Shadows: A Bayou Magic Novel

by Kristen Proby

  She blows out a breath and scratches her nose. “What do you need from me?”

  “Coffee. This is going to take a couple of hours at least. You should get some sleep.”

  “I’m afraid to sleep,” she admits softly. “And that pisses me right off, Cash. I told you, sleep has always been my safe place.”

  “And it will be again,” I assure her. “As soon as we figure this all out.”

  “I hope it’s sooner rather than later.”

  She pads into the kitchen, and I watch as she brews me a cup of coffee, adding just the right amount of sugar and cream.

  I’ve never told her how I take my coffee.

  When she delivers it to me, I set my computer aside and pull her onto my lap, cuddling her close.

  “How did you know how I take my coffee?”

  She opens her mouth, then closes it again and gives me a shy smile. “I don’t know. I just knew.”

  “It’ll be handy having you around.” I smack a kiss on her cheek and then set her next to me on the couch.

  “For my coffee-making skills?”

  “Among other things,” I say absently while I sip my coffee and gaze at the computer screen.

  “You’ve never kissed me.”

  I glance over at her. “I kissed you just a moment ago.”

  “On the cheek.”

  Ah, here we are.

  “Does it bother you that I haven’t kissed your sweet lips yet?”

  She shrugs that shoulder again and blows out a breath. “Maybe.”

  “Once I start kissing you, I won’t want to stop there. You’re a game-changer, Brielle, and we’re a little busy right now. I don’t want to fuck it up. Do I want to put my hands on you? My lips? Hell, yes. Who could resist you?”

  She blushes and opens her mouth, but I press my finger against her lips, shushing her.

  “I want many things with you, and we’ll get there. But in the meantime, I need to figure out how to get these damn dead people to stop tormenting you so I can have you all to myself. Is that what you wanted to know?”

  She puckers those lips still pressed to my finger and kisses the tip of it lightly, then smiles.

  “Yeah. That’s what I wanted to know.”

  My computer beeps, drawing my attention.

  “Okay, I’ve sorted out the unsolved cases, including the cold ones.”

  “Cold cases?”

  “Don’t you watch TV?”

  “Not much.”

  I smile and answer her question. “Cold cases are those that are old and never solved, ruled to be unsolvable.”

  “Gotcha. That makes sense.”

  She leans against me, pressed to me from shoulder to knee.

  Once I’ve weeded through the remaining results, I’m left with forty-two.

  “Forty-two?” she asks, reading the tally at the top of the screen.

  “Yeah, that’s what we’re left with. That doesn’t mean he’s killed all of these girls, though. They’re just the ones that fit the general description. Some of the bodies were found, but the cases were never solved.”

  She swallows hard, then points to a photo in the middle. “She’s the first one I saw.”

  I jot down the name and keep paging through, but it’s not until we get to the more recent listings that Brielle points again. “There’s Tammy.”

  “Do you see the most recent girl?”

  She frowns, examining each of the women again, and then she points to the last girl on the list. “This one. That’s her.”

  “You’re sure?”

  She nods and bites her lip. “Yeah. They don’t look much like those photos now given what was done to them, but that’s them.”

  “What do they look like, Brielle?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  “I’ve worked on some horrendous cases. There’s not much that can surprise me.”

  “It’s not just that they’ve been beaten. One definitely was because her whole face is swollen and bruised. But it’s more. They’ve been…tortured. Tormented.” She stands to pace again. She seems to think better when she’s moving. “One of the girls, the one who was beaten, was also eviscerated. Slit from throat to pubic bone. Her torso looked empty of organs.”

  “Christ.”

  “Yeah, I don’t see them as they were when they were alive and happy. I see the horror. Every detail.”

  “I’m so damn sorry, Brielle.”

  “Me, too. It was way better when they were just shadows and they’d tell me what happened to them. I didn’t have to see it.” She plucks at her lip, thinking. “One of the other girls had a slit throat. And the third one was burned.”

  I swallow hard, hating that she’s had to see all of that.

  “So, here’s what we know,” I begin, all business-like, my voice full of authority. “He’s consistent. He likes one type of girl and doesn’t deviate from that type. Dark hair, blue eyes, average height. Maybe he has a mommy complex, and he’s killing his mother over and over again. Or, he’s a jilted lover. There’s something about these women that makes him comfortable and turns him on.”

  “Turns him on?” she asks incredulously.

  “Oh, for sure. He most likely gets an enormous amount of sexual gratification from killing these women. From the actual act of torturing and killing them. He’s definitely a sexual sadist.”

  “Sick son of a bitch.”

  “Absolutely. He probably has a mental illness of some kind. He’s likely a psychopath, at the very least a sociopath, and absolutely a narcissist. He doesn’t see what he does as wrong. He’s proud of it, but he understands right from wrong, and laws, and he’s very good at covering his tracks so he doesn’t get caught.”

  “He’s a serial killer,” she says, surprise lighting up her face.

  “Of course, he is. This isn’t new for him. He’s been killing for many years, most likely longer than the six we know about. These are just the people with a missing person report. He probably started at a young age, brutalizing animals, then progressed to experimenting with the homeless and other people that he thought wouldn’t be missed. He may not have killed right away, but it likely didn’t take him long to progress to that.”

  “How do you live with all of that in your head?” she asks.

  “I could ask you the same thing.”

  She shakes her head, glances outside, and then sits next to me again, leaning her head on my shoulder. “They’re still out there.”

  “I suspect they’re not going anywhere for a while.”

  She nods. “Sleep with me tonight. I don’t want to be alone. Please don’t leave me alone.”

  “I’m right here. I’ll stay with you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “No dreams last night.” She smiles up at me as we walk through the French Quarter. She’s leading me to her friend’s store, where she claims the owner will be able to direct us to the correct police officer to talk to.

  I’d rather just call my brother and ask for a contact.

  But I’m not the one seeing dead people. So, for now, I’ll do things her way.

  “I’m glad.” I squeeze her fingers. “You hardly moved.”

  She was pressed to me all night, and I wanted to make love to her more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.

  But it’s not the time for that yet.

  We’ll get there.

  “It’s just around the corner.” Brielle guides me down the sidewalk, and we stop in front of a store called Bayou Botanicals. “I absolutely love Mallory’s shop. It smells good and feels amazing. Let’s go.”

  I open the door and follow Brielle into a lovely store full of oils and soaps and other things I can’t identify.

  “Brielle.” A redhead smiles and hurries over to hug Brielle. “It’s so good to see you.” I assume this is Mallory, and her face changes when she touches Brielle. Tightens. “Oh, friend.”

  “I’m okay,” Brielle assures her. “I want to introduce you to Cash.”


  “Hi, I’m Mallory Boudreaux,” the woman says, shaking my hand. Her eyes narrow on mine, and just like when I first met Millie, I assume I’m being scrutinized in ways I can’t begin to understand.

  “Do you need more frankincense?” Mallory asks Brielle.

  “Yes, actually. And we came for another reason, as well.”

  “I know,” Mallory says with a small, sad smile. She turns to me. “I’m psychic.”

  “It seems everyone I meet lately is.”

  “Fascinating,” Mallory says. “And probably disconcerting.”

  “Very.”

  Mallory reaches for a bottle and sets it on the counter. “You need Miss Sophia.”

  “Well, I was hoping you would know who your grandmother used to work with at the police department.”

  “I was too young and way too angry,” Mallory says. “I hated that she worked with them. So, I don’t have any names for you, but Miss Sophia might. She’s here.”

  “Here-here?” Brielle asks in surprise.

  “She brought me some tea this morning. I thought it was a casual visit, but I suspect she knew you’d be in today.” Mal winks and disappears into a room marked Employees Only, then returns with an older woman. The woman is small, but her face is free of wrinkles. She has shiny, blond hair, and when she sees Brielle, her eyes fill with tears.

  “Oh, my sweet girl.”

  “I’m okay,” Brielle insists as she’s pulled in for a firm hug. “A little unsettled, but I’m fine.”

  Sophia cups Brielle’s face in her hands and stares into her eyes, keeping perfectly silent for a long moment.

  “There,” Sophia says, “that should help for a while.”

  “Thank you. Miss Sophia, I’d like to introduce you to—”

  “Cassien Winslow,” the older woman says and crosses to me, her shrewd, blue eyes fixed on mine. “We’ve been waiting for you, haven’t we?”

  “You have?”

  She steps closer. “You don’t know?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  She takes my hand and closes her eyes. Suddenly, electricity shoots through my arm and down my spine. A quick movie of still images flashes through my mind. Brielle and I together, naked. Tears. Fear. Fire. Joy.

  Holy shit.

  “What was that?” I ask.

  “A taste of what’s to come,” she says and leans in close to whisper words meant for only my ears. “You need to be clear of mind and strong of will for what’s coming for you, Cassien Winslow.”

  “What’s coming?”

  “I can’t tell you that. I know you’re confused, but you were made for this. Literally. You’re one of the six.”

  I frown, but she doesn’t continue. She turns to Brielle. “What were your questions, dear?”

  “We need to go to the police,” Brielle says. “Cash is with the FBI, but we need local law enforcement, and I don’t know who to go see that might actually believe what I have to say and not just blow me off as a loon.”

  “The police that worked with Mal’s grandmother are all retired,” Sophia says.

  “Oh, that’s too bad,” Brielle replies.

  “I’m sure we can ask to speak with whoever is in charge of missing persons and go from there,” I suggest, then find all three pairs of eyes on me. “What? We have information about missing women. That’s how it works.”

  “Not for us,” Sophia shoots back. “Not everyone trusts the words of a witch, Mr. Winslow.”

  “Is that what you are, Miss Sophia?”

  She flicks one finger, and suddenly, I’m in the center of a strong wind, swirling around me. Just me. I go from hot to cold and back again until she flicks that finger once more and everything calms.

  “Point taken.” I smile at the older woman. “I meant no offense.”

  “Oh, none taken, dear. That was just a friendly demonstration.”

  Mal and Brielle laugh.

  “I suggest you talk to a man named Asher,” Sophia says.

  “Have you worked with him before?” I ask.

  “No, I’ve never met him.” Sophia’s calm eyes meet mine. “I know things. Asher will help you. And, Cassien, you need to call your mother.”

  My eyes widen. “What do you know of my mother?”

  “Just call her,” Sophia says, then she turns to Brielle and kisses her cheek. “They’ll keep talking. Listen carefully.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “She didn’t answer?” Brielle asks when I shove my cell into my pocket and hold the door of the NOPD headquarters open for her.

  “No. I’ll try again when we’re finished here.”

  Now I’m worried. My mom has battled health issues for the last several years. I text Andy and ask him if he’s heard from her today. Hopefully, he has.

  “How can I help you?” a uniformed woman asks from behind bulletproof plexiglass. Her name tag reads Lewis.

  “Is there an Asher that works here?” Brielle asks. “I’m sorry, I don’t know his last name.”

  “Lieutenant Smith,” Lewis says and nods. “I’ll call back and see if he’s in his office.”

  “Appreciate it,” I say with a smile, and we wait while Lewis makes the call, talks into the phone, and then nods.

  “He’ll be up to get you in just a moment.”

  “Thank you,” Brielle says, her smile forced as she walks to the other side of the small waiting area with me.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Lots of shadows here,” she says with a sigh. “But they’re all shadows. Not apparitions. She has one looking over her shoulder.”

  “Wow.”

  Brielle nods. “This building is two hundred years old, so it’s not unusual for there to be lots of activity. It’s just not part of my usual routine, and—”

  “You don’t like surprises,” I finish for her.

  “Hello.”

  We turn at the man’s voice. He’s tall with jet-black hair and tanned skin.

  “Asher?”

  His eyes narrow on Brielle. “Yes, I’m Lieutenant Asher Smith.”

  “Lieutenant, I’m Cash Winslow. I’m with the FBI, but I’m here in an unofficial capacity. Also, I’m armed.”

  I show Asher my badge and my gun, much to Brielle’s surprise.

  “I didn’t know you carried a gun,” she hisses.

  “Thanks for the heads-up,” Asher says. “I’ll ask you to leave your weapon with Lewis. We’ll give you a receipt for it and give it back when you leave.”

  “Understood,” I reply. It’s standard procedure.

  Once my gun is locked away and I have my receipt, Asher leads us back through the bullpen to his office. He shuts the door and gestures for us to sit.

  “How can I help you?”

  Brielle licks her lips and glances over at me. “I don’t know where to start.”

  “Start at the beginning,” I urge her. “That’s always the best route.”

  She nods, looks at Asher, and starts her story.

  “I see the dead.”

  Asher’s brows climb into his hairline, but he listens quietly as she walks him through all of the events, step by step, from the night I met her until now.

  Before he can reply once she’s finished, there’s a knock on his door, and a woman pokes her head in. “The body found this morning has been identified. Tammy Holmes.”

  “Thanks.”

  The female officer nods and shuts the door behind her.

  “I think we’re going to have to come back to this,” Asher says. “I have a full plate right now—”

  “I know what happened to her,” Brielle says, her voice taking on a hint of desperation now.

  Asher’s eyes narrow on Brielle. “Go on.”

  “She was beaten severely. Her face was almost no longer recognizable.” Brielle shakes her head, then describes the way the victim was cut open, and all of the other atrocities done to her.

  When she finishes, Asher sits back in his chair, staring across his des
k silently.

  “You don’t believe me,” Brielle whispers.

  “This is New Orleans,” Asher says. “I’ve seen a lot of things in this town. But we haven’t released any of that information to the press.”

  “I don’t need you to,” Brielle says, raising her chin.

  “Okay, then tell me how you can help. Were you there? Did you see him do those things to her?”

  “No, I see things after the fact. As I said, I see dead people. The girls came to me, but they haven’t told me how to find them yet, just that I have to find them. I already told you that.”

  “Listen. I have a dozen missing girls, all with the same MO. We finally found one in the bayou this morning, which just confirms my worst suspicions. I need more to go on. The fact that they’re simply dead doesn’t help me. I need to know where, how, when.”

  “I know,” Brielle whispers.

  “What do you do for the FBI?” Asher asks me.

  “I’m a profiler.”

  He looks between Brielle and me, then slides his card over to me. “Keep me posted. In an official capacity, I’m not ashamed to admit that I could use you on this case, Cash.”

  “I can ask to be assigned to it,” I offer.

  “Let me request it, officially,” Asher says. “I’ll put that through this morning.”

  “You’re going to let us help?” Brielle asks.

  “Him,” Asher says, pointing to me. “Because he has a badge and the knowledge I need. But I want to know if and when you know more.”

  “Okay.”

  We stand to walk out of the office. Brielle walks out first, and Asher asks me to hang back.

  “I also want you to keep an eye on her,” he says quietly. “For protection, and to make sure she’s not dicking with us.”

  “She’s not,” I assure him. “And I know you’re bringing me on so you can keep an eye on us. This isn’t my first rodeo.”

  “As long as we understand each other.”

  Chapter Eight

  Brielle

  “At least he didn’t look at me like I’m crazy,” I mutter when we walk out of the police station, Cash tucking his gun back into its holster under his pant leg. “Why didn’t I know you’ve been carrying that?”