by Judith Post
Dream catchers. Could they be real if a real witch made them? Could they keep the Netherworld from entering Prosper's subconscious? She looked at Morgana. "Are you up for a short trip?"
The boa bobbed her head.
Babet turned at the next light and headed to Prosper's station.
She was in luck. Prosper was at his desk. His partner, Hatchet, leaned on its corner. When they saw her, they motioned her to join them. Heads turned as she walked through the crowded room. No one whispered, but they would, once she left. Everyone knew that Prosper had married a witch. They all knew he was a shifter, and even though they weren't sure what Hatchet was, they knew he wasn't mortal. But they were all glad the three of them worked with the force, because no mortal cop wanted to deal with supernatural crimes.
Hatchet nodded toward his office and closed the door after they entered. Posture perfect, suit impeccable, as always, he circled his desk to face them. "Prosper told me about the wraith. I'm thinking you've learned something."
Hatchet was the first cop Babet worked with on the force. She'd respected him from the first time they met. When she explained about her visit to her mom and Hennie, the Tarot reading, and her new idea, Prosper stared at her a moment, dumbfounded. But Hatchet gave a quick nod. "If I understand Indian lore enough, it's based on Nature, just like my magic. Druids have sacred trees, and we study the flights of birds. We study the planets and their movements."
Prosper ran a finger under his shirt collar, tugging to loosen it. "The Tarot said that my parents have something to do with the wraith?" he asked. He was having trouble, wrapping his mind around the idea, Babet could tell.
"Hennie thinks this wraith sought you out," Babet said. "That's pretty unusual."
Hatchet frowned, turning narrowed eyes on his partner. "We've worked together a long time, but I don’t know much about your parents."
Prosper met his gaze. "I could say the same about you."
Hell, Babet didn't think anyone knew much about Hatchet. The man made mysterious an understatement. They'd have never known he was a Druid if his past hadn't come to River City to dual with him.
Both men sat for a moment, studying each other. Finally Hatchet said, "We don't really know each other that well outside of the workplace."
"I don't like to talk about my history," Prosper said.
"Neither do I." Probably for good reason. If Hatchet's old enemy was anything to go by, the "good, old days" could kill you. But Druids had their virtues, too, and even those could be scary. When Hatchet married them, the tattoos he'd magicked onto Prosper and her forearms had freaked her out. Now, she loved them—two halves of a whole—they formed an unbreakable bond between her and Prosper.
"We can catch up with each other later." Babet gave Prosper's shoulder a shove. "For now, let's visit the Indian woman. What can it hurt?"
He didn't look convinced. "She's probably some gray-haired crone that people talk about. They probably made up that she's a witch."
"Maybe. But if she knows some of the old ways and can help us make a dream catcher—why not give it a try?"
"You have to take her a present," Hatchet said. "If she accepts it, she'll help you. If it doesn't please her, she closes her door and that's the end of your visit."
Babet stared. "Is that true?"
Hatchet shrugged. "I don't know. I've never gone there, but that's what I've heard."
"What would an old Indian woman want?" Babet lifted a strand of her hair and twisted it around her finger.
Prosper shook his head. "That's a bad habit of yours. It won't help." He looked to Hatchet. "Well? Do you have any ideas?"
"I could give her a slice of oak from one of our sacred trees. I've burnt protection spells into the wood."
Babet nodded. "I could give her a ring that I've bespelled."
Prosper pushed away from the desk and stood. "Okay, let's try it. If we go now, I can catch up on my work later tonight."
Babet and Hatchet rose, too. "Morgana's with me. Just saying," Babet told them.
Hatchet smiled. "Your snake helped me. She's always welcome with me."
They left the station and climbed in Babet's car. Prosper drove. "We'll stop and get the talismans, then we'll head north."
* * * *
The drive took an hour. This time, they headed away from the river, but waterways were abundant in this part of the country. When they turned onto the rutted lane that led to the old woman's house, it ended at a marshland. They had to walk across a narrow, wooden bridge with rope sides to reach the house, built high on stilts. Gray, unpainted clapboards looked so weathered, Babet wondered how many years they'd endured. An alligator sunned itself on a nearby bank. Reeds grew in clumps, and a heron stood, poised, looking for a fish or a frog at their edge. The air smelled of sun and water.
Morgana slowly slithered across the wooden planks. She wasn't fond of narrow, hanging boardwalks.
When Prosper knocked on the front door, he looked nervous. "Maybe she's not here."
Did Babet hear wishful thinking in his voice?
The door swung open, and a small, frail woman with white hair pulled into one, long braid that hung down her back pointed a finger at them. "The wind told me you were coming."
What wind? Babet felt the hot sun burn through the thin fabric of her blouse. She longed for a breeze to relieve the sticky feeling of sweat trickling down her spine.
Prosper squared his shoulders. "Did the wind tell you why?"
The woman shrugged. "Why else do people visit me? You have a problem, something you aren't sure you can fix." She turned and motioned for them to follow her. When she saw Morgana, she smiled. "Welcome, familiar. I have animal spirits, too, but they're not here in the flesh."
When they entered her front room, they stopped, uncertain. The entire back of her home was a wall of glass. It gave the odd sensation of stepping into a watery wilderness. A deck stretched above the water, and fishing poles leaned against its railings. A round, pot-bellied stove sat in the center of the room. Ceiling fans hummed overhead. A small kitchen was in the far corner, a bathroom tucked across from it. A wide couch with a pillow and blanket hugged the front wall and served as a bed.
The woman's wrinkled face crinkled into a grin. She reminded Babet of a doll her mother kept in her kitchen. The doll's face was made from a dried apple. The old woman held out a hand. "What did you bring for me?"
Hatchet solemnly handed her his sacred slice of oak. She blinked at it, put it between her teeth and bit down. "Nice." She tossed it on the couch.
Babet gave her the bespelled ring. The woman sighed and tossed it after Hatchet's oak. Upset, Morgana flicked her tongue in and out of her lipless mouth. The old lady raised an eyebrow. "I have enough magic without added talismans," she said.
Prosper held up a finger and hurried back to the car. When he returned, he had the candy stash that he and Babet always kept in the glove compartment.
The old lady grinned. She peeled back the wrapper of a half-melted, chocolate bar and took a bite. "Come. Sit." She led them to the far side of the room where four chairs circled a round coffee table. They sat with the view of the marsh before them.
The woman ignored them until she finished her chocolate, then she turned dark eyes on Prosper. "You have the blood of the people in your veins."
He nodded. "A little. My father grew up here, but we traveled a lot."
"Trying to escape her." The woman closed her eyes. "She followed wherever they went. You can't run from her. She'll always find you. She found your father."
Hatchet's eyes narrowed. His shoulders straightened. "The wraith hunted down Prosper's father?"
The woman dug through the candy on the coffee table and took out a wrapped, hard cinnamon piece. She popped it in her mouth, rolled it around, and paused to suck. Then she closed her eyes and hummed. "Aah, now I see him—he returned to the plantation when your mother grew heavy with child. Many bloods mixed in his veins—Cajun, Indian, Italian, and slave, even the white slav
e owner." She grinned. "River City had them all. Their blood flowed through him, adding many strengths and spices."
Prosper nodded. "When my grandfather was attacked and survived to become a Were, he left Dad the plantation and freed all the slaves. A cliché now, but it wasn't then. Weres value freedom, but most of the workers stayed on anyway."
Babet stared. How old was her mate? "Lincoln freed the slaves."
With a shrug of his broad shoulders, Prosper said, "Dad and Grandpa were before his time."
The woman's white brows furled. "People think your father died there, but he lingered much longer than anyone thought."
Prosper sat up, stiff and uncomfortable.
Babet reached for his hand to comfort him. "Lingered?" she asked. Morgana coiled around his ankle to show her support.
The woman cocked her head to the side. "Things were confused somehow." She opened her eyes and pierced Prosper with her gaze. "How did your parents die?"
He blanched. His coppery skin paled. Babet had seen him shift and attack a demon in his bear form. He'd even stared down a necromancer, but this memory brought him pain. "I wasn't home. I was studying abroad. I was told a hunter kicked down the door of their plantation and riddled both my mother and father with silver bullets."
"Your mother was a Were, too?" the woman asked.
Prosper nodded. "A tiger."
Her white brows rose in surprise, but she went to the back door that led to the deck. She cracked it and called words in her native language into the air, then tilted her head, listening. "You were told they both died?"
"Told?" Prosper's entire body went rigid. Morgana's coils tightened in a hug before releasing him.
The woman pressed her lips together, unhappy. "Your mother died. Your father's casket was empty when it was lowered into the ground. His body wasn't planted there until years later."
Prosper pushed to his feet. "What do you mean—years later?"
She looked at him, unsure. "For answers, you need to find an old woman, a woman who lives halfway between magic and mortals."
A wave of unease washed over Babet. She had an unhappy premonition. "Does she work for the wraith?" Could a mortal siphon energy off a man whose body she kept alive so that the wraith could enjoy him longer?
The old Indian met her gaze. "When you find her, witch, kill her. She's not helpless, and she's pure evil."
Cold rippled through Babet's veins. "Has the wraith sent her for Prosper?"
The Indian's visage turned savage. "She tips soup through their open lips, so that they're nurtured. She turns them to avoid bed sores. She's undeserving of any human sympathies."
"My father was a bear, like me. He'd heal," Prosper said.
"Not with four silver bullets in him. One for each shoulder, and one for each leg. He was too weak to fight back." The woman met Prosper's eyes. "She'll do the same to you, if she can. She fired the guns. Kill her."
Hatchet's hands balled into fists. Babet had never seen him so spooked, not even when his fellow Druid stole Colleen from him. Then, he'd been furious, determined. Now, he looked shaken.
The three of them gulped for air. Babet hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath. Hatchet and Prosper must have been doing the same.
Prosper looked at the old Indian. "Thank you. I don't know if I'll survive this, but you've given me a chance."
Her face pleated with her smile. She reached for a bag of red licorice. "When you kill her, return to me. I'm partial to caramels. Remember that."
When, not if. That made Babet hopeful.
Prosper's shoulders relaxed. "Caramels, it is."
They left the house and walked the wooden, swing bridge without seeing their surroundings. Babet was focused on how to find the wraith's accomplice. Prosper looked haunted, and Hatchet—for once—looked uncertain. Even Morgana's movements were jerky, lacking her usual fluidity.
They didn't talk until they were in the car and on their way back to River City.
"How do we find her?" Hatchet asked.
Babet already had an answer. "We go to the voodoo women. They'll send their spirits to track her."
Prosper looked relieved. "I wouldn't have thought of that."
Babet looked out the window, frustrated. "I forgot to ask about a dream catcher. I got so rattled by everything the old woman told us, I got distracted."
"First things first," Hatchet said. "We find Nola's helper, kill her, and then we can go back to ask more questions…and we take caramels. Boxes of candy. Bouquets of flowers. Whatever she wants."
It sounded like a solid plan to Babet.
* * * *
On the drive back to the city, Babet watched Prosper's knuckles turn white as his grip on the steering wheel grew tighter and tighter. Her heart ached for him. The more he thought about what the woman told him, the more upset he became.
"I'm sorry about your father," Hatchet said.
"So am I." There was a harsh undertone to Prosper's voice. "I should have asked to see his body, made sure he was dead."
Hatchet shook his head. "Why would you do that? He was probably in the ground by the time you got home. Or you thought he was. Travel took longer then. Who'd open a box to see how much their father had started to decompose?"
The speech was meant to make Prosper feel better, Babet knew. It didn't. But maybe later it would.
Prosper dropped Hatchet off at the police station. "I'll report in when Babet and I get back to town."
Hatchet turned to answer, frowned at an invisible wrinkle in his perfectly creased pants, and bent to smooth it. "No, go to Nadine. See what her spirits can find out. I'm assigning you your own case. I don't want a wraith to steal my partner."
Babet wanted to hug Hatchet. What was it about men? Why couldn't they just come out and say they cared about each other and they were worried? But Hatchet's intentions came across clearly. He'd do anything to help Prosper.
Prosper gave a grim nod and pulled from the curb. On the drive to the voodoo community, his mood didn't improve.
They followed the river now. Its muddy waters lapped at the nearby shores. It meandered its way toward the Gulf—a slow-moving, primal energy that smelled of age and secrets.
Babet waited for Prosper to calm a bit before asking, "What about your mother? What was she like?"
He visibly shook himself, trying to be better company. "Mom was a shifter, too, a tiger."
"So you said, but there are no tigers in this country."
"She didn't come from this country," Prosper said. "Dad traveled a lot before I was born."
"Do you think he was running from Nola that far back?"
"Maybe, I don't know, but I know his shift was painful. Grandma wouldn't leave Grandpa when he was turned. She stayed with him, but mortals aren't strong enough to live through a Were birth. She died delivering Dad. When Dad turned sixteen, Grandpa had to attack him to see if he'd survive the shifter gene. The transformation was tough on Dad."
Babet tried not to picture a father savaging his child. To her, it seemed horrifying. "Why don't Weres just stay mortal and forget the rest?"
"It's not that simple. The gene's still there. It messes with you."
"Then why not stay single and never have kids? Then you don't have to bite them and hope for the best." She couldn't imagine risking her child's life like that. Not that they'd have to. Witches could carry other supernaturals. If she and Prosper had a child, it could shift with ease.
"Grandpa didn't know he'd be a shifter when he married Grandma. But Dad had plenty of time to think about it. That's why he looked for another Were."
That made sense. His dad had gone out to find a wife who wouldn't die if they had sex. Good for him.
The oars of a fisherman flashed in the sunlight as he rowed to a favorite spot and dropped anchor. Babet craned to look. A fish jumped and landed with a loud splat. No wonder it was making a quick getaway. An alligator glided into the water.
"Shifters can't normally carry children," Prosper said. "When
the moon forces them to morph, the baby's aborted. But when my parents returned to River City, they met a powerful witch—Magrat."
"She was around then?" Babet asked.
"She was as old as my parents, maybe older. She'd lived a long time before she died fighting Jaleel."
Babet pursed her lips, considering that. Magrat had died fighting the fire demon, but she'd left the dagger behind so that Babet had a chance of surviving her battle with Jaleel. "So Magrat helped your mother carry you?" She owed more to the dead witch than she'd realized.
"Mom carried me for three months before the moon forced her to shift. Magrat kept me alive after the birth."
Babet rubbed her forehead, confused. "But I thought you were a lot older than I am."
"I am. My parents left River City after that. They traveled all over the world before they returned to settle on the plantation. I was nearly grown by then."
Babet frowned. "Who ran the plantation while they were gone?"
"Grandpa stayed on for a while, came to visit sometimes, and the managers did the rest."
"Maybe your parents were hoping Nola had forgotten about your father." Babet was convinced that a lot of their traveling was actually running, trying to escape the wraith.
Prosper had to slow the car to let an armadillo cross the road. "I was lucky. Magrat made my shifts easy, letting me have two parents who were Weres."
Being a Were sounded worse and worse. Who'd want to risk shifting? But then, she'd done her best to ignore her succubus powers, and that hadn't worked.
Prosper rounded a curve and pointed in the distance. The voodoo village sat, cradled on one side by the bayou, and on the other, by the river. "We'll be there soon."
Morgana raised her head to see out the front window. Babet grew quiet, lost in thoughts. Please, please, please let Nadine and the women in the settlement know answers for Prosper. What would she do if Nola came after him? She wasn't sure how to protect him. There had to be a way. She pressed her fingernails into her palms. If possible, she'd blast Nola into oblivion. When she got done with her, the Afterworld wouldn't want her.
