Soul Taker

by Nutt, Karen Michelle

  She could bring back a shade, an impression of what the person once had been. Sometimes their last thoughts rang through, but nothing more. She didn't know how to call the soul completely back from the veil. Death could be tricked into giving up a soul, but in the end, it could not be cheated. Bringing back Evan's daughter would mean someone else would have to die.

  "I'll let it go when you do," Nicholas said. "You haven't been out on a date in over a year. Maybe Harrison Connell isn't the best choice, but there must be someone."

  "No one's asked."

  "You don't let a guy ask."

  "I don't see that you have a steady girlfriend," she deflected.

  "I don't have time for one." He shoved his hands into his pockets of his slacks again.

  "So it's okay for you not to date, but it's not all right for me."

  "If you were happy, I would say it was fine, but you're not, Izzie. I know you're not happy."

  "Give me some time, Nick. I will be."

  He opened his mouth, to probably say something to the contrary, but a woman's scream shattered through his thoughts. "What the…"

  "It sounds like it came from over there." Isabella pointed down the street toward the Revere house.

  "Wait here," Nicholas told her.

  "I'm going with you."

  He didn't have time to argue with her as another scream filled the air. They both tore off at a full run.

  As they reached the house, a woman came barreling around the corner, plowing into Nicholas. She fell back, but Nicholas' quick reflexes steadied her. "Whoa, what happened?"

  With a shaky hand, the woman pointed toward Paul Revere's house.

  "Did someone attack you?" he asked.

  Isabella glanced uneasily in the direction the lady had run from. The news had buzzed about two slayings behind Tony's Pub. Supposedly, it was a drug deal gone wrong. Still it had everyone on edge.

  The woman shook her head. "No, there's a… Oh God, no!" She hid her face in her hands. Nicholas let her go and headed toward the old structure.

  "Be careful," Isabella called to her brother as she put her arm around the hysterical woman's shoulder.

  When Nicholas returned, his olive skin had paled. He had his cell phone out. "It's Marcy." Nicholas voice choked. "Oh my God, I can't believe it. Marcy…she's dead, Izzie."

  Isabella swept by Nicholas, not caring he called after her to stop. She had to see for herself. She had to know if it was truly too late, but as she neared where Marcy lay, sprawled on the ground, her steps faltered. Something was off, and not just because there was a dead body in the courtyard. When someone died, there were one of three things she would see: One – nothing, other than the body, because the soul had gone beyond the veil; Two – the soul, lingering as if it couldn't decide if it should go or not; or Three – she might pick up a ghostlike apparition.

  Standing over Marcy's body, she saw none of the above. Marcy's aura looked fragmented, as if something sucked bits and pieces of it and left only minimal amounts of it behind.

  Isabella moved closer and crouched down. "What happened to you, Marcy?" Marcy was dressed in black pants and a white blouse. She'd been on her way to work.

  Isabella knew she shouldn't touch the body. What if Marcy had been murdered and she tampered with the evidence? She looked over her shoulder. Nicholas was consoling the woman who had found Marcy and wasn't paying any attention to her. She looked back to Marcy.

  She could call her back. For only a moment, just to find out what happened, but she would have to hurry. She could already hear the sirens drawing nearer.

  Since Marcy just died tonight, she wouldn't need to draw blood to summon. At least, she didn't think so. She fished out her cell phone from her pocket, fingering the smooth screen. She really hoped it didn't get fried. She took hold of Marcy's hand and concentrated on the fragments of warmth around her body, pulling it in, tethering it to this world. Her phone lit up as the essence fed off the energy.

  Marcy's body shuddered and her lids flew open, her eyes bright with fear.

  "What are you doing?"

  Isabella jumped at Nicholas' voice and she let go of Marcy's hand. Her phone screen went dark, as the line to the other side broke free. "Damn." The fragments scattered and drifted away like dust particles. She glanced up at Nicholas' face, his frown of disappointment saying more than words.

  She stood as the paramedics came rushing over to them. She didn't bother telling them they were too late. In the next few seconds, the paramedics would know themselves.

  The police arrived minutes later to secure the perimeter, while the coroner went over the evidence with the detectives.

  There weren't any signs of foul play, but the twenty-four year old was dead.

  Once they gave the police their names, Marcy's contacts, and answered their questions, they were allowed to leave.

  They were home now, but Isabella couldn't shake the chill, spreading through her. She hugged herself close as she stared out the window of their condo, going over every detail of the conversation she had with Marcy. Days before she noticed Marcy's essence looked off. She told Marcy to take it easy. "I should have insisted she see her physician."

  Nicholas put his arm around his sister and led her away from the window. "Why?" He asked as he made Isabella sit down on the couch. He'd brewed herbal tea and handed her a cup before he sat down next to her.

  "Marcy was ill," she explained. "I could see it, but I didn't tell her to see a doctor."

  "Izzie, you can't hold yourself responsible. She was a young woman. There was no reason you should have feared for her life. She could have had a cold and you would have seen that her aura was off. People don't run to the doctor for a cold."

  "Still…"

  They were silent for a moment, but she knew it wouldn't last.

  "Izzie, what were you doing when I found you next to Marcy's body?"

  She sipped her tea before she looked at her brother. "I believe you know."

  "Why?" He shook his head. "She was already gone. Why would you risk trying to bring her back?"

  "Nick, something wasn't right. I couldn't put my finger on it, but I know if I could just awaken her for a moment, I could have asked her what happened."

  "You know the shades aren't always reliable."

  "I know they can sometimes be confused, but doing nothing leaves us wondering why a young, healthy girl dropped dead."

  He shook his head, his features troubled as he pursed his lips. "You shouldn't have tried. It's too dangerous to conjure."

  Yes, she was aware. Nicholas didn't say it. He didn't have to. Their mother brought her back from the veil. Louisa Lucci broke the rules and paid for it, too.

  If only Isabella hadn't been screwing around on her bike that day. She rode it with no hands. Nicholas kept telling her to stop showing off, but she wouldn't listen. She'd lost control and swerved as a car came around the corner. She was thrown from the bike. She would have survived, if she hadn't been thrown into oncoming traffic.

  Nicholas had raced back to the restaurant and told their mother what had happened.

  A few days later, she woke up in the hospital room. The press found out what happened and printed: A girl rises from the dead. She was then dubbed the Lazarus girl.

  She hadn't understood it then, thought it a miracle, but later she realized her mother summoned her, brought her back from the veil and defied death. Less than a year later, death demanded payment and took both her parents.

  Chapter Four

  Garran pinned Harrison down with his stony gaze. An unearthly growl emanated from his throat and his fangs lengthened. "I knew ye were reckless," he hissed, "but to contemplate bringin' a human into our confidence—yet again, seems like a redundant argument. We do not need a human's help with this." He paced the room with his pent up energy, slamming his books back into their rightful place within the shelves of novels and reference books that lined his walls.

  Harrison plopped himself down on the large throne-like c
hair, which Garran recently purchased for his library. It fit well with the other medieval castle-like reproductions in the room.

  "We could train her, hone in on her talents and shape them to suit our needs," Harrison added casually, as if the last fifteen minutes of saying—we don't need a human on their team—never occurred.

  Garran looked at him. "Surely, ye did no' suggest we train the human."

  Harrison chuckled. "Aye, I did. Why not, I ask you?"

  "Why no'?" he sputtered. "Because… Because I have no wish to. That's why no'." He stopped to rearrange a few of his books, noticing his historical volume on Medieval Europe sat on the shelf beside Shakespeare's book of sonnets. He replaced the book back on the reference shelf.

  "I'm beginning to believe you're afraid of humans," Harrison teased.

  "Don't be a dunderhead," Garran grumbled.

  "With ye sweet talkin' me that way, ye wee couthie, I might think ye cared." Harrison imitated his brogue to the tee, which only proved to annoy him further.

  Garran glared at him with narrowed eyes, a stare he perfected when he was laird back in Scotland centuries before. His nostril's flared as he took an exaggerated breath. "We're dealin' with creatures I am sure yer human doesn't know exists. Ye said it yerself, she isn't trained. She cannot protect herself from Otherworldly bein's, which means one of us would have to be with her at all times. She'd be a target and we'd be so busy playin' watchdog, we'd lose sight of our goal."

  "Isabella knew which women were infected before we did," Harrison reminded him. "She may not be aware of what was happening to them, but she sensed they weren't well. Besides, Isabella isn't just any human. She's the daughter of Giovanni and Louisa Lucci. Her father was a sensitive and if you recall, Louisa was a Necromancer."

  This last caught Garran's attention. Necromancers could control the dead and technically, he was dead in the human sense of the word. True, Louisa Lucci had helped on more than a few cases, but he kept his distance, letting Harrison handle that part of the investigation. "I don't trust Necromancers."

  "You don't trust Necromancers, humans, the demons...your list is getting longer every day."

  Garran grumbled with protest. No matter where they settled, Harrison wanted to form a team. He had some serious longing for a pack issues. Garran did not. "I just don't see the need to add a human to our team."

  "Team? You and I do not constitute a team. If we could just find one victim before she's in the hospital or dead, we might be able to track the preternatural being to his lair and we wouldn't have to rely on Sanya."

  He knew Harrison had a point, but it didn't mean he had to like it. "I never heard of a human bein' able to see a soul," he continued to argue.

  "I'm not saying that's what she sees, but she obviously notices something we can't. Mandy Davidson is proof. Mandy had dinner at the restaurant and I witnessed Isabella fuss over her, trying to convince her to see a doctor. The woman didn't because we both know the Soul Taker had already influenced her. The woman's dead now. If we inform Isabella what we're up against, she could spot the Soul Taker's next victim."

  "We're calling him the Soul Taker now?" Garran lifted an eyebrow.

  "All serial killers have a name, be them preternatural or not."

  "Hmm." He took out Otherworldly beings that refused to follow the rules and left bodies piled up. He supposed the preternatural beings could be labeled serial killers. Alexander fit the description well enough. He witnessed the fiend's handiwork back in Scotland centuries ago. He had thought Alexander dead. He himself had staked him and lit the torch to burn the stable. Nothing should have survived, but Alexander was a wily sort.

  He should have cut Alexander's head off to make sure he was gone from this earth, but he had been newly made and still thought like a human. It never occurred to him a Grim Sith could rise from the ashes like a bloody phoenix.

  "What's wrong?" Harrison asked as the silence lengthened.

  "It's nothin'."

  Harrison shook his head. It was obvious the werewolf didn't believe him, but for friendship sake, Garran knew he would let it slide.

  Garran met Harrison centuries ago. Harrison had helped him stop a madman from making his sixth ritual kill that would have released a demon far more sinister than the killer was himself. Jack the Ripper was what the locals dubbed the butcher. Harrison and he cornered and killed the bastard, making sure there was nothing left to resurrect, but it was still too late for victim number five. Ginger was the name she used, but to Garran, she would always be Mary Jane Kelly, the Irish lass with the smiling blue eyes who gave him precious leads to unearth the fiend. She paid for it with her life.

  "Why don't you join me tonight at the restaurant where Isabella works."

  "Just what I want to do. Sit and watch ye eat. No, thank ye. And don't go involvin' the girl, Harrison," Garran warned. "It would be a mistake."

  Harrison pursed his lips then let out a long tired sigh. "Wouldn't it be a real corker if your soul mate ended up being a human? Truly, I pray it is so. It would serve you right."

  He wished he never told Harrison about the legend of soul mates and what they meant to a vampire, but they had been friends for centuries; it had been only a matter of time before hopes and dreams were revealed. "It would never happen. Besides, God wouldn't be so cruel."

  "You think not?" He chuckled. "I find He has a wicked sense of humor."

  Chapter Five

  Harrison couldn't convince Garran to join him at A Taste of Home, but he could still enjoy dinner there.

  He strolled in to find everyone in a somber mood. Grief hung in the air like an entity ready to greet its next victim. His gaze took in his surroundings. Candles and flowers were arranged near the register like a shrine. Tables and chairs had been moved to the side and a large banquet table stood as a focal point with food trays, a large stainless steel coffee container, and a punch bowl. He knew the restaurant sometimes held private parties, but they usually did so on the days they were closed and not on a busy night.

  Isabella spotted him and headed over to him with only a hint of a smile. Her eyes gave away her true feelings. Puffy and blood shot – she'd been crying. What in the hell happened here? His gaze shifted to the familiar faces that dined at the restaurant on a regular basis. Mario, the chef peeked his head out from the kitchen, his aged face lined with grief. Patti, one of the waitresses stood near the back of the room, dabbing her eyes. Nicholas appeared to be consoling her. He kept patting her shoulder in a brotherly fashion.

  Then it dawned on him. This was Saturday night. Marcy should be working this shift. Harrison's gaze found Isabella's once more. He heard rumors: a young woman had been found dead near Paul Revere's house. He had a sinking feeling Marcy had been the victim.

  "Hello, Harrison," Isabella greeted him. "I don't know if you heard yet, but Marcy—" She couldn't finish the sentence, choking on the word that would finalize what happened to the young vibrant woman, who had light brown hair and a quick smile. She wanted to be a teacher.

  Harrison led Isabella to one of the tables and pulled out a chair for her to sit down. He crouched down beside her. "What happened?" he asked.

  "Marcy was found dead. The EMT, who arrived on the scene suspected a heart attack. I heard him call it into the hospital." She met his gaze. "How does a perfectly healthy twenty-four year old have a heart attack? She ran track in high school for God's sake. Wouldn't her physician have seen if she had something wrong with her heart long before now?"

  All good questions, Harrison thought. Unfortunately, he couldn't answer them for her. "Marcy never hinted she didn't feel well?"

  She hesitated as if she wanted to share her suspicions, but instead she clamped her mouth shut, her teeth worrying her lower lip. She shook her head. "No, she never complained."

  Harrison would have asked her a few more questions, but he spotted Isabella's brother heading toward them. His protective stance told him to tread lightly with Isabella. He didn't blame Nicholas for his concern. He felt
protective of Isabella, too. Harrison stood. "Hi, Nick."

  "Harrison." Nicholas nodded toward him before he glanced at his sister. He pushed back his glasses that had slid down his nose. "I can handle everything here if you want, you could go home."

  "No." Isabella took a deep breath. "I promised Mario I would help him in the kitchen." She stood and looked at Harrison. "You'll stay for the vigil, won't you?"

  "Absolutely." Harrison nodded.

  Her hand brushed his arm with a gentle squeeze of appreciation. She turned away then, and he watched her walk toward the back of the restaurant and disappear into the kitchen.

  "My sister has been hurt before," Nicholas said.

  Harrison frowned. "Are you implying I might hurt her?"

  The O'Briens entered the restaurant, but before Nicholas stepped away to greet the family, he leveled his gaze on him. "No, I'm warning you not to."

  Harrison's brows lifted. "I'm impressed," he murmured under his breath as he stared at Nicholas' retreating back. Obviously, there was more to Nicholas than the mild-manner persona he displayed to the world.

  Harrison glanced at his watch. He needed to call Garran. They would have to check out Marcy's body to verify if the Soul Taker took her out. If Isabella's hesitation was any indication, she'd known Marcy was compromised.

  The bell chimed on the door and Harrison turned to see Johanna stroll in. Since Isabella was in the back and Nicholas was preoccupied with the O'Briens, Harrison decided he would greet her. He smoothed down his hair and took a deep breath. Big mistake. Johanna's scent made his senses swirl. God, the woman turned his insides to gel and aroused him like no other. He kept telling himself she wasn't his type, but his body obviously thought otherwise.

  Her gaze met his and her hand automatically clutched her blouse close to her neck as if she feared he'd cop a feel right there in the restaurant. Timid and unsure didn't mix well in his world, especially since he was an alpha. His mate would have to be strong, too. He almost chuckled. "Mate," the word came out like a curse. Damn his libido for branding Johanna as his. He should turn around and walk in the other direction, but his feet had a mind of their own.