by Sarra Cannon
Even though he limped and suppressed groans every two seconds, Sean led the way. He took me out of the busy street and three blocks north, to an old and beaten apartment building. He fished the keys from his hoodie pocket and unlocked the front door. Going up the stairs to the second floor was a little bit more complicated. He really didn’t want me to see that he was in pain, so after the fifth step, I helped him. I used magic to give him a hand. It was like there was another me on his other side, lifting him up. Thankfully, he was too out of it to question anything.
He paused in front of apartment 2D. He disentangled himself from me, trying to stay on his feet without any support, and then he stared at me with cold eyes. “Thank you for your help.”
A bucket of cold water in my chest. That was what his words felt like. “Oh.” I didn’t know why, but I thought he would invite me in, let me help him to his bed, look over his wounds, make sure he was really okay. Disappointment was a bitch. I stepped back. “Okay.”
I turned and started down the hallway toward the stairs.
He cursed under his breath. “Hazel, wait.” I halted and glanced over my shoulder. He ran a hand through his hair, and then flinched. “You … do you want to come in?”
“I … I don’t want to impose.”
Sean unlocked the door and pushed it open. “You won’t impose.”
He limped inside and I followed. I closed the door behind me while he slowly took off his hoodie. My attention was divided between taking in his place—no decorations, no bright colors, not too much furniture. Just a small loft with a worn sofa and TV on the left, a kitchenette to the right, a queen bed and a dresser in the back, and two closed doors on the back wall—and taking in his arms. He threw his hoodie over the couch, revealing a white T-shirt that hugged his physique. Plus, his sweat made the T-shirt really stick to his skin, and it was hard not to stare.
Sean dragged his feet to the kitchenette and reached for a cabinet. His hand dropped suddenly, and with a groan, he leaned on the counter.
I rushed to him. “What is it?” I halted three feet from him.
Slowly, he turned around and rested his back on the counter. He pressed a hand on the cut on his forehead. “Just a little dizzy.”
I stepped into his personal space and snaked my arms around his waist. His eyes widened and he stilled. I sighed. What? Was it so bad to be touched by me? “Come on. I’ll help you to your bed.”
Sean shook his head. “The couch.” He leaned into me, and once again, I used magic to help me carry him. As we walked the short distance to the couch, I tried focusing on my test, on my homework, on anything other than his warm, hard body glued to my side.
I helped him down and, grunting, he lay on the couch. He kicked his shoes off, propped his long legs on the couch’s arm, and draped an arm over his eyes.
“Do you have a first aid kit? And medicine?”
“Medicine in the kitchen cabinet, and the first aid kit is in the bathroom,” he said, his voice weak.
I found the first aid kit under the bathroom sink, and a shoe box with medicine in the kitchen cabinet he was reaching for moments before. I also grabbed a glass of water, and then returned to Sean’s side. I crouched down and handed him two ibuprofens. He took them while I opened the first aid kit.
He spied on me under this arm. “There’s no need for that.”
“The cut over your eyebrow is open. Let me clean it.”
I reached to his face, but he turned away. I placed my finger under his chin and guided his face back to me. He let me take his arm from over his eyes, the same ones that were staring at me with something like disbelief or wariness. Or maybe both.
“This might hurt a little.”
I dabbed a cotton pad with antiseptic on his cut, and he hissed. My curiosity had been eating at me since I first saw him exit that bar and launch at that other guy. I tried putting it past me. It was none of my business, but being here, in his apartment, with him, with no one to overhear us or judge him, I couldn’t hold it in any longer.
“Want to talk about what happened?”
A muscle in his jaw popped, and his fists clenched and unclenched. “Not really.”
I slapped a Band-Aid on his cut. When I retreated, he touched the red bracelet on his wrist. “Does it mean anything?”
Sean lifted one shoulder, but remained quiet. All right. He didn’t want to talk. What did I think? That he would open up, let me in, tell me all his secrets, and let me help him.
And why the hell did I feel like I needed to help him? I didn’t need this kind of drama.
Sighing, I stood. “Well, you’re home, safe and more or less sound. See you in class tomorrow.”
I turned and walked to the door. I didn’t want to look back, but my will was weak and I did. Sean was staring at me with a big frown. When my eyes met his, he shifted on the couch—grunting—until his back was to me.
I nodded to myself, taking a mental note to never mess with fucked up guys again. Lesson learned. Without ceremony, I left his building and went back to my dorm room. I wasn’t hungry anymore.
Chapter 4
Campus was always busy on Fridays, not with students going to classes, but with students walking around, getting ready for parties, or leaving to go party downtown.
Kimberly was one of the many going to the French Quarter, and I was able to get a ride with her. She teased me during the twenty-minute drive, asking me which bar I was going to, who I was sneaking around with. If only … I tuned her out and thought about Sean. He hadn’t been in class this morning.
She left her beat up Corolla in a parking garage off North Rampart Street. From there, I walked three blocks to Bourbon Street. At this time of the evening, the place was alive, milling with people, colors, scents, and sounds. Bright lights cast an eerie shine on the street; red, orange, green, and blue building walls added to the lively scenery; and a jazz group, dressed in 1920s clothing, played in the middle of the street, gathering a huge crowd around them, and filling the place with smooth, sassy songs. The air smelled of beignets, whiskey, and sweet perfume.
I smiled, infected by the place.
On Bourbon Street, I weaved through the crowd for another two blocks until I entered an alleyway and halted before the Midnight Cauldron. It would have been an odd name, if this weren’t the French Quarter, where dozens of voodoo shops were located. Some were posers to attract tourists, but a few were the real thing, and the Midnight Cauldron was a known shop among my kind.
There was no open sign or bright light indicating the shop was open, but I turned the door’s knob and pushed it open. As I suspected, the witch doctor was behind the counter of the overstuffed place.
“Evening, child,” said Kalisa, the witch doctor. As usual, her lips were painted black and her hair was threaded into thick dreadlocks. Her dark skin shone under the dim light, hiding the many freckles she had spread through her cheeks and nose. Her clothes reminded me of a costume from an old pirate movie, with ragged skirts, tight bodices, and too much cleavage.
“I brought a list of items I’ll need.” I handed her the piece of paper where I had written the ingredients for the spells and potions I would use tomorrow night.
She took it from me without ceremony. “Lumin, chamomile, rosemary, caraway, thyme, damiana, Spanish moss, basil, euphrasia, boswelia thurifera, hawthorn berry, anise, garlic cloves, bloodstone powder, amethyst, salt, and black candles. Based on the quantity of each item and their use, I can guess you plan to chase every ghost in this city and send them away.”
I grimaced. “Something like that.”
Her dark eyes bored into mine. “You aren’t that foolish.” When I first met her two months ago, Kalisa had been unfriendly, in a crazed-like manner. If she hadn’t come with a recommendation from my mother’s friends, I would have lasted ten seconds inside her shop. With time, I got used to her craziness and sharp mind. I think that, in her way, she even warmed up to me. Not to the point of sweet smiles and hugs and nice words, but to the p
oint of warnings and caution.
I sighed. “I have no choice.”
“And why is that, child?”
“It’s my duty. Every witch helps a ghost to cross, if she can. And Halloween night is a big night for that. I have to go to St. Louis cemetery, the City Park, the Saenger Theatre, hotel Monteleone, a random abandoned mansion in the Garden District, a—”
“What mansion?” She squinted at me, the crazed glint always there.
“I don’t know. Some random mansion. I haven’t been in this city long. I’ll have to look for it tomorrow.”
“Do you have a specific address?”
“Yes.” I told her the address and her eyes widened. “What?”
“A girl and a young man died there last year on Halloween night.”
I gaped. “What?”
“The mansion is said to be haunted, and they went there with another young man on a dare. The mansion was indeed haunted and the ghosts, trying to escape to this world, killed them.”
I gasped. No, it couldn’t be. “Do you know the names of the victims?”
She thought for a second before turning her back to me and reaching under the counter. She pulled out a book with a worn leather cover. She opened it, revealing several newspaper and magazine articles.
“I collect the articles when something strikes me as magical or supernatural.” It was ordered by date and soon she found it. “Here it is. Lisa Flaherty and Doug Marks.” She turned the book to me and I leaned over it.
Flaherty. Holy shit, it was Sean’s sister.
The article took a whole page of a newspaper and pictures of Lisa and Doug took over the top right corner. She looked like her brother, with bright eyes and dark hair.
The article told the story of how Doug and Sean had gone to a known haunted mansion on Halloween night, and after finding out about it, Lisa followed them. Then, things got complicated. Sean told the police that they knew the place wasn’t really haunted, that it was just a local story, but still they were fine, having fun, until the temperature dropped, lights, which shouldn’t have been connected to the main line, flickered, and shadows grew. He said people came out of nowhere, and killed his sister and his best friend. He was able to run from the house before they got a hold of him and call 911. When the police got there, they didn’t find anyone other than Sean, and the mangled bodies of Lisa and Doug. Sean was taken in, and after a long interrogation, followed by a psychological evaluation, which determined he was in shock, they let him go. The killers were never found.
Holy shit.
Temperature drop? Lights flickering? Shadows growing? The mansion was definitely haunted, and ghosts had killed Lisa and Doug. Poor Sean. Of course he couldn’t explain what he saw. Of course everyone would discard this story as shock. No wonder he was so lonely.
“I’ll avenge these people,” I said.
“You have to be mad to go in there, child,” the witch doctor said, losing her ever-showing grin. “That place is the hottest ghost point in this entire city. It will be even worse on Halloween night.”
I closed the book. “I know, but it’s my job.”
Shaking her head, she put the book away. “Tomorrow is a full moon. You know what that means, right?”
I nodded. The moon was powerful and influenced the lives of all paranormal creatures—witches, ghosts, werewolves, etc. Supposedly, we all became more powerful. Which meant, the ghosts would be even worse to deal with. “I’ll have to find a way to handle it,” I said, hoping my voice didn’t betray the nervousness and the fear brewing in me.
“All right, child. I can see I won’t persuade you to give up this idea.” The witch doctor walked around the counter and to a tall shelf in a corner. She crouched down, opened a drawer, and withdrew a wooden box from inside it. She returned to where I was standing and halted before me. “Then you should have this.” She opened the box lid. A thin leather necklace with a tiny, dirty bone for a pendant rested in white velvet.
It looked evil. I scrunched my nose. “What is it for?”
“This bone is said to be from a powerful witch,” she said, and I wondered if she knew about the founder of the white witches. As if reading my mind, she continued. “Not Arianna’s. Nobody knows where she was buried. Besides, she was pure ashes after her death. No bones. But it’s said to be Brita’s, one of her mentors and best friends.”
I gasped. It couldn’t be. Brita had been dead for almost as long as Arianna had. Five hundred years. How and when had someone found her bones?
There was no denying the power coming from it since the moment the witch doctor opened the box. I reached for the necklace and brushed my fingertip against the bone. A jolt of magic surged into my veins, startling me and making me jump back.
“Whoa.”
The witch doctor grinned—a totally crazed expression. “Yes. It has more power than your crystals. You can draw from it if needed.”
Wow. Me with a fraction of Brita’s powers? That would be amazing, surreal, like a dream come true. I gulped. “But … it probably cost a lot and I don’t have this kind of money.”
She deposited the box on the counter and took the necklace in her hands. “You don’t need to pay me if I lend this to you. Give it back to me once your task is complete.”
“A-are you sure?”
Nodding, she walked around me and clasped the necklace around my neck. I gasped again as the magic flowed into me. It cooled me, it warmed me, it swirled inside me, and it made me feel invincible.
“There, child. Now you have a chance against that mansion,” the witch doctor said.
I glanced at the bone hanging from my neck. “Thank you.”
She marched back behind the counter. “I’ll work on your list. Come back tomorrow morning and I’ll have everything ready for you.”
I tucked the necklace under my thin sweater. “All right. Thanks again.”
The witch doctor waved me off as if I was the most boring thing she had ever seen, and I smiled.
***
After I exited the Midnight Cauldron, I headed to St. Louis Cathedral. I wasn’t the praying type, but the last ingredient I needed was holy water and there was no better place to get some. I could have chosen a smaller church or chapel, but usually St. Louis was full of tourists, even on a Friday night. It would be easier to blend in.
I had never been to the cathedral, and once I stepped inside, I halted, sucking in a long breath. It was magnificent, with a tall, arched ceiling depicting several paintings of Jesus. Galleries, colored glass windows, chandeliers, flags, a beautiful altar, and too many tourists. Perfect.
With the crowd, I approached one of the two statues of angels holding bowls. Bowls that were filled with holy water. I fished the small vial from inside my pocket and held it tightly in my hand.
When it was my turn, I whispered under my breath, “Delabor.”
The lady behind me tripped on her own foot and fell on her knees. Several people turned to help her, giving me my chance. I dipped my fingertips on the water and let the vial fall. Pressing it down, the vial immersed and, three seconds later, I picked it up with my thumb and forefinger. I quickly closed my hand around it and moved on, while everyone was still worried about the lady who couldn’t explain how she had fallen.
I took a few steps into the main aisle and stopped. Was it worth it to pray and ask for help? I shook my head, feeling silly. My kind prayed to other gods and goddesses.
As I turned to leave, I spotted someone sitting in the last pew on the left, under the gallery and away from the others. His elbows were propped on his knees and his head was low. Though I couldn’t see his face, the black hoodie and the red bracelet on his wrist told me I knew this guy.
A rush of dread and concern fleeted through me. I wanted to approach him, but after last evening, I wasn’t so sure I should. I had thought about him a lot last night. About how disturbed and lost he was, and how I really wanted to help him. Which was crazy. Why was I torturing myself like that?
Con
vinced I would regret my decision, I sat on the bench and scooted closer to him, but not too close.
Sean lifted his head, leaned back into the bench, and stared at me with wide eyes. “What are you doing here?” The bruises on his face were now black.
“I could ask you the same thing,” I said, trying to sound casual. “You don’t look like the praying type.”
One corner of his lips quirked up—my heart sped up—and his gaze traveled over me. “With that hair, piercing, tattoo, and all, I would think the same of you.”
I shrugged. “What? Just because my style is a little different, I’m supposed to be a faithless bad girl? A troublemaker?”
Sean returned his eyes to mine. “Well, I like your style.”
I felt a little blush creeping in my cheeks. As if realizing he had said something he shouldn’t, he turned his gaze to the altar.
Damn it. The guy couldn’t just say things like that and then leave me hanging. And why the hell was I thinking about that? The guy was damaged, broken, depressed. And he was rude to me yesterday. As much as I wanted, flirting with him was not right. Not until I helped him. Because I did want to help him. In fact, I wanted to tell him I was going to the mansion tomorrow night, and I would avenge his sister and his best friend. Hopefully, knowing they were resting in peace, Sean would be able to move on.
However, if I tried to say anything about that right now, I would probably scar him more.
I swallowed hard. “Are you okay?”
Slowly, Sean looked at me again. “I don’t know. I’m alive, I’m healthy, but …” He pressed his mouth tight.
I reached to him and clasped his hand in mine. “What?”
He stared at our hands for a moment. “I come here every time I don’t feel okay. Every time I feel lost. Every time I feel like I want to break everything, everyone. I was never the praying type, as you phrased it, but my sister was. She came here for Mass at least twice a month, and she always said that, since I didn’t pray, she prayed for me.” My heart tugged and I squeezed his hand. “Tomorrow will be her death anniversary. One year without her and without my best friend.”