Wicked Souls Read Online Free Page A

Adam
was lying at my feet, hurt and definitely going to die if I didn’t
do something. Today, I haven’t practiced magic in six months, and
I’m no longer tied to Lucifer. A lot of my power at Halloween came
from him.”
    Father Leonard leaned forward, placing his
elbows on his knees and staring into the cold fireplace. “Who else,
what other witch, has that kind of power?”
    “None I know. Lucifer hasn’t hooked up with
anyone since Emilia, and I’d be able to sense another witch that
strong here in Eden if she were openly casting spells. There isn’t
one.”
    “Are you sure about that? Seems to me there
is one practicing the dark arts, and you’ve told me yourself she’s
very powerful.”
    I tried to recall when I told him that and
who I’d been talking about. The only person in Eden practicing the
dark arts was…
    “No,” I said, eyes widening. I considered
the idea again and shook my head. “She wouldn’t touch an
archangel.”
    But as soon I said it, I doubted my
conviction. Keisha was my best friend. She was also big on an eye
for an eye. We’d sat in my office at the ice cream shop on many a
slow day during the winter months discussing various ways to make
Gabriel’s life hell if he ever came back to earth. I’d thought we
were playing a game. Maybe Keisha thought differently.
    “Shit.” I jumped off the couch and went for
my coat.
    Father Leonard tsked. “Cussing. You owe the
jar a dollar.”
    Reaching for the door, I jerked it open. I
had the feeling I was going to owe the cuss jar more than a dollar
before the day was out. “Put it on my tab, Father.” Realizing that
statement also warranted a buck, I sighed in frustration. Sometimes, a cliché was the only thing that would do.
     
     

Chapter Four:
    Crime Witch Investigator
     
    All witchcraft leaves evidence, a trail, and
a witch or other supernatural can follow it like a bloodhound
following a scent. Practicing witches recognize each other on
sight, and every witch has her own personal magic imprint…a witch
fingerprint in other words.
    I didn’t need to look for a fingerprint or
follow a trail to find out who’d put some kind of spell on Gabriel. I simply walked through the front door of my ice cream shop.
    The place was almost empty. A single
customer, dressed in black from head to toe, leaned casually
against one counter, dark eyes following Keisha as she scooped
Bodacious Butter Brickle into a large sugar cone. The guy had been
dropping in daily for the past week, every day trying a new flavor. In my experience with people and ice cream, that was a bad sign. He
was either indecisive or a commitment-phobe.
    Keisha’s head was tipped down but I could
see the shy smile on her lips as dozens of beaded braids swung
around her chin. She was making quite a production of scooping the
ice cream, using the motions to show off her cleavage, and I knew
what that meant. She was trying to impress him, even though he
wasn’t worth impressing.
    As the doorbell tinkled above my head, the
man’s eyes slid over to look at me. Keisha also looked up. Seeing
me, however, the smiles on both their faces disappeared.
    I seemed to be having that effect on a lot
of people that day. “Ice cream’s on the house,” I said, barreling
in behind the counter without even taking my coat off. Lifting the
cone from Keisha’s hand, I gave it to the customer, who looked
surprised and then annoyed.
    As I went back to his side of the counter, I
snagged a metal ice cream scoop and hustled him toward the door. Under my breath, I gave him some words of advice, while I
brandished the scoop in front of his face. “Screw around on my
friend and the term ‘double scoop with nuts’ will take on a whole
new meaning for you. Comprende, amigo ?”
    His annoyed look deepened as I pushed him
through the door and shut it behind him. The bells jingled madly
over my head.
    I turned and found Keisha, fists on her
hips, glaring at me. “What the what was that?”
    Along with