Page 25 of Shades of Silver City

"…in my twenty years of studying human and fae behavior and patterns, in both natural and controlled environments, I’ve begun to identify the traits associated with various soul-shades. Though much research is still needed, I’ve determined the most common shades are the primary colors.”

-Excerpt from the personal journal of Dr. Claude Foster, Director of Faeology at Mesmeric Labs

CHAPTER 6

FANTASIA

Iscan the Phantom, trying to interpret his intentions.

Soul-seer.

The word rings in my head.

Is that what I am? There’s a name for me? Are there more like me?

My father told me that the ability to see soul-shades was a gift to be cherished. Something secret—special. But after his murder, I tried to stop paying attention to it. At first, this was nearly impossible. Everyone has a fog of color surrounding their body. They come in all hues—bright and dark, weak and strong. After a while, I suppose I grew desensitized to seeing them. A soul-shade is a part of everyone—an extension of them. Like an arm or a leg. Except for big crowds or extremely vibrant hues, I’m fairly good at ignoring them.

But a gift, my ass.

My stomach rumbles, and I sigh. On instinct, I reach for my phone and am surprised when my fingers brush against the device. I tug it out, looking at the time. A few hours have passed since I started chasing after the patrons—the now likely dead patrons, if the Reaper finished what he started.

The bar’s closed.

I have missed calls from both Mellie and Reed. My finger hovers over the latter’s name, until I realize I have no service here.

Wherever here is.

“I really don’t feel like talking. Can I get out of here now? I’m hungry and tired.” And for a gang leader, you’re not that frightening, I want to add, because part of me finds it entertaining to irritate him. But it’s best not to press my luck.

He drags his gaze to the knife still in my hand, then lifts a brow and raises his hands placatingly. “It’s a friendly conversation, I assure you. If you don’t mind—” He mimics throwing the blade on the ground.

“No.” I hit the button on the knife’s handle, flipping it shut, and then tuck it into my back pocket. “I’m keeping this.” With my other hand, I pull out my phone and quickly find an app for recording. I hit a button, and it beeps with confirmation. “And I’m recording this conversation. If anything happens to me, I want them to know it was you, the fucking Phantom of the Nightcrawlers—Packing District, Southside.”

His lips quirk. “If I did something to you, don’t you think I’d dispose of the evidence, too?”

I see the illogic behind my tactic, but I don’t care. Like I told him, I’m tired. It’s been a helluva day, and I want this to be over with.

On cue, my stomach rumbles again.

His eyebrows rise. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a crinkled, flattened protein bar. It looks as if it’s lived in his pocket for some time, has been sat on a few times too many. He hands it to me, and I hesitantly accept.

“I’m not thanking you for this.”

“Fine. Okay.” Laughing, he shakes his head as I peel open the wrapper and devour the whole bar in two massive bites.

I swallow and wipe my mouth.

“You’re a shitty gang leader. Giving me a weapon and feeding me.”

His answering smile is subtle—shy almost. My stomach dips, and I scowl.

“I only brought you here to offer you an opportunity.” My ears perk up when he says, “A paid opportunity, Fantasia.”

I swipe my clammy hands on the front of my jeans. “It’s Tasia.”

“Okay. Let the record state that you, Tasia, are a soul-seer. A human one, at that. Which is—”

“Wait!” I growl at him as my thumb fumbles to stop the recording. If something does happen to me—although if he were going to harm me, he probably already would’ve—I don’t want anyone knowing about my unwelcome ability. The one I should not have. I shove my phone into my pocket. “You were saying?”

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