerving is in the air this morning. I can feel it in my bones, even as I walk along the cobbled stone street to Sunday services at the chapel. I felt it when I awoke, when I tended my garden and animals, and I still feel it now.

“Good morning, Mr. Wilkins.”

The voice beside me is a familiar one. Lucy Plimpton, the woman who has been practically throwing herself at me for months now. As I understand from the church ladies, Lucy is one of the few women of marrying age in town not yet taken, and I, the relative newcomer, am the object of her attention.

“Morning, Miss Plimpton.”

“Fine weather we’re having,” Lucy says, adjusting the shawl around her shoulders. “It would be a nice day for a stroll after services.”

“Indeed.” I know what she wants, but unfortunately, I don’t have the least bit of interest in Lucy, or any woman for that matter.

Which certainly doesn’t make my life easier.

I should find a wife so I can blend in better.

I came to Salem for a fresh start, leaving the scandalous events of my past in California behind me.

A wife would be a wise choice if I want to fit in here.

I offer the plain woman a smile. Why not Lucy? It’s not as if holding out will change my attraction to women. She’s a kind person, and not at all offensive. She could do.

“Do you have plans after?” I ask. “I’d be honored to walk you home.”

Her face lights up, her cheeks blushing pink. “No plans. That would be nice, Mr. Wilkins.”

“You may call me Edward.”

“Oh.” Her smile brightens even more. “You may call me Lucy.”

I offer my arm, and she takes it, smiling sweetly as we enter the small chapel.

There are several churches in the area now, due to the continued growth of the population, and I chose this one to attend simply for its proximity to the ocean behind it and my humble home.

If I am to marry, I’ll need to secure a bit of land and build a proper house.

What I can’t give in love, I’ll try to give in creature comforts.

Sitting through services, listening to the preacher’s warnings about all the ways we as humans fail, and therefore won’t receive god’s promise, is a weekly activity I loathe.

I can’t say I believe in any of this, or that I ever have, but I’ve learned the hard way that avoiding church services will not help me achieve respectability in town.

I’ve been lucky here so far, gaining employment with the local blacksmith and finding a small home to lease temporarily.

I won’t make the same mistake twice. Salem is a new start, and one I plan to make the most of.

After services, I wait patiently behind Lucy as she chats with the other women.

It’s only a few minutes before she joins me again, and we walk out together, her arm looped around mine.

She’s talking to me about her plans for the afternoon—a sewing circle, then cooking with her mother and sister for the family dinner.

“You’re more than welcome at our home,” she says, subtly squeezing my arm. “There’s always enough for friends.”

My chest tightens. I should accept her invitation and ingratiate myself with her family, but the idea sounds truly horrible.

A home-cooked meal wouldn’t be so terrible though.

What do I do next? Woo the poor girl, make her believe she is loved by a man who couldn’t possibly give his heart to a woman?

I glance at her, listening as she rattles off the planned meal for the evening, and it does sound nice. This is what I need to do.

When I look ahead again, I’m greeted by the sight of a bustling town, and in the midst of all the people, a man I’ve seen several times now. I know his profession—journalist—and that he’s as single as I am. From the way his eyes linger on mine, I’m certain he shares my sexual proclivities as well.

He’s a stunning man, with impressive height, strawberry blond hair, and big brown eyes. His smile is always tentative, tinged with words he doesn’t speak. In fact, we’ve never spoken. I don’t think I could speak to him without giving myself away.

He passes me and Lucy, tipping his head in acknowledgment. I return the gesture, my gaze lingering on him a beat too long, but the spell is broken when a man’s shouting voice draws my attention. I turn just in time to see a runaway horse dragging a carriage behind it, heading straight towards Lucy.

I jump into action, grabbing Lucy around the waist and swinging her out of the path of the horse, but the move has made me vulnerable.

I hear Lucy shout my name, but I’m already falling to the ground, putting my arms over my face and head, desperately trying to protect myself from the stampeding horse.

Pain sears through my torso and chest as the horse’s heavy hooves make contact, the animal trampling me as it tears off in its race for freedom, wooden carriage wheels crashing into my legs.

Lucy screams, and I’m aware of the concerned gasps from witnesses.

I reach for my chest, clutching my clothing as my insides throb. It’s hard to breathe, hard to focus.

“Edward!” Lucy is beside me, holding my hand. “Help! We need a doctor. Help us.”

I turn my head, grimacing as the metallic taste of blood coats my tongue. The journalist is beside me now too, ripping open my shirt.

“Good god,” he whispers. “You’re wounded badly.”

The world fades in and out as I study his face, his voice strong and loud through the haze of my agony. I already know what’s happening. It’s obvious. My hold on this life is fading.

“Hold on, Edward,” Lucy says. “Someone’s coming.”

“I—” My words are cut off by coughing and unbearable pain. “Lord help me.”

The journalist brushes my hair from my forehead. “I regret not speaking to you sooner.”

I nod, barely able to keep my eyes open.

“I’m Samuel.” He smiles sadly. “Help is coming, Edward. Stay with us.”

“Too… late…” I manage to choke out. Lucy is sobbing with her head on my stomach. The added weight hurts, but everything does at this point. “Sam… uel.”

He nods, squeezing my hand. “Just a bit longer. You have to fight, Edward.”

I want to. I’m not ready to die. With all my strength I squeeze Samuel’s hand back, but I’m fading away.

“Beau—” Forcing my eyes open, I focus on Samuel’s kind gaze. “You. Beau… ti… ful.”

Samuel smiles, whispering, “So are you. I would have liked to know you.”

Nodding, I swallow more blood. “Lucy.”

She lifts her head, her face streaked with tears. “Don’t you dare die. The doctor will be here any moment now. Don’t die, Edward. Please.”

I can barely keep my eyes open, but I can just see the townsfolk standing around, watching me with concerned eyes.

“Cat,” I choke out. “Feed cat.”

“You have a cat?” Lucy asks.

“Stray.”

She nods. “We’ll find the cat.” Her gaze shifts to Samuel. “You’re a friend?”

Samuel nods, smiling at me. “Yes, I’m a friend. I’ll help.”

“Until you’re better,” Lucy says, her voice full of false cheer. “Then you can feed the cat again.”

I appreciate her optimism, but my life is slipping away. I can’t be saved. That much I’m sure of.

“The doctor is coming,” someone yells, but it’s already too late.

My last breaths leave my body in shallow puffs, and the further I get from this life, the less I feel the pain. It’s too bad. I could’ve had a lovely future here in Salem. Now, I’m going to find out if the pastor’s sermons are right or not.

“He saved my life,” are the last words I hear Lucy say.

I open my mouth in an attempt to say goodbye, but no words come out. There’s nothing left. The last thing I see is Samuel, leaning over me with panic in his eyes. I wish I could tell him not to be sad for me. There’s no more pain.

Only darkness.

Waking with a gasp, I bolt upright, staring into opaque blackness before me. Gone are the townsfolk, Lucy, and Samuel. Where am I?

I get to my feet easily, feeling no pain at all. Patting my chest, stomach, and face, I’m shocked by the lack of injuries. That can only mean one thing. I’m dead.

A strong pulling sensation overcomes me, nudging me to move forward. I do, walking through the darkness towards an unknown destination. My legs feel heavy, and it takes effort to move them, but as I look around, I spot a door up ahead.

I lunge toward it and find myself directly in front of it in the blink of an eye. Twisting the doorknob, I push it open and peer inside, but it’s too dark for me to make anything out.

“Hello?”

No one answers, but the insistent tugging in my chest is still present, so I allow it to guide me. I navigate narrow hallways until I arrive at an opening where dim light seeps into my path. Inside, there are muffled voices and the sound of activity.

“Mr. Wilkins. We’ve been expecting you.”

I turn to my left to see a young man standing there.

He’s wearing old-fashioned attire from Europe.

France, perhaps. Short pants; long, stockinged socks; a long dress jacket; and an elaborate shirt with a ruffled collar and cuffs.

On his feet are pointed leather shoes. His long, dark hair is curled in front and pulled back with a light blue silk ribbon.

His eyes are odd though, a strange gray color I’ve never seen in a person before.

“Who are you? What do you mean you’re expecting me?”

“I am Farnsworth Renard. Your guide.”

“Guide for what? I don’t understand.”

I catch movement behind the man—many dark figures. Shadows.

“Where am I?”

“Tell him,” a voice says from somewhere in the group.

“Tell him,” another voice repeats.

“Tell him.” A choir of voices speak, the sound vibrating through my feet.

Farnsworth raises his hand. “Edward Charles Wilkins, currently of Salem, Massachusetts, born the second day of February in the year 1790.”

“Yes. Now who are you?”

“As I stated, I am your guide. You’re dead. This is the afterlife.”

I swallow hard. “Afterlife? I really have died.” I nod. “I remember that part. Is this heaven or hell?”

The shadowy figures behind Farnsworth seem to chuckle, and Farnsworth raises his hand again to quiet them.

“I’m afraid the stories your man-made religions have taught you are incorrect. This is neither heaven nor hell because they do not exist. Fortunately, you’re here with me because you have options, given the circumstances of your untimely demise.”

“Options?”

“Yes.” He snaps his fingers and a rolled piece of parchment appears in his hands. “This is the Revival House. Your soul met the placement criteria to be here, but there are other houses.”

“What criteria?”

“We’ll get to that.” He unrolls the parchment, glances at it, then nods. “There are two realms: the Above and the Below. We are in between. The Above is the realm the living inhabit. The Below is where souls are sorted after their time in the Above comes to an end.”

“When they die?”

“When they die. The Revival House is home to the Soul Chasers’ Society.

What is that, you ask? Well, as I’m sure you’re aware, the Above has some souls who are not always up to good things.

Upon their death, they bypass us and go straight to the Below, where they spend eternity in a most unpleasant place.

As you can imagine, they aren’t happy with their predicament and at times are capable of escape. ”

“Escape?”

Farnsworth nods. “The living always provide openings. Séances, spirit boards, mediums—the list of portals is endless, and a crafty soul uses that to their advantage. We call them Horrors. In the Above, they’re called ghosts, spirits, poltergeists.”

His meaning becomes clear. This is what the pastors mean when they talk about being in league with the devil. “The dead get out and haunt people?”

“People, places, and the like. It’s the society’s job to get them back. That’s where you come in, Edward.” He gestures down a hall that fades into nothing but blackness. “Down there is a portal to the Below. It’s where we, the society members, return the Horrors upon capture.”

I nod, though I’m not entirely sure what he’s talking about.

“You are here because you met the criteria.” He shows me the parchment, my name scrolled in gold at the top of it. “Untimely demise, not your fault, animal lover, and a reasonably upstanding person.”

“But…” I furrow my brow. “I’m confused.”

“About?”

“The church says men like me are an abomination.”

“Ah.” Farnsworth purses his lips for a moment. “As I stated when you arrived, your man-made religions don’t apply here. You are no more an abomination than any of your neighbors.”

“It’s not a sin?”

His features soften somewhat. “You did not harm people or animals. Nor did you steal, lie, or cheat. You did not murder. You did your very best up to the end. This opportunity is your reward.”

“Reward?” My eyes sting with emotion. “I’m listening.”

“As a Soul Chaser, you’ll return to the Above, but with a small caveat. You’ll be tasked with hunting down assigned Horrors and returning them to the Below where they belong. Should you accept, we’ll begin your orientation.”

“What do you mean when you say I’ll return to the Above?”

“You will rejoin the living, but you must understand all that comes with it. This work is a difficult endeavor. The Horrors don’t wish to return, and they will go to great lengths to avoid it.”

“I see.”

“You will never die, Edward,” Farnsworth continues. “It can be a very long and lonely existence.”

“But it is an existence?”

“Yes.”

“If I decline, what happens?”

“You’ll go to the Below for proper sorting. It’s not all bad down there.” His lips curl into the slightest smile. “Though I do hope you’ll consider the offer. We’re in need of more Chasers.”

“There are many Horrors in the Above?”

“Unfortunately, yes. There’s an ever-increasing interest in the world beyond the veil amongst the living, and with that interest comes opportunities for the Horrors to escape.”

“Will I go back to the life I just left?”

“The moment you died will rewrite itself and you will live.”

I think of the new life I was just starting in Salem, of Lucy’s kindness, of Samuel’s beauty, of the black stray cat I’ve taken to calling Shadow. It’s a chance to go back and start again. I could be happy. It would be nice to know what that feels like before accepting my death.

“I need an answer, Edward, before we can proceed,” Farnsworth says.

The answer bubbles up inside me. “I accept your offer.”

Farnsworth smiles. “Very good. Let’s get started.”