Spells: A Bayou Magic Novel

by Proby, Kristen

  “I like the sound of that.” As he takes my hand, the lights in his old house in the Garden District house dim. “Did you do that on purpose?”

  “No, I can’t control electricity. Only fire, the way you control the wind and air.”

  “I’m an air sign, you know,” I say.

  “Oh, I’m aware. Our connection affects the energy around us. Electricity is energy. We might blow a fuse or two tonight.”

  “Fun.” The laugh dies in my throat when we walk up the stairs and into his bedroom. With the snap of his fingers, at least fifty candles come to life around the room, one at a time, in a domino effect. “Wow. And, clearly, you’re a fire sign. And a Sagittarius, through and through.”

  “How did you know I’m a Sagittarius?”

  “I—” I stop and shrug. “I don’t know how, or how I know that you’ll be thirty-seven on November 27th, I just do.”

  “You remember more than you realize.”

  He reaches behind me and flips off the light switch, bathing us in candlelight.

  “A few hundred years ago, it would have been within my rights to kill any man who looked at your skin right here,” he says as he drags his fingertip down the center of my chest and into my cleavage. “And a few men at the restaurant tonight might have met that fate for as much as their eyes kept wandering over to you.”

  “I don’t give a rat’s ass about other men.” I begin to unbutton his shirt, grateful that he already shed his jacket an hour ago. My fingers aren’t fumbling now, and there’s no more nervousness in my body as I undress this incredible man. Our movements are slow but sure as we take our time uncovering each other as if unwrapping a precious gift.

  In the flickering candlelight, Lucien guides me back onto the bed, and spends the next long moments worshipping every inch of my flesh from my lips to my toes. His touch is light and seductive, his words pure magic, and when neither of us can stand the foreplay any longer, and we finally come together, it’s an explosion of emotion I’ve never experienced before.

  The flames around us grow in intensity as Lucien takes us higher and higher, and when I reach for my climax and gasp in rapturous pleasure, the flames extinguish from the wind I’ve conjured.

  Lucien growls and snaps his fingers, igniting the candles once more, and watches my face as he climbs closer to his own release.

  Flashes of memory run through my mind. Different moments in different lifetimes, each one of us together, just like this, with the candles and the intense love we share. Both of us murmuring in languages I don’t recognize, but then some I do.

  He calls me a stór mo chroí.

  And I call him a mhuirnín.

  The flames seem to explode around us when he falls over the edge.

  The candles calm to a normal, low glow, but I know I’m forever changed. I’m Lucien’s, and he’s mine.

  “We could have set the house on fire,” I murmur, still catching my breath.

  “I don’t think I would have cared,” he says and kisses the ball of my shoulder. “I love you, a stór mo chroí.”

  I drag my fingers down his handsome cheek. “And I love you, a mhuirnín.”

  His eyes find mine in surprise.

  “I’m remembering more,” I say and brush my fingers through his hair. “Just a little bit.”

  And not all of it terrifies me.

  Chapter Eleven

  Lucien

  I’ve always loved to watch her sleep, and it seems now is no different than before. Having Millicent in my bed is a milestone and one I’ve waited almost a decade for. Being patient was necessary, and I don’t regret that I kept my distance and didn’t push her.

  But goddess above, I’m relieved that the wait is over.

  I missed her more than I can say. It was an ache in my heart that never subsided.

  And now she’s here.

  Her breaths are even, and she’s safe from dreams—a little spell before she drifted off helped with that.

  The sun is just rising, and the first rays of light make their way into my bedroom to chase any shadows away. I lean in to kiss her cheek and smile when she stirs and turns toward me.

  “Good morning,” she whispers.

  “Good morning, love,” I whisper in return. I pull her against me for a little cuddle and enjoy the way her long, slim body fits next to mine. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Better than I have in years,” she says and stretches like a lazy cat. “How about you?”

  “A little.” I brush her hair off her cheek. “I was in and out a bit.”

  “Hmm.” She glances around the room and frowns. “If the sun is up, I slept longer than usual.”

  “It’s about six,” I say.

  “Wow, that’s late for me. Luckily, Esme’s taking the morning crowd today. I don’t have to go in until about noon.”

  “Lucky for both of us, then.” I kiss her, long and slow, and let my hand drift down to cup her firm breast, teasing the already firm nipple. I’d like to stay here all morning, making love to her, but we have somewhere to be. “I should make you some coffee.”

  “Wow, someone making me coffee for a change,” she says with a smile. “That’s fun. But why don’t we finish what you started first?”

  I groan and lean in to kiss her once more but then pull away. “I would love nothing more, but I think we should meet with your sisters this morning.”

  She frowns. “Why?”

  I don’t want to say anything. Not yet. I’m not completely sure that my hunch is correct.

  “It’s just a feeling,” I say and kiss her nose before leaving the warm bed and stepping into a pair of lounge pants. “I’ll go get that coffee.”

  “I’ll wake up and be down in a minute.”

  “No hurry. I can bring the coffee here.”

  I leave the bedroom and shiver in the cool morning air. Autumn has firmly settled in, and the chilly mornings that come with her have arrived. I point to the fireplace in the living room as I pass, and a fire erupts in the hearth.

  That’ll help warm the house.

  I set the first cup under the single-serve coffee maker, press brew, and turn to the back door just off the kitchen. My back yard is my oasis. I have herbs planted, along with some vegetables and flowers that have special medicinal purposes. I am not a hedgewitch, but many in our coven are, and they often ask to come and snip here and there in my garden.

  It’s my pleasure to share with them. I planted it all from memory, knowing that Millie would eventually need it for her practices and as a serene place to come. Perhaps one day soon, Sanguine would join her in the garden. I can picture them both, the cat lying in the grass, batting at a butterfly, and Millicent, round with child, snipping herbs for her potions.

  It’s real in my mind because it’s as much a memory as it is a wish for what’s to come.

  I open the door to get some fresh air for a moment while the coffee brews, but the second I turn the knob, I know.

  My hunch was right.

  I glance down on the deck and sigh at the sight before me.

  A foot. Severed from a body.

  With a bloodstone resting on the bloody stump where it was once attached to what I assume was a man.

  “Damn.”

  I turn back inside in time to see Millie walking into the kitchen, wearing my shirt from last night and nothing else.

  Double damn.

  “What’s taking so long with the coffee? Do you need my help?” she asks with a sweet smile, but then she sobers when she sees my face. I’m already dialing Cash’s number. “What’s wrong?”

  My eyes hold Millie’s as I press the phone to my ear, and Cash answers. “It’s Lucien. You’re going to want to come over here, man. There’s a foot on my back porch.”

  “I’ll be there in twenty,” the other man says and hangs up.

  “No.” Millie closes her eyes on a long sigh.

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Her lip wobbles, and my gut clenches. “I was enjoying our
time together, apart from the crazy.”

  “I know.” I walk to her and wrap my arms around her, hugging her close. “I was, too. But we’ll have more moments.”

  “I’d better get dressed.” She doesn’t move out of my arms. “I wish I’d thought ahead and packed an overnight bag.”

  “That’s something we should talk about,” I begin and pull away so I can look into her face. “This is escalating, there’s no doubt about it.”

  “A hand yesterday, a foot today.” She cringes and nods. “Yeah, it’s escalating.”

  “I’d like you to stay with me.”

  She narrows her eyes. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, one of us should move in with the other. I don’t want you alone, Millicent. I can’t protect you from across town the way I can when we’re together.”

  She bites her lip, thinking it over. “I don’t disagree. I mean, this is some creepy shit, Lucien.”

  “No argument.”

  “I guess you can come stay with me until this is all over.”

  My hands tighten on her shoulders, and then I let her go. “I’d rather say this is a permanent situation, but if that makes you feel better, that’s fine with me. For now.”

  She frowns. “Wow, we’re moving fast,” she mutters.

  “I’ve never moved so slowly with you in all of my lives,” I reply calmly. “But this is another time, another place, and I’ll go at whatever pace you want, as long as you understand that you’re mine, a stór mo chroí.”

  She tilts her head to the side. “I’ve known that I’m yours, and you’re mine, for a very long time, Lucien. That’s not being debated here.”

  “Good. Now, I need to examine this foot and the bloodstone on it before Cash comes and takes it away.”

  “Oh, I gotta see this.”

  “You’re going to need clothes first. I don’t need Cash walking up and seeing you dressed like that.”

  Her lips twitch. “Like what?”

  “Like sex on a fucking platter.”

  “Oh good, this outfit worked, then.” With that, she sashays back to the bedroom to get dressed.

  I shake my head and turn back to the open door. The foot hasn’t moved. Not that I expected it to. I crouch down and take a closer look.

  The bloodstone is once again coated in blood, and I suspect that it’s different from that of the foot. The skin on the appendage looks as if it’s been burned.

  “Why is it black?” Millie asks. I heard her approach from behind. She’s leaning over my shoulder. “Like it’s been burned.”

  “I was just thinking that,” I murmur. “It looks like little squiggly lines.”

  “No, that’s not it.” She gets closer and suddenly reaches out a hand for the bloodstone.

  “Stop.” I take her hand in mine. “You can’t touch it, Mill. It has a spell on it. It’ll shock you again.”

  “It’s the weirdest thing,” she says, shaking her head. “It puts me in some kind of trance. I want to reach for it.”

  Fascinating. I’ll have to do some research on that.

  “Keep your gorgeous hands to yourself.” I kiss her knuckles and then focus back on the foot. “I wonder if that’s supposed to be words.”

  She bends closer and then gasps. “It’s the number six, Lucien. Over and over again. You know, like off an old-fashioned typewriter.”

  I look closer and see that she’s right. “He branded it with the head of a type bar. The number six from a vintage typewriter.”

  She nods and sits back on her haunches. “That had to hurt.”

  “Probably not as badly as having the whole foot cut off,” I reply just as Cash walks around the side of my house.

  “Please tell me neither of you touched it.”

  “Ew, no,” Millie says. “You know me better than that, brother-in-law.”

  “At least this time you aren’t unconscious.” Cash looks down at the foot. “Christ Jesus.”

  “So, Lucien found a foot,” Millie says, gesturing dramatically. “As you can see.”

  “Are you always a smartass in the morning?” Cash asks.

  “Yes,” we both say at once. Millie raises a brow at me, and I just shrug.

  “Tell the ME to pay extra attention to the brandings on the skin,” I suggest to Cash.

  “Brandings?” he asks and takes a closer look. “Fuck, it’s tiny sixes all over.”

  “That’s what I see.”

  “What else do you see?” he asks. Cash is married to Brielle and has been a part of this since the beginning when Horace started making himself known to Brielle last year. I know I can be brutally honest with the other man about what I see, either with my eyes, or my mind.

  “Not enough,” I reply in frustration. “I’m only picking up on impressions here and there. An urgency. I think he’s only going to escalate from here. We need a meeting with all three sisters this morning.”

  “Agreed,” Cash says. “Just when I thought the spooky, psycho shit was done for a while, here we are. The ME’s on his way over now. I’m going to record the scene, and then we’ll be out of your hair.”

  “I’ll call my sisters,” Millie interjects.

  “Looks like we’re having a family meeting today,” Cash says. “I wish it was about something happy. Like Christmas.”

  “Me, too,” Millie replies.

  * * *

  “With there being a dead foot on the back porch, I was a little preoccupied, but I caught a glimpse of your garden this morning,” Millie pipes up from the passenger seat as we head to Daphne’s shop. “I’ve heard some of the other witches talking about getting clippings from your plants, but I had no idea it was so…amazing back there.”

  I grin and reach for her hand. I find myself constantly reaching for her, needing to touch her. To reassure myself that she’s here, and that she’s whole.

  “Thanks.”

  “You just planted it out of the goodness of your heart for other members of the coven?”

  “Yes, and no. My property is quite big, and I’m not the type who enjoys mowing the grass all the time.”

  “You planted special herbs and flowers because you don’t like to cut the grass? I might have been born at night, but it wasn’t last night.”

  I laugh and make a right turn. “I don’t want to freak you out.”

  “Now you don’t want to freak me out?”

  “Okay, point taken. You’ve planted a garden like that one many times over the past several hundred years. I know what you prefer to grow, where you like it, and I planted it myself because I hoped that the day would eventually come that I’d share my home with you again. And, if you want to get extra weird, I will admit that the house I live in now is the same one we lived in together. Before.”

  I risk a glance in her direction and see her staring ahead, likely processing what I’ve told her.

  “Whoever owned the house after us tore out your garden, but when I bought it back, I replanted it.”

  “Why can’t we be a normal couple?” she asks. “Just a normal, run-of-the-mill couple, who likes to have sex all the time and watch old eighties movies. Maybe pick up a hobby together, like bowling or skiing.”

  “There’s no skiing in Louisiana,” I remind her.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I don’t know why. And, honestly, I wouldn’t change it. Because I think you’re amazing, and spending ten lifetimes with you is more than what most people get with those they love.”

  “You’re quite sweet,” she says. “In every memory I have, you’re protective and affectionate and just good to me.”

  “There’s enough shit in your life, darlin’. You don’t need any more from me. And shouldn’t one be kind to their beloved? Shouldn’t I treat you as if you’re a treasure? Because you are. I know that makes me sound ridiculously old fashioned, and maybe a bit too mushy, but it’s true. I’m not one to be an asshole to the one who means the most to me. Especially when I never know how long we’ll have together i
n a lifetime.”

  “It’s not mushy.” She kisses my hand. “And I was thinking just last night that I’m done wasting time, Lucien. What we have is too precious to waste. If you want me to move into your home, our home, with you, I will. Sanguine and I can move over today, and we can slowly shift the majority of my things over a little at a time.”

  “I’ll hire movers,” I suggest.

  “We have a coven of people who’d love to help,” she reminds me. “And I’ll take them up on it. We’ll make it work.”

  “Thank you.” I park in front of Daphne’s store, cut the engine, and turn to Millie. “I mean it.”

  “I know.” We lean in and kiss, then nuzzle noses before getting out of the car and walking to the front door of Reflections, Daphne’s antique store. Brielle unlocks the door and lets us in.

  “Everyone’s here,” she says as we follow her to a little cluster of couches on the showroom floor where Cash is already seated. Brielle joins her husband, and Millie and I sit on a green velvet sofa across from them. Daphne paces the room, chewing on her thumbnail.

  “You okay, Daph?” Millie asks.

  “I’m agitated,” she replies. “And, honestly, I’m freaked the hell out.”

  “Sit,” Brielle says. “Let’s talk this out.”

  Daphne sits in a pink armchair and smiles as she settles in. “A spinster woman owned this chair, and she enjoyed knitting and soap operas in her old age. She’s quite the character.”

  “How can you own this place?” I ask her, intrigued. “Knowing that every single thing you bring in and touch will be a psychic event, and you’ll never know if it’s benign or sinister?”

  “I have shields,” she answers. “And a process to go through. Sometime, after all of this is over and we have free time on our hands again, you can come by, and I’ll explain it to you.”

  “I’d be fascinated,” I reply with a nod. “And I’ll take you up on that.”

  “First,” Cash says, getting right down to business, “let’s talk about a dead serial killer who still has it out for these three women.”