Sword of Elements Series Boxed Set 2: Bound In Blue, Caught In Crimson & To Make A Witch

by Heather Hamilton-Senter

  One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three. “Won’t she just think I’m here to take her power too?”

  The way the dean smiled made my face go hot. “Not as the Maiden. Adelaide will respect you because the Crone chose you, but she’s not likely to fear you.”

  Neither the old Lacey nor the one I was now liked being dismissed as inconsequential.

  Ava jingled the keys. “So where are we going?” When the dean gave us the address, Ava whistled.

  “C’mon, Lacey—you’re getting the proper New Orleans tour.”

  An hour later, we were on our way to the French Quarter in Ms. Dalton’s Escalade, and I was wondering why on Earth the dean would give Ava the keys after the second pedestrian had to jump away from the curb, afraid for his life.

  “Parking’s a bitch in the Quarter. We’ll still have to walk a bit.” She glanced at my face. “Sorry, I have a mouth sometimes.”

  “That’s OK.”

  “You don’t swear, though.”

  “Old habits.”

  The girl nodded. “I get that.” She was silent for a moment. “It’s creepy that Ethan was watching us, following us. It makes me wonder what else is out there that we don’t know about.”

  I shrugged, remembering how I’d thought he looked like Peter. I hadn’t asked Ava what he looked like to her. Was a vampire’s glamour in the intended victim’s mind only? That would be truly creepy. “Magic always attracts other beings of magic. Someone once wanted to give me a charm to hide me from other magic users, but I turned it down. I wish I had it now.”

  “Maybe there’s something on that laptop that could help you make one.”

  “I doubt it. The Crone’s magic was aggressive.” I’d left the laptop on the dean’s desk. The woman gave me a knowing look, but didn’t comment when I walked out without it. I didn’t want to receive the Crone’s gift, even though I realized it was only a symbolic protest—it didn’t change the reality of what I now was. Somehow I knew that I was now the Maiden, whatever that meant, and whether I liked it or not.

  Ava swerved to avoid running into the back end of a truck that had stopped to turn. “Those silver marks on the dean’s arms—are they really spells?”

  “Symbols of them anyway.”

  “Did yours look like that?”

  I shook my head. “Mine were dark and twisted, like the Crone.”

  “Holy . . .”—she stopped herself mid-swear—“spit. An actual free parking spot in the Quarter! There’s a first for everything.”

  Ava rode the curb once and had to pull out and re-adjust before parallel parking between a mini-van and a sedan. We climbed out of the SUV and after a short walk, we turned a corner and Ava announced, “Welcome to Bourbon Street.”

  I smelled it before I could take it all in—a mixture of tantalizing cooking odors and many days old beer with just the slightest hint of vomit. And then I heard it too—jazz and zydeco filtering out of several bars and cafes further down the street. And finally I could see it—lanterns and white archways, wrought iron balconies painted dark green and pink stucco walls. The street engaged my senses one by one.

  A hand-painted sign hung from the bottom of the iron balcony of a two story building: Baron Samedi’s House of Voodoo.

  “Not quite what you expected?” Ava asked.

  “No.”

  “What do we do now? Knock?”

  The windows were shuttered, but the sign clearly listed the hours of operation. “It’s a store. I guess we just go in.”

  I opened the door and stepped inside. A bell over the door frame announced our arrival and a handsome young man with smooth, dark skin and close-cut hair hurried in from a back room. “Welcome to Baron Samedi’s House of Voodoo. How can I help you?”

  The store was dim; lamps with fringed shades lit the corners of the room, but the fluorescent light on the ceiling was turned off. Tall candles in glass lined one wall. Tall shelves were filled with small statues depicting Catholic saints and other beings I didn’t recognize. Unfamiliar objects of ceramic and string hung from the ceiling. Everywhere were figurines of cloth and straw with skulls for heads. On the wall above the front counter hung a painting of Baron Samedi himself.

  The young man seemed to register how dark it was. “Just a second, please.” Rushing outside, he began to open the shutters over the windows.

  As the light rushed in, what had at first seemed sinister, became touristy, even a little kitschy. Not the painting though. In the brighter light, it was only more menacing. Baron Samedi was depicted in a top hat and evening clothes, with a lit cigar in one hand, and an elegant walking stick in the other. The top of the walking stick was a skull and the Baron’s face was painted to match. There was something compelling and strangely familiar about the face.

  The sales clerk returned. “Sorry about that. I forgot to open the shutters this morning. No wonder it’s been slow today.” He grinned, apparently unconcerned that customers had thought the store was closed. “Now, what can I help you young ladies with? A love charm? Perhaps an invocation to ask the loa to eliminate a rival?”

  I matched him smile for smile. “No, thank you. What we really need is to see the Voodoo Queen of New Orleans.”

  I had to give him credit—his smile faltered for only the slightest fraction of a second. “Now chère, someone’s been having a bit of fun with you. The last true Voodoo queens were Marie Laveau and her daughter, Marie Laveau the Second. If it’s tales of them you’re looking for, I have a couple of nice books in the back room.”

  The clerk retreated around the counter, but I followed him. As I leaned against the counter, he couldn’t help but respond by leaning toward me, his hand almost touching mine. When I smiled, I could feel him soften, wanting to please me. He nodded. “Perhaps if you had a name, I could direct you to who you’re really looking for.”

  I was tired of playing games. I’d learned enough from the Crone to recognize the subtle disturbance in my senses that being near a person with magic caused. This was no ignorant sales clerk. I leaned in a little closer. “Just tell Adelaide Rochon that the Maiden demands an audience with the Queen.”

  Straightening, the clerk swore and all the folksy obsequiousness designed to fool tourists fell away. “I should have known the moment you walked in. Witch, right?” He didn’t wait for me to respond. “Auntie’s going to kill me for letting another witch in her house. You should go before she realizes you’re here.”

  “I can’t do that. I have a message for her—one that might save her life.”

  “Sure you do.” He jerked his chin at Ava. “And what are you, chère? Another witch?”

  “Tennis player,” she replied flatly.

  He stared at her for a second and then chuckled. “It’s comforting to know not every beautiful girl who walks in here is a witch.”

  Ava’s posture changed subtly and suddenly the two of them were looking at one another with interest. I was forgotten.

  Irritation made my voice sharp. “Are you going to tell Adelaide I’m here?”

  He paused, considering, and then shrugged. “Why not? If she flays me alive for letting you inside, she certainly can’t flay me a second time for letting you upstairs. I can’t promise she won’t flay you though for bothering her.” I had the feeling he wasn’t joking. “C’mon. I’m Michel, by the way. We might as well be on a first name basis if we’re going to die together.”

  Gesturing for me to precede him into the back room, he fell in step with Ava. Even though fear raised the hair on my arms, I walked into the dark. When my eyes adjusted, I saw the narrow staircase.

  “Go on up,” he urged.

  At the top of the stairs was a small landing which gave Ava and Michel a good excuse to stand close. Rapping on the door twice, he called out, “Auntie? Can I come in? There’s someone here who needs to speak to you.”

  I couldn’t help myself. I reached out and gave the door a third knock. Michel glanced at me but didn’t comment.

  There was no a
nswer, but a small click indicated the door was now open.

  The young man made a flourish with his arms, the whites of his eyes gleaming in the dim light. “After you, Maiden.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  A DISCOVERY

  As I opened the door and walked in, I expected something as exotic as the store below with maybe a few shrunken heads thrown in for effect. I didn’t expect Swedish modern. The loft space encompassed the top floor of not just the store below, but at least two others beside it. Everything was blond wood, stainless steel, and cool stone. The only splash of vibrant color in the room was an abstract painting filling the entire length of one wall. It was all a little modern for my taste, but I appreciated the elegance and simplicity of the design.

  I focused on the small woman seated at the glass dining table and she stared back. She was lighter skinned than her nephew, and while her hair was cut just as short, it was shot with grey. Dressed in a tailored, cream-colored pantsuit, she crossed her legs and revealed arch-achingly high stilettos. She looked more like the queen of realtors than of Voodoo.

  “It’s a good thing for you that I love my sister, Michel.”

  “Yes, Auntie.” For all his talk of flaying, he didn’t seem afraid. “These girls say they have an important message for you. And they know who you are.”

  Narrowing her strangely light green eyes, she gestured for us to approach. Inspecting Ava briefly, the woman flicked her French-manicured fingers towards the sectional in the center of the room. “You. Go flirt with my irresponsible nephew over there.”

  I nodded at Ava and she obeyed. Michel seemed happy to follow. I was happy to notice Ava had her weighted handbag with her, just in case.

  Adelaide gestured again. “Sit.”

  I sat down across from her. Tapping the glass with one long fingernail, she narrowed her eyes. “You run to plumpness, but have recently lost weight. And blood too, if I’m not mistaken.”

  Irritation filled me, but I forced my lips into a small smile and didn’t respond. Five or ten pounds heavier wasn’t exactly plump.

  She raised one eyebrow. “No? I’ll tell you something else then. The vapid milk of your complexion tells me you’re a Northerner. The lines around your mouth say that you smile too much and for little reason. There’s a mind behind those eyes, I think. When you’re old, you’re going to have a line of dissatisfaction between you’re brows. And you’ll be fat, most likely.”

  One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three. Smiling, I mimicked her movement, tapping my finger against the glass until the urge to smash her face into the table passed.

  Leaning back, Adelaide sighed. “Ah, I’ve made you angry. Why do you cast a spell to erase your own feelings? Don’t you know that rage is powerful?”

  I pressed my hand flat against the glass. “What spell?”

  She looked down pointedly at my hand.

  Gasping, I jerked it away, but the faint black mark on my wrist was already fading.

  “Who are you?” Adelaide demanded. “And be assured the answer had better satisfy me or you and your friend will never leave this room alive.”

  “Auntie . . . ,” Michel protested, but she pointed a long finger at him and he was silent.

  I shared a glance with Ava and she pulled her bag closer. “My name is Lacey McInnis. I’m the Maiden,” I said simply.

  Adelaide frowned. “Then the Crone . . . ?”

  “Is dead. I was her apprentice. She made me her heir.”

  The woman’s sudden laughter was startling. “You Celtics, always taking things so seriously, so sure you’re the possessors of original magic.” I knew she wasn’t talking about the basketball team. “I’ve heard about this King Arthur awakened from endless sleep, and the Horned One now calling himself Merlin. I’ve even heard he has a daughter with a strange power.” She laughed again. Standing suddenly, she walked over to a window and pulled open the blind. “Come over here. What do you see?”

  I joined her at the window. “The street, some tourists, a few cars . . .”

  “You see the world. Those beings who came from Avalon made themselves gods over it, but there is magic that is deeper and more ancient than any petty Roman god, or Norse hero, or Celtic king. The magic of the loa—the spirits—has existed since the beginning of time.”

  The woman threw her arms around my shoulder, suddenly motherly. “Let’s eat, chère. Michel is an excellent cook. Truly, it’s the only reason I don’t send him back to his mother.” As she guided me back to the table, Michel stood and they shared a long look that I couldn’t read.

  Finally, the young man looked down. “And I’m grateful, Auntie. Jobs are hard to find in the city.” She made an airy gesture with her right hand and Michel went to the kitchen.

  Ava joined us at the table. Michel brought out four glasses and poured lemonade into them. The tart liquid cleared my throat. “I have a message for you,” I began, but Adelaide shushed me.

  “Manners, child. Not until we’ve eaten.”

  The lunch of pork medallions in peppercorn sauce was delicious. I watched Ava and Michel through my lashes, an ache beginning in my chest and spreading down my arms. They looked like they were really interested in one another. Why was it so easy for some people? What was wrong with me that the guy I loved couldn’t see me, even though many others would have happily lined up to take his place? The ache turned hot. How could Peter be such a fool? How could he love her?

  I jumped at the clatter of Adelaide’s fork as she dropped it on her plate. “I see the rage in your face again. That is the power of the Maiden.”

  “I don’t have any power.” It was becoming my mantra.

  The woman waved her fingers at me. “Do you think Maiden, or White Lady, or Queen of Voodoo, are just colorful titles? The Crone’s power was of winter—cold, resentful, and full of revenge. She was the Crone for so long that the power of the Maiden and the Mother are almost forgotten in the world. The power of the Mother is the contentment of the fading summer and the plush fulfillment of fall. She is conservation, protection, and benevolence. But the power of the Maiden is warm spring and the hot flare of early summer—the power of growth, and violent beginnings, the frenzy of first love, and the aching yearning to become.”

  Her words assaulted me, threatening to undo the casing of my skin so that my very atoms would explode into the air. I reached for something to calm myself, but I couldn’t remember numbers, or cuts, or rituals. I had no power. I had never had any power. At the end of everything, there was only Stephen, my little brother, lying dead on his bed, clutching his favorite toy. I couldn’t save him. No matter how smart, popular, or strong I made myself, he was still gone.

  Screaming silently, my mind flew apart, following him.

  A warm hand was on my shoulder—Michel’s. It calmed me. He seemed about to speak, but then he looked at his aunt.

  She was regarding me thoughtfully. “You have an expressive face, Maiden. It’s a liability. You must learn to hide your feelings from the world. I can see clearly that the Crone tainted you with her winter somehow.”

  Taking a shuddering breath, I nodded. “She used me as a receptacle for the power she wasn’t strong enough to hold.

  The woman’s eyebrows shot up. “I wonder where she learned that trick. I didn’t even know it was possible.”

  “Lacey?” Ava whispered.

  “I’m all right.”

  The girl looked afraid. “Your eyes rolled back in your head and you started to shake.”

  I tapped the glass three times before I could respond. “I’m OK.”

  Adelaide leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “There’s a balance to all the power that exists in the world. Good and evil. Light and dark. Young and old. I suspect the Crone upset that balance with what she did to you. You’re a very dangerous young woman, Lacey McInnis. The power of life, even violent life, is incompatible with a love of death.”

  “I don’t love death. I hate it.”

  She tapped the gla
ss three times, mocking me. “Do you?”

  Without warning, the woman’s face changed completely, and she looked hesitant, uncertain. “Michel?” Her voice quivered as she reached for him. He helped her stand and she clutched his arm, hunched over and shaking. When she looked at me again, there was a gleam of insanity in her eyes. “I’m tired! Give me the damn message and then get out of here!” Ava and I stood in surprise.

  Michel bent forward to murmur a few words in his aunt’s ear. Straightening, he said, “It’s time to go. The queen’s patience is fading.”

  The hairs on my arm stood up and static electricity filled the air. I tried to take a step forward, but it was like trying to push through the winds of a hurricane. A roaring rose in my ears and I had to scream to hear my own words. “This warning comes from the White Lady who received it from the Seer of New York. Someone is stealing the bones of witches to open the Gates of Guinee! They have Marie Laveau’s already. They want yours!”

  My hair whipped around my face and everything was blurred as if rain was falling sideways between us. Even through the roar, I could hear Adelaide cackling. “As if I’d be stupid enough to trust anything from the White Lady! Take this message back to that witch. Ask her how many innocent men she chased to their deaths to avenge the death of her daughter! Though your sins be as red as scarlet, they shall be white as snow!”

  There was a flurry of motion and sound I couldn’t grasp or comprehend. The world went briefly blank, and then everything was silent. When I could see again, Michel, Ava and I were standing on the other side of the Queen of Voodoo’s closed door.

  Michel gestured quickly. “C’mon, before she changes her mind and decides to play with us a little more.” We followed him down the stairs and back into the shop.