by Shyla Colt
“What’s to say? You have your opinions, and I have mine.” I shrug, swallowing down the words dancing on the tip of my tongue.
“Ain’t my opinion, girl. The spirits talk.”
I shake my head. This is what I hadn’t missed—my life becoming a chess game for my long-dead ancestors and their spirit friends dictating the way things should go.
“And what do they say, Mémé?”
“That your future is more than you ever imagined. You spent a long time denying who you were. You belong back here with us. And what’s between you and that man of yours, huh? That’s not over by a long shot.”
“There’s one major problem with that. He’s not a man.”
“Eh, girl, you picked him. Don’t be upset about it now. We all tried to warn you about his true nature.” There’s no compassion in her steady gaze.
“I was young and stupid. I didn’t think I’d have to suffer over it for the rest of my life.”
“That’s up to you. Either way, you’re going to have to deal with it. Dat boy’s been moving up the food chain while you were away.”
“Stop,” I say, not ready to think about him.
“You’re an Esçhete. We don’t run from anything. You have a duty to yourself and this family. You’ve always been gifted. It never took a genius to see you were the likely candidate to lead the next generation into the future. We gave you time to mature and find your inner strength. A storm’s brewing and you’re going to be in the eye, so I hope you rested well.”
Sighing, I cast my gaze down at the wooden planks of the porch. “What if I’m not able to live up to the expectations?”
“You think just anyone can stop practicing magic and come back like that?” Mémé snaps her long, wrinkled fingers. “Non. You’re special.”
Her words are blows to the walls I’ve barricaded myself behind. They come on like a battering ram. Cracks form. My lower lip trembles. My vision blurs, and my eyes sting.
“It’s okay, honey. Let it out.”
Walking over to the chair, I place my head on her lap. She runs her hands through my hair, and I inhale the scent of lavender and sage that always seem to cling to her clothing. Cradled by the woman I’ve always seen as a second mom, I allow myself to properly grieve—for the purity I lost, the love I gave and had rejected, and my shattered soul. The tears are a purge. A necessary cleansing. Sobs shake my body, and I let them. Thunder booms above our heads, and a flash of lightning flickers in my peripheral vision. Tonight, even the Bayou mourns with me.
When I have no more tears left, I lift my head and meet Mémé’s dark, steady gaze.
She nods her head. “That’s what you needed. Time, and a release. Now you pick up the pieces and come back better dan ever. It’s okay to be knocked down as long as you get back up.”
Her words are a soothing elixir applied to my wounded pride.
“Never be ashamed of your mistakes. As long as you don’t continue to make the same ones, consider them nothing more than a learning experience. Things only have the power we give them.”
She’s right. I’ve turned this into the defining moment of my life. It’s time to create a new turning point.
Chapter Two
The obnoxious jingle of the phone interrupts my packing. I glance over the box-filled room and pinpoint exactly where the sound is coming from. I weave my way around the boxes, donation, and pack piles to the chair covered by clothes. Removing my colorful collection of cardigans, I find my phone.
“Hello?”
“Please tell me its true, cuz. Are you making your way back home?” Felicite’s voice drawls.
I smile. “What if it is?”
She issues a low whistle. “Then we’re going to have some pissed off Esçhetes, non?”
I laugh. “Did you call to stir the pot?”
“Can’t I check in?” she asks innocently.
“We do that weekly. This right here is instigating.” I laugh when she doesn’t deny it.
“I wish I could’ve been there when Avit, Aimee, and Tante Odette got the news.”
“Jesus, is everyone already descending on one another like wolves?” I ask. The division in our family is a living, breathing dragon. We’ve got all the makings of a magical soap opera—magic workers who want to be stronger, and a bitter aunt who swears my mother is Mémé’s favorite.
Truth be told, it’s because my mother is the one who stayed close to home. Tante Odette is selfish. She always has been completely self-involved. The minute she could leave the house, she was out the door, and never looked back unless it was for a handout or a holiday.
She saw the way mother blossomed and swore it was because Mémé somehow put more into her. My mother is simply that talented. She took the time to practice her craft, and the ancestors blessed her for her dedication. It cost her many things … like my father, who couldn’t handle coming second to her “juju work” as he called it, or be bothered to deal with the magically inclined daughter she birthed.
Mama swore off relationships after that. I recognized her loneliness. Perhaps it’s why I stayed close to home for far longer than the average woman my age at the time.
“I’m sure you heard about it,” I say as I move back to packing.
“When Mom clarified it, I called you. Though you should’ve been the one to tell me.”
“I know, but I’ve been neck deep in wrapping up the business end and packing. Hell, I’m nearly buried by boxes as we speak.” I push a box away with my foot, and sit on the edge of a chair.
“You want me to come up and help?”
“No, I need the time to get my head right. I have to work on my game face before I enter the dragon’s lair.”
Felicitie laughs. “It’s not that bad.”
“Feels that way. I left a lot of things unsaid and hurt a lot of people when I left.” I spent too long blaming Cristobal for things he was only partially responsible for. He didn’t force me out of Louisiana at gunpoint. No, he wanted me to stay and pretend everything was fine. My heart fills with contempt. Arrogant bloodsucker.
“Most of us understand why you had to go,” Fel’s voice softens. The kindness audible is a ray of hope in an oncoming dark storm.
“I hope they’re as forgiving as you,” I reply, thinking of my best friend, Sacha. We had a knockdown, drag-out fight before my abrupt departure, which we never fully recovered from. Born three months apart in the same area, we’d been brought up together. She was more sister than friend. There was no person on the earth who knew more about me at one point in my life. As it stands, the only contact we have is a few short monthly conversations to make sure we’re both alive and sane, and the obligatory birthday cards and best wishes. A pang of regret hits me. I should’ve been upfront with her from the beginning.
“You thinking about Sacha?”
“Yeah, I need to let her know I’m coming back.” I’ve put it off till the last minute.
“The way you guys ended was sad. There’s a rift, but nothing that can’t be healed with some TLC.”
“She’d have to want that, Fel. I’m not convinced she does,” I answer honestly.
“I think she’ll surprise you. For now, focus on getting home. As Mémé would say, no need to borrow trouble. It’ll arrive in due time.” Her impersonation is dead on, and I can’t help but laugh. “Why come back now?”
“It’s time. My gut tells me home is where I need to be.”
“I’m glad you’re returning.” She hesitates. The line crowds with the ghosts of things left unsaid.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
“Things have been tense up this way. Tante Odette wants to prove she’s more powerful than she actually is, and as usual, the two lackeys she has for children are following her footsteps.”
I roll my eyes. This is nothing new. “How is this any different from
usual?” My aunt is a hot mess with a goddess complex. She thinks everyone should worship the ground she walks on.
“They want Mémé’s blessing to be the next in line to rule.”
I snicker at the absurdity. “How when they can barely tap into the ancestors to work the roots?”
“That’s what Mémé says. You know she’s never been one to bite her tongue.”
“And their response?”
“She’s getting older. Her decisions might not be as sound as they once were.” The haughty tone she takes on is identical to my arrogant aunt’s. Of course, she’d say that. “I think they’d get lawyers involved if the community respected that sort of thing. It’s sad. I don’t know why she’s so power hungry. She gets her fair share of profits earned from the family business, and her boutique does well.”
I shake my head. “There’s always been a void in that woman she couldn’t fill up. I never understood it.” I walked on eggshells around her, scared to set her off. If anything was less than what she deemed acceptable, she let me know about it. She dealt with her children in a similar manner, but it wasn’t until I was older I truly understood her behavior. You can bury family secrets deep, throw bones in old closets padlocked shut, but in the end, they always come to light. “I’m shocked Mom hasn’t put her in her place.”
“That’s what my mom said. She says Aunt Jacinth is trying to keep the peace and keep stress off Mémé.”
“Is Mémé sickly?” I ask, as worry creeps in like fog.
“No, but she is ninety.”
“With the spirit of a twenty-year-old.” I shake my head. “That woman will probably outlive us all.”
“I wish that was how it worked. We both know when your time is up, it’s up. You best believe Mémé has a plan in place for her empire.”
You can’t run from your destiny. The words from my dream replay in my mind. Did she mean to do more than give me comfort? Did I miss a message?
“Tante Odette has always run her mouth. You still haven’t told me what she’s doing that has you nervous. I can hear it in your voice.”
“There’s a desperation to her antics now. It’s hard to explain. You’ll see once you get here.”
“What changed?”
“That’s what I want to know. It concerns me, Lou.”
Well shit. “I can’t do anything from here. Once I get home, we’ll get to the bottom of things.”
“Thank you. I know it’s a lot to drop on you, but I couldn’t let you walk into the mess and be blindsided.”
“I appreciate it. Do you have any good news to balance this out?” My shoulders droop as I close the box on my winter clothes and tape it shut.
“Nothing you’d want to hear, cuz.”
Fine, I’ll bite. “You know you can’t say that and not go into detail.”
“The bloodsucking problems have cleared up drastically.” I brace myself for the mention of Cristobal I know is coming. I can’t afford another lapse in the mental wall I’ve built between us.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Power plays are a part of life in Louisiana. There are too many things that go bump in the night trying to live in harmony. That means someone always wants to be top dog. The politics make the United States Presidency laughable.
“Don’t beat around the bush, just tell me.” I already know who she’s going to mention.
“Cris has been a busy boy.”
I close my eyes. It always comes back to him.
“He’s not your everyday community member any longer. He’s the Lord of our territory in charge of the seven local areas.”
“What?”
The news shocks me. Cristobal isn’t a youngling, but he’s not terribly old either at around five-hundred. He migrated to Louisiana from Spain in the first few years of the state being established and began to build a legacy. Back then it was easy to pass yourself off as the younger relative of an older, wealthier family member. As the years changed, the vampires adapted. With the power he gained from me, why wouldn’t he move up?
Things are handled as civilly as possible among the supernatural to keep the body count down. That’s something humans will notice.
“There’s a reason New Orleans is no longer the murder capital. He’s used his … fortune for good,” she says, clearly impressed.
His smooth, dulcet tone is etched into my brain. He’s a seducer. With his old world way of talking, impeccable manners, and swagger I credited to the era he was born into, and the country, Spain.
“So I should give him a blood cookie then?” I ask incredulously.
She snickers. “You’re still hot under the collar about what he did after all this time?”
“Wouldn’t you be?”
“I don’t know, Lou. Maybe you don’t remember how good he looked. How rare a man with his sort of manners, wealth, and complete adoration of you is.”
I scoff. “No. That was all an act. A power play.”
“You can’t believe that,” she whispers. The sympathy in her voice makes me growl.
“You don’t do what he did to someone you love,” I lash out before I can feign indifference.
“Not if you’re human.”
“Felicite.” It’s an old argument we’ve agreed to disagree on.
She sighs. “Okay, I’ll change the topic … but you do realize you’ll be seeing him soon, right?”
I grind my teeth together to keep the unpleasant words from coming out of my mouth. She’s not the one who deserves my anger.
“Trust me, I’m aware. I’m hanging by a thread, taking things one day at a time, and generally trying not to freak out. I made decisions I’m not proud of, and now I’m going to pay for them.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. No one’s perfect. Especially not at that age. This is a new start, not a continuation of that time when you left.”
Her words penetrate my wall of shame and guilt. “What would I do without you?”
“Be crazier than you already are. I need to leave to head into work. Whatever you need from me, you know where to find me.”
“I know. Love you, Fel.”
“Love you, too, Lou Lou.”
Warmth settles in my chest. There’s nothing like having family. Despite the underlying current of tension, I’m ready to be back among them. I need to remember this moment after I return and wonder what the hell I was thinking.
As I continue to pack, my mind wanders back to Cristobal. Once he was the person who my world revolved around. I was never a naïve woman. My mother taught me about the birds and the bees the minute my first menses hit. Sexuality was handled differently in my home.
A woman’s body was her own, and as long as you took the proper precautions and thought with your head as well as your heart, sex wasn’t viewed as a sinful thing. It was an exchange of power. I was taught to be sure the man you shared your strength with was worthy of the gift.
That sort of thought process made me selective. Attractive boys with silver tongues and no intention of sticking around held no appeal to me. Being an Esçhete only made things more difficult. We have a reputation for not being ones to trifle with. It made a young boy in the area think twice.
I dated, but nothing ever got too serious. Then I hit twenty-one, and I caught the attention of one Cristobal Cortez. I haven’t permitted myself to dwell on thoughts of him in past years. It seems fitting I break the rule by remembering the beginning.
PAST
I wrap the black shawl tighter around my shoulders as I approach the wrought iron gates of the cemetery. The white shift offers little to no protection against the cool night, but the ritual requires it. I unlock the gates with a thought and push them open.
They creak, breaking the stillness of the night. Large oak trees reach up toward the heavens. Their leaves look black in the moonlight as they atte
mpt to blot out the sky with their thick branches. They’ve been here longer than I’ve been alive. The grayish white mausoleums stand like soldiers guarding the dead. I easily navigate my way toward the agreed upon grave.
I grew up with the rows as part of my education. Crickets chirp, and an owl hoots. An omen of death. I turn my head to the side and instantly know this is my client. No mere mortal could look so much like the devil. Lucifer was the most beautiful of all angels, and the dark-haired man not ten yards away from me is so breathtaking I want to weep.
I blink and find him less than a foot away. Their speed can be unsettling. I’d been so stunned by his exterior, I forgot myself. Up close I can fully appreciate the high cheekbones, broad forehead, and strong jawline. His eyes are a dark brown with flecks of gold.
“Louella Esçhete.” His voice is dark velvet—smooth, sensual, and sophisticated. He’s older. I can taste his power in the air. It’s embedded in his mannerisms as well.
I give a slight curtsy. “Enchanté, Cris Cortez.”
His eyes twinkle. “Cristobal to someone as lovely and powerful as you.”
My stomach flutters. Flattery isn’t new, but it feels different coming from this man. Names have power. Offering up his full moniker is a bold move. Red flags wave. When you try to put someone at ease, it’s usually because you don’t want them to look too closely at what you’re doing.
“Because we are amis, you may call me Lou.”
The corners of his lips quirk upward. My stomach flip-flops once more. I’m in trouble with this one. I turn my thoughts back to the business at hand. “Shall we begin?” I ask.
He nods and offers his arm. I blink, surprised. Refusing him would be an insult, but being this close to him feels like a trap when my response to him has been so instantaneous. I link our arms, deferring to manners. The last thing I need to do is offend a client.
It’s not usual that I am sent on jobs of this magnitude. It just happened to be he needed a powerful protection spell and requested a virgin to perform it. He understood it would make the spell three times stronger. He knows more about witches than the average vampire. I send out my feelers, gently assessing him.