Free The Soul Thief by Leah Cutter Page A

“’Cause you really shouldn’t be lying to me about that kind of thing. Even if I don’t quite believe what happened.”
    “I’m sure,” Franklin said. It had been an epic battle, but he was sure he’d won. Mostly.
    After the sheriff had left, Julie gave Franklin a hard look. “Just a thorn bush?”
    Franklin was glad he didn’t have to lie to her. “Yes, ma’am. The blade was buried underneath it.”
    Julie was quiet for a moment. “It really has some power to it, don’t it. This blade.”
    “’Fraid so.”
    “Then let’s break you out of here. Get your scripts filled, and go down to see Eddie.”
    Franklin lay there thinking after Julie left to go badger the staff and the doctors. Eddie had refused her gift, would only sometimes let it move her.
    But she was a good healer. She’d eased his soul the first time he’d seen her.
    Somehow, he doubted she’d be able to do anything about the current pain in his side, the way it felt like the blade was still there.
    Haunting him.
    Ξ
    Franklin enjoyed the ride down to the next county to see Eddie. The sun had found its strength, being just after noon, though it weren’t nearly as hot as the coming summer promised to be. Blue sky arched above them, going from horizon to horizon. Lots of green crops in the fields flew by, mostly sorghum and soy.
    The last time Franklin had been so injured, it was mostly his back, from where the creature had picked him up then splatted him down on a bunch of broken glass. It had made sitting anywhere for any length of time painful.
    This time, it was his sides that were aching—the left side, and shoulder, from where the bush had tagged him, and along his right, where the weight from the knife still held him down.
    Julie had called ahead, but there hadn’t been an answer. Eddie didn’t believe in cell phones, and if she was out back in her shed, she wouldn’t have heard the phone ring.
    Still, Franklin was relieved when they drove up, a little past the house, and Julie pointed out the beat-up Jeep that belonged to Eddie, meaning that she was still there.
    A tall wooden fence, painted white, ran from a corner of the house and blocked off the backyard from the street. Julie didn’t bother knocking, just went through the gate as bold as brass.
    Franklin knew that Eddie weren’t the kind to keep guns to shoot trespassers, unlike Darryl. Still, he ducked his head and looked around the yard carefully before he stepped through.
    The tall white fence went all the way around the yard, keeping out the prying eyes of the neighbors. Just in front of it grew a wild assortment of flowers, roses, and other bushes. The main house sat to the right, with what looked like a real nice screened-in porch facing the yard.
    The shed sat to the left, under a large old oak tree. It weren’t too big, smaller than a one-car garage. It had the look of an artist’s studio, with red-painted wooden shingles covering the outer walls, white trim, and a gray tiled roof. Sweet incense oozed from it, floating over the bright spring grass.
    “Eddie?” Julie called as she walked toward the studio. The door was closed this time, instead of a black curtain covering the opening.
    Franklin hurried across the grass to join her.
    As she was lifting her hand to knock on the door, it swung back. Eddie peered owlishly at them.
    “Good morning,” she said, though it was well past noon.
    “I tried to call—” Julie said.
    “No, no, I’ve been back here all day. I wouldn’t have heard.” She wiped her hands—covered in some kind of white material—down the front of her already white-smeared work apron. She looked the same as Franklin remembered her, a large, older white woman with tanned skin and wild white curls. Her blue eyes peered at them from atop a large nose, the kind good for sniffing out trouble. She had an easy smile, though, and looked happy to see them.
    “Come on in,” she said, stepping back into the studio. Workbenches lined three of the four