Soul Taker (9 page)

Conscious that he'd been staring at her, he
cleared his throat and glanced away. He had to stop his obsession
with Johanna. The woman was leaving Boston. Salem wasn't far, but
his chances of running into her were slim to none. Besides, she had
a boyfriend now. He frowned as he realized he hadn't met the
elusive boyfriend. "How come your boyfriend didn't come with you?"
Subtle had never been one of his fine attributes. He wanted Johanna
to be happy, but he also wanted to know if
this
guy was
worthy of her.

"He's away on business." Her face flushed and
she looked away, the comfortable magic of their moment gone.

It seemed this was the only response he
managed to drag out of her, when he'd much rather have her
frustrated and hungry for him. It would only be fair since desire
tended to claw at him, hot and sharp, every time he spoke with
her.

Damn, he had it bad.
Focus, Harrison,
focus
. His purpose tonight was to keep a watchful eye out for
the
Soul Taker
, not to wonder who his life mate might
be.

The night proved unusually quiet. Salem was
one of the well-known preternatural cities, coming in third only to
L.A. and San Francisco. The humans in these cities tended not to
question odd behavior, deathlike pallor, or strange period clothing
some of the preternatural donned as casual wear. Vamps were the
worst offenders. They held onto their past like a lifeline to their
human existence. Even Garran had his hang ups. Sure he dressed for
the times, but his house stood on the hill, like a fortress with
its castle-like façade and its stone interior. He may not have
lived in Boston for decades, but he had the place built in the
early nineteenth century during his earlier lordship over the
territories here. He had other such homes in other states, too.

Next, Goth-chick Beatrice led them to the
Witch Dungeon Museum,
where during the day the employees
reenacted the 1692 Witch trial. They adapted the script from the
original transcripts to entertain the tourists. It seemed a little
morbid to him, but tragic events drew people in wanting to know
more.

"Harrison," Isabella whispered, grabbing his
arm, "Johanna's not with us."

His gaze raked the crowd and he inhaled
deeply, trying to capture Johanna's scent, but came up empty. A
quick twist in his gut put him more on edge. How could she have
slipped away without them noticing?

He should have realized the moment she fell
behind. Had the
Soul Taker
taken her? "Let everyone pass,"
he whispered to Isabella.

She nodded.

Fear radiated off of Isabella like a douse of
perfume. He probably reeked of the scent himself. "Where did you
last remember seeing her?" he asked as soon as the tour moved
on.

"I don't— Wait. It was the cemetery. She
complained the flashes from the cameras were giving her a
headache."

"Let's head back there then." Harrison took
hold of her hand as they headed toward the cemetery.

The moon, a sliver of itself, did nothing to
give them light, but he could see better than Isabella in the
shadowed darkness. Slowing his pace only made him more anxious.

As the neared the cemetery, the air chilled,
not because of the weather, but as a warning of paranormal
activity.

"This isn't like Johanna." Isabella's voice
shook with apprehension. "She wouldn't just wander off without
telling me. I'm worried, Harrison. She told me she was fine, but I
know she wasn't feeling well."

Harrison was a little apprehensive himself.
"We'll find her," he promised.

Isabella's gaze wavered over him and he had a
hunch she was reading his aura. Interesting, her vision picked up
on his essence even in the dark. "You're worried, too," she said.
"Johanna isn't in danger, is she? Have women been dying of
mysterious illnesses here in Salem, also?"

"Let's not jump to conclusions." Which didn't
exactly answer her question.

She grabbed his arm, pulling him to a stop.
"I want you to tell me. You questioned me two days ago about
Marcy's death. You said you knew my mother." She sounded skeptical
on the latter. "You accused me of being a Necromancer, but haven't
been by the restaurant to explain why you would accuse me of such a
thing."

So she wasn't ready to admit she was a
Necromancer—to him anyway, but she didn't flat out deny the claim
either. "I would have come by, but I've been in Salem."

"Why? And don't tell me you're here to take
the ghost tour. You were checking things out—like you're
undercover. Are you a cop, Harrison?"

He sighed. So much for keeping Isabella out
of this when he put her right dab in the middle of it. He opened
the door all right and she barreled right in without even an
'excuse me'.

Garran would have to get over his hang-ups
about humans. "I'm a private detective." He left out 'for the
Otherworldly Realm'. "I'm working with someone to uncover the…" He
couldn't say
Soul Taker
and freak her out even more. "A
serial killer."
Yeah, that was so much more subtle
.

"Serial killer?" She inhaled deeply. "Why
isn't this all over the news? Why aren't the police warning women
to stay off the streets? Jesus, could Johanna be in danger?"

He wanted to say no, but he wasn't sure. With
Isabella admitting Johanna hadn't looked well, he was apprehensive,
too. "I don't know. Let's keep looking."

"Oh, God." Isabella's hand flew to her
mouth.

He placed his hands on her shoulders, forcing
her to look at him. "Let's stay focused and we'll find her."

Isabella took a deep breath and gave him a
curt nod. They continued on, leaving the
Witch Trial
Memorial
behind them and venturing onto Charter Street. The
streetlights were lit, but did nothing to help them with the
swirling layer of mist, which threatened to cover most of
Burying Point Cemetery
. The
Grimshawe
house stood to
the right of the graveyard as an ominous witness to what happened
through the ages. Tonight would be no different.

"I see her." Isabella broke away from
Harrison before he could stop her.

"Wait," he called after her, but she didn't
listen. The mist swallowed Isabella's frame, blocking her from his
view. Harrison cursed as he broke into a jog.

Chapter Thirteen

Garran's night dragged on with the hideous
performance he'd been forced to endure. He hated theatrical ghost
tours, but he especially loathed the ones that included vampire
lore.

New England was noted for their
superstitions, and the unorthodox rituals to keep a vampire from
rising from its grave was a specialty of theirs. It didn't matter
that their legends were faulty at best and some just darn right
ludicrous. He blamed the
Dearg-due
for the fallacies. Ian
Cantwell and his mate Glamis Drui spread the fantasy of how to kill
a vampyre in the thirteenth century, long before he'd even been
turned. Heck, in his youth, he'd been victim to some of those
stories. Living centuries gave him time to read everything under
the moon, even if it proved a fantasy.

His paranormal host this evening looked like
she stepped from the pages of a paranormal book with her witch-type
hat and droll English accent. Yet, she claimed to be one of the
living dead
. She needed to do a little more research on her
wardrobe choice. She had the audacity to claim she knew the
true-facts about vampires because she was one herself. Indeed!
Since the woman still possessed a heartbeat consistent of that of a
human's, one could pretty much rule out vampire.
Kook
was
more like it. A vampire's heartbeat was virtually non-existent at
three beats per minute compared to a human's seventy-two beats per
minute.

"Follow me, mere mortals…" The host motioned
with a wave of her hand. "…if you're willing to stick your neck out
for a vampire to feed upon." She cackled, showing her store-bought
fangs.

Garran barely held back a chortle. He
wondered what
Miss Vampire
would do if he bared his real
fangs to her.

His gaze took in the crowd gathered. They
were eating this
shite
up, following her as if she would
lead them to
Dracula
personally. "Eejits, the lot of them,"
he murmured under his breath.

The evening's events for him had been a waste
of time. He wondered if Harrison had any luck.

As they passed by the
Burying
Cemetery
, his preternatural eyesight picked up a couple walking
the grounds. It wasn't unusual for people to stroll among the
headstones to admire the intricate designs, but the unearthly fog
hovering over the ground like a mist-carpet put him on alert. His
gaze focused on the way the woman tilted her head as the man leaned
forward. Garran broke away from the tour to investigate.

With the swirling mist came the distinct
smell of blood, the tangy coppery taste that made his mouth water.
He swallowed back his desire to indulge. Instead, he focused on the
couple. The woman was young and human. The man… He detected an
irregular heartbeat and the pungent underlying scent distinctive to
only vampires. The man wasn't human. He'd seen enough and made his
move.

Fast as lightning streaking across the sky,
he was upon the young vampire, grabbing hold of him by the collar
and ripping him away from his late night snack.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"
The woman lashed out at Garran.

Garran's eyes burned and he knew they glared
red. "Saving yer life."

"Saving my life!" Her eyes narrowed. "You
stupid prick." She lunged, her fists laying into Garran's back. He
let the young vampire go and warded off the woman's attack.

"Gracie, stop it." The vampire pulled at her,
but she continued to lash out. Her hand slipped into her coat
pocket, pulling out pepper spray.

"You must be kiddin'," Garran commented as he
knocked the canister away and grabbed both her arms. She struggled,
but couldn't break free. "Let me understand this." He hissed near
her ear. "You don't care that your date is a vampire?"

"I know what Dave is," she spat. Her glare
told Garran, she'd rather stake him than converse.

"He could kill you. Drink you dry." He tried
to make sense of this, while warning the girl she was making a big
mistake. She would die or she would be changed. Neither was in her
best interest.

"Hey man, I wouldn't do that," Dave defended
himself. He actually looked horrified over the suggestion.

Garran's eyebrows rose and he snorted in
disbelief. "Ye wouldn't?"

"No." His dark eyes shifted to Gracie. If
Garran didn't know better, he would swear the man looked at the
human woman with puppy-dog adoration. "I love her, man." He
straightened his leather vest and stood a little taller to meet
Garran's gaze head on.

Garran detected no deceit. The vampire
believed he loved this human. He looked to be in his early
twenties, but Garran knew looks were deceiving when one's life is
virtually eternal. "When were you turned?"

"In the seventies."

Explained the
Beatles
' haircut, Garran
thought.

"Gracie's my soul mate."

"Ye're going to turn her, then?" Garran
asked.

"No." He seemed perturbed. "I said I loved
her. It'll be her choice. If she does not wish to be a vampire,
I'll be hers until she dies, naturally, when it's her time."

Garran let Gracie go and she shrugged her
shoulders and straightened her T-shirt over her low-rise jeans. The
vampire draped his arm around his girl. They both eyed him warily.
Who was he to interfere with true love? Garran backed off. "I'm
sorry for the intrusion." He shoved his hands into his jacket
pockets and strode away.

Vampires taking human mates… He shook his
head at the thought. Salem had its quirks, but this was more L.A.
style where anything and everything went.

Garran walked toward the
Grimshawe
house, planning to catch up with his tour, but then he spotted
something else— a woman sprawled against one of the headstones. He
would have missed her if it hadn't been for her hair fluttering in
the breeze like a warning flag.

He headed over to her and leaned down on his
haunches, thinking he'd find her dead, but he detected a faint
heartbeat. He lifted her shoulders to straighten her, but her head
lolled to the side. She moaned as if the movement caused her
discomfort. He leaned in near as he tried to open her mouth and see
if the Soul Taker had attacked her.

"Hey, you!"

Garran turned, spotting a female with long
dark hair, hurrying toward him. She had a nice figure and smelled
like… fresh rain—definitely human.

Her steps picked up speed. He knew he looked
suspicious, leaning over a woman slouched against a gravestone. His
mute response probably didn't help matters either. He would have to
leave before she asked questions he was unable to answer. He
released his hold on the unconscious woman and flitted away. Her
human eyes would believe he disappeared, but that couldn't be
helped.

****

Isabella watched in disbelief as the man
vanished as if he had never been there, but she knew he had. His
aura still lingered with swirling colors in the mist.

Fear knotted in her throat as she skidded to
a halt in front of Johanna. What had the man done to her friend?
She knelt down, grabbing Johanna's shoulders and shaking her.
Johanna moaned, but her eyes fluttered opened. "Johanna, are you
all right? What happened?"

"He was here," Johanna mumbled. She turned
away as if she wanted to fall back to sleep.

Isabella shook her awake. "Who was here?"

"My boyfriend." She smacked her lips together
and smiled dreamily.

Chapter Fourteen

"Isabella?" Harrison called out, frantic to
find her before it was too late. The mist was all wrong. His
nostrils flared as the pungent scent of blood stung his
nostrils.