My Soul to Keep Read Online Free

who’d taken Gervaise from her. She would find him and his pack and destroy them all.
    â€œI can see only the past,” the witch explained. “That’s all I do.”
    Sorcha sat up straighter. “Perfect. That’s all I want to know.”
    â€œI cannot guarantee that I will see the past event you wish to see … it could be something else from your past.”
    â€œI will see my husband’s death,” Sorcha vowed, her jaw tight and aching where it clenched.
    â€œI can try. But first, the fee you promised me.”
    Sorcha removed a neatly folded wad of cash from the large front pocket of her sweater and dropped it on the table’s gleaming surface. Maree stuffed the money into the handbag she wore strapped across her chest. “Let’s do this then.” Sliding to the edge of her chair, she motioned for Sorcha’s hand.
    Sorcha obliged, stretching out her arm, showing no reaction as Maree’s moist fingers took hold of her hand.
    â€œCan you remember the event?” Maree asked.
    Sorcha swallowed tightly and nodded. She would never forget the bloody sight.
    â€œGood. Visualize that and I will try to channel the moment.”
    Silence stretched. Sorcha studied the witch’s face as she pictured the night she’d found her husband torn to pieces. Sweat soon beaded Maree’s creased brow. Her breath grew raspy and Sorcha was convinced she was somewhere else, removed from this setting.
    â€œMaree?” she whispered, and then felt silly because of her hushed tones. “Maree? What do you see?” she asked, her voice louder.
    â€œA great fire,” she said, so softly that Sorcha leaned in. “It fills the night sky, lights up the entire city. I see you. Running down a street, the heat of the flames warm on your back …”
    Sorcha sucked in a deep breath, knowing instantly where Maree had gone. And it wasn’t to the scene of Gervaise’s death. She was seeing Istanbul … the night Sorcha escaped from her pack and left Jonah behind forever.
    She swallowed, fought the sudden thickness in her throat. Almost as if she were choking on the smoke from that night all over again.
    She had never wanted to leave Jonah, but she couldn’t remain with the growing danger of her father. She still recalled Jonah’s eyes, heard his voice … felt his rejection in her heart. He would never take her to mate, never love her as she loved him. So she had fled. Raced headlong into the night, escaping her father and pack shortly before a group of hunters blew up the building.
    Sorcha shook her head, returning to the sound of Maree’s voice recounting that event. “Tears run down your face, but you keep running …”
    A breath shuddered through Sorcha, seeingherself through the witch’s words. As if she were there again, she tasted the salty fall of tears on her lips, smelled the smoke and ash.
    She had wept for Jonah that night—and long after. Losing him had killed her young heart, stolen the last scrap of her youth. And this witch forced her to relive that.
    â€œMove on,” she hissed, squeezing the witch’s hand that held hers. Maree made a small noise of pain and Sorcha relaxed her grip. “Look for Gervaise.” She lowered her voice to a coaxing pitch. “It was a spring night. I left to pick up dinner from his favorite delicatessen. He was listening to
Der Freischütz.
”
    She gently hummed some notes, imagining their elegant penthouse as she left it. Gervaise reclined in his leather armchair, a book in his lap, the soft lamplight casting his craggy features into relief.
    Maree nodded. “Yes, I am there. I see him. The old man has a blanket over his lap… and a book …”
    â€œYes.” Sorcha’s blood raced. “Yes. Do you see his killer?”
    No one had seen anything, not the building’s surveillance, not the doorman or the countless people who passed through