Soul Taker Read online

  There's one thing Garran learned in his long life: Time did not heal all wounds; it made them fester.

  Chapter Two

  Isabella stirred the spaghetti sauce as it simmered over the open flame. She raised the wooden spoon to her mouth and closed her eyes, savoring the aroma of thick red tomato sauce, fresh basil, and onions mixed with a dash of oregano and Parmesan cheese.

  Her gaze locked onto Mario. He was a proud man, only an inch or two taller than her five-foot, four-inch stature. He'd been the chef for A Taste of Home from the very beginning, when her parents were alive and running the restaurant.

  "Well, what do you think?" he asked in a thick Sicilian accent he never lost, even though he left Sicily decades ago. He tended to drop words and letters as he spoke in the singsong voice of Italian flair and he used his hands to emphasize his point.

  "I think it's perfect. I don't know why you worry. Like usual, everything smells wonderful, Mario."

  "Bene. Now you must leave. Let Mario finish. It's a busy night. Go, go." He shooed her away.

  Isabella knew Mario for all his gruffness loved her like a daughter. She also knew she was the only woman he allowed to step foot in what he dubbed his kitchen. His respect didn't come easy. She had to prove her worth, prove she knew how to prepare chicken Parmesan, ladling the tomato-olive sauce over the chicken and sprinkling just the right amount of mozzarella. She had to make a perfect cannoli shell from scratch, a lemoncello cheesecake to die for, and any other dishes Mario demanded she learn to prepare. She earned her place and loved every moment of it.

  "I'll be up front if you need my help," Isabella called over her shoulder as she pushed opened the two-way door. She headed for the office, glancing at a photo that hung on the outer wall. It was of her father and mother on opening day of A Taste of Home, taken some thirty years ago when her parents hoped for a happy, simple future—before Nicholas and she were born.

  Giovanni Lucci had dark hair then, a real looker. His hazel eyes rimmed with gold were framed with thick black lashes. Nicholas and she were blessed with the same trait, too. From Louisa, their mother, Nicholas possessed a cleft chin and she was blessed with her thick wavy hair and a slender figure with all the right curves.

  However, looks weren't all she inherited. Her father was a sensitive and knew when a person needed anything from being a good friend and listener to knowing if the individual needed medical care. Her mother was from a long line of Necromancers, those sensitive to the world beyond the veil. She could call a soul back—if only for a few moments. A true Necromancer was rare, but one whose power could potentially bring the person back for longer than a few moments was almost unheard of, but her mother had been one such Necromancer.

  Both her parents were gone now, a car accident or perhaps the balance of the universe righting itself. One could not bring back the dead without consequences.

  She touched her fingers to her lips with a kiss and placed it on the photo before she knocked on the office door. One rap and she opened the door and peeked in. Nicholas sat behind the desk, going over the bills. He looked up with a smile. "Hey, Izzie, just the girl I needed to see." He pushed his black-rimmed glasses back onto the bridge of his nose. "Can you stay later tonight? Marcy never showed."

  Isabella frowned. Marcy never missed her shift. She had noticed the last few days that the girl's aura was off, but she hadn't thought it was anything serious. "Did you call her?"

  Nicholas must have heard the worry in her voice and looked up. "I left a message on her cell. I'm sure she's all right, Izzie. She has a new boyfriend and…" he gave her a half smile. "She's been distracted lately. Falling in love does that to a person."

  "Yeah." Falling in love proved a fantasy to her, but she nodded in agreement.

  "So, will you stay?" her brother asked again.

  "Sure." As pathetic as it sounded, she didn't have anything better to do on a Friday night. "We're going to have a full house. I caught a glimpse of the reservation list. Mario's already in a tizzy, thinking he won't be able to keep up."

  "He'll keep up."

  "I know. Personally, I think he likes to grumble."

  Nicholas nodded as he punched the numbers on the calculator. "I'll be up front later to help. Let me catch up on the bills."

  "How are we doing?"

  "It looks like we'll see a profit this month."

  "Good. I could use a pay check." Isabella left her brother to go up front.

  Customers from every walk-of-life came into the restaurant to enjoy Italian cuisine—from the tourists, who leisurely strolled down the Freedom Trail to the locals, who came in to talk or relax after a hectic day at work.

  Nicholas and she decorated the restaurant with red-checkered linen tablecloths on the tables, votive candles for ambience, and three of the white washed walls displayed framed pictures of Italian landscapes. On the fourth wall, Nicholas painted a floor to ceiling Italian villa in Tuscany.

  Isabella noticed some of her favorite patrons were here tonight. Sean and Giovanna O'Brien, who were celebrating their anniversary, were seated at the far corner where they whispered to each other, their lips curved in secretive smiles. Their families swore their marriage wouldn't last. An Irishman marrying an Italian woman caused a commotion here in Boston.

  Ted Johnson, widowed recently, dreaded being alone. He sat at the back of the restaurant, sipping his merlot and reading the evening paper. She was glad to see his aura looked better this week. Also toward the front of the restaurant, she spotted Harrison Connell, another Irishman, his speech still flavored with a lilt. He sometimes brought a date, but for the last week, he'd been having dinner alone. As she greeted the customers, nodding a hello and asking how their families were doing, she made her way over to him.

  Harrison stood six-foot-one or two, slim built, but with well-defined biceps, indicating he must work out. His hair was the color of chestnuts and his eyes a deep whiskey color. He looked up and smiled. Boy, did he have a smile. It set the colors of his aura, the brown and gold shimmering around him with warmth.

  "How are you doing, Harrison? I haven't seen you with Lori lately." Come to think of it, Lori hadn't been to palates either.

  "We broke up," he informed her with a slight shrug.

  "That's too bad. I'm sorry to hear it."

  "I'm not."

  Isabella's eyebrows lifted ever so slightly.

  He chuckled. "It wasn't a healthy relationship," he explained, and then added, "for either of us."

  Isabella opened her mouth to comment, but her friend Johanna came bursting into the restaurant, waving her hand in a gesture of I-need-to-talk-to-you-now. "If you will excuse me," she said to Harrison.

  "By all means." He glanced at Johanna and his aura spiked. Interesting.

  Harrison had a thing for Johanna? She shook her head. It would never work. Harrison was confident in his skin, while Johanna cowered in hers. The relationship would… hmm… Maybe she'd have to rethink this. Harrison seemed to be a decent man. Perhaps he would bolster Johanna's confidence. But then, she frowned as another thought crossed her mind. He could further damage her confidence if he hurt her.

  Harrison went through girlfriends like they were tissues to be discarded, but then maybe he chose the wrong type of woman. He may be attracted to the flashy model types—heck, most men probably were, but once the lust wore off… Well, even a man in good shape couldn't spend all his time in bed, could he?

  "Psst." Johanna waved to her again.

  Harrison chuckled softly. "You better see what she wants. She's near bursting at the seams to tell you her news."

  "Yes, it does appear so."

  "Go. You shouldn't keep a lass who is bent on sharing."

  She nodded her thanks. Yes, Harrison may not know how to commit but he was a considerate man. She strode over to her anxious friend.

  Johanna Threshold was a tall, gangly woman with an upturned nose, brown eyes that were too close together, and she harbored an overbite, that four years of braces had
n't corrected. Most men passed her over without a second thought, which really was unfair. Isabella wished they could see Johanna as she did, with all the colors of her aura, all those warm welcoming colorful hues radiating from her. She was one of the good ones, a pure soul.

  Isabella tilted her head to the side, realizing how Johanna's aura seemed to glow brighter tonight. "You look like you've just won the lottery."

  Johanna grabbed a hold of her arm, her smile broadening. "Izzie, I think I've found Mr. Right."

  "Really? Who is he? Where did you meet him, and does he have a brother?"

  Johanna giggled at their standard joke. "Sorry, I believe he said he was an only child. He breezed into the flower shop, right before closing to buy a bouquet for an ailing friend. We hit it off so wonderfully. We ended up at Siren's Call. You know the Karaoke bar. I even sang."

  "You?" Isabella's brows rose in surprise.

  "I know, I know. It was so fun, too. And God, Izzie, this guy is so cute. Can you believe it? A gorgeous looking man likes me."

  "Why wouldn't he? Johanna, you're wonderful." She gave her a warm hug. "I hope he knows how lucky he is to have you. When do I get to meet this mysterious man of yours?"

  Johanna's smile slipped for a fraction of a second before she flitted away from her, pretending to be interested in the evening's dinner specials posted on the chalkboard in front of the cashier desk. "Soon, I promise. I just don't want—" She looked at Isabella as if she didn't know what to say. "I don't want to jinx it. Okay?"

  Isabella nodded, sensing she was holding something back, but she didn't push. "You let me know. You can bring him here for dinner—on the house."

  "I will, Izzie. I will." She turned to leave.

  "Be careful," Isabella called, causing her friend to look back at her with a smile.

  "I've been careful all my life," Johanna said. "I think it's about time I'm a little reckless. He makes me feel pretty." Her cheeks turned a bright crimson. She shrugged her embarrassment away. "I don't want the feeling to end."

  Isabella wanted to tell her not to be rash, to take it slow and make sure he was worthy of her heart, but she knew Johanna wouldn't listen to her.

  Isabella walked over to the door and watched Johanna race across the street. A whisper of unease teased her senses and she frowned, wondering why she was worried. Her friend radiated with happiness. Surely this meant the man she dated was treating her right. Just to be safe, she said a silent prayer, urging Johanna's guardian angel to watch over her.

  ****

  Harrison watched the exchange with interest. Isabella's brows furrowed and she chewed on her lower lip. Curiosity got the better of him. He'd heard snippets of the conversation. Keen hearing made eavesdropping easy. "Does Johanna have a hot date?" Funny, how the thought of another man touching her disturbed him, but he pushed the thought away. Johanna wasn't his type. He was worried about her… like a big brother. He cleared his throat. His carnal thoughts proved how that was a lie.

  Isabella looked at him. "How do you know Johanna?" She walked back over to his table.

  He chuckled. "She's in here almost as much as I am. We've exchanged words a few times." He shrugged. "She seems so unsure of herself." He didn't mention how she stuttered and blushed every time he tried to start a conversation with her.

  Isabella sighed. "She doesn't know." His right brow lifted and Isabella hurried to explain. "She doesn't know how special she is."

  "No, she doesn't," Harrison agreed. Isabella's pensive expression reminded him of her mother. Louisa Lucci would have been about Isabella's age the last time he saw her. He often wished he'd kept in touch with her.

  Preternatural beings lived long lives and they had to reinvent a new life every so often, but Louisa knew what he was and wouldn't have cared.

  When he and Garran decided to come back to Boston, he was glad to hear A Taste of Home hadn't closed its doors. He'd sauntered into the restaurant, looking for Louisa Lucci and her talents as a Necromancer. It would have been nice to have the old team back again, someone they could trust. Louisa had helped them on numerous occasions back then.

  She'd been young and vibrant the last time he saw her and expecting her first child—obviously, Nicholas, if he added the years right. He was surprised to learn Louisa had died over a decade ago.

  He knew such talents as Louisa's were often passed down to their children. He didn't notice any special abilities with Nicholas Lucci, other than his keen eye for art and business, but Isabella…she perceived more than others did from a mere glance. She sensed things about them. She most likely would sense something different about him, too. Though he had a hunch she didn't know he was a werewolf. There was no indication she recognized Otherworldly beings – other than perhaps their aura appeared different than a human's. Such a shame her parents died before they had the chance to train her.

  He'd been eating at A Taste of Home every night for the last six months. He arrived in Boston before Garran to make arrangements, get their paper work in order, like new IDs and such.

  He'd witnessed Isabella in action. She was cautious with her gift. He of all people understood prudence. Not many people would accept what he was and for Isabella—her gifts would be ridiculed. She would give subtle suggestions when she knew a person's health was in jeopardy, or if they weren't happy, she would try to cheer them up with conversation, a glass of wine, or an extra piece of pie. She knew what would make them smile again. When they beamed with cheerfulness, she was there to share in their bliss.

  "You're a good friend, Isabella," Harrison told her and meant it. "Just keep reminding Johanna how precious she is." Isabella's gaze riveted to him and he wondered why of all the words he could have used, he voiced the word precious. He cleared his throat and ignored her curious gaze. "Eventually, she may believe you."

  "I hope so," she said.

  Harrison knew Isabella would worry anyway. She cared and never judged. This was why he wanted to recruit her. Seeing auras did not make her a Necromancer, and there was no indication she had the ability like her mother, but being able to read people could work to their advantage, too.

  He didn't doubt his ability to sway her to his side; however, a certain vampire was still not convinced.

  Chapter Three

  Nicholas waited for Isabella outside the restaurant as she ran back inside to grab her purse. Thank God, the humidity had dropped a little and the night was tolerable. "I'm ready," Isabella said, as she shut the door and locked it again. She swung her purse strap over her shoulder.

  They headed down the street, which was nearly empty now. They each owned a car, but they walked since the two-bedroom condo they shared was only a short distance from the restaurant.

  Nicholas shoved his hands into his pockets as he began to whistle a tune, an old Italian lullaby their mother used to sing to them. It was her cue that he wanted to talk and give her advice, but was still working it all out in his mind how he would voice his concerns. Nicholas was seven years her senior. He practically raised her once their parents had died and still felt it was his duty to take on the parental role even though she turned twenty-one last month.

  They passed by the infamous Paul Revere's home. Built in 1676, it was the oldest surviving building in Boston. She loved the old site. It reminded her how others walked this road long before she had, brave men and women, who fought for their freedom and won. She was good about directing the tourist to the different sites along the Freedom Trail. She knew the city well, embraced it.

  She glanced at her brother who should have gone off to college to study art. He was talented, but instead he stayed here to keep the restaurant going and take care of her. He'd put his life on hold. She thought it was because of her, that he felt responsible for her, but she didn't think so anymore. Something else had put him in limbo.

  He stopped whistling and glanced at her. "I noticed Harrison Connell talking to you."

  "Harrison always talks to me."

  "Yeah, but he didn't bring a date, hasn'
t in awhile."

  Isabella shrugged. "So?"

  "So, maybe he's interested."

  Isabella chuckled. "Interested? In me?" She knew where her brother was going. She hadn't been on a date since Evan Peterson broke her heart.

  "Who else are we speaking of?"

  "Nick, I don't think I'm Harrison's type." Besides, she had a hunch Harrison had a secret crush on Johanna. She wondered why he hadn't acted on it. He didn't strike her as the shy type.

  It was probably too late now anyway. Johanna had a boyfriend. If he turned out as wonderful as she made him out to be, she wouldn't be looking to end the relationship anytime soon.

  "When I came up front," Nicholas continued, "I caught him checking you out."

  Isabella looked at her brother. "He's a nice guy, but…" She let the sentence drift off.

  "But he's not Evan," Nicholas finished for her.

  Isabella's brows furrowed before she forced a smile. "I'm not looking for another Evan."

  "Let's hope not, since he left your heart bruised and bleeding."

  "He couldn't forgive me," Isabella sighed with regret.

  "It wasn't your fault."

  "Wasn't it?" she countered.

  "You told him his daughter was ill. He was the one who didn't take her to the hospital. Then he dared to ask—"

  "Let it go, Nick," she warned. Evan grieved for Bethany, his three-year old daughter who had died from meningitis. His wife had walked out on them when Bethany was six months old. He had raised Bethany by himself. Evan wanted his daughter back and consequences be damned, but Isabella hadn't been properly trained in the art of Necromancy as all her mother's family had been.

  Uncle Giovanni, their mother's brother, had started to teach her the art, but once Nicholas found out, he put a stop to it. Since her brother was her legal guardian, he had the final say. So most of what she knew had been learned by trial and error, curiosity being her motivator. Hanging out at hospitals and funeral homes didn't make her the most popular girl at school.