The Babet & Prosper Collection I: One Less Warlock, Magrat's Dagger, A Different Undead, and Bad Juju

by Judith Post

  “Probably Cassandra. Yaya must have sent her to find the box.”

  “What happened the first time?” Prosper was ready to get down to business, to find answers to their many questions. The word again had caught his attention too.

  Mom countered with another question. “How well do you know River City’s history?”

  He scratched his head. “How far back?”

  “The very beginnings.”

  “Not that much. It’s pretty sketchy.” He glanced at Babet.

  Five other markers caught her gaze—flat stones whose carvings were nearly worn smooth. Was this a graveyard? “People settled on this part of the river because there weren’t any shoals or sandbars, right? It was safer for boats.”

  Her mother nodded. “And where people settled, Others followed, looking for easy prey.”

  Babet spread her hands. “But we’re here, right? People survived.”

  Hennie took up the story. “The humans were being decimated, so the town founder sent for Magrat—a powerful witch—and hired her to protect them…which she did until the town prospered and grew.”

  “This is where the shoe drops, isn’t it? What came for them?” Babet looked at the six graves. Tufts of grass struggled to grow where the bodies must lie. She knew whatever put these women here were none of the usuals—no vampires, Weres, or warlocks.

  Mom and Hennie exchanged glances. “This story’s going to take a while.” Mom pointed to a fire pit someone had dug on the beach. Upturned logs served as stools around it. “Want to sit down?”

  Babet wasn’t going to argue. She didn’t want to linger in the shade of the cypress, staring at the six markers. There was a strange energy that buzzed the area. Prosper hunched his shoulders. He felt it too.

  Her mother carried the box and waited for each of them to take a seat before she began again. “Many civilizations lived on these banks before we discovered them. Settlements didn’t last long, though. The Others hunted and destroyed them.”

  Babet took a deep breath. She could smell old blood that lingered in the dirt and river bottom, soaked into the bones of the earth.

  “This was a place for black magic. Many rituals were performed here.” Hennie, as usual, took up where Babet’s mother left off. “A voodoo priest used this spot to sacrifice chickens, sometimes goats. When he tried to call the energy of a dying enemy to him, the spells and bloods intermingled. He summoned a demon instead. No ordinary demon either, one from the bottom pits.”

  A ripple of nervous energy circled among them. Demons were hard to summon, harder to exorcise. Prosper’s hands closed into fists. Morgana coiled closer to his neck. Babet stared at Magrat’s mummified hand with the dagger. A ritualistic weapon.

  “Could Magrat send the demon back herself?” Babet didn’t know any witches that strong.

  “No, but she’d started a coven, women who’d been stranded here and were struggling to make ends meet. My family came here to farm. They all died of disease but me. Hennie’s husband was a riverman. A storm caught him, and he drowned. We both joined Magrat, were trained by her.”

  “You had a full coven?” Babet glanced at the cypress, knowing there were six graves there. “A strong coven could take out a minor demon.”

  “But this was an ancient, powerful one.” Mom took a deep breath. “We wouldn’t have survived. We lost five of our best, besides Magrat. The demon would be loose, and we’d have all died if your father hadn’t joined us.”

  Air rushed from Babet’s lungs. She reached out a hand to steady herself, and Prosper’s arm shot out to brace her. “My father helped you fight the demon? He is a demon, isn’t he?”

  “Yes. He’s an incubus, but just as there are all sorts of witches, there are all kinds of demons. Your father’s the gatekeeper to the Underworld.”

  “Gatekeeper?” What the hell did that mean? Babet took a second to think it through. “Like Saint Peter, but for sinners?” When her father welcomed you to his world, what was it?

  “There are many degrees of sins, so many levels of pits. Your father assigns each soul to its eternal home, and then it’s his job to make sure the soul stays there.”

  Prosper was nodding his head, beginning to understand. “But a demon escaped, didn’t it?”

  “Not on its own,” Mom said. “Warlocks who are tainted enough and spill enough blood can summon them.”

  “Like Emile?” Prosper asked.

  Her mother nodded. “He was strong enough, and evil enough.”

  “But what about the voodoo priest?” Babet had never heard of a priest summoning a demon.

  “He was unfortunate enough to chant his spell at the same time a warlock was calling on a minor demon.”

  Prosper stared. “So they both got surprised.”

  “Surprised and eliminated. It was Jaleel’s chance to make a break, and he had no intentions of following anyone’s orders. The first thing he did was make sure he had no masters.”

  Babet’s gaze settled on the magic-inscribed dagger. “You used the word again.”

  “Jaleel’s a fire demon. He can breathe flames fierce enough to light houses like matchsticks. He destroyed entire neighborhoods. The city would have been nothing but ashes, except….” Her mother’s voice caught. She swallowed hard and fought for composure.

  Hennie intervened. “Gazaar uses a fire whip. Flames can engulf him with no harm. Their strengths met and matched each other’s. He held Jaleel in check so that Magrat could plunge the dagger into his skin and deflate his powers.”

  Prosper frowned. “Like a balloon? Magrat punctured Jaleel’s magic to let it leak out?”

  “Very similar, but the heat was so intense…” Mom’s voice cracked. “…it took Magrat and all five of the witches with her to fight their way close enough for Magrat to stab him.”

  “While the rest of us shot magic at Jaleel to distract him,” Hennie added.

  Babet could picture the battle. Her father stood before Jaleel, their powers locked between them, moving neither closer nor farther from each other. Her mother and Hennie, along with five other witches, engaged the demon on one side while Magrat and her friends struggled close enough to stab Jaleel. “What happened? It seems like a sound plan. Why didn’t Magrat survive?”

  “When the dagger split his skin, power rushed out, blasting them before they could escape. Magrat was closest. All that was left of her was what’s in the box. Her companions, we buried.” Mom pushed off her log and walked toward the water—brown and muddy. “In hindsight, we realized Magrat was aware that would happen. She tried to warn the others back, but they wouldn’t leave her.”

  Babet was too restless to sit. She stood and walked in the opposite direction of her mother, to the edge of the clearing, stopping where the brush started, to stare at the cypress and the graves at its base. “What happened to Jaleel?”

  “He slumped to his knees, his magic depleted. Your father restrained him and took him back to the pit where he belonged.”

  “Has Jaleel returned?” Prosper made no attempt to mask the worry in his voice.

  Hennie stretched her legs before her, still balancing on her log. “Yaya Tallow died in a fire, didn’t she?”

  Prosper ran a hand through his dark hair. Mussed, the Wear looked even better. “But that’s one fire, a single house.”

  “Jaleel learned from his mistakes.” Mom cradled the box in her arms. “This time, he searched for the dagger before he began his battle.”

  Babet shook her head. “But how did he get here? Someone had to summon him, right? Yaya was strong, but not powerful enough for that.”

  Mom locked gazes with Hennie. “Who is powerful enough now that Emile’s gone? Not many. No white witch would call him.”

  Hennie squirmed. “I know what you’re thinking. She wouldn’t do it.”

  “Maybe not on purpose….” Mom let the words hang.

  Hennie cocked her head to consider that. “She is fairly new to power.”

  With those words, Babet knew w
hom they were talking about. “Evangeline?”

  “The girl got a double dose of power she’s never worked with before. That’s a dangerous combination,” Mom said.

  Hennie finally rose to her feet too. “Evangeline’s mother told us that she wasn’t interested in training with them, didn’t take voodoo seriously until her father betrayed her.”

  “So she’s a newbie with more power than she knows what to do with.” Prosper sighed. “We’re halfway to their settlement. We might as well find out.”

  “Will she tell us?” Mom asked.

  Hennie nodded. “Evangeline and her mother have no more desire to fight a demon alone than we do.”

  “Which is good,” Mom said, “because they wouldn’t survive.”

  Wordlessly, Babet turned to start back to their cars, but her mother shook her head. “Not yet. We have one more matter to decide.”

  Hennie fidgeted. Not like her. She usually exuded serenity and confidence. “Do we have to? Now?”

  “There’s no point in waiting.” Her mother walked to a log and placed the box on top of it. She looked at Babet. “Do you remember when you were a little girl and I read you the story The Sword in the Stone?”

  Babet nodded. “I had a crush on Wart and loved the Disney movie they made about it.”

  “Magrat’s dagger is like the sword. She magicked it so that when the time came, only the Chosen One could remove it from her hand. I was her second in all things. If I’m the one who must wield the dagger, and if I don’t survive this battle, you and Hennie will have to secure and hide the dagger when I’m gone.”

  Babet’s head was shaking back and forth, a definite no, before her mother could reach for the blade. “There has to be another way this time. If we all work together, the voodoo community and every witch who’ll join us, we can use magic to drive Jaleel back home.”

  “Let’s hope so, but if we have to use the weapon, we need to bond it to one of us.” Her mother didn’t give Babet time to argue. She reached for the handle and pulled.

  Nothing happened.

  Eyes wide, she pulled harder, but no matter how she tried, the dagger wouldn’t budge.

  Hennie tried next. When she failed, both women turned troubled gazes on Babet. Hennie blurted, “It must be one of the other witches from the old coven.”

  But Babet could almost hear the dagger call to her. She grimaced. She looked at Magrat’s mummified fingers curled around the handle, and goose flesh prickled her arms. She reached for the tip of it to give it a wiggle, trying to move it a little farther from the shriveled flesh, and the dagger practically jumped into her hand.

  Color drained from her mother’s face. Hennie put a hand to her heart.

  “No.” Her mother reached to take it away from her.

  Prosper stepped between them. “The dagger chose Babet, but that doesn’t mean she has to use it. Let’s put it back in the box.”

  Babet glared at the three of them. “Would any of you put it back, or would you use it?”

  No one answered.

  “That’s what I thought. It’s done. The dagger’s mine. Let’s get on with this.”

  Mom squared her shoulders. “The stronger we are, the safer you’ll be. Let’s visit Evangeline and find out what happened.”

  “And we’ll ask them to help us.” Hennie hustled toward the car. Her mother followed.

  Prosper took Babet’s arm and leaned close to say, “You don’t have to play the hero, you know. Our department uses you enough, I don’t want to have to look for a new witch.”

  She smiled. “That’s as sappy as you’ve ever been, but I don’t have any martyr complex. I want to kill this bastard, get rid of the dagger, and get on with my life.”

  He grinned. “That’s the spirit. Let’s do this.”

  Her mother took the lead, and they followed her car along the winding river road. Morgana wouldn’t lie on the back seat this time. She stretched across the headrest, partially on Babet’s shoulders, so that she could look out the windows. She kept flicking her tongue to touch Babet’s cheek.

  “Relax,” Babet finally told her. “I’m going to do my best to stay alive.”

  The snake only partially relaxed, nestling her head against Babet’s neck.

  For Babet’s part, she was too distracted to link one thought after another.

  Questions clattered in her mind. How had Mom become involved with Dad? How long had they known each other before they met Jaleel? Did Mom love Dad, miss him? Why didn’t he return—even for short visits? Did he know he had a daughter? Did he care? And would he come after Jaleel again? Would she meet him?

  Prosper glanced her way, then reached across the car seat and gave her hand a pat. “Hang in there, Babs. The answers are starting to come.”

  Babs. He only used the nickname to annoy her…or distract her. She sighed. Waiting wasn’t one of her strong points. But it’s not like she had a choice.

  Chapter 3

  The settlement was near a swampy area. The river flowed lazily within easy view of the brightly painted houses. Each had a front porch.

  Nadine’s house was pumpkin-colored with black trim. A Halloween house. Morgana’s head bobbed excitedly as they climbed the front steps. Nadine walked out to greet them.

  Hennie gave a nod in greeting and got straight to the point. “Is your daughter home?”

  “She’s in the back garden. We’ve been expecting you.” Nadine hesitated, looking at Morgana. “How are you, old friend?”

  The snake raised its chin, begging for her to pet him.

  With a laugh, Nadine shook her head. “You haven’t changed. I’ll go find my child.”

  As she disappeared around the side of the house, Babet glanced at two rocking chairs sitting close together with a small table between them. No stacks of wood or wax dolls lying anywhere. Her shoulders relaxed.

  Prosper glanced up and down the streets. Just as before, a woman stood, arms crossed, on each porch, staring their way. “Friendly place, isn’t it?”

  Hennie followed his gaze. “They’ve learned the hard way not to trust strangers. It’s nothing personal.”

  It sure felt personal, though. Babet didn’t want to stay in the settlement any longer than they had to. She turned to Hennie. “How do you know these women? Do you come here to see them?” Once she thought about it, Hennie was the one who’d told her about Evangeline.

  “I sell herbs. They visit my shop sometimes when they have special needs.”

  “I’ve never seen them there.” Babet would notice their unique style of dressing—bright, flowing skirts and blouses just as bright.

  “I keep special hours for them.” So that was it. Hennie snuck them into the shop when it was closed. Babet wondered if she did that for others too.

  Voices came from the side yard, and Babet turned to see Nadine motion for her daughter to come forward. “There’s no use in hiding. They know you’re here.”

  The minute Evangeline rounded the house and saw them, her face crumpled. “It was an accident. You have to believe me.”

  Nadine nodded. “She said a chant wrong. We knew right away. Energy sparked all around us and black magic swirled like a tornado.”

  “Why me?” Evangeline asked. “Other people have made mistakes when they’re learning, and Mom fixes them.”

  “But there was no fixing this one,” Nadine added.

  “It’s because of your power, and because you have witch and voodoo blood. Voodoo isn’t exactly white magic,” Mom said, striving for tact.

  “Why didn’t you call us?” Hennie asked.

  Evangeline shrugged in a helpless gesture. “Nothing came. It was all fireworks and no fire. A portal opened and closed, but we didn’t see anything come through it. We thought it was a false alarm until we heard about Yaya Tallow’s house.”

  “Someone came here to tell you?” Babet could almost watch Prosper’s mind working, trying to decide who it was.

  Nadine raised her hand. Mists wove in and out of her finge
rs. A familiar face—the woman with the downturned lips whom Babet had seen before—whispered something for Nadine’s ears only. Nadine waved her away. “Manette loves to gossip. She flits in and out of town, lets me know anything of interest.”

  Prosper stared at Nadine’s hand. “This Manette told you about Yaya’s fire?”

  “Yes. That’s when we knew something must have escaped the portal. Yaya had strong magic. It would take something stronger to kill her.”

  Evangeline made a quick movement to hide her hands, putting them behind her back. But she wasn’t fast enough. Babet saw the blood on them. “Were you performing rituals when we came?”

  Evangeline’s shoulders sagged in defeat. “This is my third one. None of them have worked. Mom tried to help me, but we can’t send whatever escaped back.”

  “You summoned the demon, Jaleel. He must have traveled as pure energy,” Mom said. “Then materialized when he knew he was safe.”

  That caught Prosper’s attention. “Safe from them? Are they a threat to him?”

  “In his first minutes, before he gathered his power, yes. Now? No.” Mom narrowed her eyes, studying Evangeline. “Your powers can hurt you if you don’t learn to control them. I teach. I can help you.”

  “Witch magic?” Nadine asked. “You’d be willing to?”

  “It would be safer for all of us.”

  Nadine’s gaze went to the women, watching and waiting on their front porches. “We don’t usually mix with other kinds. Our magic is our own. But Evangeline has both magicks in her blood. She should learn how to use them.”

  Mom glanced at the women too, a frown pulling her brows together. Babet found them to be every bit as intimidating as a coven of witches. And they had a power all their own. Mom turned to study Evangeline, and Babet could tell by the thoughtful expression on her face that she was worrying about the same things she herself had considered when she first met the girl. What happened when you mixed witch spells with voodoo magic? Then her mother’s gaze turned to her, and the questions in her mother’s eyes surprised her. Was that why Mom had never told her about her father? Was she worried that witch blood mixed with incubus powers might produce something just as strange?