“Such a fun topic.” Millie quirks a lip. “I think we can all finally agree that the man we saw dead on the street, and the severed body parts that have shown up, are his work. I don’t know how, but it has to be him. He’s also left blood smears for us to find. He’s back to taunting us. Or, me, anyway.”
“My dreams are changing,” Daphne says. “I didn’t want to mention it before until I knew for sure, and it’s not the same as it was when Brielle was the focus. Then, I simply stepped into her dreams and watched as if it was a movie.”
“What’s it like this time?” I ask.
“Millie’s always had the dreams.” She looks at her sister. “Even when we were small, her dreams frightened her, and she’d come find one of us to sleep with.”
I hold Millie’s hand more tightly at the thought of her as a frightened child.
“I’ve never really been a dreamer, that’s not my gift,” Daphne continues. “Nor is it Brielle’s. But, for some reason, I start to dream whenever he starts making an appearance. So now I’m going back in time, obviously to previous lives.”
I lean forward, instantly captivated.
“I see Lucien and Millie, fighting together and losing every time. They’re dressed differently and even speak different languages. They can’t hear me or see me, and it’s like I’m watching a rerun on TV. It’s fucking frustrating.”
“How is he doing this?” Brielle asks. “He’s a spirit.”
“It’s not unheard of,” I reply. “Poltergeists exist. Move things around. You hear all the time about people with haunted houses, and their things being moved. It’s not out of the question, given how strong of an entity he is, that he can do these things.”
“Stanger things have happened,” Millie mumbles and then looks around the room as everyone stares at her.
“Really?” Cash says. “Stranger things than this have happened to you?”
“It’s an expression.” She waves him off. “I think the hardest part now is going to be finding him, given that he isn’t in a physical body, and we have no idea where he’s keeping his victims. And while we’re on that subject, why is he suddenly killing men? It doesn’t make sense. He has a thing for us, and he killed Brielle over and over again. He should be killing me over and over again if he stays on the same course. The men don’t make sense.”
“He’s a fucking psychopath,” Daphne reminds her. “And a sociopath in some regards. I don’t think making sense is high on his priority list.”
“Well, there’s that,” Millie says.
“Do you have the bloodstone with you?” Brielle asks Cash.
“Actually, I do.” He takes a plastic bag out of his coat pocket. “I brought it for you, Lucien, to add to the other two for examination.”
“You’re just walking around town with a bloody stone in your pocket?” Millie asks. “Murder cops are weird.”
“So are witches.” Cash winks.
“I want to touch it,” Daphne says. “Maybe if I hold it, I’ll be able to see where he is, determine how to find him.”
“That’s worth a try,” I agree with a nod. But when Daphne reaches for the stone, she gets a shock that sends her back several feet.
“Ouch.”
“That’s what happened to me yesterday.” Millie shrugs.
“Let me try.” Brielle says, and the same thing happens to her. “Okay, so he’s cast a spell on the stones and has blocked us that way.”
“There has to be a way to find him. To lure him out,” Daphne insists.
“Oh, yes, let’s taunt him,” Brielle quips, but I’m already nodding.
“She’s right. The coven is having a special ritual on All Hallows’ Eve, under the full blue hunter’s moon. We may be able to cast the circle and force him out.”
“Now, that’s something worth researching,” Millie says, reaching for her phone. “I’m going to call Miss Sophia and see if she can help with that.”
Cash’s phone rings in his pocket. “This is Cash.” He listens for a moment. “I’ll be there in thirty. No one touches that scene, understood? Block it off and start getting statements.”
He hangs up and runs his hand down his face.
“Dead body was just discovered in Audubon Park.”
Millie flinches next to me.
“And?” Brielle asks.
“He’s missing a hand and a foot.”
Chapter Twelve
"The dead won't bother you, it's the living you have to worry about.”
—John Wayne Gacy
There’s a war happening inside his head, and he’s too exhausted, too spent from killing his last toy to fight as hard as he wants to.
He wanted to make it last longer. He’d cut off and cauterized the wrist, did the same with the foot, but the pain was too much, and the toy died.
It made him furious. It’s like the toy didn’t even try to work through the pain. To do as he suggested and just breathe, to go to a nice place in the mind.
No, the fucker just gave up.
And that was a huge disappointment. It seems he’s been dealing with that constantly, one big disappointment after another.
But this one drained his energy. He had to drag the body through the house and into his car, and then through the park to just the right spot.
That would have been taxing on him when he was still alive.
Plus, he’s beginning to think maybe he made a mistake in the human he decided to use as a tool to complete his work.
Because they’re fighting him. Trying to take back the body he rightfully stole.
His hand shakes as he reaches for his phone, not of his own volition, and types a note:
GET LUCIEN
The phone falls to the floor, and he collapses next to it, a grin on his face. Oh, yes, he’ll get Lucien.
Don’t you worry.
He just needs some sleep. Some rest to restore the energy and make him strong again, and then he can get back to work. With giving each toy the attention they deserve, making sure that Millie doesn’t forget he’s always nearby, and setting his next moves into motion, he’s been busy.
He is a hard worker, after all.
But even those with the best work ethic need to rest, so he’ll just take a nap to recharge his spirit.
The next phase of his plan is almost ready, and it will require all of his resources.
Chapter Thirteen
Millie
The wisteria is blooming. The arbor Lucien built for me behind the house, where we’ve set chairs and a little glass table for eating during every season except summer, is full of the heavy, purple blooms. It smells sweet and lovely, and is a welcome sight.
Purchasing this home in the Garden District of New Orleans was a dream come true for my husband and me. He worked long hours at the hospital to earn enough money to afford it, and I don’t take one day for granted in our grand, white house with its green iron railings that keep the evil spirits at bay.
Well, that’s the legend anyway.
They don’t really keep anything at bay, especially things of the spiritual variety.
But it’s a lovely thought.
I look in on our sweet Sabrina, only nine months old and napping in her carriage. My familiar, Tarot, lurks in the garden, chasing butterflies before taking a leisurely nap in the shade.
With both of my sweet ones safe and nearby, I get to work harvesting some lavender, rosemary, and a little mugwort. I look in on the tomatoes and carrots and pluck a few cucumbers for a nice salad later.
I’ve just finished filling my basket when the darkness descends, leaving me completely blind.
“You can’t fool me,” I say aloud, my voice perfectly calm despite the quick pulse in my neck. The taunts have come more often of late, just as Lucien said they would.
Lucien’s just inside, and I try to talk to him through our special door. We cast the spell three years ago and never closed it.
I need you in the garden.
I feel the words slam aga
inst the side of my mind as if they’re stuck there. How did he close our door?
“Lucien!” I yell but am met with only an evil laugh.
“Millicent, you know the only man that can protect you is me. Not that pitiful excuse you married. Only me. When are you going to learn? When will you see?”
I start to chant, the words Lucien made me promise to memorize for moments just like this one.
He’s not laughing now.
“You dumb bitch! You can’t escape me. You can’t escape your destiny. I’ll show you.”
The blackness clears, and I’m once again in the garden with Tarot, weaving between my legs and meowing, and Sabrina sleeping soundly in her carriage.
What in the hell is happening?
I hear Lucien’s voice now, and I know he’s running through the house to the back door. I turn just as he slams out of the house and runs down the steps to me.
“He was here,” I say, immediately relieved when he wraps me in his strong arms. “He tried to confuse me again. I used the spell you gave me, and he left. Angry.”
“I’m sure he did.” Lucien’s voice is hard. “He grows stronger, Mill. We need the others. The six.”
“I know,” I reply, feeling helpless. “But I can’t make my sisters understand or even want to help us.”
“He’s managed to block their gifts in this life,” my dear one says in frustration. “It could lead to our defeat.”
“Don’t say that.”
I sit up, gasping for breath, and find that I’m safe and in bed at Lucien’s house.
Our house.
The house from my dream.
It’s a beautiful historic home in the Garden District of New Orleans that wasn’t even new when we bought it in the last lifetime. It’s old. If I remember correctly, it was built in about 1850, predating the civil war. But it’s been lovingly cared for and updated. A person would never know that it’s almost two hundred years old.
I feel Lucien shift next to me, and suddenly, a single candle springs to life at the side of the bed, casting us in a soft glow.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“Yeah, I just had a dream. Or a memory, I guess.” I fill him in and turn onto my stomach, bracing my head on my hands as I watch his handsome face, his eyes still filled with a little sleep. “I loved this house then.”
“Yes, you did.”
“You made me feel like a queen when you bought it for me.”
He smiles and drags his finger down my cheek. “Good. I hope you still love it. If you don’t, we can move.”
“I mean, the real estate must be worth a fortune now,” I say as if I would ever consider selling this house. “Much more than the twenty-six thousand dollars you paid for it once upon a time.”
He shifts closer. “You are remembering more.”
“Yeah, it’s coming in little bits here and there. I don’t want to leave this house, Lucien. It’s beautiful. Big, but gorgeous.”
“Well, just let me know if you get tired of it.”
“Aren’t you attached to it? I mean, you bought it back.”
“It’s only sentimental to me because you loved it so much. I don’t need a house this big just for me.”
I lean in and kiss him, then slide my body over his in one fluid motion, needing the connection that only comes from making love with him. I let the dream slide away until it’s only this.
Only us.
* * *
“So, are you guys, like, gonna get married?” Daphne asks me a few days later. Witches Brew closes soon for the day, and I’m sitting in the reading area with my sisters, enjoying some needed time with them while Esme closes up the dining room.
I owe Esme a raise. She’s been kicking ass this week.
“He hasn’t asked me,” I admit with a shrug.
“If he does ask?” Brielle inquires.
“Sure, I’ll marry him. Again.”
“It’s so weird,” Daphne says, shaking her head. “If we’ve all lived throughout all these different lifetimes over the past thousand years, why don’t Brielle and I remember, too?”
“Because that’s not how it’s meant to be for us,” Brielle answers. “Because this part of the journey is for Millie and Lucien.”
“Which means I’m next.” Daphne sighs.
“We’ve been told since this began that there will be six of us,” I remind her. “Cash and Brielle, Lucien and me, and you and someone.”
“I don’t know who,” she says, exasperation almost pouring out of her.
“You’re being stubborn,” Brielle adds. “Of course, you know who. You’re just being difficult.”
“I hate to burst your fairy tale bubble, but Jackson and I aren’t together.”
“That doesn’t mean he isn’t for you,” I say, my voice gentle. I know how bad it hurt when Jackson walked out of Daphne’s life, and how she’s longed for him ever since. “It just means it was bad timing. You were hardly more than children when you met, Daph.”
“I don’t want to talk about him.”
We hear footsteps coming from the dining area, and we all immediately stop talking, not wanting anyone to be privy to the conversation.
And then, I’m quite sure my eyes just about bulge out of my skull when Jackson himself walks into the room.
“Hello, ladies.”
“Hey there,” I say, glancing at my sister, whose face has gone paper-white. “This is a surprise.”
“I wanted to stop in to see how you’re doing and ask if it would be possible for you to get a message to Daphne for me, but…here she is.”
“Here I am,” Daphne says coldly. “I don’t want your message, Jack.”
“I need to talk to you.”
“I changed my number for a reason.”
“Yeah, because you’re stubborn, and you won’t let me talk.”
Daphne studies her fingernails, avoiding looking directly at the handsome man. He’s tall and muscular, and to top it off, a military hero.
I couldn’t make this up if I tried.
And right now, he’s gazing at my baby sister as if she hung the moon—blue or otherwise.
“Fine. I see nothing’s changed here. But I didn’t do anything wrong, Daphne.” He leans in and whispers something in her ear that has her lip quivering, then he nods at Brielle and me and walks right out.
“What did he say?” I ask, though I already know. I’m not ashamed to say I dropped my shield long enough to eavesdrop.
She’s my baby sister.
“It doesn’t matter,” she whispers.
“Daphne, you’re only torturing yourself and him.”
Daphne brushes her red hair over her shoulder and then wipes a tear from the corner of her eye.
“I can’t give him what he wants.”
“And what is that?” Brielle asks.
“Forgiveness,” I reply for her and reach over to wrap Daphne in a hug.
“No, that’s not it,” Daphne says, shaking her head. “I forgave him long ago.”
“Then what is it?” I ask.
“Truth. I can’t give him the truth he seeks. And that means we don’t have trust. We can’t be together, you guys. Which means, Jack isn’t one of the six.”
Oh, baby sister, you’re so wrong.
* * *
“I should go with you.”
I lean against the kitchen counter and stare at Lucien. The man is giving me a headache.
“I’m a grown woman. I don’t need a babysitter. Yes, I’m going to a mental hospital, but—”
“I’m not patronizing you, there’s a madman out there who very much enjoys torturing you psychologically, and we don’t know what he’s planning next. A mental hospital is a breeding ground for vulnerable psyches, which means he could hurt you there. I’d rather be nearby.”
I slip my hand into his and squeeze it three times, immediately softening at his concern. I know he’s not trying to control me, he’s trying to look after me. “If it makes you feel better, you
can drive me. But I really want to go in by myself to see Mama. I have questions, and if you’re there, I’ll just be distracted.”
“Why is that?”
“Because you’re hot. Don’t act like you don’t know.”
He laughs and brushes his thumb across my forehead, taking away any trace of my headache.
“I’m just an average guy, darlin’, but it’s good for my ego that you think I’m more than that. I can do some work from the car while you’re in with your mom.”
“You have a microscope in your car?”
“No, smartass, I have a phone, and I can answer emails and make some calls.”
I nod and gather my bag and keys, along with the gift I got to bring with me, and we walk out to the car. Thanks to traffic, the drive over to the hospital takes longer than usual, but we make it all the same.
“I won’t be long,” I assure him and lean across the console to kiss his lips. “Less than an hour.”
“I’ll be fine,” he assures me.
I walk inside, check in with security, and pass through the metal detector, then make my way up to Mama’s floor. I’m nervous. I haven’t been here to see her alone since she came to live here last year. Usually, I have one or both of my sisters with me.
But I’ve been thinking about what Miss Sophia said. I need to talk with Mama, to explain some things and ask some questions so we can both heal. I can’t continue harboring animosity toward her. That will only fuel the hate and anger from him, and in the end, help him win.
That’s not an option this time.
I find Mama sitting in a chair by the window, looking outside. I walk over, making a wide berth so she’s sure to see me in her peripheral vision, and smile when she looks up at me.
“Hi, Mama.”
“Millie.” She smiles and glances around. “Are the other girls here, too?”
“No, it’s just me today,” I say and sit in the chair next to hers. We’re facing each other at a ninety-degree angle. “I brought you a present.”
“Oh, how sweet,” she says. “This is a wonderful surprise.”
Spells: A Bayou Magic Novel Page 10
