Soul Eater: An Egyptian Mythology Urban Fantasy: Kat Dubois Chronicles, #4

By Lindsey Sparks and Lindsey Fairleigh

Humans know immortals live among them, and the world is forever changed...

Kat Dubois saved the human world from a deadly virus…and she couldn't be more miserable. Her life as she knew it is over. She has become a prisoner held captive in a gilded cage, courtesy of her newfound fame. She spends her days training with her sword, straining to control her ever-increasing otherworldly powers, and dreaming of the good old times.

Until her dreams start showing her grim visions of the future. A malicious evil is haunting a nearby high school, and according to her charmed deck of tarot cards, Kat may be the only person who can stop it. She's forced to step out into the world once more. The fate of humanity depends on her swift action. But this time, she may have to sacrifice more than her life to save the world…

 

Soul Eater is the fourth book in the Kat Dubois Chronicles, a tough-girl urban fantasy series set in Seattle, WA. If you like intense action, gritty characters, unconventional magic, and Egyptian mythology, then you'll love this unique, fast-paced adventure!

 

MORE BOOKS IN THE ECHO WORLD:

 

KAT DUBOIS CHRONICLES
Ink Witch
Outcast
Underground
Soul Eater
Judgement
Afterlife

 

ECHO TRILOGY
Echo in Time
Resonance
Time Anomaly
Dissonance
Ricochet Through Time

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rubus Press
• Release date: Jun 29, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201164461

Book preview

Chapter One

Istand in a locker-lined hallway, teenagers streaming past me on both sides. Shoe soles squeak on the polished floor. Someone slams a locker shut off to my left.

Go long! a guy shouts from farther up the hall just moments before he chucks a football over the heads of the students.

I stumble to the side as another guy bulldozes through the crowd, pushing kids out of the way in an attempt to chase down the ball.

In a wave, students duck. Girls squeal and giggle. Boys shout.

Blake! a woman says, voice raised but not yelling. Teacher voice, all the way. My room. Now.

I can just see the woman between the breaks in the crowd. She’s young for a teacher, maybe in her mid- to late-twenties, and pretty, in a wholesome, all-American way. She’s standing in the mouth of an off-shooting hallway, fists on her hips and expression stern. In her boots, jeans, and oversized sweater, I can almost mistake her for a student, but her confident, self-assurance gives her age away. She’s comfortable with herself in a way that no high school kid ever is.

The boy who threw the ball flashes the teacher a cheeky grin. He’s big for a high school kid—broad-shouldered and tall. I figure him for a senior, or at least an upperclassman. Did you see that dime, Ms. C.?

The teacher narrows her eyes. Oh, I saw it, Blake. She turns to the side and points down that other hallway. Now, get your butt into my classroom. You can eat your lunch in there today.

Blake’s shoulders slump. But Ms. C. . . . I’m supposed to meet the guys at— Blake proves that he’s smarter than he looks and stops talking when the teacher—Ms. C.—cocks her head to the side, eyebrows raised.

Maybe you should’ve thought of the consequences before pulling that stunt, she says.

This is so unfair, the boy grumbles. He weaves around the other students, feet dragging as he makes his way toward Ms. C.

You know we’re trying to keep things calmer around here, she says to him as he approaches. The two fall into step beside one another, walking away down the other hallway and moving out of sight. The other students look up to you, I hear her say. "At least try to set a good example."

Yeah . . . OK.

Thanks, Blake.

They’re both quiet for a moment, and I wonder if they’ve moved behind a closed door and out of range of even my sensitive hearing. But finally, Blake speaks, his voice barely above a whisper. Do you think it’s really ghosts?

I don’t know, the teacher says. I never really considered myself a believer—of anything—but who knows. If Nejerets—immortals—are real, who’s to say ghosts aren’t, too?

Everyone’s scared, Blake says.

I know. Ms. C. is quiet for a moment, then asks, Are you? For long seconds, neither of them speaks. The boy must’ve nodded, because the teacher eventually says, Me too.

What are you doing? a girl asks. She’s standing directly in front of me, which makes me think she must be talking to me. There’s something familiar about her, but I can’t quite place her. We’re going to be tardy, she says, linking her arm with mine. Come on. She pulls me into motion, dragging me to class.

A bell rings over the loudspeakers.

Hurry!

---

Iwoke with a groan and rolled onto my back. The gazillion-thread-count sheets, damp with sweat caused by the nightmarish dream, were tangled around my legs. High school. Ugh .

I brushed back the strands of hair stuck to my face, then let my hand flop down onto the pillow and stared up at the ceiling. This was the fourth night in a row that I’d dreamt of walking those locker-lined halls. The dream was never the same, but the school itself was.

Strangely, I wasn’t even dreaming of my old high school in Seattle, but that fact hadn’t stopped my mind from recreating this dream school over and over again. I’d only ever had one recurring dream before: of the day my mom was murdered. So why was I having one now, and why the hell was it centered around some random, made-up high school?

I’d left high school behind two decades ago, and I hadn’t exactly had a wonderful time there. The only kids I’d really fit in with were the outcasts—the freaks and geeks. That was the price of having a mom who owned a magic shop. Apparently, according to my subconscious, I had some unresolved issues revolving around adolescence and my incomplete high school career. Me—unresolved issues. Shocker, I know.

With another groan, I sat up, arching my neck from side to side. The base of my skull ached with the promise of yet another headache. That would make three days straight, and this one threatened to be the worst yet. I glanced to the left, finding the bottle of whiskey sitting beside my sword, Mercy, atop the dresser, and wondered if the booze was to blame. The bottle was at least three quarters full. I’d cracked it open the previous night, but I’d been nursing it for hours—hardly enough of that friendly poison to leave a Nejeret with anything close to a hangover.

I rubbed my eyes. Maybe it was the dream. High school had been stressful enough when I was a kid; it seemed unbelievably unfair that it was now giving me headaches as an adult.

Or, maybe it had nothing to do with that. Maybe the headache was a residual aftereffect from dying. I’d been trying really hard not to think about the fifteen minutes I’d spent as a corpse. Or about the conversation I’d had with Isfet, the imprisoned consciousness of the universe, in Duat during that time. And I’d definitely been avoiding thinking about the promise I’d made her—mainly because thinking about devising a way to break her out of Aaru was about as useful as banging my head against a wall. Actually, banging my head against a wall would actually accomplish something—a nice, solid dent in the drywall—which was more than I could say about any attempts I’d made at planning Isfet’s prison break.

Yeah, I had a feeling that particular conundrum was directly responsible for the headache. How could it not be?

Rubbing the back of my neck in an attempt to ease the tension tightening those muscles, I arched my back, then scooted to the edge of the bed. I opened my mouth, popping my jaw, but the ache in the base of my skull persisted, spreading higher to throb behind my eyeballs.

I sighed heavily and stood, dragging my feet to the bathroom. A long, hot shower—that should do the trick. Besides, it wasn’t like I had anything better to do, not when setting foot outside of the Heru compound was likely to result in me getting mobbed by human admirers. Or assassinated by anti-Nejeret fanatics. Or abducted by the Senate.

So, basically, I was stuck here. Just me, my headache, my memories of the hereafter, and my longing for the life of inconsequence I’d left behind. Swell.

Chapter Two

The shower, in fact, did nothing to help the headache. The heat may even have made it worse. Brilliant idea, self. High-five.

Thanks to the pounding in my skull, I wasn’t feeling up to eating. The thought of forking breakfast food into my mouth actually made my stomach turn, so instead of heading down to the kitchen, where Lex no doubt had some egg-based feast prepared, I grabbed my sword off the dresser, opened the bedroom door, and headed straight down the grand staircase to the front door, shrugging into Mercy’s leather holster as I jogged down the final few stairs. Exercise and fresh air would make me feel better. It always did.

Kat? Lex called from the kitchen. Is that you? I could hear her daughter, Reni, humming. Her toddler voice sounded utterly content; she always hummed when she was eating something tasty. I had no doubt that Bobby was in there, too. Lex had taken the little human-turned-Nejeret under her wing almost as soon as he came to stay with us on Bainbridge Island.

I considered leaving without responding to my big half-sister, but I was really trying not to be a dick these days. I paused with one hand on the doorknob. I’m heading out to the beach, I told her.

No need to shout, Lex said, appearing in the doorway to the kitchen, a brown paper lunch sack in hand. She scanned me, her eyes assessing the telltale sweats, sneakers, and sword. Practicing again? Her eyes lingered on Mercy’s handle, sticking up over my right shoulder. When I nodded, she stepped into the hallway and held out the paper bag. Take this.

I held in the words I’m not hungry and met her halfway down the hallway to accept the bag of food. It was heavier than I’d expected and I raised my eyebrows once it was in my hand.

Bagel and cream cheese and a protein shake, Lex said, resting one hand on her hip. You’ll need your strength if you’re going to spend another morning out there swinging that thing around. There was no judgment in her eyes, just sympathy. She understood what it was like to be a prisoner in this place, trapped by circumstance.

Lex’s husband, Heru, was the head of our people, leading not only the Nejeret fight against the Senate, the anti-human branch of Nejeretkind, but also heading up our diplomatic relations with the human world—both roles that left him with plenty of enemies. And thanks to the otherworldly soul bond that Lex and Heru shared, if one of them died, the other would fall soon after. Because of that, Lex was a prime target, right up there with Heru.

And right up there with me—the Goddess. Despite my assurances to the human world that I was no such thing during the big reveal at the concert a little over a week ago, the nickname had stuck, and the humans were running with it. A week and a half after appearing to the billions dying from the Cascade Virus, I’d made an encore appearance and told all of humanity that immortals lived among them. And now I was the most famous person alive.

You’re too good to me, I told Lex, tucking the brown-bagged breakfast under my arm.

At least, thanks to Lex, I ate well while my new notoriety kept me trapped within our heavily guarded walls. Over the past month, since Heru had declared war on the Senate, she’d taken to cooking for all of the Nejerets residing in the main house. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner had all become gourmet feasts around this place. Usually I’d have been all over that—Lex was an excellent cook—but not this morning. Not with this headache.

Lex shrugged. What’s family for? Besides, I’ve got to do something around here. Otherwise I’ll go nuts. Lex’s brow knitted, and she studied my face more closely. She reached out to touch my arm with gentle fingers. Something’s wrong. Her carmine eyes searched mine. What is it, Kat?

Reni squealed in the kitchen, and Lex glanced over her shoulder before returning her attention to me. I know you’ve been through a lot. You can talk to me . . . about anything.

I’m fine, I said, patting her hand, then taking a step backward.

Lex and Dom were always trying to get me to talk about the big it—my death. Their kindhearted persistence kept the incident at the forefront of my mind, stirring up the panic that was never far from the surface. I wished they would stop.

Didn’t sleep well is all, I said, turning on my heel and striding back to the front door. Kiss the kid for me, will you? I tossed over my shoulder, and then I was outside and taking deep inhales of the fresh, morning air. It was drizzling, but that was the norm for the Puget Sound in March, and the dewy drops soothed my frayed nerves, just a little.

As I made my way along the wooded trail to the beach, I rubbed the back of my neck, digging my fingers in nice and deep and feeling the ache abate, but it only provided temporary relief. The moment I removed my fingers, the dull throbbing returned. The fresh air and exercise might not ease the pain, but at least they would provide a distraction. Better than sitting inside, reminiscing about my old life, being generally miserable and feeling sorry for myself. Both things, it turned out, I excelled at.

The old, familiar trail spat me out onto the rocky beach. I dropped the paper lunch bag and placed one hand on a piece of driftwood for leverage as I leapt over it. I drew Mercy with the melodic ringing of At on At and launched straight into my practice sequence as soon as I landed. My frustrations fell away as I grunted and thrust, twisted and rolled. I sliced through the salty sea air with Mercy’s blade, the unbreakable crystalline length collecting tiny droplets of rain every time I stilled, then flinging them off when I shifted into the next position.

My body took over, and I moved through the forms without thought, just as I’d done thousands of times. This felt normal, the only aspect of my old life that remained the same. My breathing quickened, supplying the blood racing through my veins with the oxygen it needed. Perspiration mingled with rain on my skin and clothing until my sweats were nearly soaked through. The ache in my head throbbed in time with the beating of my heart, pounding a primal rhythm against the inside of my skull.

Time ceased to matter, and the minutes flew past, becoming hours.

I spun around, muscles straining from fatigue, Mercy’s blade cutting through the air with a whoosh. My right foot landed in a dip in the beach, and I misstepped with my left, rolling onto my ankle with the entirety of my body weight.

I hissed in a breath and dropped to the ground, tiny rocks clacking and crunching beneath my hip. I never misstepped—not ever—and the mistake pissed me off.

Agh! I yelled, chucking Mercy like a tomahawk. With a resonant thwang, she landed nose-first in a large piece of driftwood a short way down the beach.

I huffed out a breath and straightened my legs out in front of me, moving my left foot around in a slow circle to test how badly I’d injured it. A sharp, hot pain stopped the movement short. Felt like a mild sprain—so, maybe a half hour of recovery time plus a short period of regenerative sleep tonight. Nothing dire.

My stomach grumbled. I was hungry. The headache wasn’t any better, but I’d been out here for a couple hours, and my body’s need for food had surpassed the point of pain-induced appetite suppression.

Breathing hard, I rolled onto my knees and tucked my good foot underneath me, pushing up off the ground with my hands to stand. I sort of limp-hopped over to the spot near the trailhead where I’d dropped my to-go breakfast and plopped down on a bench-high piece of driftwood.

Waves rolled in gently, leaving sea-foam and kelp on the rocks as the water receded. The Puget Sound beyond was a dark, gray mass looking like tarnished silver in the dim light of the overcast sky. In the distance, a lone white ferry slid slowly across the surface of the water, moving from one emerald hill to another. I inhaled, tasting the sea, and closed my eyes. This far-off view was the closest thing I had to a window to the outside world now.

I hate to interrupt, little sister, Dom said from the mirror pendant hanging on a leather cord around my neck. But Lex would like to know if you’re planning on joining the others for lunch.

I snorted and let my head fall back. My incorporeal half-brother excelled at interrupting pretty much anything I was doing. Is it opposite day? I asked dryly.

I’m sorry, Dom said primly. I do not follow . . .

Never mind, I said with a brief exhale of a laugh as I opened the paper bag and peeked inside. Sure enough, a bagel with cream cheese sandwiched between the two halves lay within, safe in a plastic baggie, and a reusable tumbler held a thick, gray-brown protein shake. Chocolate, from the looks of it. Maybe enough for a normal person, even after a workout like I’d just had. But then, I was far from normal. And with the sprain, I would need more food to refuel than usual. Definitely more than this. Lunch probably wasn’t a bad idea.

Garth has returned, Dom said. I believe he’ll be at lunch.

Oh yeah? I hadn’t seen the former cop since the concert, and I was genuinely excited to catch up with him. We’d fallen into an awkward yet somehow easy friendship since downgrading our relationship from more-than to just friends. Plus, I was eager to hear the undistorted truth of how humans were handling the revelation that Nejerets walked among them. The Public News System’s feeds just didn’t cut it.

Tell Lex I’ll be there, I told Dom before tearing into the bagel. I shifted on the driftwood, propping my left foot up. Elevating my ankle would help the sprain heal faster. After a deep breath, I took a swig from the tumbler.

And Heru is due to return later this morning.

I choked on the protein shake, my slowing pulse spiking. I felt my face drain of all color and had to force my hands not to shake as I set down the tumbler before I dropped it. I cleared my throat, rethinking my lunch plans. I thought he wasn’t coming back until tomorrow. To be fair, it wasn’t Heru I was worried about seeing, but the man who would be returning with him: Nik.

The two had been away for the past two days, Nik acting as Heru’s bodyguard while our fearless leader met with top officials in Washington, DC. And it didn’t get much more top than the grand ol’ POTUS. Some thought leaving the safety of his home territory was too risky for Heru; not Lex, surprisingly enough. And not me. Maybe that was because we both knew that nobody would get to Heru with Nik guarding his back.

Oh, sure, Heru was more than capable of taking care of himself in most circumstances, but some of the Senate’s followers were the special brand of Nejeret—the kind with sheuts that afforded them magical powers beyond the usual good health and longevity that blessed our kind. With the merest thought, Heru could teleport out of the way of any physical attack, but what about a magical attack on his mind? Luckily, Nik had the skills and magical prowess to protect Heru against any and all attacks, whether they be of mundane or sheut origin.

They concluded their talks early, Dom said. The next meeting will take place here.

Oh . . . neato, I said. But my brain could barely process what Dom had just told me. It was too focused on the impending run-in with Nik.

I’d been keeping my distance since the whole bringing-me-back-from-the-dead incident. Every time I saw Nik, I came a little bit unhinged. It was like I was right back in that driveway, lying on the gravel, freshly returned from Duat and my unbelievable meeting with Isfet. When I looked into Nik’s eerily pale blue eyes, I couldn’t pretend Isfet hadn’t tasked me with freeing her from Aaru, a place no being, not even a powerful Netjer like Anapa, would be able to escape from. When I looked at Nik, I couldn’t ignore the fact that the fate of the universe depended on me not failing. Or the fact that I had no idea what I was doing.

I hadn’t asked for this. I didn’t want to be special. I’d blundered into it through recklessness and stupidity. I was far from the right person for the job, but circumstance made me the only one who could do it. And I was terrified. I spent my days dodging a cold, crippling fear. Steal-your-breath fear. Lose-sleep, can’t-eat, cry-in-the-shower-fear.

I used to be strong. I wasn’t anymore.

Every time I saw Nik, I was reminded of that. I felt it. And I hated it.

What happened to you, little sister? Dom asked. He knew where my thoughts had gone—where they always went these days when I was around Nik—and what feelings those thoughts evoked within me, even if he didn’t know why. Perhaps talking about it will help you heal.

I wish . . . I forced myself to take another bite of the bagel, consciously moving my jaw up and down as I chewed. It tasted like cardboard slathered with glue. With some difficulty, I even managed to swallow. But this isn’t the kind of thing that gets better with words, I said. I inhaled and exhaled deeply, lowering the bagel to my lap