Free Unborn by Amber Lynn Natusch Page B

so potentially dangerous to the balance could be allowed to exist at all.
    “They had to willingly relegate themselves to one location; we chose Detroit for several reasons, not the least of which was its inherently seedy nature. They also had to agree to no longer remove an entire soul when they fed. Ever,” Pierson informed me, his tone serious. “If they did not abide by those rules, the punishment was to be instant death. We would then make an example of their death to their fellow Breathers so that such an infraction would not occur again.”
    “That is all? Those Stealers still alive at the end of the war all agreed to those terms?”
    “Most did. Those that didn’t . . .” Kierson hedged.
    “We made examples of,” Casey sneered. He seemed more than happy to make that point clear. I assumed he had particularly enjoyed carrying out that punishment.
    “So how do they survive now? They live on partial souls?”
    “They take bits and pieces of their victims. Tiny parts of the light from each of them—a happy memory, a special feeling—not enough for that individual to really notice, although it seems whatever is taken is gone forever. I doubt the victims ever knew they’d had it to begin with. With all the darkness already in this city, we figured it was as safe a place as any to allow them to live, knowing that their food source would be scarce at best.”
    “Ain’t much happy in Detroit anymore. It’s a great diet plan,” Casey drawled before getting up and walking away from our gathering altogether. Something appeared to be vexing him greatly.
    “Until now, our agreement stood. The Stealers weakened over time to become what we now refer to as Soul Breathers, a sad and lesser version of their former selves. They look sickly from the lack of full and intact souls in their diet, their skin sallow and cheeks gaunt. Most humans assume they are either ill with a terminal disease or that they are junkies. Either way, they pass in society without scrutiny, and that is what we wanted.”
    “What will happen if tonight’s occurrence is not an isolated one?” I asked, thinking that it was not an impossibility.
    “Then,” Drew started, walking toward me slowly, “there will be war in Detroit.”
    “How can we ascertain whether or not this is already the case?”
    “We have ways,” Pierson stated, his tone haughty and superior. It was clear that he was not about to elaborate on his statement, and I lacked the energy or desire to demand it of him.
    Drew stood before me, his hands resting gently upon my shoulders. A smile painted his expression pleasant, though I could sense he found nothing enjoyable about the conversation. It was all a show for my benefit; one that was neither necessary nor appreciated.
    “It will all be fine. We’ll get to the bottom of this quickly so that we can get back to the bigger issue at hand here, which is figuring out what happened to you and how to keep you safe from whatever may be coming for you. Okay?” I nodded. “Good. Now I want you to sit and relax for a bit. I know you’re no stranger to violence, but witnessing the taking of innocent life is never easy or pleasant.”
    “I didn’t let her see,” Kierson said SKie align=softly. “I made her go around the corner. I just . . . I couldn’t let her see.”
    “Good thinking, Kierson,” Drew praised before turning to Pierson. “I need to make a call. I’ll be outside for a minute if you need me. I’m putting you in charge of rounding up intel on this. Don’t let me down.” With that, he left, walking toward the staircase as Casey had only minutes before, though it was clear Drew planned to return. Casey did not.
    I looked around the vast balcony, only to see that the other member of our party, the one who liked to lurk in the shadows, was missing.
    “What of Oz?” I asked, wondering if this was a matter in which the PC would find him useful.
    “What about him?” Kierson replied, looking more perplexed