“Shiiiitttt,” he said with a chuckle. “Bye, Pey.”
“Bye, Ryan.”
“So, I’ve gotta bone ta pick with you, Peyton Clark!” Trina announced. Ryan had just escorted me from my front door to the passenger seat of his truck, being careful to protect me from the rain with his oversized umbrella.
Once he opened the door for me, Trina popped her blond head around the seat in front of her and eyed me pointedly. Physically, the first thing I noticed about Trina was her striking resemblance to Ryan. Trina was tall, almost as tall as I was, but where my body was more of a curvy type, ample hips and C-cup boobs, Trina was long and lean. Her eyes were the same shade of amber as her brother’s, and also possessed the same spark of Kelly fire. With her full lips, oval face, high cheekbones, and golden hair, she often reminded me of a real life Barbie doll.
I laughed as I gripped the handle on the ceiling of the truck and hoisted myself into the front seat, turning around so I could face her. “Well, hello to you too, Trina!”
She smiled prettily before returning to her diatribe. “I can’t believe you didn’t invite me over when you had the exorcism on your house! An’ instead you invited my brother?” She glanced at him in feigned shock and even swatted his shoulder as he seat-belted himself and started the truck.
“Well, I wouldn’t say I invited him,” I answered with a wink at Ryan.
“It’s closer to the truth to say I invited myself,” Ryan corrected his sister with a smug smile and a happy wink in my direction.
“At any rate, I felt left out,” Trina concluded. She was holding her chin up obstinately as she pouted, sticking out her lower lip like a little child.
I laughed again. I couldn’t help it. “Duly noted, Trina. The next time I have to exorcise a horrible entity from my house, you will be the first person I call.”
Ryan chuckled loudly as a smile crept through the artificial frown on Trina’s face. Seconds later, I could see the glimmer in her eyes as a true smile brightened her face and visible excitement began bubbling up within her. “I’m very excited you invited me along to meet Lovie, Peyton,” she said.
“You know who Lovie is?” I asked, surprised.
“’Course, I do! She’s got quite the rep as bein’ a very gifted priestess, ya know?” Trina asked.
Trina fancied herself a voodoo priestess also; however, the truth did not support her claim. I’d learned that lesson the hard way. “She’s very gifted,” I answered, taking in the streetlights of the Garden District between the blurry raindrops on Ryan’s windshield.
“I am so excited to actually meet her,” Trina continued.
“And what about Christopher?” Ryan asked, glancing back at his sister through the rearview mirror. “He’s quite a polished warlock.”
Trina frowned. “I’ve heard he isn’t exactly friendly.”
“Phew, you can say that again!” I agreed with a laugh.
A few minutes later, we turned into the French Quarter and I could already hear the sounds of partygoers on Bourbon Street. “Are we almost there?” I asked Ryan, still rather unfamiliar with the streets of New Orleans.
“Royal Street is a couple more blocks,” he answered with a smile, squeezing my thigh just above my knee, and leaving his hand there. I placed my hand on top of his and smiled back at him.
Just then I noticed that Drake still hadn’t said a word. He and I would definitely have a conversation once our little errand was over. I certainly didn’t want anything to feel strained or uncomfortable between us. The truth was that I did feel as if I’d been too hard on him . . .
“You both are very cute, by the way,” Trina commented, while taking turns facing Ryan and me. “I was wonderin’ when my silly ol’ brother would make a move on you, Pey. I told him more than once that if he didn’t move faster an’ snatch you up, it was just a matter o’ time before some other handsome, sophisticated man did.” She sighed, looking at her brother. “You got a lot ta thank me for, big brother.”
He chuckled as he nodded and looked over at me. “That I do, Trina, that I do.”
Ms. Lovie’s wasn’t much of a shop. It looked more like a shack, wedged between an antique store and an art gallery. Even though the place had to be less than three hundred square feet, of which a good half was crammed full of what appeared to be shit—unidentifiable items in mass quantities—the rest of the shop was standing room only. True to her word, Lovie’s place was a madhouse.
As I scanned above and around the numerous heads in the room, I noticed the walls were painted bright orange and the ceiling was fuchsia pink. Large, pink paper lanterns covered the bare lightbulbs that hung down from the ceiling, giving the shop a Middle Eastern sort of vibe. The floor comprised gray carpet, covered by numerous small rugs. Each featured a black background with a contrasting bright, paisley print or an even brighter flower in the middle. Black bookshelves filled the walls and sitting atop them were all sorts of vials, candles, beads, and other trinkets that I didn’t recognize. Another bookshelf was stacked with books, and another held bags full of colorful substances. Just as I imagined, Lovie’s store specialized in the occult, probably retailing in both voodoo and witchcraft artifacts, along with do-it-yourself exorcism kits.
Someone pushed past me and I would have fallen over if Ryan hadn’t grabbed my upper arm and kept me upright. The crowd moved and swayed as one, seemingly becoming more agitated as people continued to enter the store, but none exited. The voices, which previously sounded more like a humming background noise, now increased in volume.
“Order! Order!” I recognized Christopher’s voice amid the loud cacophony of the room. “Yes, lady, I understand that your Uncle Pete died two years ago an’ shouldn’t be visitin’ you now, but unless you get into line like everyone else, you’re going to have ta set an extra table setting for him . . . and I mean long term.”
Christopher saw me at exactly the same moment I saw him. With the frown on his face, I could tell he wasn’t exactly happy to see me. An accomplished and well-known warlock, Christopher looked pretty young. I guessed he wasn’t much older than my thirty-one years. Physically, he was probably about six one with a doughy appearance, like if you poked him in the stomach, your finger would easily sink in. You definitely couldn’t get him to giggle though. His hair was completely gray, even white in some parts, and his wide brown eyes were often narrowed into a rather pinched expression. Every time I saw him, he was dressed all in black. That, in itself, wasn’t really so odd—but the accessories he chose to complement his black ensemble were, in a word, different . . .
Each time I encountered him, he wore a long, black cape, which, when paired with his pale skin, made him look like Count Dracula. This time, however, he wasn’t wearing the infamous cape. His standard black pants, black boots, and long-sleeved black shirt were all in attendance, but he also had on a black top hat. A bow of black tulle wrapped around the front of the hat, cascading down the back of it like a tail. His short black jacket ended at his waist, and an enormous metal belt buckle, shaped like a gothic cross, grabbed my attention. His face appeared even whiter than usual, especially in contrast to his matte black lipstick and black eye liner, which he’d drawn all the way around his eyes. If he was aiming for the crying-with-mascara look, he definitely pulled it off.
“I do hope you saw the long line?” he asked, facing me with a none-too-friendly, tight-lipped expression. Then he crossed his arms against his chest as if his sourpuss expression wasn’t enough to ward me away.
“There’s a line?” I asked with a smile, glancing around me and shaking my head. “’Cause I’ll be damned if I can find it!”
“Well, I can help find it for you!” he replied with one of his trademark snide expressions.
“Oh, Christopher,” Lovie said as she struggled through the throng of people and eventually appeared beside him. She pretended to push him away, shaking her head as she sm
iled up at him warmly. “You’d force yer own motha ta get in line.” Holding out her hands to me, she grinned broadly as I accepted them and we both gave each other a hug.
As intimidating as Christopher’s overall demeanor and appearance were, Lovie was exactly the opposite. At a head or more shorter than Christopher and slightly overweight, she was still quite beautiful with unblemished chocolate skin, full lips, and wide-set brown eyes. If I had to say, I would guess Lovie was either in her late forties or early fifties. Where Christopher had his own gothic, vampirish style, Lovie also possessed uniqueness. Christopher eschewed all colors, and Lovie welcomed them. Today, she was wearing a green scarf wrapped around her head like a turban. Her blouse was purple and white with another long scarf tied around her middle like a belt, which was punctuated by little jingly bells on each end. As I expected, she had on a floor-length skirt, this one in all the colors of the rainbow.
“Peyton an’ Ryan,” Lovie said warmly before settling her eyes on Trina. “An’, I might be goin’ out on a limb here, but you must be one o’ Ryan’s relations?”
“Yes! I am his sister an’ I am so honored to meet you, Ms. Lovie!” Trina gushed. She immediately flung her arms around Lovie, taking the older woman aback for a moment. Then Lovie smiled fondly at Ryan and engulfed his sister in her arms.
When Lovie released Trina, taking a step back and studying her, she addressed Ryan again. “She is every ounce yer kin, Ryan Kelly.”
Ryan chuckled. “Yes she is, Lovie.” He hugged Lovie, only releasing her to offer Christopher a handshake. The warlock glanced at Ryan’s hand with visible distaste on his face before sighing with a shrug. He dropped his arms from his chest and pumped Ryan’s hand rather weakly. “Good to see you, Christopher,” Ryan said.
“Elated,” Christopher answered in a flat tone.
“Peyton?” Lovie interrupted their happy reunion, turning to face me and taking my hands in hers again. “How can I help you?”
Looking around her shop, I found it so chaotic and crammed full of people, it began to make me claustrophobic. I barely made out two people at the front of the room: one was working the cash register, while the other was fetching whatever the people in line were waiting for. Returning my attention to Lovie, I sighed. “I realize this must be the worst time to come visit you, Lovie, but I didn’t know what else to do.”
From the corner of my eye, I caught Christopher nodding, although Lovie just shook her head. “There’s neva a bad time fer you, Peyton,” she said with true sincerity. With a look back at the crowd in the store, she exhaled. “We obviously can’t talk much in here, though, so let’s step outside fer a spell.”
“I shall accompany you two,” Christopher announced immediately, observing the crowd with utter aversion. “I believe I may be trampled in here if I choose to remain.”
Lovie laughed while shaking her head at Christopher’s histrionics. As she approached the front door of her store, the bells of the sash around her waist jingled in cadence with her footsteps. Reaching out in front of her, Ryan pushed the door open, holding it for the rest of us as we made our way into the dark, wet, New Orleans night.
“Where to, Lovie?” Ryan asked once we were all assembled together outside, standing underneath the awning as the rain dripped off it menacingly.
Lovie pointed to a black-and-white-striped awning across the street. The sign above the awning read “Café Beignet” in bold, white block letters on a black background. The white accordion doors were fully folded open and a mass of people gathered inside. I was surprised to see the café still open so late since it was usually only open for breakfast and lunch, but there it was. Apparently, the recent resurrection of ghostly activity in New Orleans was proving beneficial for more than one local business.
We hurried across the street and shielded ourselves beneath the restaurant’s awning as we all assessed whatever damage the rain might’ve inflicted upon us. Looking down at my feet, I noticed I was standing on a floor mat that read “Café Beignet” in the same white block letters. On my right was a sign about three feet tall that read: “Beignets, Crawfish Omelet, Sandwiches, Breakfast All Day.” Lovie stepped inside the peculiarly small café and motioned to one of the waiters inside who recognized her immediately. She indicated the white, wrought-iron table beside us and the waiter nodded with a big smile.
“Have a seat,” Lovie said to our group as Ryan pulled out one of the heart-shaped, white, wrought-iron chairs for her. Lovie thanked him and took a seat while he did the same for Trina. Being across the way, I seated myself, since I was more than sure that Christopher certainly didn’t intend to assist me. But I was also a modern woman who didn’t need assistance. Sometimes it was just nice, though, when men were mannerly.
As soon as we sat down, the waiter hurried to our table. He’d been standing behind a glass case of pastries at the rear of the restaurant where a long line of people were waiting to place their orders.
“Oh, Howard, we coulda come up ta order jist like everyone else,” Lovie argued as the waiter appeared beside her, a stack of menus underneath one of his arms while he held a pen and writing pad in the other.
Shaking his head immediately, he replied, “I’m happy ta take yer order, Ms. Lovie.”
Apparently, Lovie was somewhat of a celebrity here—judging by the full royal treatment she received. The waiter handed each of us a menu while making small talk with Lovie. I took in the arched ceiling above, which almost made it feel like we were sitting in a tunnel. Painted on either side of the ceiling were colorful fronds of Birds of Paradise with clouds in the middle. The walls were constructed of brick and featured all sorts of artwork. Hunter-green valances that framed the windows and doors, along with the chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, gave the place a ritzy sort of look. Well, that is, unless you checked out the floor. It looked like someone had tried to piece together broken red and white tiles over old, gray concrete.
Glancing over my menu, I chose a beignet with a cup of regular coffee. The only beignets I’d tried thus far in New Orleans were at the world-famous Café Du Monde, where Ryan insisted the beignets were the best. Admittedly, they hadn’t disappointed. I decided to see if this place could give Café Du Monde a run for its money . . .
After seeing that everyone else hadn’t quite decided on their orders, my thoughts returned to Drake and his silence. I naturally imagined he’d be thrilled to have another outing, especially one that included the prospect of eating beignets again after nearly one hundred years. But he still hadn’t made a peep since leaving the house.
“Drake?” I asked. “Are you there?”
“Oui,” he answered immediately, but I could tell by the tone of his voice, he didn’t sound happy.
“Why have you been so quiet?”
He paused for a few seconds. “I have nothing to say, ma minette.”
Yes, something was most definitely wrong. Drake never had nothing to say. I sensed Drake’s current reason for being upset had everything to do with my reaction when he’d tried to kiss me. Yep, if I wanted things to go back to whatever normalcy we’d previously had, now was time for me to apologize. “I, uh, I’m sorry about everything that happened earlier,” I started. “I didn’t mean to upset you, Drake. I’m really sorry if I did.”
“J’ai déjà oublié,” he answered. “I have already forgotten.”
Another obvious mistruth. I inwardly sighed and realized I had to apologize more sincerely. “Drake, I was too harsh in some of the things I said to you, and I apologize if I hurt your feelings. I guess I was just taken aback by everything and I didn’t really know how to respond.” I paused, but he remained silent so I figured I needed to continue. “I do care about you . . . I care about you a lot, actually, and I want things to go back to how they were between us before . . . the most recent events. I want us to be friends again, Drake. Can we please be friends again?”
“Oui, I would prefe
r us to be friends again too, ma minette,” he answered, then paused. “I appreciate your kind words, thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Drake.” Figuring I might as well throw him a bone, since this particular bone would certainly lighten his mood, I added . . . “And, just for the record, I do think you’re incredibly . . . handsome.”
He chuckled. “Bien sûr, tu le fais. Of course you do, ma minette.”
I mentally rolled my eyes at him, but felt satisfied that we were back on speaking terms again.
“Ma minette, on to other subjects,” he started as he cleared his invisible throat. “Do you realize that if you ask about the recent spiritual activity in this town and include our latest discussions regarding whether or not I can still maintain ties to the afterlife, you will, in all probability, have to admit that I am residing in your body?”
I felt my stomach drop. Having been so preoccupied with finding Lovie, I didn’t really rehearse the conversation I would have with her in my head. I’d totally forgotten that Ryan would be sitting right there, listening to the whole thing. “You’re right,” I answered hollowly. “And Ryan still doesn’t know about you. I’m going to have to tell him right now.” However, I didn’t want to tell him in front of everyone else. I was more than sure he wouldn’t appreciate that.
“Oui, I believe that would be a good idea, ma minette.”
“I’d like a coffee an’ the crawfish omelette, please,” Ryan said. I pushed away from the table and stood up, not even realizing what I was doing. All eyes landed on me as I approached Howard, the waiter.
“Um, coffee and a beignet please,” I quickly ordered before facing Lovie. “I need to excuse myself for a moment.”
“Is everythin’ okay, Peyton?” Trina asked, studying me intently.
I nodded and addressed Ryan, inhaling deeply. “Everything is fine. I, uh . . .” I cleared my throat. “Ryan, you would mind accompanying me for a second?”
His eyebrows met in the middle of his forehead, quizzically, but he simply nodded and stood up while I started for the front of Café Beignet. I hurried through the small restaurant with Ryan’s heavy footsteps behind me. When we reached the sidewalk, I shivered in the cold, rainy night air and wrapped my arms around myself, remaining well beneath the awning so I wouldn’t get rained on.
Once Haunted, Twice Shy (The Peyton Clark Series Book 2) Page 8