Page 5 of Deceiver (Soul Chasers #2)

Keagan

A fter Wilder leaves, I lean against my kitchen counter and collect my thoughts for a minute. I’m not scared of my dad, even though I barely knew the guy, but if he’s really here, this is my one and only opportunity to ask questions.

Decision made, I pull my phone from my back pocket and open my contacts, searching for the number of the medium I saw recently. When I spot it, I hit the button next to her name to call her.

“Hello?” she answers, her tone confident.

“Uh, hi, is this Talon?”

“Yes, it is. Can I help you?”

“This is Keagan Bishop. I met with you?—”

“I remember. What can I do for you?”

“This might sound weird, but I had a visitor today who’s pretty sure my dad’s soul is haunting me.”

“Uh-huh.”

“He’s in my house.”

“He? The visitor or the spirit?”

“The spirit. The man who came said he’s in charge of getting souls back to the, um, underworld, I guess. But before he does that, I need to be able to get answers to my questions. Can you help?”

The silence on the other end of the line is so dramatic I look at my screen to make sure the call is still connected.

“Talon?”

“I’m here. I was thinking. I’m not sure this is the right approach. There’s something about your energy that attracts spirits. Attempting to talk to him again could open portals for other souls to escape.”

A shiver moves down my spine, but I shake my shoulders out to rid myself of the sensation. “Wilder, the guy who was here, said I should use spiritual protection, whatever that means. I was hoping you knew.”

“Yes.” She clears her throat. “Let me consult with a few people on the best way to approach this. I’ll get back to you soon.”

“Okay.”

“Is it active yet?”

“Not really. It’s just hanging around. Wilder said it’s trying to fully manifest.”

“Did Wilder say anything about being a Soul Chaser?”

“You know about this?”

“I’ve heard about it through others. Is that what he said?”

“Yeah.”

“I see. Okay.”

I notice the shift in her tone from confident to nervous. “What’s wrong?”

“From what I understand, when a Soul Chaser shows up, it’s because the spirit is dangerous and difficult to get rid of.”

“Wilder mentioned that, but if it’s really my dad, I don’t think he’d hurt me.”

“Well, he didn’t come to have a picnic in the park, so we need to be careful.”

“Right. I’ll wait to hear from you.”

“Okay.”

She ends the call without saying anything else, which gives me bad vibes. She was really friendly when we met the first time. Now she seems almost afraid of me. If she can’t help, maybe she knows someone who can. It feels like this is my only chance to get information from my dad.

I walk back to the living room and plop down on the couch, staring straight ahead for a minute. Ever since his arrest, my life hasn’t been the same. Hardly fair when my dad was mostly absent from my life, and my few remaining family members did their best to keep him away from me.

Bad news, they said. Nothing but a fuckup his whole life. My mom used to say the only good thing Harold Bishop did in his life was contribute to my existence. My eyes sting with unshed tears as the memory of my mom clouds my emotions. I didn’t get nearly long enough with her.

My mind drifts back to the day I found out my dad was a suspect in a series of killings that happened over the summer a few years ago now.

It was a ridiculous idea to me at first, until I read the articles about the events.

It took a while for the cops to make a connection between the killings since the murderer seemed to choose his victims at random, with nothing standing out to create a motive.

Men, women, different ages, any race—it didn’t matter.

The few loose threads the police found were that all of them were young, below the age of thirty, and all of them were stabbed to death with a dagger.

Each victim was attacked late at night, usually on their way home from either a job or being out socially, and while all were stabbed, there was no consistency in how, which made the link hard to find.

Some had their throats cut, others were stabbed in the heart, while others still had gut wounds.

Two were stabbed in the back. It was only when one detective noticed that every victim was missing their underwear, even with their other clothes back in place, that the pieces started to come together.

My dad was on the second list of suspects because his car was seen leaving the area of two different crime scenes.

When questioned, he managed to come up with a loose alibi that detectives easily invalidated, but they could never find anything substantial to link him to the crimes.

No DNA, no footprints or tire tracks, no trophies found in his home.

I rub my forehead, recalling the day I found out about his arrest and subsequent release.

I don’t even remember how many years had passed since I last saw him when I opened the door to a reporter shoving a microphone in my face and asking me how I felt about my dad’s arrest. That was when everything changed for me.

I have to be on alert at all times, even now, for the people still out there chasing the story, wanting to determine his guilt or innocence even after his horrific death.

My phone buzzes, interrupting my unpleasant trip down memory lane. “Hello?”

“Hi, Keagan, it’s Talon.”

“Hi.”

“I’ve decided to help you with your situation, but I’m bringing a friend. Her name is Mercy.”

“Great. Thank you.”

“When would you like us to stop by?”

“Whenever you can. Sooner the better.”

“Right. How about in an hour?”

“That works. I’m in Beverly.”

“I know. I’m in Salem, so I’m not far.”

“I’ll text you my address.”

“Perfect. See you soon.”

She ends the call with no additional pleasantries again, but I guess this isn’t for fun.

I busy myself for the next hour by straightening up my place and putting teacups out on the kitchen counter. My grams always said to be prepared to offer coffee or tea when guests come over. I have both.

When I hear the knock on the door, my stomach flips. This is it. My chance to finally put an end to all the open questions in my mind, assuming Talon can get him to talk to us. I hurry to open the door, smiling when I see Talon and her friend standing on my stoop.

“Please come in.”

Talon nods, glancing around the living room, while Mercy looks decidedly more serious.

Talon has a sweet look to her—a little bohemian, with her long red hair with braids interspersed, a long flowing dress, and plenty of necklaces around her neck—while Mercy looks like she’s about to beat some ass.

She’s dressed in black leggings and a tight-fitting black tank top, and her arms ripple with muscles.

She has short black hair, big light brown eyes, tan skin, and a gaze that could make a weak person pee their pants.

“I don’t like the energy here,” Mercy says with a thick accent I can’t place. “You feel it too, Tal?”

Talon nods. “Definitely. Wilder was right.”

“Would you like tea or coffee?” I ask, because I have no idea what else to do.

“Later,” Mercy says, already looking up the stairs. “We should go deal with this.”

“I agree,” Talon says. “Let’s go.”

The three of us walk up the stairs, but I don’t even have to direct the women to where Wilder thinks the spirit is. They can sense it, apparently.

Talon pauses with her hand on the doorknob to my bedroom. “What is this room?”

“My bedroom.”

Talon and Mercy exchange serious glances as Talon turns the knob and opens the door.

“Here,” Mercy says, digging through the messenger bag draped across her body. She pulls out a leather necklace with a large purple stone dangling from it. “Amethyst. Keep this on.”

“Okay.” I’m not sure if I was expecting to feel something, but I get nothing. It’s just a pretty rock.

We step into my room together. It seems pretty ordinary in here to me. Talon drops her bag on my bed and rifles through it, producing a deck of cards and what I’m pretty sure is a ouija board, while Mercy sets out several crystals.

“I’ll set up on the floor,” Talon says.

I watch the women arrange their tools, noticing that the room is oddly cool. “It’s cold in here, right?”

Mercy nods. “Yep.”

“That means…?”

“It’s here, yes,” Talon finishes. “Come sit. We’re gonna attempt to make contact.”

I settle next to her as Mercy sits on the other side of me, the three of us forming a small circle around the ouija board. Talon has her eyes closed and she’s breathing in and out slowly. Mercy lights a few white candles.

“Let’s join hands.” Talon holds hers out.

I take her hand, aware of the shaking of my own.

“Present spirit,” Talon says softly, “we offer only peace and no harm. Please make your presence known.”

It’s silent for a few seconds, but then the door, which was slightly ajar, slams shut suddenly, making me jump.

“Thank you,” Talon says. “We’d like to talk with you, if that would be okay. I have a spirit board if that makes it easier.” She releases mine and Mercy’s hands, putting them on the planchette on the board. “Would that be okay?”

Nothing happens again for several seconds, but then Talon’s hand nudges gently to the Yes spot on the board.

She exhales in a huff. “Thank you. Are you Harold Bishop, father of Keagan?”

There’s a delayed response, but then the planchette moves in a small circle, landing on the Yes again.

My chest tightens. “It’s really him?” I whisper.

“As far as I can tell. I’m not reading any deception. Mercy?”

“Same. It’s him.”

“Hi, Harold,” Talon says. “Keagan is here and has some questions.”

I open my mouth to speak, but only a squeak comes out until I clear my throat.

“Take your time,” Talon says, “but not too long. If he loses interest, we lose our connection.”

I nod, swallowing hard. “I guess I want to know if the accusations are true. If he did what the police say he did.”