I wasn't expecting stealing a soul that night.
I swear!
All I wanted was the tattoo. A little one. Just enough to keep my head above water this week. Rent was due, my truck coughed like it had cancer, and let's not talk about the freezer, unless you wanna cry over half-melted fish sticks.
But then the body moved.
And everything went to hell.
Let me back up. My name's Jake Carter. Ex-Marine. Ex-husband. Ex-alive-if-I'm-not-careful-tonight. I'm what they call a "Weaver." Or, more politely, a grave-hopping dumbass with a knife and some nerve.
I was deep in the French Quarter of New Orleans, inside a crumbling shotgun house on Dumaine Street, the kind of place you don't walk past unless you're looking to get cursed or kissed by something not quite human.
Moonlight poured through the broken window like silver blood. The corpse lay in the center of the room, surrounded by melting candles and stale smoke. The air smelled like rum, sweat, and old flowers. I recognized the body, Mama Marcelline. Voodoo queen. Tattoo broker. Mean as hell when she was breathing. Dead now, though.
Or... mostly.
"Jake, you sure about this?" came a whisper from the shadows.
I didn't turn. I knew the voice. Xavier. My spotter. He was somewhere behind me, holding the charm bag, fingers trembling. Always nervous around the dead. I don't blame him. They don't stay still anymore.
"Yeah," I whispered back. "She's dead. I saw her go down myself last week."
"You shot her."
"Exactly. That's how I know."
I knelt beside her, heart thudding in my ears. Her chest was still, her skin waxy. But the tattoos...God, the tattoos. They crawled across her arms and neck like snakes under skin. The biggest one, a crimson spiral on her collarbone, pulsed faintly.
That was the one I wanted.
They called it the Eye of Tomorrow. Rumor said it let you see five seconds into the future. Just five. But in a world like this? Five seconds is life and death. Five seconds is everything.
I took out my blade.
The moment metal touched skin, the room dropped ten degrees. My breath fogged. The candles flickered like they were choking. And then...
Her eyes snapped open.
I froze. She blinked once. Slow. Lazy. Like waking up from a nap. But her lips didn't move when she spoke. The voice came from inside me.
"You steal from me, boy, and you invite the storm."
My hands shook. The knife slipped, nicking her shoulder. Blood, black, thick, oozed out. But the tattoo peeled up like it wanted to climb my fingers.
"Jake," Xavier hissed. "What the hell is happening?"
"I don't know," I said, even though I kinda did.
It was claiming me.
The Eye of Tomorrow uncoiled, slithered onto my wrist like a snake of red ink. It burrowed into my veins. I screamed. Not because it hurt, but because of what I saw.
Five seconds ahead.
Me, covered in blood. Eyes wide. Xavier, gurgling. Something, shadowy, behind us, rising.
I blinked. Back to now. Xavier still breathing. Shadow not here yet. But I knew it was coming.
"Run," I gasped. "X, we gotta run. Now."
He didn't argue.
We bolted through the broken door, boots slamming the wooden floor. Down the steps, out into the humid night. Bourbon Street was alive, tourists, drunks, music, but none of them saw what chased us.
Because it was in me.
The moment we hit the alley, I dropped. My knees buckled. My hands clawed at my chest.
"You see death," the voice whispered inside me. "Every night. Forever."
Xavier hovered above me, panic in his eyes. "Jake, what did you take?"
"Her mark," I wheezed. "The Eye. I saw... I saw myself die. It's coming."
"You mean, like a vision?"
I shook my head. "No. It's real. Every time I close my eyes now, I see my death. And it's not just once. It loops. Over and over."
He stared. Then said, real quiet, "You shouldn't have touched her, man."
"Yeah," I whispered. "I'm starting to figure that out."
Later, we laid low at an old jazz club on St. Claude that doubled as a Weaver safehouse. Place smelled like sweat and bourbon, and the wallpaper peeled like dead skin.
The mark still burned on my wrist, pulsing like a second heartbeat.
I couldn't sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, the same thing played: me, screaming, blood everywhere, a hand, black and rotted, grabbing my throat.
"Five seconds is a curse," the voice said. "What will you do with it?"
I stared at my hand. The tattoo curled along my veins like a leash.
I thought stealing the mark would make me strong.
But I think I stole something worse.
I think I stole her soul.
The next morning, I woke up to a knife at my throat.
It wasn't Xavier.
The woman holding the blade had eyes like storm clouds and dreadlocks tipped with bone beads. She smelled like smoke and honey. Her voice was sweet and sharp.
"You took Mama's mark," she said.
I didn't answer. She pressed the blade tighter.
"You think it ends with her? You think you can just walk into the Queen's house and leave with a piece of her?"
"She was dead," I croaked.
"She's never dead," the woman hissed. "Not all the way."
She leaned close, whispered:
"Now she lives in you."
That's when I saw it.
The skin under her collarbone moved. Like something inside her wanted out.
"You've got one too," I said.
She smiled, cruel and crooked. "We all do. But not like yours. Hers is special. Hers opens doors."
"Doors to what?"
She leaned back. "To the Auction."
My stomach twisted. "The Auction? That's a myth."
She laughed. "Is it?"
Then she held out her hand.
"You're coming with me, Jake Carter. You've been marked by a queen. And now? You're a piece on the board."
"What board?" I asked.
Her smile widened.
"The game's already started."
........