Free Soul Stealer by C.D. Breadner

by in a sundress that normally he would have followed home, he felt nothing. Just an appreciation for how her skin was shining like a new penny.
    He shot an angry look at Raphael. “What the hell did you do to me?”
    Raphael seemed surprised. “What do you mean?”
    “This isn’t right. I can’t – what’s wrong with me?”
    “There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re just … different now. You’re … you’re good, Voro. We’ve purified you.”
    Shit.
     
     
    Patrice flipped over on to her back, sighing in the dark. Restless, she kicked one leg out from under the blankets. Her skin was sticky, the room was too warm. Trying to sleep during the day was getting harder the older she got. The blackout-blinds were doing their best, but sunshine was still peeking around the edges. Not enough to keep her up, just enough to make it impossible to close her eyes.
    She tried anyway, almost hearing her heart beat and the sweat pooling in the hollow in the base of her throat. Everything was driving her nuts.
    She got up and crossed the darkened bedroom, blinking against the light of the rest of the apartment as she padded wearily to the bathroom. She had to sleep, which meant she had to take something.
    The bathroom floor was blissfully cool underfoot, and she ran a glass of cold water to wash down the natural sleep aid she popped in to her mouth. It felt better, but she couldn’t take much more of this damn heat. She really had to get that air conditioner fixed –
    At the very thought a cold breeze tickled the back of her neck, stirring the bit of hair that had slid out of her ponytail. Instantly a chill ran down her back, raising goose flesh on her arms.
    She frowned and turned to the open bathroom door. The breeze continued, tickling her bare legs, prickling up her body until even her breasts tightened under the T-shirt she wore. The apartment was empty, and she knew there wasn’t an open window anywhere.
    Her stomach tightened as there was a scrape from the kitchen.
    A scrape? Like a shoe against the lino tile? Or was it something dragging along the hallway wall?
    She stood stock-still in that way that deer do in the forest. If I’m still, I’m invisible.
    When there wasn’t a repeat sound she allowed a laugh. What did you think it was – a ghost?
    She flicked the bathroom light off, and as Patrice moved through her hallway that cool wave hit her again and she stopped.
    This is wrong. I’m not alone here.
    The sound came again, and she turned, pissed. She stalked through the hall again to the main living area, glaring at all corners of the open-concept kitchen and living room, then out the bright floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the waterfront.
    You’re being stupid.
    She turned back to the hall, and as she passed the kitchen the feeling returned and she spun around. Something passed across the window, too fast to be real. Was it inside? Outside? She couldn’t tell. It was just a swirl of black. Plus she was four floors up. People and animals that size didn’t usually pass by her window.
    Get to the phone, call for help, her brain was screaming. And tell them what exactly?
    Something tickled the back of her neck again. She spun around just in time for that same shadow to disappear down the hall.
    Patrice had a moment wondering if this was a hallucination brought on by a brain tumor. Then her fight or flight kicked in and she ran for the door.
    The shadow was there first, concentrating itself like a hazy cloud right where she wanted to go. It flew at her, and she ducked into a crouch, covering her head with both arms, and waited for it to hurt.
     
     
    Raphael waited for Voro to respond, but instead a buzzing sounded in his head, annoying and high-pitched like an old tube TV that needed fixing.
    His chest constricted and he looked up immediately.
    “What is it?” Voro’s voice sounded far away, hollow. Something was close. Something evil. Every safety system he was programmed with went off in