Wicked Betrayal (New England Witch Chronicles Book 3)

by Chelsea Luna

  Deacon peered at me over the rim of his glass. “Voodoo isn’t something to mess around with, kiddo.”

  “I know. My aunt’s a doctor. I’d like to pick up some natural remedies for her. Do you know where I could find a store like that?”

  “Stay away from that stuff.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He threw a twenty down on the bar. “Sue, this is for me and the kid.”

  I sat up straight. “Oh, you don’t have to.”

  He placed a baseball cap on. “Enjoy N’awlins, kiddo.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Remember what I said. Stay away from the druggies and that Voodoo stuff.” Deacon tipped his hat at the guy sitting next to him and left the pub.

  “Superstitious fellow,” the bartender, Sue, said. She filled my glass with water.

  “You don’t believe in Voodoo?” I asked.

  “You should. It’s real.” The old man on the other side of Deacon’s stool nodded at me. He held up a bundle of sticks tied together with a string. He twisted the object in his hand.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “Pig bristles.”

  Sue shook her head and walked away.

  I pushed my empty bowl aside. My lips burned from the spiciness. “Why do you carry a bundle of pig bristles with you?”

  “So I don’t get spelled by a Voodoo priestess. This here piggy was sacrificed at a ritual. It protects me.”

  It was a charm. My silver ‘R’ necklace wasn’t too different from the old man’s pig bristles. Was Voodoo magic the same as mine? I hopped over to Deacon’s empty stool. “What do you know about Voodoo?”

  The old man crossed himself. “They’ve been practicin’ Voodoo around these parts for years. Slaves brought it from Africa and it worked its way over here.”

  “Is it black magic?”

  “Some. They got them little dolls they stick pins into. And a Voodoo priestess can turn a man into a zombie.”

  “A zombie?”

  “Yup. Not like on those television shows. They don’t eat flesh or anything like that, but they do have mind control. They walk around all dumb with their mouths open. Can’t think for themselves anymore. It’s in that zombie powder.”

  Sue came over. “Don’t scare the girl, Hal. She’s a visitor.”

  Hal made a face. “It’s true, I tell ya.”

  I waited for Sue to return to the kitchen. “I believe you, mister. My dad’s spelled and I’m trying to fix it.”

  The old man rubbed his nose. “By a Voodoo priestess?”

  “Something like that. Do you know where I can find a Voodoo shop? Not the tourist ones on the strip, but a real one. Somewhere I can talk to someone about real magic?”

  He checked to make sure no one was listening. “There’s a place about twenty-five miles south of here. Out near Bayou Perot.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’ve never been inside myself. But I hear stories about the lady who lives there. She practices Voodoo. And her mammy and her granny before that. It goes way back in her family. You go there if you want the real stuff. Real Voodoo magic.”

  “How do I get there?”

  He pulled a pen out of his pocket and wrote the directions on my tourism pamphlet. “There you go. But I gotta’ warn you. This place is the real deal. Sometimes people go out there and don’t come back.”

  CHAPTER 21

  The pounding on my hotel door started a little after eight in the morning. I could’ve sworn I placed the “Do Not Disturb” sign on the knob. The knocker either couldn’t read or didn’t care that I was trying to sleep.

  “No thank you. Please come back later!”

  The pounding grew louder.

  “I don’t need my room cleaned! Thanks!” I covered my ears with a pillow.

  The knocking grew more rapid.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.” I stumbled to the door and yanked it open.

  “Good morning, Lex.” Peter pushed his way into my room.

  James followed behind him. “Morning.”

  I blinked. I didn’t think I was dreaming, but I’d had stranger dreams before. I blinked again. I poked Peter in his ribs. He felt real. I poked him again a few more times to make sure.

  “Ow,” Peter said. “Stop that.”

  Nope, not a dream. They were real.

  “Nice room.” James sat on the couch.

  “I’m starving.” Peter opened the mini-refrigerator.

  I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. “Would one of you mind telling me what you’re doing here?”

  Peter cocked his head. “You’re not doing this alone.”

  “It’s too far from home,” James said. “You might need back up.”

  “Back up? You are supposed to be inside my house. What if Gabriel shows up? Or some other witch hunter?” I pointed my finger at Peter. “And you were supposed to make sure James stayed in the house and keep an eye on Emma.”

  “I’ll be fine,” James said.

  “I never agreed to any of that.” Peter snapped open a jar of peanuts. “I probably would’ve, if you’d asked me before you left. But you didn’t. Instead, you kept everything a secret, hopped on a plane and flew half way across the country without telling anyone.”

  “Emma knew. So did Grandma Longfellow.”

  Peter rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean. And don’t worry about Emma. Mom and Anne Marie are staying at your house until we get back.”

  “What about school?” I was the only one suspended.

  “Spring break starts next week,” James said.

  “We can miss a day. It’s not going to kill us. So….” Peter tilted his head forward.

  “What?”

  “I’m waiting for my apology.”

  “Really?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” I said.

  “And?” Peter shook the can of peanuts into his mouth.

  “And I’m sorry I flew to New Orleans without you two.”

  Peter nodded. “Apology accepted.”

  James shook his head.

  I was still amazed that they were in my hotel room. “You two caught a plane - together I might add - and flew all the way down here to be my back up?”

  “Of course we did,” Peter said. “Can you get dressed? I want to get breakfast.”

  * * *

  Grandma Longfellow arranged for a driver during my trip. I wasn’t planning on using the car service, but I wasn’t old enough to rent a car and a taxi wouldn’t take us that far outside city limits.

  The three of us sat in the backseat of the black sedan. I was stuck in the middle, naturally, but I could still see out the window. And what a view it was.

  The urban sprawl of New Orleans gradually changed to vast wet swamplands the further southwest we drove. Droopy moss covered trees in muddy water lined both sides of the raised two lane highway. The giant sun (it looked bigger down here) filled the cloudless sky. You could actually see the heat rising off the pavement.

  The landscape became more rural and wet. We were literally driving through the swamp. We turned off the highway and onto a dirt road for another three miles. The sedan veered onto an even bumpier road nestled in a field of overgrown grass. I realized it was a driveway once the house came into view.

  It was a shotgun cabin built on long stilts. The house must have weathered Hurricane Katrina because it had to be over two hundred years old. Large cypress trees covered in Spanish moss shaded the yard. Behind the raised cabin was a bona fide Louisiana swamp. I couldn’t have handpicked a more eerie place for a Voodoo shop.

  “They don’t have electricity.” Peter searched for the tell-tale signs of the modern day amenity.

  James opened the car door and I climbed out after him.

  “I don’t know how long we’ll be,” I said to the driver. “I’d appreciate it if you could stay.”

  The sun reflected off his dark sunglasses. “If you don’t mind Miss, I’ll park on the stree
t. I’d like to keep my distance.”

  “I don’t blame you.” The cabin was frightening. Even under the hot Louisiana sun. I couldn’t imagine being out here at night.

  The driver pulled a u-turn and drove back to the road. Clouds of dust rose behind the tires. Everyone was so superstitious down here. You could almost feel it in the air. It was like the people of southern Louisiana knew the supernatural existed.

  I walked through the weeds to the side of the cabin. The boys were at the edge of the swamp.

  “What about alligators?” Peter asked James.

  “Definitely. Snakes, too. All kinds of animals are in there.”

  “Our list of creepy places keeps growing,” I said.

  “No one picks them like you do.” Peter elbowed me playfully. “What are we doing here again?”

  “Vanessa’s probably messing around with Voodoo. I want to know what I’m dealing with before I confront her.” I slapped a mosquito. “The idea sounded better in my head. Do you want to stay out here?”

  Peter squinted at the weathered house. “Yeah, but I’m going in anyways.”

  “Be on guard,” James said. “Hopefully we won’t have a repeat of what happened in Manhattan.”

  “Stay behind me.” I climbed the rotted stairs. The house was built on stilts to provide protection from water damage. Most of Louisiana was notoriously under sea-level and prone to flooding. The stilts had done their job, too. Water marks were high on the wood.

  A lone rocking chair decorated the porch. Next to the chair was a small table with a fly swatter and a half-empty glass of tea. A rusty rifle was propped against the wall.

  “No heroes,” I said to Peter and James, but mostly to Peter.

  The screen door was closed, but whoever was inside already knew we were here. We hadn’t been quiet about our arrival. Hopefully, they hadn’t called an army of witch hunters on us. I didn’t see any phone lines, but maybe she had a cell phone with excellent reception.

  I knocked on the wood framing. “Hello?”

  “Yes?” A tiny voice answered from within. It was too dark to see inside the cabin.

  I cleared my throat. “I was told this was a specialty store.”

  “It is.”

  “May my friends and I come inside?”

  “I don’t know, can you?”

  That was an odd response.

  James shrugged, but Peter pointed up and then down. A thick line of red powder stained the wood in front of the door. Nailed above the door was a wind chime made of chicken bones. The house was spelled for protection. Voodoo style. Possibly the equivalent of the Il Gaurdenarium spell I had on my own house.

  Confident that we meant no harm to the lady inside, I pulled back the creaky screen door and stepped into the cabin. It was about fifteen degrees warmer, which brought the temperature up to at least a hundred degrees. I wasn’t sure how people functioned in this type of heat. I promised myself that if I lived to see another Massachusetts’ winter, I’d never complain about the snow again.

  Mismatch furniture and small religious knickknacks decorated the front room. An old lady with light caramel skin and blue eyes sat at a table snapping green beans. “I guess ya’ll can come in. What can I do for you?”

  “I heard you specialized in Voodoo,” I said.

  “I do.”

  I didn’t know what to say next. I shifted uncomfortably. It was weird talking about magic to a complete stranger. She looked liked a kind old lady. But after everything that happened in New York, I was hesitant. I didn’t know who my enemies were anymore.

  “May we see some of your merchandise?” James asked.

  “Certainly,” the old lady said.

  She carefully stood up and groped for a pair of glasses strung around her neck. She hobbled over and inspected us through thick frames. First, Peter and then James. The magnified eyes reached my face.

  She stumbled back with her hand over her heart. “Oh Lord!”

  Peter and James jumped forward to steady her.

  Her bottom jaw trembled. “You… you’re a witch. Full to the tip.”

  James’ forehead wrinkled. “Full to the tip?”

  “Pure blooded,” I said quietly. I hadn’t moved a muscle. I kept my hands in plain sight. I didn’t want to frighten the old woman any more than my face already had.

  The old woman pushed back. She wanted to be as far away from me as possible. James and Peter held her by the arms so she wouldn’t fall over.

  I slowly stepped away from her. “I don’t mean any harm. I promise.”

  “You walked through my front door,” she said.

  “I did, which is proof that I’m not going to hurt you. I wanted to ask a few questions about Voodoo. That’s it.” I took another step toward the door. Memories of Mrs. Pratt’s heart attack flooded back. I had to be careful. “If I’m making you uncomfortable, then I’ll leave. I’m sorry.”

  The old lady swallowed. “What’s your name, young lady?”

  “Alexandria Longfellow.”

  “What’s your mama’s surname?”

  “Ross.”

  The old lady drew in her breath. “How old are you?”

  “Seventeen and a half.”

  She patted James and Peter’s hands.

  They let go and she walked into the next room. She motioned for us to follow. “Come on, then. You don’t got much time if you’re a Ross pure blood. You’re a dead woman walking.”

  CHAPTER 22

  “Excuse me?” Peter tensed.

  The lady didn’t turn around. “There’s a powerful witch who hunts other witches full to the tip. Especially if that witch is a Ross.”

  I stepped forward. “You know about Liam?”

  She smiled over her shoulder. “Everybody who knows about magic knows about Liam.”

  We followed her into the next room. I assumed it was her shop, but there wasn’t much to it. It reminded me of a small apothecary store. She pointed to a round kitchen table and we sat down.

  The shelves were crammed with the most random objects. Jars were filled with different colored liquids. Skulls, bones and stuffed animal carcasses were squeezed in between baskets of herbs.

  She grabbed a stone mortar and pestle and sat at the table. “I’m Celeste. Who are these handsome young men, Alexandria?”

  “This is Peter LaViollette and James Van Curen.”

  Her thin eyebrows rose. “Van Curen?”

  “I’m a defector,” James said. “Witch hunting was my family’s work. Not mine.”

  Celeste nodded and turned to Peter. “LaViollette. That’s a French name. I’d ask if you were from around here, but your accent says otherwise.”

  “We’re from Massachusetts,” Peter said, pointing at us. “But my last name is French Canadian. My father’s family was from Quebec.”

  Celeste crushed the unknown substance with her pestle. “I’m Creole. My family’s been here since the French owned Louisiana.” She looked at me. “These boys know you’re a witch.”

  “They do.”

  “Yet they don’t run in fear for their lives?” Celeste tilted her head.

  “Lex would never hurt us,” Peter cut in.

  Celeste smiled at Peter. “This one must be your man.”

  I glanced at James; he made no expression. “Yes, he’s my boyfriend.”

  “And this one?”

  “My friend.”

  “Hmmm, interesting.” Celeste grinned at James and Peter.

  “Why do you think they should run for their lives?” I asked.

  “I’ve never met a kind witch.”

  “Seriously? Ever? Aren’t you kind?”

  “I’m not a witch,” Celeste said.

  “But you do Voodoo.”

  “I practice Voodoo, yes. But Voodoo is a religion.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  She dumped the contents of her mortar. The brown powder spilled all over the table. She placed her hands over the mess. Nothing happened.

  Cel
este smiled at me. “Now you clean it up.”

  Okay. I glanced at Peter, but he just shrugged. I stood up and brushed the powder into a neat pile. Celeste’s warm hand clamped around my wrist.

  Peter shot out of his chair.

  “Alexandria,” Celeste said, “the blonde one is hot headed.”

  “He is,” I said. She was still holding my arm.

  “But protective.”

  “Very.”

  Celeste released my wrist. “When I said clean up the mess, I didn’t mean with your hands. Use your magic, please.”

  “Oh.” I sat back down. So did Peter.

  I raised my hands over the brown powder as Celeste had. The grains of dust vibrated and swirled like a miniature tornado. The powder elevated from the table, into the air and poured itself back into the stone bowl.

  Celeste smacked her hand against the table and laughed. “See? You have magic inside of you. That’s the difference between a witch and someone who practices Voodoo. I can do magic, but only with the help of vudu.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  “Vudu means spirit, that’s where the word Voodoo comes from. It’s an invisible force. Spirits. That’s where I draw my magic from. I have to sing and dance and use music or snakes to have power. You don’t need that. The magic is inside of you. You’re pure blooded, so you’re full to the tip with magic.”

  “People who practice Voodoo aren’t witches?”

  Celeste gave me a sly smile. “I didn’t say that.” She crushed the brown powder with the pestle. “Voodoo can be powerful. But there are parts of Voodoo that aren’t so good.”

  “Evil magic?” My stomach tightened.

  “Very evil. Some witches like to get involved in that type of Voodoo. It helps strengthen their magic, because they’re not full to the tip like you.”

  “Half bloods,” James said.

  Celeste nodded. “These witches can be very dangerous. And very powerful.”

  Great.

  Peter, James and I all exchanged meaningful glances. If Vanessa was practicing Voodoo, she was going to be a force to be reckoned with.

  Celeste rose and went to the shelf. “I forgot my manners with you scaring me with your full blooded self.” She brought a picture of lemonade and four glasses to the table. “You Yankees ever hear of the story of Marie Laveau?”