God, she hated when he did that. At first, his ability to morph into virtually anyone after seeing them only once had freaked her out. She’d never met a skinwalker in all her thirty years, but her research had told her they only turned into animals.
However, Grey, like her, was considered highly evolved, and could turn into most anything or anyone with just a glance at their behaviors. He didn’t even need to touch them. The trouble, or at least he said it was troubling, was he couldn’t do it for long.
After she’d gotten used to it, and understood it only made him a better detective to have that kind of power, it became a laugh riot when he morphed into someone. When they’d been together and the laughs were aplenty, that is. But his skinwalking abilities weren’t nearly as funny now that she was his target.
“Isum’s can fuck off,” Sal responded, flipping him…er, herself the bird.
God, that was weird.
He morphed back and pulled his reflective sunglasses off the top of his head, placing them on his nose. You know, so she couldn’t see whatever it was he was hiding in those green-green eyes.
Running a hand over his thick dark hair, he jammed them into the pockets of his tight jeans. “And I’ll do just that as soon as you’re on your way.
“What the hell are you doing here anyway? What is it that you want from me, Grey? Go away.”
He clucked his tongue in clear admonishment. “I want you to promise me you’ll leave the Jeffersons alone and let them raise that baby. They’re good people. Honest people. Besides, I can’t afford for people like them, important people in our world, to know I helped you hunt them down. They’re influential in our world, Sal. They have a ton of respect from the council. I don’t need the big guys trampling my little corner of the universe.”
Tears burned the back of her eyelids. Baby Schwartz-Jefferson was the last link she had to her best friend. She knew leaving him and his new family in peace was the right thing to do—her brain knew, that is. Her heart? Her heart wanted to snuggle him against her cheek and inhale his scent, see if his eyes were like Samantha’s, or if he had any of her traits at all.
And if she promised Grey she’d leave the Jeffersons alone, did that mean he’d leave her alone? Forever? Did it mean he’d stop popping up in her life? Maybe, even if the attention was negative, she wanted him to keep popping up in her life.
Which is pathetic, Sal. Epically pathetic.
Straightening her shoulders, she decided she agreed with her inner voice and it was time to cut the cord. “Fine. I promise to leave them alone. Heaven forbid I should screw up your shady little detective business. We done?”
He paused a moment, almost as if he wasn’t done. But then he let her arm go and backed away from the bike, holding up his wide hands like white flags. “Done.”
Flipping a hand up as though she didn’t care a lick, Sal waved him off in dismissal. “Sayonara, Hamlin,” she called before taking off down the perfectly paved street with the perfect houses and perfect yards to head home to nothing once more.
Absolutely nothing.
* * *
Grey ran a hand over his hair again, sighing a ragged breath as he watched Sal turn into a dot on the horizon, her hair flying in an inky black ribbon from beneath her helmet. That damn woman was going to be the death of him. She was like keeping a grip on a greased cat, but if she didn’t watch her pretty ass, she’d stick her nose in something she had no way to protect herself from.
And all because she just wouldn’t let shit go.
When she’d come to him for help a few months back, he’d been prepared well in advance. Carefully placed informants ensured Sal Brice would hear about him when she flew onto his radar, asking questions about the disappearance of her best friend Samantha Carter.
Samantha was half human, half zombie—a very rare combination in the world of paranormals and highly prized. When she’d gone missing, no one paid much attention until her name became associated with something much bigger than just her disappearance.
So Sal, asking around about her, sent up red flags. She’d done just as he’d hoped she would and sought his “private detective” help. In order to contain the little firecracker and keep her from screwing up months of hard work, he’d taken her case in the hopes he’d give her a trickle of information and she’d move along.
In the end, that was all part of the bigger picture. What wasn’t part of the bigger picture was how strongly drawn to her he’d been. Like, insanely drawn to her, and she to him.
Yet, things changed further when she’d come to him midway into the investigation and told him about her vision of Samantha’s death and the mention of the baby. It changed everything, which meant he had to bail from their relationship, and bail fast, so he’d improvised and revised the whole plan by finding the baby for her.
But the plan hadn’t included falling in love with Sal Brice. He’d done everything he could to prevent it. He’d ignored the tingle in his chest whenever she’d shown up with one of her crazy leads on Samantha’s whereabouts.
He’d ignored her plump lips, her sexy scent, her long, straight black hair. He’d fought to keep her safe while she’d stomped her way through lead after lead like an elephant on a rampage.
He’d tried like hell to resist her—even if her dedication and loyalty left him in awe.
And Jesus, he’d failed miserably. So he’d broke it off before it got any worse and she caught on to his game.
Seeing her today had killed him, but letting her go was the smartest thing he could do if he wanted to keep her safe. It really was the only way.
Now, he just hoped she’d do as promised and keep her nose out of things.
And then he remembered whom he was dealing with and sighed again.
Deanna Chase
Spirits, Beignets, and Bayou Biker Gang
Chapter One
The Harley rumbled to a stop as Julius pulled into a dirt parking lot. The scent of fresh rain mixed with musky swamp mud filled the early spring air. I hopped off the back and removed my helmet, shaking out my long dark hair. Directly in front of us, I spotted an old airboat tied to a dock on the bayou, and to the right there was a weathered shack with a sign that read: Swamp Witch.
“Friend of yours?” I asked my boyfriend, who just happened to be a witch himself.
He wrapped his arm around my shoulders and leaned in, kissing me on the temple. “Not yet, but if this witch has a cold soda in there somewhere, he or she is going to be my new BFF.”
“BFF?” I laughed. “Since when have you joined the twenty-first century?”
“Since I hooked up with you.” He grinned and tugged me toward the fuchsia-colored door.
Julius had lived his formative years back in the early nineteen hundreds. After his unfortunate demise at the hands of a fellow witch, he spent the next ninety or so years as a ghost. Luckily for both of us, he’d recently made his way back to the living with a little help from Bea, the former New Orleans coven leader. Now he worked for the Witches’ Council, dealing with abnormal paranormal activity. But not this week. We were on an extended weekend getaway in Mayhem, Louisiana. The small bayou town was south of New Orleans and off the beaten path— perfect for riding the Harley and exploring places like the Swamp Witch.
“After you,” Julius said, opening the door for me.
A bell that sounded suspiciously like a bamboo wind chime whispered through the sage- scented shop. I weaved my way through narrow aisles filled with herbs, chicken feet, incense,
candles, and dusty bottles of potions until I came to a display of brightly colored voodoo dolls. I pointed at the purple one marked Fire, Bacne, and Cauldron Bubble.
“Bacne?” I said out loud and then chuckled, reaching for it. A voodoo doll to produce back acne was evil and hilarious all at the same time.
“I wouldn’t touch that if I were you.” A woman wearing a lime-green peasant skirt and formfitting tank strolled toward me. Her wide, honey-colored eyes crinkled at the corners as she
sent me a welcoming smile. She inclined her head, indicating the voodoo dolls. “They’re a little more potent than I’d expected.”
“You’re saying if I pick one up I might get voodoo’d?” I asked, snatching my hand back. A sharp pain stabbed me in the shoulder blades, and a glass jar smashed on the old wood floor right behind me. I turned, gasping out, “Oh no! I’m so sorry.”
“It’s all right. I can— No!”
I was already bending over to pick up the pieces of the shattered jar. But just before my fingers closed over the lid, the shop owner called, “Purgamentum!”
The pieces swirled up into a spiral and shot across the room, landing in a large waste basket.
I stood and wiped imaginary dust from my jeans. “Well, that was handy.”
She was already headed toward the register area, shaking her head and muttering something unintelligible to herself.
Julius glanced between me and the witch, then cleared his throat as he followed her across the store. “Excuse me.”
She glanced up, her brow furrowed. “Yes?”
“Can I pay for whatever it is my girlfriend just accidentally broke?” he asked, already reaching for his wallet.
“Oh no.” She waved a hand and grabbed another empty mason jar from the shelf behind her. “That wouldn’t be fair since it was Red’s fault.”
I glanced around the shop, seeing nothing but overcrowded shelves and dust particles floating in the sunlight.
“Red?” Julius asked.
She just smiled as she placed the unopened jar in the middle of the counter. Closing her eyes, she raised her hands and chanted in a language I didn’t understand. Haitian, I guessed. A warm wind whistled eerily through the shop, raising the fine hairs on my arms. I glanced behind us, noting the flicker of the candles.
Julius slipped his arm around my waist, pulling me close as the wind intensified and whipped a strand of my dark hair over my eyes.
I clutched Julius’s arm as the floor started to tremble while glass jars on the shelves rattled together. The door burst open, followed by all the wind being sucked out of the room. The door slammed shut, making me jump slightly as everything went silent.
“What—?” I clamped my mouth shut when red smoke materialized in front of us, curling and twisting into the empty jar still sitting on the counter.
The shop witch’s eyes popped open, and she slowly lowered her arms, keeping them straight out and her palms flat as if she were forcing the smoke into the jar.
I stared, fascinated. The smoke coiled inside, resembling a rope, until it was all there, pulsing slightly inside the glass.
“Fini!” The witch slapped her hands down on the counter, and the lid flew up in the air, landing on the mason jar.
Julius and I stood there in awed silence, watching as it screwed itself on.
Julius finally nodded an acknowledgment at the shopkeeper. “Impressive. I assume Red is the spirit you trapped in the jar?”
She smiled. “Yes. He likes to play games when he gets bored. It’s been quiet around here the past few days.”
“Red is a spirit?” I asked, frowning. Why hadn’t I picked up on that? Ever since I’d come into my medium abilities, the only spirits I’d encountered had been ones who had human form.
“A very old spirit. Not the kind you want to tangle with.” She placed the jar behind her on a cluttered shelf. “Now, what can I do for you kind folks?”
As Julius enquired about a couple of cold drinks, I stared at the large jar and the red smoke swirling within. If I squinted and concentrated enough, I thought I might actually be able to identify the outline of a face. Pointed chin; sharp cheekbones; narrow, wide-set eyes.
“I wouldn’t stare at him too long, child,” the witch said. “He forms attachments, and then he’s sort of hard to get rid of.”
I tore my gaze from the jar and moved to the left, putting distance between myself and the jar. The last thing I needed was an unstable ghost following me around. Two weeks ago, when we’d been on the cruise ship Illusion, I’d had enough crazy to last a lifetime. Between the three ghosts trapped aboard and the certifiable witch who’d tried to turn me into his personal songstress, I was ready for a little normalcy. Well, as much normalcy as one could expect when she was a medium who was dating a witch.
Of course, that would be easier to do if we didn’t insist on frequenting places like the Swamp Witch, which appeared more Voodoo than new age.
“Don’t worry. He’s not going anywhere for a while.” The shopkeeper set a pair of ice- cold glass soda bottles on the counter. With a snap of her fingers, the tops popped right off and landed with a tinkling sound on the counter.
Julius picked his up and saluted her before downing half the beverage.
“Thanks,” I said and took a small swig of cola, wondering if she was always this showy with her magic.
“No.” She shook her head, holding my gaze. “Only when I sense my visitors have the gift.”
I froze, my fingers tightening on the glass bottle. Had she just read my mind? Jade, the woman I basically considered my sister-in-law, was an empath and could read people’s emotions. It wasn’t much of a stretch to think there was someone out there who could hear thoughts too. “How did you...?”
A patient smile curved her lips and lit her amber eyes. “I’m a seer of sorts. Some call me the oracle, but I prefer Avrilla. Avrilla Chateau. Come.” She crooked her finger as she moved out from behind the counter. “I just got in some fun things I think you’ll like.”
Julius and I shared a look as we followed Avrilla down one of the dusty aisles. When we got to the end, she picked up a lone bottle filled with green sludge. The murky contents looked like they’d been scooped right out of the swamp. She handed the bottle to Julius. “For when you need a helping hand.”
He palmed the potion. “What’s in it?”
She didn’t answer. Instead, she turned to me, handing me a small dagger sheathed in a black leather case. “All this requires is a drop of blood to keep you safe.”
The smooth mahogany handle had been polished to a shine while the black leather sheath had intricate carvings of cypress trees and swampland.
“Make sure you’re ready for it when you use it. There’s no going back,” Avrilla said and moved to another aisle.
I glanced up at Julius, noting his eyes narrowed as he stared at the dagger in my hand. “What?”
“That dagger... It’s really old.” “You think?” I held it up to the light and started to pull it out of the sheath. He wrapped his hand around my wrist, stopping me. “Don’t. Not here.” I frowned. “Why not?” Julius shook his head. “Old daggers have a mind of their own sometimes. Be very careful
about when and why you draw it.” “But how do I know if I should buy it unless I take a look at it?” Julius chuckled. “When a witch handpicks something for you, there’s no question.
Especially one who is a seer.” I shrugged. “Okay, but you know this a little strange, right? I mean, I’m not even a
witch.” Not really. A few weeks ago it was revealed that I might have a tiny bit of magic, but not enough to actually do anything with. Not on my own at least.
“Doesn’t matter.” Julius smiled at me and pulled me toward the checkout counter. “The items in this shop are spell-ready. You don’t need to be a witch to activate their powers.”
Well. Wasn’t that handy? Most of the items in Bea’s shop required magic, and thus someone with power, to activate them. Which, let’s face it, was probably for the best since a large majority of her customers were French Quarter tourists. Only things like temporary love spells and mood enhancers worked for the average Joe.
“You’ll want these too,” the swamp witch said, placing a brown paper bag in the middle of the counter.
I leaned over, ready to peer into the bag. “May I?” “Of course.” The witch grinned, showing off her perfectly straight white teeth. Inside, I found a pile of individually packaged voodoo dolls. The one on the top rea
d:
Bubble, Bubble, Crotch Rot, and Trouble. Another read: Chafing of the Shrew. Glancing up, I burst out laughing. “Do these really curse people?” She just smiled that knowing smile of hers. “Careful, they’re potent. Especially Impotent
Gentleman of Verona. That one can last for weeks.” Julius shuddered.
I laughed harder, imagining handing them out as souvenirs when we got back to New Orleans. “Oh man. These are evil in the best possible way.”
Julius handed over his credit card and paid the bill without comment. I was still chuckling when we walked outside. Squinting into the sunlight, I followed Julius over to a picnic bench at the edge of the bayou.
I placed our purchases on the table as I sat next to him. “That was interesting.”
“Not as interesting as that.” He pointed behind the shop where the witch was standing near the water.
“Come here, Buffy,” the witch called as she sat down on the dock, kicked off her shoes, and dangled her feet in the water.
“What the heck is she doing?” I asked, my skin crawling. There was no effing way anyone would catch me putting my feet in the bayou. Didn’t she know there were snakes in that water? Poisonous ones. Of course she did. She was a swamp witch. Maybe she’d spelled them to stay away from her toes.
The water rippled with movement as a large alligator surfaced, heading straight for the witch.
I stood, my body taut and itching to flee. Which was fairly ridiculous since the gator wasn’t anywhere near me.
Julius slipped his hand into mine and smiled at me. “Look,” he said quietly.
The gator had climbed up onto the dock and laid her head in Avrilla’s lap. The witch stroked Buffy’s head, murmuring something to the large beast. Then she lifted one of the alligator’s front legs and proceeded to trim its claws.
“Eww. Is she doing what I think she’d doing?” I asked, my eyes wide. “For spells probably,” Julius said and took a swig of his cola. “Well... that’s odd. And gross.” He chuckled, but I continued to stare, half expecting Buffy the gator to turn on the witch
A Tale Of Two Witches Page 17