Soul Taker

by Nutt, Karen Michelle

  He strode into the room where the smells of good cooking assailed his senses. His gaze slid over Isabella who offered him a nice view of her shapely bottom as she leaned into the oven to retrieve the pan of freshly made garlic bread.

  "Need any help?" he asked.

  "Oh…" She jumped at the sound of his voice. Her sudden movement had her juggling to keep from losing her grip on the pan and toppling the bread onto the floor.

  Harrison's instincts kicked in and his hands shot out.

  "No, don't—" she warned.

  Harrison realized his mistake. The pan was hot. He plopped it down on top of the oven.

  "Omigod. Let me see." Concern laced her words. She took off her oven mitts and tossed them aside.

  "I'm fine," Harrison told her, hiding his hands behind his back.

  "You aren't fine. I just took the pan out of the oven. You're hands will blister if we don't take care of them now."

  "I have calloused hands. They withstand a lot."

  Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. He didn't blame her. It had been a stupid move on his part to grab a hot baking pan.

  "Let me see for myself." She wasn't going to let this go.

  He slowly brought his hands out in front of him and showed her his palms. They were red and stung a little, but in a minute or so they would be back to normal. All shifters healed fast, a trait they shared from birth.

  Her eyes met his. "Lucky for you that your hands are calloused." She glanced at his smooth palms again suspiciously, but before she could examine them further, he put his hands behind his back once more.

  She's wary now, he thought to himself. Make any more mistakes and Isabella will end up afraid of you. "I didn't mean to startle you," he said out loud, hoping to put her at ease. "I just wanted to see if I could lend a hand."

  She gave him a half smile. "I'm fine, really."

  She took down a platter from the cupboard and arranged the garlic bread on it.

  "If you don't mind me asking," Harrison moved beside her, "you seem a little jumpy tonight."

  "Yeah, well, wouldn't you be if you knew a woman had been murdered?"

  "Murdered?"

  "I mean died," she stammered to correct herself. She looked up at him. "I meant to say died."

  "Hmm… I don't believe you did."

  Her tongued moistened her lips as if they suddenly became dry.

  He'd made her nervous again. It was now or never to come clean with her. "I find it odd Marcy died of a heart attack, and she's not the only one who's died of a supposed heart failure in the last month." He had her full attention now.

  Her hands stilled and she turned to level her gaze on him. "What are you talking about?"

  "There's been a total of four deaths where women under the age of thirty have died of heart complications."

  She placed a few more pieces of bread on the plate as she digested the information he'd given her. "If they didn't die of heart problems, then what?" She looked at Harrison again, fully expecting him to give her an answer.

  This is where it got a little tricky. He couldn't just blurt out that the Soul Taker was doing this. She'd definitely think he was a whack job. "I don't know exactly, but you must have the same suspicion. You said murdered, remember?"

  She didn't tell him he misunderstood, so he pushed further. "What has you spooked?" he dared to ask. "Did you see someone suspicious?"

  "Not exactly," she spoke with caution, keeping her voice low.

  He lifted a brow. "What precisely did you see?"

  She considered his question for a moment before she sighed. "You'll think I'm crazy."

  "Oh, sweet lass, you wouldn't believe the stories I've heard. Try me."

  She added the last of the bread onto the plate. Dealing with food obviously calmed her nerves. She turned and leaned her hip against the counter. "I can see…" She pursed her lips together.

  He placed a hand on her arm. "You see things. What? What do you see? You can trust me, Izzie."

  She stared at him for a long moment before nodding. "I saw Marcy's essence, only it's attached to someone. He was in the shadows I couldn't see him clearly. I thought Marcy—oh, this is crazy. Why am I telling you this?" She whirled away, facing the counter and leaning her hands on it for support.

  Harrison placed his palms on her shoulders. "It's not crazy, Isabella. I believe you."

  She didn't say anything and he backed away to give her space.

  Harrison was losing her. He had to draw her back. "I knew your mother, Izzie."

  She looked at him, her brows furrowing as she obviously did the calculations in her head. Harrison knew he didn't look much older than she did, even though he was centuries her senior. Her mother and father died when she was nine.

  "I'm older than you think," he offered. "I know your mother was a Necromancer. I think you are one too, or at the very least could be."

  "Izzie?"

  They both whirled around at the sound of Nicholas' voice. Nicholas' gaze shifted to Harrison then to his sister again, obviously forming the wrong conclusions. His dark brows drew together into a frown as he leveled an accusing look at Harrison. Again, Harrison wondered about Isabella's brother. Did he perceive more of the preternatural world than he let on?

  "Izzie, I don't care what you do on your free time, but we have guests to attend to or have you forgotten?"

  "I came back here to see if I could help her." Harrison picked up the platter.

  Nicholas crossed his arms against his chest. The stance clearly called him a liar without voicing a word.

  "Thank you, Harrison," Isabella said. "If you could bring the plate up front that would be wonderful."

  He walked by Nicholas and Isabella followed close behind, but her brother pulled her back before she could make her escape.

  "What's going on, Izzie?"

  "We were getting the garlic bread like you asked."

  "It looked like more."

  "Yeah, well it wasn't." She yanked free and headed up front.

  Chapter Nine

  Garran silently moved around the grounds of the Revere House searching for clues the police were not equipped to find. Supernatural creatures left a residue not unlike DNA. He would know if it was male or female or whether it was a vampire, demon, werewolf, or one of the Fae. The Soul Taker, as Harrison had dubbed Boston's threat, was a being from his vampire sept. Be it Alexander or another Grim Sith, he'd pick up the signature.

  He looked up at the building where Revere had lived with his wife and his brood of children. The man had two wives with sixteen children between them. He shook his head perplexed at how the man, with such a brood, found time to become so successful.

  Garran walked over to the adjacent building, Nathaniel Hichborn's house. He retraced his steps back to Revere's again. He sat down on his haunches. The sickly sweet aroma of death lingered like a marker. The girl had taken her last breath here, or rather her last breath had been taken from her. He ran his hand over the roughened ground to get a better reading. Emotions tended to leave a residue behind, violence and rapture being the strongest to pick up. He couldn't read the emotions as well as a sensitive, but he could manage a general idea of the girl's last moments. "She knew him," he stated, not surprised. He stood and looked around.

  The place was quiet, probably like the night she walked to work. The tours of the historical houses ended hours ago. Did the girl meet the Soul Taker here or did she happen to walk by and he surprised her? A movement to the left of him caught his attention.

  "I thought it was you, Garran MacLaurin."

  Garran recognized the raspy voice before she revealed herself by stepping out of the shadows. "Monette Garlen, what brings ye to my city? Last time I heard ye were residin' in New Orleans." Monette was a beautiful woman of Jamaican origin, dark flawless skin, and full figure. Garran wasn't easily put on edge, except when it concerned voodoo or the dark arts. Monette was proficient in both, making her as dangerous as a viper.

  "Have you been lurking too
long in your coffin? My home was wiped out with Hurricane Katrina."

  Garran ignored her sarcasm. "So, ye're here because?"

  She threw back her head and laughed. "So worried, Garran MacLaurin."

  "Should I be?" He had yet to find out all the major preternatural players in his territory, but he would be sure to add Monette's name to his list.

  Like always, Monette danced around his questions. "I've relocated here. I have a shop. You'd be surprised what tourists will buy from a voodoo shop," she said with a smile.

  He highly doubted it. Most humans tended to be naïve and purchased things on a whim with no idea what power the items possessed.

  "Why are you so interested in Revere's house?" she asked. "Come to take a tour, did you?"

  Her chuckle grated on his nerves. He could pretend he was out for a stroll, but Monette would smell the lie. "A young woman was murdered here."

  Monette wandered around the yard, pretending to be disinterested, but Garran knew she wasn't here for a late night stroll anymore than he was. This meeting was purposely orchestrated, but to what purpose Garran would have to wait and see.

  "Why do you so concern yourself with such trivial happenings? So a girl perished. So what? Hmm?" She moved behind him, hugging his torso as she rubbed her hands up and down his chest, nearly purring as she leaned into him.

  "I chose Boston as my main headquarters. Pardon me, if I prefer it to be in peace."

  "Why can't we all get along?" Monette whined sarcastically. She let her hands drop as she sauntered into a position to face him. Her smile turned cold. "Then you better tend to the intruder. He's one of yours, I believe."

  "The vampire who's taking up the sport of soul takin'—that vampire?" he asked to clarify.

  She considered her answer before she nodded. "He needs to be stopped."

  "Do ye know where he is?" He actually was surprised Monette hadn't gone after the vampire herself. She was not without power. Her radiant beauty was proof enough. Monette had to be going on forty, but she looked as young as she did when he met her some twenty years ago.

  "I can see things, feel them," Monette snapped. "I'm not a friggin' homing device."

  He held his temper in check. He wouldn't find out anything if he lashed out. "What do ye know then?"

  "The vampire wants to destroy what you hold dear. Tread softly, Grim Sith, for he will bring you down if you are not careful."

  "And why would ye warn me, Monette? Seems out of character for ye"

  She chuckled as she drew closer. She ran one long nail down his chest. She flirted, but her dark eyes were cold and threatening. "Let us just say it would be in all our best interest if you found him." She turned away walking toward the street, but before she reached the edge of the gate she was gone, vanishing as if she'd been an illusion. She was definitely dealing in some dark magic.

  Garran stood there for another moment, wondering what Monette could be after. She never divulged information without an ulterior motive. He had a preternatural serial killer on his hands and now a psychopathic voodoo queen threatening him to take control of the situation.

  A few moments later, Harrison strolled in to join him, smelling like he ate a clove of garlic on his way. He wrinkled his nose at the pungent smell. Garlic didn't harm vampires, but it did give them pause. All senses were heightened as a vampire, and some scents tended to haunt a person like an unwanted spirit. Garlic happened to be one of them. "Anyone of interest show up at the wake?"

  "No, but I have reasons to believe Isabella sensed something preternatural. She was spooked. All the signs were there – fidgety, anxious, and fear strong and prominent, as if she doused herself with it like a perfume. I started to question her and she admitted seeing Marcy's soul or at least tried to, but her brother walked in on us."

  "Almost tellin' ye, is no' much to go on."

  Harrison threw him a perturbed look. "What did you discover here?"

  "That Monette Garlen wants the killer dead as much as we do."

  His hands came uncrossed. "Monette? The psycho voodoo witch?"

  "The one and the same."

  "I thought she was holed up in New Orleans?"

  "Guess she relocated after Hurricane Katrina."

  Harrison threw up his hands. "Bloody brilliant. She almost had us killed the last time we worked with her."

  "We'll have to figure out what she's really after. Until then, watch yer back."

  Chapter Ten

  He went by many names since his birth… and death. Some names were coined to him as the authorities hunted for a killer they would never find and others he'd chosen himself.

  In this century, he selected the name Alexander, the name his parents had given him. He thought it ironic or perhaps fitting, the name meant the helper of mankind.

  A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. He did go out of his way to help humans find their eternal rest. It also helped to line his pockets with cash. Souls made him a good profit. Franco and he had a good thing going here. Franco, being the governor of the Otherworldy territory at this end of the country, covered up the deaths that caught human attention, but the bugger became greedy, demanding a bigger cut of the action. He had to dust him.

  His lips slid into a smile as he thought of the glass spheres sitting on his shelves at home—witch balls they were called, but they suited his purpose to trap the soul until he could find a buyer. Vamps from different septs, an incubus, or a succubus looking for a quick fix were his best customers.

  He didn't completely give up human blood, but in this day and age, the authorities tended to be unnerved if too many bodies showed up drained. Humans with their superstitions and lore didn't readily recall vampires also could consume the soul, the complete essence of the human's life force. It was like a delicacy, filet mignon versus hamburger.

  His gaze slid over his chosen victim, a young woman in her mid-twenties, pathetically plain and apparently not very bright. Her name was Deana Timberlan. After her late shift at the karaoke bar, she walked home every night down this alley, which led to her apartment.

  "Ye should be more careful, sweet. Didn't yer mum warn ye that dark alleys were no' safe?" No one would come to her rescue. If they spotted them in the dimly lit alleyway, they would believe they were lovers out for a midnight tryst.

  He brushed her locks away from her face. He wouldn't be selling her soul. He needed substance and her essence left a sweet taste in his mouth. His hand caressed her cheek, but she was beyond feeling any intimacy now. He'd taken most of her essence and she hung onto life by a mere thread. He could stop, leave what was left, but why leave the poor girl to suffer. She'd never fully recover, not with so much of her soul gone. It was better to end her pitiful life now. He was sure she would thank him if she could. "Ye're welcome, sweet," he said, as if she had. He covered her mouth, giving her a lover's kiss. He inhaled, taking her last breath with a swallow.

  Waves of pleasure coursed through him. He would be strong when he took his date out tonight. His mousey florist amused him—for now. He wanted to play with her a while longer before he took her soul.

  I'll be there soon, luv.

  Chapter Eleven

  The rest of the night, Isabella felt her brother's heated gaze on her after he caught her with Harrison in the kitchen, but she refused to look at him and give him the opening to blast her with his opinions while they still had guests. He would have his say—later.

  Unfortunately, later had arrived.

  Mario volunteered to give Patti a ride home. Johanna was the last to leave the wake. She stayed longer, sensing the tension between her and Nicholas, but it was well after midnight. She couldn't keep Johanna here all night.

  Johanna gave her a hug and she returned the gesture. "I'll call you tomorrow," Johanna told her. "Good luck with Nick."

  She glanced over her shoulder to Nicholas. He was humming as he gathered his plates. Yep, she was in for a good discussion.

  Johanna gave her a sympathetic look. Isabella squeezed her hand.
"I'll be fine. You know how Nick gets. He saw me talking to Harrison in the kitchen and assumed something was going on between us. I get the feeling he thinks Harrison's a player."

  "He might be right," Johanna said hesitantly and didn't meet her gaze.

  Isabella sighed. "It doesn't matter. I'm not seeing Harrison." She told Johanna, wanting to make sure her friend knew she had no claims on the man. "You know if you have a thing for him—"

  "What?" Johanna's voice squeaked. "Me? God, no. Harrison… He makes me nervous."

  Isabella tried not to smile. "He seems to like you."

  Johanna shook her head. "He's just being nice because I'm your friend. Besides, I have a boyfriend."

  "Oh yes, the elusive boyfriend," she teased.

  "I'm meeting him tonight. He had to work late and since I was out late…" she shrugged.

  This was so unlike Johanna. "Wow, a midnight tryst."

  "Not exactly. He's going with me to Salem to check out some property for sale near the waterfront. It'll be a great location for a flower shop. My own shop and not someone else's."

  Isabella knew it was a dream of hers and hoped it all panned out. "You're leaving tonight? Why not head out tomorrow morning?" It wasn't like Salem was far away. It was only fifteen or so miles away, but Marcy's death had left her anxious for the safety of her friends. Of course, evil wasn't only for the night, but for some reason the light of day always seemed safer.

  "We wanted to miss the morning traffic. Besides, he works nights. It's difficult for him to change his sleeping habits. I'll call you tomorrow and let you know how it turns out." She leaned forward and gave her a hug goodbye.

  "Drive careful then, and good luck."

  "Thanks." She looked toward Isabella's brother. "See ya, Nick." Johanna waved to him.

  "Bye, Johanna." He returned the gesture.

  Isabella locked the door behind Johanna. She knew it would be a matter of seconds before Nicholas would question her about Harrison and what he believed he saw going on in the kitchen. One, two…