by Michele Ryan
“Talk about pressure,” Grant mumbled.
Tell me about it.
“Be warned, you must not read the spell till the moment you cast it,” Granmé advised.
What an odd request. Most witches, white or otherwise often memorized spells. It made them more effective and true because there was no worry of a misspoken phrase or word. “I understand.”
“Mind my words, Clara. It is the most powerful spell ever created. To read or know its words before will weaken it. Tell me you realize the gravity of this spell I have left for you.”
“I understand, Granmé.” Clara assured the specter. “Do I require anything else?”
Most Voodoo spells required accoutrements like animal bones or blood for effectiveness. She did not want to go into this more blind than she already was.
“Cast the spell out in the open where the sun is strong and bright. That is when you will be at your strongest and use the mirror your mama gave you before you boarded the train.”
“Should I cast a protection spell before I begin?”
“Unfortunately, a protection spell will not bode well for what you have to do. You will have no magick to protect you. It is as it should be. Good versus Evil. Light against dark.”
“I understand.” How Clare kept the tremble of fear from her voice, she’d never know. The knowledge of her birthright weighed upon her, leaving her anxious to see it through to the end. The Baron had to be cast out, and only she could do it.
“The fates, choose you for a reason. You are the light. Embrace it, reveal in it and harness its power and you will defeat the evil.”
The discarded necklace lifted off the ground, hovering a moment before it made its way to her hand.
“Put it on now and do not remove it till he is gone. Promise me, Clara,” Granmé pleaded.
“I will,” she replied, fastening the chain around her neck.
“My time is running out,” Granmé said, her spirit flickering. “I must say my goodbyes. For now.”
“You will come back?” Grant begged.
The specter smiled. “My spirit is attached to my granddaughter. Simply call my name and speak to me. If I am able to, I will respond in kind. When it is safe, and I can visit again, Clara will cast another resurrection spell. Next time, I will bring my fille. She wants to know Clara is well with her own eyes and not rely on the musings of an old woman.”
“I am sure Mother neither says or feels such, granmé.”
“She gets jealous because you summon me more than her.” Granmé smirked.
“Relay my apologies. I will bring her for a visit when her grandchild is born,” Clara assured the apparition.
“She will be pleased,” Granmé said before she flickered once, twice and then totally disappeared into the darkness.
“Best month ever,” Grant declared, standing up and brushing the dirt from his pants. “Do you want me to tend the fire?”
“If you would not mind. It will allow me time to collect my things,” Clara said, loading her cauldron with the items she brought down to cast her spell.
“Are you going to tell Dad?” Grant inquired.
“About my visit?”
Grant nodded.
“Yes. I will not keep anything from your father. Nor would I ever ask you to, Grant. Relationships thrive on honesty and communication.”
“I am learning this,” Grant said, kicking dirt onto the fire, making sure it was out.
Together they walked back to the mansion. Clara sought out Ezra, after leaving Grant in the kitchen so he could have a biscuit and milk. The team needed the information she’d been given via her grandmother. If they were going to win, they’d have to be ready, which meant so did Clara, even though it scared the spit out of her.
Chapter Thirteen
“Then, there she was, by the fire. She shimmered and glowed. She called Clara chou chou. She called me, chou chou said I should learn the arts and French. Said it would help me with the ladies.” Grant hadn’t stopped talking about meeting Marie Laveau since Ezra walked through the door after patrolling with Jack and Andres.
From what Ezra gleaned from his son’s ramblings, Clara had met with her grandmother and had a spell to break whatever tethered her to this Baron. Of course, an excited child’s tittering didn’t quite give him the whole picture of the situation at hand. Clara would explain it all when she was ready, and after he could calm his son down.
“Take a breath, boy,” Ezra said, laying his hand on his son’s shoulder. “Slow down.”
“It was amazing,” Grant answered. “She said if I want to talk to her again, I could.”
“Well, sounds like you’ve made yourself another friend.” He wrapped his arm around Grant’s shoulder and led him up the stairs to his room. “It’s past time for bed.”
His son sighed. “When will I get to stay up all night with you?”
He hoped Grant would never have to lead the same life as he, though the longer the boy stayed within the mansion with the Dreadfuls, he suspected the boy would become more like them than not. A creature of the night fighting those who would harm humanity. “When you’re older. For now, your only job is to be a child. Have fun. Enjoy yourself.”
He worried the babe would be questioned by his son, so far, Grant accepted the bundle as something found along the way to righting the situation with Clara. He hadn’t asked if the baby had been a wolf or fully human and Ezra doubted he’d say anything to the contrary.
Grant smiled up at him. His eyes brightened. “Thank you for letting Lular stay.”
“She is pack, so is her mother.” Ezra ruffled his hair. “They will always have a place here.”
A look of deep thought and concern filled his son’s features. “You’re right. The pack matters. We have to protect them to have a stronger pack.”
“Yes,” Ezra acknowledged. “For now, you have to go to bed.” He urged Grant towards his room. “Sleep well.”
“You too Dad,” Grant replied.
After making sure his son was settled in for the night, he went in search of Clara. Whatever she spoke of with her grandmother, she would tell them, when she was ready. He wouldn’t press her. As he stepped into their room, Clara sat in front of the mirror combing out her hair. The mass of curls had been silky against his palms and fingers and smelled of coconut. He buried his face in her luscious mane and breathed in the scent of lavender and coconut oil.
Clara’s gaze met his in the mirror and a small seductive smile curled her lips while she twisted the ends of her hair. Ezra stepped farther into the space, closing the door behind him. Even though she only wore a long linen shift, the olive-green ribbon woven around the collar had been tied in a bow. Small, pink flowers were embroidered along the bodice of her night dress. She radiated an aura of pure, uninhibited light. It warmed him from the inside out.
Whatever spell she cast outside in the garden, it called to him. It tapped into his soul. He wondered if she could still feel the after effects of it. The way it made his body vibrate with energy and lust coursed through his veins. His cock thickened. His palms itched at the urge to gather her in his arms, bury himself within her.
Ezra didn’t say anything. He picked her up from the small stool she’d been perched on then carried her over to the bed they’d shared. Clara opened her mouth to speak, but he kissed her instead. They would talk about all of it later. After he claimed his mate. He untied her night gown then pulled it from her body. Nestled low in her belly, his child grew. A babe the perfect mixture of Clara and him. He stared down at her naked form. From her tear drop breasts to the slight roundness to her belly. She spread her legs, tempting him.
The coarse curls covering the top of her sex glistened in the soft light of the candle illuminating the room. Ezra ripped at his clothes, desperate to press his flesh to hers. To cradle her body to his as they rocked together in a sensual dance. Even as the beast clawed at him from within, demanding he claim her as a wolf would claim his mate, he shoved the thought asid
e until Clara turned away and presented herself to him on all fours.
He’d been struck stupid momentarily, unable to process what he saw. The gift he’d been given. Ezra came up behind her, pressing his chest to her back. “Are you sure this is what you want?”
“Yes.” She glanced over her shoulder and for a second her wolf stared back at him, amping up his already over stimulated body.
His breath burst from him on a curse as he pressed his forehead to her spine. He had to gain some semblance of control before he did something to hurt her or worse the babe. While he skimmed his fingers down her sides, he placed kisses along her back, nipping and sucking on her skin.
The heat of her pussy seared his groin. A growl of arousal passed his lips as he wrapped a steadying arm around Clara. She trembled under his touch. The sweet musky scent of her excitement added to the anticipation as he took his time. He couldn’t hurt her. As much as he wanted to push down so her ass was up in the air, he didn’t. Later...much later he’d show her the true meaning of submission. He teased the seam of her sex with the tips of his fingers, enjoying the sounds she made at the back of her throat.
She had him in knots with the way her pussy went soft and slick at his teasing. Ezra couldn’t wait any longer. He adjusted himself at her entrance then slowly he filled her. She rippled around his intrusion, taking his breath away. She clenched around him, then gently milked his length. He pressed his forehead to her back, not stopping his progression until his groin rubbed against hers.
Tendrils of pleasure flowed through his body. The intimacy of being connected to Clara in such a basic, primal way, made him hungry—ravenous for her flesh. He palmed her breasts squeezing the full, round mounds then scoring the hard tips with his fingernails. She gasped, squeezing him for all that he was worth. Ezra sucked in a breath. She threatened to unman him. He hadn’t even begun to move and already he fought a losing battle within.
Ezra retreated. His pace began slow, unhurried trying to draw out the inevitable. She placed her hand on his thigh, her nails digging into his flesh for purchase only ramped up the need burning through his veins. Nothing could be any more perfect than this. He trailed a line of kisses across her shoulders, while wrapping his arms around her. He held her close, shortening his strokes while grinding his pelvis to hers.
“Ezra,” she murmured as he shifted them to a sitting position.
He went deeper then. The suddenness of it stole his breath. All rational thought fled as he fucked his mate. She trembled in his arms, constricting around him to the point where pleasure warred with pain. He groaned against her neck, feeling the tingle of his release building at the base of his spine.
“Together,” he replied with a grunt. He slid his palm down her belly to her sex where he fingered her clit.
Clara cried out. She jerked in his arms as the sweetest pulse of her pussy urged him to give over to his release. Who was he to say no? Ezra pounded into her, unable to stop the torrent of emotion shooting through him. He clamped down on her neck at the moment he began to come, then bit down on her flesh. His release snatched at him, startling him with its intensity while he continued to throb within her. It stole his ability to breathe.
He held her tight as he gathered himself. The edge of his worry slacked off. The desire to hear of her meeting with her grandmother returned to his thoughts. This woman intoxicated him. Made him forget his senses. As he settled them into their bed, he covered her with a blanket. The even rise and fall of her chest, eased a bit of him. His fears never materialized.
Ezra chuckled.
“What are you laughing at?” Clara nudged him a little.
“Nothing.” He snuggled her closer and breathed in her scent. “How did it go with your grandmother?”
Clara rolled toward him. “Well. Grant is enamored by granmé. She likes him as well. She would like for him to train in the arts, she says he needs it.”
Ezra mulled over her words. At first, he thought to protest, remind Clara he was still a boy, then he remembered his son was twelve not five. “What do you believe?”
Clara dropped her gaze. “Granmé wouldn’t have said such without reason. I can’t know the whys of it or question whether or not it’s a good idea, but I trust in my ability to teach him. If you’re willing.”
He trusted Clara with every inch of his being. She’d never betray him or harm his—their son. “What could it hurt? It’s not like you’ll be teaching him to summon a Baron or anything.”
She laughed. “True. I won’t say it didn’t concern me. It does. He’s such a young boy and had so many traumas to deal with. On one hand, I want him to be free to experience everything he missed. On the other, I want to teach him. It’s in my blood to pass down my gifts to our future.”
Ezra kissed the crown of her head then nuzzled her temple. “Then, teach our son how to protect himself with magick. I’ll teach him how to protect himself as a wolf.”
Clara nodded. The shadows in her gaze fell away and for an instant she relaxed. Then, she sat up slightly. “As for the other, it’s a little more complicated. The spell is in a book and I mustn’t look at it or try to memorize it. It will take away from the effectiveness of the magick contained within it.”
He grasped a lock of her hair and pushed it behind her ear. “And the babe?”
“Right and healthy, he will make a fine addition to our family.” She placed his hand on her belly. “He will not be affected.”
“A boy.” Elation and fear built within him. Another son. This time, he would walk away from the Dreadfuls. He’d given up so much of Grant’s life due to his mother and the hateful, spiteful things Marbella had done over the years. He still beat himself up over the incidences with Grant and the fact there were more truths about the boy and the woman he thought had been Marbella’s mother. None of which he would address. Dell in his mind was Grant’s grandmother and would always be so. No reason to screw up now. They’d all been through plenty. More than a lifetime’s worth. Add in the boy who fought for life with Annabelle and Jonah and it was time to walk away from this life. To make anew somewhere where death and destruction could not follow. As selfish as it may seem, he’d do whatever it took to spare their lives one more ounce of pain.
“I will know when the time is right,” Clara stated. “We will have to gather at the park, where the Baron was first called upon. The line he opened for him to travel between the veil and mortal plane freely must be closed.”
“Are you sure, only you can do this?” He cupped her cheek. The idea of her being the one to do anything to stop the Baron, ripped at Ezra guts. “Can’t Omer or Norah or even Annabelle help you?”
“It is the only way. I have to trust in my granmé. She’s never let me down.” She kissed his palm then snuggled closer to him. “I am strong Ezra. I can do this.”
He knew the truth of her words and it scared the shit out of him.
***
Two days had passed since Clara had met with her granmé, so far, nothing had come to pass. The time they had was spent preparing. Norah and Dr. Cantrel brought the witch from Whitechapel to the manor to be interrogated by Jonah and the Dreadfuls while Clara prepared the best she could.
“I know nothing,” the girl said, spitting at Jonah. “I curse you!” She wore a tattered and torn dress. The once white lace around the collar had turned a dark yellow almost brown from age and dirt. Her hair lay in a heap of tangles and her teeth were dingy while some were broken. The one thing Clara noticed most were her eyes. They were bloodshot, dulling the green. They were also feral. She was what some alienists would call, hysterical.
“You can’t curse the already afflicted,” Jonah said with a sigh. “How about we try again? What spell did you give Marbella?”
A wicked glint filled the woman’s eyes. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
Clara could compel the girl to speak. Tell them the truth of it all. Bend the girl’s will to the breaking point, but wouldn’t it bring Clara down to Marbel
la’s level? “Even if I don’t have the spell, I have one to break the connection.” She laid her hand on Jonah’s shoulder. “It’s okay, my friend.”
“It is not. We have a witch who is selling spells without discrimination.” For split second, he sounded like Elijah. She flinched away from him. Jonah hissed. “I’m sorry, Miss Fitz—Laveau.”
“No way you’re a Laveau,” the girl snarled. “You don’t even sound like no Voodoo Priestess.”
What did Voodoo Priestess sound like? She allowed her natural French-Creole accent to color her words. “And what do we sound like?” Clara inched towards the woman gathering her skirts as she did, like her granmé had, when trying to scare some stupid white man who dared to say an ignorant word to her. “You scared now child? Is this what you were expecting?”
She girl reared back, her eyes were wide with fright. Power skimmed over Clara’s skin as she continued to torment the woman who’d dare to challenge her parentage. She smiled, the same broad smiled her granmé taught her all those years ago. Ain’t nobody going to deny who she was and where her roots come from.
“Clara...” Annabelle placed her hand on Clara’s shoulder. “I think you’ve properly scared the wits out of her now.”
“I believe you’re right,” Clara agreed, smoothing out the polished accent she’d perfected after she moved to France. “Now, what did you give Marbella?”
The girl uncurled from her position and sat forward. “A c-conjure spell. Simple, really. I didn’t know why she wanted. So many people are into the arts. I sell spells. I add a little fright to their experience. I-I thought she was just curious.”
Hardly. Marbella knew exactly what she wanted. She had a plan and followed it. How she knew about the Baron, Clara would never know, unless... “What conjure did you use?”