Soul Taker Read Free

hiding all this time and waiting to exact his revenge?
    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