Free Soul Taker by Karen Michelle Nutt Page B

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