Garden of Dreams and Desires

by Kristen Painter

  Giselle’s softly buzzing LMD woke her. Beside her, Ian mumbled something in his sleep and rolled over. She grabbed the device. Ogun’s number. She slipped out of bed to take the call in the bathroom. As she closed the door behind her, she whispered, “Hello?”

  “Did I wake you, Giselle? The day’s half over.” Ogun’s smile sang through the line.

  “No. And the day has barely begun.” She didn’t care what he thought, she wasn’t giving him the benefit of that dig. “I was meditating.” That should shut him up. “Why are you calling me?”

  “I just thought you should know I plan on bringing Harlow to you this afternoon.”

  Giselle stilled, shocked by how quickly Ogun had done what she’d asked. “That’s… very good.”

  “Where do you want her delivered?”

  She didn’t want to do anything that would connect him with Zara’s house. “My father’s old place in the Garden District. You know it?”

  “Yes. Aren’t you living there?”

  “Not yet, I’m remodeling it. I’ll open the garage for you when you get there. We can make the exchange in there. Text me when you’re on your way.” She hung up and exited the bathroom, plucking her robe off its hook on the way out and slipping into it. Tucking her LMD into the pocket, she headed downstairs to make coffee.

  She’d been meaning to get over to the Garden District house anyway to check on the progress of the work. Hard to imagine leaving her French Quarter townhouse behind, but as high priestess, it was only fitting she take over her late father’s mansion. She’d need the room for council meetings, coven gatherings, cocktail parties. Things her beloved townhouse just didn’t have the space for, although she wouldn’t be giving it up entirely. It would still be her retreat.

  No, taking over her father’s house—her house, she had to stop thinking about it that way—was a foregone conclusion. Once the work was done and her things moved in, she’d be living there. She’d be able to move forward with her plan of computerizing the coven’s records, something she’d begged Evander to do for years, but he’d insisted on keeping records the old-fashioned way.

  She scooped coffee into the French press, shaking her head. The thought of going through all those paper records was daunting, but it would have to be done. Just like she’d have to sort through all of her father’s things and decide what to do with the warehouse of antiques that filled his house. She poured hot water in, put the lid on and set the timer. The antiques would bring excellent money. But they still had to be inventoried, the contents emptied and sorted through. Not that she expected to uncover anything of any real interest.

  Nothing like the candle she’d found at Zara’s in their mother’s old bedroom, a room Zara had left untouched since she’d moved into the house. Giselle had stumbled upon the room while Ian had been tattooing Zara and in a quest to find something, anything that their mother might have left behind specifically for Giselle, she’d cast a seeking spell.

  In response, a candle on top of her mother’s desk had flickered to life. Upon inspection, Giselle had discovered that the sides of the wide ivory candle were cut with design work and adorned in places with crystals. Only her close family, which at this point was only Zara—and now Ian—knew without a doubt that crystals were her source of power. She couldn’t help but think that candle had been left for her by her mother as some kind of message.

  What that message was, she wasn’t sure. The designs cut into the candle’s sides had seemed like sigils, but she’d gotten no further than that. Chaos magic required a sigil to focus it; otherwise the power of the spell would simply disperse and the intended object would remain largely unaffected. If the marks on the candle were sigils, had her mother put them there as an example of what to use to work that kind of magic? If so, the candle would be of no help. The chaos spell their mother had tried to cast had ended up killing her.

  Trying to cast the exact same spell could lead to the exact same results. The timer dinged. She pushed the plunger down on the press. The coffee’s tantalizing aroma would probably wake Ian, which was good. Giselle had things to do. Like taking the candle to Zara and discussing what it might mean. Zara was proceeding like she had everything she needed, but Giselle couldn’t help but think her push to slow things down was a stall tactic.

  Maybe because Zara didn’t have the sigil they needed. Maybe their mother hadn’t left it to her in any of her notes. Because she might not have thought Zara capable of chaos magic. Oh, she had the talent, but until a few weeks ago, even Giselle would never have guessed her sister had the backbone necessary for that kind of dark spell.

  Or maybe her mother had left the candle for Giselle so that her two girls would have to work together.

  Either way, it was very possible the sigils engraved on the candle were the missing piece. If she could just figure out which one to use. She set two cups beside the sugar bowl before going to the refrigerator for cream. She put the small porcelain pitcher with the rest of the coffee service, then leaned against the counter.

  Today would be a full day, but a good one. She’d leave in an hour or so to discuss the chaos sigil with Zara and tell her that they were about to have two more souls for the pool, then she’d head to her new Garden District home, check on the work there and finally tackle the enormous project of sorting through her father’s things until Ogun arrived.

  A slight smile bent her mouth. Delivering Harlow into the well of souls would be a very rewarding experience, especially when Augustine went mad searching for her, but the real thrill would come from knowing that Augustine’s little friend had contributed her life to the downfall of her own people.

  Because the chaos spell would work this time, and when it was cast it would strip away all traces of fae magic for twenty-four hours, enough time for the witches to rise up and take control. They would have plenty of time to shift the balance of power, something that was centuries overdue.

  And then, when the death of the senator’s son came to light and Augustine was implicated, disgracing the Guardian and hopefully jailing him, the fae would truly be out of the picture. Not only would New Orleans once again belong to the witches, but the lightning tree Harlow had referred to would be up for grabs.

  Giselle’s smile widened as she poured a cup of coffee. Today was shaping up to be a very good day indeed.

  Chapter Six

  Ava Mae woke up feeling like she’d missed something. She was still wearing the emerald-green negligee she’d put on for Augustine, but she was in her own bed. Was this where they’d ended up? Trying to remember the evening was like hitting a wall of fog. She pushed to a sitting position. Other than not being able to remember much about the night before, her head felt fine.

  She’d had bourbon, but only one glass, so she wasn’t hungover. And she couldn’t have gotten passed-out drunk. That much she recalled. She rubbed her eyes and yawned. All her shopping bags were stacked against the wall by her door.

  Her romantic evening with Augustine had turned into another vague event. What the hell? Had they slept together? That made two nights she was unclear about. Wouldn’t she know if they’d slept together?

  Maybe her sister knew. Harlow, what happened last night?

  Beats me. Harlow sounded snippy, but that was her usual tone lately. Or did that annoyance mean Ava Mae had finally seduced Augustine? Why couldn’t she remember?

  Frustrated, Ava Mae got out of bed. She caught a whiff of coffee coming from downstairs. Lally must be working on breakfast. That was one woman Ava Mae wanted to steer clear of. She wasn’t sure Lally knew exactly what was going on, but something told her that the woman would figure it out soon. She also didn’t know the full extent of Lally’s powers as a traiteuse but Ava Mae’s years of being joined to the lightning tree had taught her that the woman was no one to mess with. Time after time, she’d seen Lally heal people who should have died. And in some way, wasn’t Ava Mae inhabiting her sister’s body just a supernatural infection?

  That thought brought
up the truth of what Ava Mae really feared—that Lally might know a way to kick her out of Harlow’s skin. No matter, Ava Mae had a meeting with Rufus Ogun today and she would get him to help her. Voodoo was old earth magic, just like the lightning tree. He was bound to know a way to fix her inside this form.

  I hope he turns you into a zombie.

  Shut up, Harlow. You can’t bother me today. I’ve got things planned. Things you’re not going to be able to undo.

  Harlow laughed.

  The sound echoed through Ava Mae, followed by an overwhelming sense of failure. Was that Harlow’s doing? It had to be. The shock of that chilled her to the point of paralysis. She swallowed down a swell of nausea. Harlow might have become quieter lately, but her sudden surges of emotion had begun to affect Ava Mae more strongly.

  It felt like Harlow was gaining ground. That she’d figured out how to turn their gift of forcing emotion into a person against Ava Mae. Whether or not that was the case, she didn’t know, but if Harlow’s strength continued to grow, there was a very real chance she might force Ava Mae out.

  That could not happen. If Ogun didn’t know how to seal her into this form permanently, she’d have to find someone else who could.

  She grabbed her shopping bags and dumped them on the bed, rifling through the clothes to find an outfit that would give her a reason to smile and would bother Harlow with its boldness. Outfit in hand, she marched into the bathroom for a hot shower to help prepare her to face Lally at breakfast.

  Ogun’s help could not come soon enough.

  Giselle had dropped Ian at her new house, then gone to Zara’s to discuss in private the matter of the chaos spell. She stood now in her sister’s kitchen, a cup of coffee in hand as Zara sipped tea. Zara’s ever-present youthful glow had dimmed these past few days, undoubtedly a sign of the stress caused by her preparation for the casting of the ruina vox. It might be the early hour, but Giselle doubted that. “Everything all right with you? You seem… not quite yourself.”

  Zara held her cup in both hands. She stared into the liquid. “I’ve been working hard.”

  “I know. You have been. Which is what I wanted to talk to you about. You haven’t said much about the preparation for the spell, other than needing the twelve souls for the well, and I haven’t pressed you, but I’m asking you now. What can I do to help?”

  Zara shook her head and lifted her gaze to the granite island between them. “Nothing, but as soon as you can help, I’ll let you know.”

  Not enough of an answer. Giselle had no option but to push her. “You have everything you need to make the ruina vox work?”

  Zara’s silent frown was answer enough, but at last she raised her head and after a quick glance at Giselle, looked out toward the garden, a long sigh slipping from her lips. “I’m close but, no. I’m not there yet.”

  And there it was. “What are you lacking?”

  Zara choked out a harsh laugh. “The bloody sigil. The key to it all. I’ve spent days casting runes and poring over mother’s notes. I can’t find it anywhere. I’ve searched her grimoires, her diaries, her room.” Her mouth bent in frustration. “It’s part of the reason there’s no rush to collect the souls. Until I have that…” She shrugged. “The spell can’t be completed.”

  Giselle smiled. “I think I can help.” She pulled the thick ivory candle from her bag and set it on the island between them. The crystals affixed to the wax sparkled in the bright morning light. “See for yourself. Don’t those markings look like something more than just a random design?”

  “That’s the candle you took from Mother’s room.”

  It wasn’t a question, but Giselle answered anyway, offering a gentle reminder as to why she’d taken it. “Yes. The one that seemed meant for me because of the crystals.”

  Zara put her tea down to pick up the candle, her gaze steady on the carvings for a long moment. Finally her head came up. “These definitely aren’t random. These are sigils.”

  Giselle nodded. “That’s what I thought, too.” She covered herself. “I had no idea until I really looked at it this morning. Maybe it was the extra-strong coffee I made, but all of a sudden it just hit me that’s what they might be. And that’s why I came over here first thing. You hadn’t said much about setting up the chaos spell so I had no idea if you had the necessary sigil or not, but—”

  “But you think the sigil for the spell might be in these designs.” Zara hefted the candle and looked at her sister, the shine in her eyes a welcome sign. She smiled slowly. “I do, too.”

  Relieved her sister wasn’t angry, Giselle jumped in. “How do we figure out what they are? My eyes glaze over if I stare at it for too long. It’s too intricate to make sense of.”

  Zara lifted a brow. “I have an idea.” She put the candle back on the counter. “Hang on.” She left, returning a few minutes later with a pad of art paper, a tray of watercolor paints and a brush.

  Giselle pursed her lips. “It’s a little early for arts and crafts, don’t you think?”

  “Just watch.” Zara flipped the pad to a clean sheet of paper before filling a glass with water. Then she popped open the paint tray, picked a brush and wet it. She swirled the brush in green paint and began to cover the candle with paint in long, sloppy strokes.

  “Hey, what are you doing? You’re ruining the candle.”

  “No, I’m not.” The candle’s sides were swathed in green. Zara put the brush down and held the candle by the top and bottom, careful not to touch the paint. She turned the candle longways, laid it on the paper and rolled it from one end to the other. Returning the candle to the counter, she pushed the paper toward Giselle. “There are your sigils.”

  Giselle looked closer. The designs on the candle had left behind a print like a rubber stamp. “Unbelievable.” Seen on paper like that, the confusing markings made sense. There, in the green paint, one sigil stood out. She pointed at it. “This has to be the one. It’s the only sigil that’s repeated.”

  Zara seemed to almost tremble with excitement. “I was wrong not to share more about the process of preparing for the spell with you. I’m sorry about that. I was a little ashamed to tell you I didn’t have everything I needed.”

  “Zara, we’re a team. Or at least we should be. It seems that’s what mother wanted. I want it, too. I want to help.”

  “I agree that mother intended us to do this together. Why else would she divide the parts this way?” She smiled. “I’m happy you feel that way. I do, too. We’re so much stronger together.”

  “Good. Then that’s settled.” Giselle glanced at the sigil again. “You think that’s the right one for the chaos spell?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Giselle wasn’t so sure. “If this is the right sigil, why didn’t the spell work when Mother cast it? It ended up turning inward and destroying her.”

  Zara’s happiness faded a bit. “I… I don’t know.” She studied the candle. “And if it is the same one, it’ll kill us, too.”

  “Maybe she thought it was the right one. Look, as much as I want to break the fae’s grip on us, I don’t want you casting this spell if it could… hurt you.” A rare ache of emotion filled Giselle’s gut. “I can’t lose you, too, Zara.”

  “You won’t. I’m more powerful than Mother, especially thanks to Ian’s ink work. And while I’ll be casting the spell, there will be three of us controlling it.” She paused for a moment, hefting the candle. “I think I know a way to test it. Won’t take me long.”

  “That would be great. Then we can go back to filling the well with souls and preparing to cast the ruina vox.”

  “About that.” Zara set the candle down. “That’s not exactly the spell we’re going to cast.”

  That was news. “What have you been working on all this time then?”

  “The information in the grimoires Mother left me was for something… stronger. From her notes, it seems the spell she cast was meant to be more of a test run. The one she was practicing for, and the one we’re going to c
ast, is the ruina vox totem.”

  “Which is what?”

  “The ruina vox was meant to temporarily disrupt all fae magic throughout the city.”

  “Right. For about twenty-four hours. Just long enough for us to cast a few more spells that would destroy the fae strongholds and take out a few of their key people. What’s the new spell do?”

  Zara’s eyes took on an unusually brittle light. “The ruina vox totem won’t just work for twenty-four hours. It will destroy the power of any fae on Orleans Parish soil for good.”

  Augustine was sitting at the breakfast table with Lally when Ava Mae walked into the kitchen. Being unsure about last night made her even less certain about how to greet him. She kept it simple with a smile and “Good morning.”

  He nodded. “How’d you sleep?”

  Was that supposed to mean something? She had no idea. “Fine. You?”

  He smiled and nodded. “Good. Really good.”

  She bit her lip. That sounded like something had happened last night. She tried to think, but again came up empty. Feeling utterly foolish but not wanting him to know, she smiled right back as she made her way to get coffee. “I’m happy to hear that.”

  Lally shot her the same questioning side-eye she’d been giving Ava Mae every morning. “Where you off to all dressed up like that? The circus in town?”

  Harlow’s laugh echoed in Ava Mae’s head. She’s right, you know. Only clowns wear that many colors.

  Ava Mae wanted to snap and snarl. Instead she smiled at Lally. “I doubt anyone would wear something this expensive to the circus.” She took her coffee to the table.

  Lally snorted as she got up. “If that’s expensive, then you got ripped off, child.”

  Augustine shook his head. “I don’t know much about fashion but I think the colors are very nice.”