Shattered Souls

by Delilah Devlin

  Sam nearly snorted. She was dressed in a caftan in an African print of red, gold, and black. Her long black hair hung in stiff curls past her shoulders. Large gold hoops dangled from her ears.

  She wore her age well, only a few deep wrinkles creasing the corners of her large brown eyes as she smiled at Cait and swept around the counter to embrace her. “’Bout time you come see me, little girl,” she said in a deep, musical voice.

  Her words were flavored with chicory and island patois. Sam guessed she’d followed the Mississippi northward from New Orleans.

  Cait accepted the embrace but was slower to lift her arms and return it. “Good to see you, Tante Celeste,” she said in that gruff tone that meant she was moved more than she cared to admit.

  Sam’s gaze sliced between both women. This was a long acquaintance. A nearly familial one. And his curiosity was piqued. Cait hadn’t shared a damn thing about her past other than infrequent mentions of her police officer father in all the time they’d spent together. Until this moment, he’d never met a single soul she’d known before she entered the force.

  Celeste’s brown gaze rose above Cait’s shoulder. “You brought a friend, ma petite?”

  Cait dropped her arms and moved back. “This is Sam,” she said, her green gaze sliding uneasily between Sam and Celeste. “He’s…working with me.”

  A dark eyebrow arched. “Heard you weren’t a cop no more. But you bring one to my door.”

  “Well, he’s still a cop. He asked for my help with something.”

  “Somethin’ that requires you seek me out?” Celeste clucked. “Must be somethin’ dark.”

  Sam watched the two women, but was especially fascinated with Cait’s expression. She looked uncertain, the pallor of her cheeks a stark contrast against her brilliant red hair. “I need to find Morin,” she said softly.

  Celeste’s eyes widened, but her mouth stretched into a catlike smile. “Funny you should mention him. He left somethin’ for you. Said you’d be comin’.”

  Left something?

  Cait’s chest rose. “I wasn’t sure he was still around these parts.”

  “Morin never left. He waits for you. But you know, he’s gonna want somethin’ in ’change for his help.”

  For a moment, Cait’s eyes closed.

  Sam stiffened, sensing there was something deeply disturbing about this Morin and wondering what exactly his relationship was to his ex-wife.

  Celeste walked around the counter and reached under the cash register. When she straightened, she held a small cloth bag tied with twine.

  Cait’s lips compressed into a thin line, but she held out her hand, fingers curling tightly around the bag. “Did he leave you…words?”

  “You don’t remember?”

  “It’s been forever since I last saw him. I wanted to forget.”

  “Ma chère, you must learn to forgive. Morin has always been here for you. Even after you abandoned him.”

  “He should have moved on,” Cait said, her voice stronger now.

  Sam narrowed his eyes, knowing he wasn’t going to like this Morin one damn bit.

  “I’m only going to him now because I need his help. Not because I missed his sorry ass.”

  Celeste’s curious stare flitted over to him. “Sam, are you sure you wanna meet Cait’s past?”

  “I’m just along for the ride,” he growled and held up his hands in a fending-off gesture. “This is work. Nothing personal.”

  Her deepening smile said she didn’t believe him. She lifted her chin to Cait. “Come see me. After. We’ll have much to talk about.”

  Cait leaned toward her without answering. The women embraced.

  When Cait turned, her eyebrows lowered into a fierce scowl as her gaze rested on him. “Outside.”

  Sam was only too happy to leave behind the murky interior of the shop. Bright, glaring sunlight burned away the creeping unease he’d felt inside.

  Cait halted in the middle of the sidewalk and then cast him a sideways glance. She ripped off the twine around the bag with her teeth and cupped it in her palm, raising it. “Get ready.”

  For what? he was about to ask but was caught by Cait’s expression, which softened, taut energy calming beneath the surface of her pale skin.

  Her eyes slid closed.

  “Spirits who aided this seeker of past

  Lead me to Morin by crows’ winged path.

  If you should honor and grant my request—

  I’ll follow your lead north, south, east, or west…”

  Cait’s green eyes shot open, and she flung the bag upward, the gritty contents spilling from the black bag. The dark powder and sprigs of crushed herbs flew upward, then hung suspended in the air for a long moment. A sudden gust of wind caught the powder, and it blew apart. Then the wind twisted and the sediments rolled together, forming a tiny black funnel that rose above their heads.

  Where the sky had been clear and blue a moment ago, thick dark clouds rolled in, too fast to be natural. City noise—the sound of traffic, horns honking, the slaps of footsteps—grew silent. People moving up and down the sidewalks slowed and then halted, frozen in place.

  “What the fuck—?” The hair on the back of Sam’s neck rose.

  Cait squatted suddenly, and Sam followed, not knowing what to expect, but the funnel tightened, thinned, then burst—exploding the black dust outward. He blinked, and in that moment, a murder of black crows rose swiftly above the street, turned inward to group into a noisy, frenetic swarm, and then flew away.

  Cait caught his arm and took off running behind the crows. “No time to explain,” she shouted over her shoulder. “Just follow the damn birds.”

  Sam stayed on her heels, trying not to think too hard about what he’d just seen—and not liking one little bit the sparkling excitement animating Cait’s beautiful face.

  Chapter Four

  Despite the pain pounding in her head, Cait left Sam behind, feeling as though she was racing toward her youth. Perhaps it was part of the spell Morin had prepared for her to cast. Her heart felt lighter as she ran.

  That thought alone should have rung alarm bells, but she kept her gaze glued to the cawing birds as they changed direction, making a sudden turn onto Second Street, heading toward Beale. She spared only a thought for what must be passing through Sam’s mind. She’d shown him a body in a mirror, cast a spell that plunged a sunny day into a stormy one, and a murder of crows now led them through the city.

  An unusual day, even for her, but Sam’s mind must be reeling.

  Which was satisfying in a very twisted way. She’d wanted to shock the crap out of him and show him legitimate reasons existed why she’d kept secrets—why she hadn’t trusted him with the truth about herself.

  The mad dash evaporated the last of the alcohol in her system, clearing her head, but her lungs burned. She wondered if Morin had purposely led her around the mulberry bush, but she ruthlessly pushed away any thoughts of the man.

  Not the best strategy given that she was about to bring a nonbeliever into a sorcerer’s den.

  But while Sam’s head must be spinning, hers wasn’t exactly locked on target either. Nearly sixteen years ago, she’d vowed that she’d never be back, yet here she was, on her ex-husband’s behalf, soliciting help from her first lover. Worse, she’d have to introduce them without her cheeks burning up.

  Maybe Sam wouldn’t pick up on any vibes. Maybe Morin would behave.

  Fat chance either man would play nice, but watching the two men suss each other out just might be entertaining.

  The birds made one last turn, funneling into an alleyway. One that should have been empty. The crows flew toward a darkened doorway to one side, then shot upward toward the narrow ribbon of cloudy sky and disappeared.

  Sam cursed again behind her, and his feet slowed.

  She halted at the door, glanced behind her, noted the color riding his high, sharp cheekbones, and suppressed a smile. “You can wait out here,” she said, giving him just enough warning
in her tone to let him know he wasn’t going to like what he discovered on the other side of the door.

  Pulling in deep breaths, he leaned against the dirty brick alley wall. “How come you’re not winded?”

  She shrugged. “Maybe Morin gave me a little kick.”

  His eyes narrowed, and then he stepped back and looked at the red door. “Didn’t know this place was here.”

  “It wasn’t.” She forced a smile. “But you already knew that.”

  Then she too faced the door, painted a deep blood red with a shiny brass door knocker and doorknob. With only a moment’s hesitation, she reached out and wrapped her hand around the knob, felt a familiar spark of static electricity lift the fine hairs on her forearm, and turned it. The door swung inward, and she stepped across the threshold.

  Only a step behind, Sam followed.

  From inside, they both turned to stare through a plate-glass window that hadn’t been visible from the alleyway.

  Sam’s eyebrows drew together as he noted the impossible view. “Cait…”

  “Hold that thought for later,” she murmured. “He’s waiting.”

  “And I should give a damn he’s cooling his heels?”

  “You’re the one who asked for help.” His impatience would not help this situation.

  “I don’t like this,” he growled.

  “Just go with the flow. We’ll talk later.”

  Cait walked through the storefront stacked floor to ceiling with books. Mostly first editions—she knew because she’d spent many days poring over the old volumes. The special books, the “textbooks” she’d studied, were in the reading room that was steps up and several feet off the main room.

  Their footsteps tapped against oak flooring. Gaslights flickered, illuminating both rooms. Fat candles dripped hot wax down brass candlesticks that sat on long oak tables where manuscripts, some handwritten, some in archaic block print, rested with their pages open as though someone had just walked away.

  She halted at a bookstand where one very familiar volume lay, opened to an incantation for a love potion that she’d tried when she was seventeen and starving for Morin’s kiss. How like him to tease her with her own inappropriate fascination. “Morin,” she called out. “I brought a guest.”

  “You brought your husband,” Morin said, his voice sounding hollow as he stepped from behind a shelf of books.

  Cait swallowed hard and tilted back her head to meet his dark, glittering gaze. He hadn’t changed at all, but her perspective had, rendering the changes in her memory of him all the more poignant. “Ex-husband,” she said softly.

  Sam cleared his throat and stepped closer to her back.

  The thought flashed through her mind that he might be jealous. She glanced over her shoulder and met his gaze. The scowl he’d worn since he’d entered the enchanted shop had deepened. “This is Samuel Pierce,” she said, hand moving between the two men. “Sam, Morin Montague, an old friend.”

  Morin’s dark brow rose at her introduction, but he tilted his head and held out his hand. “Pleased to meet you at last.”

  She wasn’t surprised Morin knew about her marriage. Likely Celeste had kept him abreast of events in her life, although Cait hadn’t spoken to the medium in years. Didn’t matter…Celeste would still have known.

  Sam stepped past her to shake Morin’s hand. The clasp was hard, white-knuckled—a ridiculous competition between the only two lovers she’d ever known.

  “I just left Celeste’s,” she said, trying to break the men’s unblinking stares and bring them back to why she’d come in the first place. “We, Sam and I, need your help.”

  Morin loosened his grip, and Sam let go, grimacing.

  “Come, Cait. There’s no rush here,” Morin said in his measured, unhurried fashion. “Here, time waits. Come on back to my rooms. We’ll talk there.” He turned to lead them deeper into the shop, to the kitchen and workroom where she’d spent countless hours trying to master a craft for which she’d had little true talent.

  Sam gripped her upper arm. “We don’t have time for this.”

  “We do, actually,” she murmured. “Time stopped when I cast that spell.”

  His fingers tightened. “I’m going on faith here.”

  “I know.”

  “I don’t like him.”

  Cait felt a smile tug at her lips. “Not jealous, are you, Sam?”

  His expression turned sour, and he dropped his hand. “Just in a hurry for answers. Answers I can use to put this case to rest.”

  “This is just the start. And there’s nothing linear, no start, no finish, just a journey we must follow,” she said glibly, knowing her words would annoy him.

  “That doesn’t sound like you. Is that Morin-speak?”

  “Good guess. It’s something Morin taught me. I just forgot for a while.”

  Sam stared, his gaze flickering over her face. “You seem different. Ever since we went to Celeste’s.”

  Was she so transparent? Cait shuttered her eyes with a downward sweep of lashes. “You wanted answers. I told you I’d burned bridges long ago. Now I have to rebuild a few to help you. He’s waiting for us.”

  “We’re going to talk later,” he muttered. “You’ll tell me about him.”

  She inhaled slowly. “Fine. Not that it’s any of your business anymore.”

  “Cait, I still care. Just because we didn’t work out doesn’t mean I’m not looking out for you. I don’t trust him. The way he looked at you…”

  “I don’t trust him either. Lack of trust seems to be the theme running through all my relationships.” She jerked her chin toward the doorway where Morin had disappeared. “Shall we?”

  They entered a workroom with a high worktable crowded with books, jars filled with fragrant herbs, petri dishes, and a mortar and pestle. Morin strolled past the worktable to the smaller, cozier kitchen table for two at the back of the room, snagging the tall chair from the workbench to add a third seat, which he offered to Sam.

  Sam took the seat, folding his arms across his chest, while Morin held Cait’s chair, seating her. “Tea?”

  “I’d love a cup,” she said, although she would have preferred a taste of the lovely cognac he kept beside the small gas stove in the corner.

  Sam shook his head. “I prefer coffee.”

  “Too bad,” Morin said with a shake of his head. “I’m afraid my meager stores don’t include that beverage.”

  Cait smothered a smile at Morin’s maneuvering. He’d claimed the seat at the small, intimate table across from her, leaving Sam to loom uncomfortably.

  While Morin poured tea through a strainer into a china pot, she watched the two of them watch each other. The day was looking up. If she hadn’t come on such a somber mission, she might have enjoyed the interplay more.

  The two men provided an interesting contrast, perfect foils in appearance and personality.

  Sam’s body was heavier, more muscular. An ex-marine, he worked out regularly, maintaining the physique she’d drooled over long before she’d become intimately familiar with every attribute. Broad shoulders stretched the pale cotton shirt and then narrowed to a lean, firm waist. Long, thickly muscled limbs were made for strength, not speed, something she’d appreciated every day of their married life together.

  Morin was taller and leanly built. With his longish black hair and clean-shaven face, he was also more beautiful than Sam. His dark brown eyes reflected a haunted quality that had called to her when she’d been younger and lonely for affection. She’d been ripe for the picking, completely incapable of resisting his exotic allure.

  Add the contrast of their natures—Sam’s blunt, no-nonsense honesty and Morin’s more secretive, seductive airs—and Cait couldn’t stop the sensual excitement that simmered inside her.

  And Morin knew it.

  A flare of unexpected warmth took away her breath, and she narrowed her glance at Morin, warning him to behave. The last thing she wanted was Sam picking up the sensual vibes Morin was sending her
way. Already her cheeks were flushed, and she quickly crossed her legs.

  Sam, not the most perceptive when it came to the feminine mind, honed in on Morin like a tiger stalking prey, as though waiting for a reason to pounce. She didn’t want to give him a legitimate excuse.

  Morin slid a cup and saucer across the table toward her. A marigold bloom lay at the bottom of her white cup. She lifted her gaze to his.

  “Something to quell the tremors.”

  Of her hands? Or the subtle arousal winding tightly inside her? Cait wouldn’t have asked even if Sam weren’t sitting beside them both. “We should get down to business,” she said, letting an edge of annoyance sharpen her tone.

  “Business. That’s why you brought him, right?”

  She ignored the amused arch of his brow. “Something’s happened. Something…I haven’t the experience to deal with.”

  “Tell me what what’s happened, Caitlyn,” he said softly.

  The horrible images played across her mind. She tightened her lips and then blurted, “An old friend was murdered last night.”

  “Sounds like something both of you should be well able to handle,” Morin murmured, taking a sip from his teacup.

  “If his body hadn’t wound up trapped inside a mirror, I’d agree,” she said, meeting his watchful gaze. “What can pull a man into a reflection?”

  Morin’s brows rose. “The mirror isn’t what’s definitive. What was the condition of the body?”

  “Henry Prudoe’s body was battered, and it appeared frozen.”

  Morin’s expressive face grew still. “Did you see anything else inside the mirror? A mist? Did the air appear to be moving in the curtains?”

  She shook her head. “What do you think it might be?”

  Morin’s Gallic shrug didn’t fool her. He gave away his tension in the subtle cant of his head as he narrowed his gaze. “Perhaps a wraith. They suffer no dimensional constricts, thus entering a reflection would be one way of hiding.”

  “Hiding?” Cait’s stomach clenched, and she leaned closer. “Do you mean it could still be inside the mirror?”

  Morin’s glance returned, sharpening on her. “You should have shattered it to trap the demon.”