Spells

by Kristen Proby

  Though as far as I can remember, I’ve never been touched by him.

  But this is as familiar as it gets for me. It’s as if I’m hugging my sister, as if I’ve done it hundreds of times.

  Except I’ve never felt this kind of pull before, this kind of sexual energy.

  Allowing myself to touch him, my hand glides up his side and over his shoulder. He turns me to face him fully and moves me so I’m flush against him, chest to knees.

  “I’ve been waiting a long time for this.” The words are almost a growl before he lowers his lips to mine. The kiss is all heat, even from the first touch. His hands plunge into my hair, and I hold on tightly, my hands anchored to his shoulders as he tastes and explores.

  When he pulls back, his ice-blue eyes have darkened to a deep indigo, and he breathes hard as he stares down at me.

  “Wow,” I whisper and then frown. “Do you smell something burning?”

  I blink rapidly, trying to clear the fog of lust from my brain, and see smoke coming out of my oven.

  “Shit!”

  Lucien and I work together, quickly taking the burnt lasagna from the oven and then out of the house altogether as we turn on fans and open windows.

  I swirl the air, trying to get the stench out of the room.

  When we’ve cleaned up the mess, we stare at each other for a heartbeat before dissolving into laughter.

  “Well, that was a first,” I say, wiping a tear from my eye. “I guess we’re not having lasagna, after all.”

  “Sure we are,” he says. “We’ll go out for it.”

  “Good idea.”

  “This is going to be so much fun,” Mallory Boudreaux, a friend of mine, says the following day. She and I are standing out on the sidewalk in front of Witches Brew with Dahlia, making plans for our Halloween street festival that’s coming up in just a couple of weeks.

  With Black Dahlia just across the street from my business, and Bayou Botanicals, Mallory’s shop, just a block down, we always enjoy putting our heads together to organize a fantastic French Quarter Halloween party. We’re always the talk of the town.

  “We’ll have our standard tents set up for vendors,” I say, picturing it all in my head. “And, of course, Brew will be open for cauldrons of hot chocolate.”

  “You should serve blood,” Dahlia adds, earning weird looks from both Mallory and myself. “In the cauldrons.”

  “Uh…ew,” Mallory says.

  “Yeah, that’s disgusting.”

  “And when the trick or treaters come through,” Dahlia continues, “we should give every other kid an eyeball.”

  “What the heck is wrong with you?” Mallory asks, but Dahlia just laughs and shakes her head.

  “You guys, it’s Halloween. They make candy eyeballs, and I’m quite certain you could add something to the punch or hot chocolate to make it look like blood. Come on, get in the holiday spirit here.”

  “I don’t want to force any kid to seek out therapy,” I say, shaking my head. “So I’ll pass on that. Now, we’ll need at least thirty Jack-o-lanterns to line the sidewalk. I already spoke to the city, and we’ve been given permission to block the street to vehicle traffic. Dahlia, are you going to make black rose bouquets for the vendor tables again this year?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” she confirms. “I already have an extra ten dozen on order. I also bought little plastic skulls to add to the bouquets.”

  “Oh, I love that,” Mallory says. “You know, every city should have a coven of witches plan their Halloween parties.”

  “No kidding,” I say with a laugh. “I can’t believe Halloween is only a few weeks away.”

  “And thank goodness we didn’t plan for this festival on Halloween this year,” Mallory agrees. “Because we have the full blue hunter’s moon on All Hallows’ Eve. The energy for our Samhain ritual is going to be off the charts.”

  “I’m so glad you decided to start practicing with us more,” I say, patting her shoulder. Mallory spent many years trying to suppress her abilities until she finally realized that she had to use them to finally have peace in her life. “It’s so fun having you around.”

  “Thanks.” She grins. “Okay, ladies, I’d better get back to the shop. Let me know if you need anything.”

  She waves and hurries down the street, and Dahlia follows me into Witches Brew.

  “I know you’re about to close,” she says, “but I would love one last shot of caffeine for the day. And then I’ll be out of your hair, I promise.”

  “Of course.” I set to work making her drink just the way she likes it, and pass it over to her.

  As she reaches for the cup, her sleeve falls back, revealing a nasty cut healing on her arm.

  “Oh, my goddess. What happened?”

  She frowns in confusion, then looks at her arm.

  “Oh, that. Let’s just say the thorns on roses are nasty. I’m always cutting myself on something.

  After she pays, Dahlia waves and heads for the door.

  “Have a good evening, friend!”

  “You, too,” I call after her. I wipe up the mess I just made and then check the time—three o’clock on the nose.

  Time to close up for the day.

  I turn the lock and then hurry back to the restroom before I get to work cleaning up for the evening.

  When I’ve finished and walk to the sink to wash my hands, I take a deep breath and enjoy the smell of Frankincense and orange that I infuse into the hand soap. I rinse and reach for a paper towel just as I glance up and see a streak of blood across the top of the mirror.

  It’s a big smudge, not like the little smears I’ve found on my front door recently. This one is the size of a man’s hand, and it spans the entire width of the mirror.

  My heart starts to pound with awareness, and the hair on the back of my neck stands on end as I lower my gaze to my reflection in the mirror.

  Standing behind me, just to my right, is Horace. He’s grinning like an evil Jack-o-lantern.

  I spin around, but there’s no one there, and then I run from the bathroom. I reach for my phone and immediately call Brielle.

  “I need you here at the Brew, now. Right now. We have to cleanse this place.”

  “On my way. Daphne’s with me. Be there in five. Are you okay?”

  “No, I need you.”

  I hang up and pace the space behind the counter. How is this even possible?

  But then I think back to what Lucien said yesterday. Was he in my house, kissing me, just yesterday? It suddenly feels like weeks ago.

  He said that a physical body means nothing when a spirit possesses the powers that Horace did. Does.

  And this means that Lucien’s right.

  It’s starting again.

  The bell above my door dings, and I glance up, expecting to see my sisters, but it’s not them.

  It’s Lucien.

  And he looks…angry.

  “I locked that,” I say as it occurs to me that Lucien just walked through a locked door.

  “You’re not the only one who can unlock a door with the flick of a wrist,” he replies. “What’s going on, Millicent?”

  I start to shake my head, to deny that anything’s happened, but Lucien comes around the counter and cages me between his arms.

  “Don’t say nothing’s going on. I felt it from across town. Tell me everything.”

  I take a deep breath, wishing I could make this sudden headache go away. I’ve been getting them more frequently lately.

  Lucien swipes his thumb over my forehead, and within seconds, the ache disappears.

  “Stop doing that,” I say softly. “I don’t want you taking on my pain.”

  “It’s what I was born to do,” he says simply before leaning in to kiss my forehead. “Tell me.”

  I explain the blood smear on the mirror, and seeing Horace standing behind me.

  “He didn’t say anything,” I say. “He just stood there. Grinning. Like the creep he is. I don’t understand, Lucien. I cleanse th
is place regularly. I smudge. I have protection spells. A crystal grid. All of it.”

  “But you also have hundreds of energies coming in and out of here every week,” he reminds me. “Hell, I’ve seen the little girl spirits in here for as long as I’ve been coming.”

  “Damn,” I whisper. “I was hoping I’d gotten rid of them for a while.”

  “You can’t see them?” he asks.

  “No, I’ve built up my shields too strong,” I reply. “On purpose. I don’t see the spirits, but I also can’t read the minds of those hundreds of energies coming in and out of here every day. It keeps me sane.”

  His eyes narrow on me as if he’s just thought of something.

  “What is it?”

  “You have your shields in place.”

  “Yes, always.”

  “But Horace was able to break through and manifest to you.”

  I blink slowly, letting that sink in. “Well, shit.”

  The bell dings again, and Brielle and Daphne come hurrying inside.

  “We got here as soon as we could,” Brielle says and stops short when she sees Lucian. Her eyes drop to his arms, which have encircled me. “Not that it looks like you still need us.”

  “Of course, I do,” I reply. I tell them the story I just told Lucien. “We need to cleanse this place.”

  “What else do we need to do?” Daphne asks. “How do we get rid of him?”

  “I’m afraid that question doesn’t have an easy answer,” Lucien replies. “So, for now, we’re going to weave some powerful spells of protection, lay some new and more powerful stones in the four corners, hang a few witch balls, and smudge the shit out of everything. And then I’m going to call Miss Sophia. It’s time we had a chat.”

  We nod in agreement and get to work. We cast a small circle inside the shop to make sacred space for our magic, and I feel the combined strength of us wrapping around the café, keeping anything that wishes us harm out.

  Nothing will be able to get in except the good energies we invite in.

  After several hours of chanting and smudging, of reading my grandmother’s grimoire to make sure I’m not forgetting anything, we decide to call it a day.

  “I want to get home to Sanguine, just to make sure she’s safe.”

  Lucien closes his eyes, and I can see that he’s reaching out to check on my familiar.

  “She’s fine, but she’s worried about you.”

  “I think it’s so cool that you have a familiar again.” Daphne smiles before kissing me on the cheek. “Go relax, Mil. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

  Brielle hugs me, and then my sisters are off.

  “She’s right,” Lucien says. “And can I just say that for two women who aren’t submerged in the craft like you are, they’re powerful witches in their own right?”

  “Oh, they certainly are,” I say with a nod. “And when it’s needed, they don’t hesitate to use their gifts to help me. But the craft isn’t for them. Brielle uses her medium abilities for other things, and Daphne is still somewhat afraid of her Powers. But she’ll learn.”

  “They’re an important part of you,” he insists. “And you’ll need them.”

  “They won’t let me down,” I say. “And I know this will sound silly, but I’m not ready to be alone tonight.”

  “Oh, you were under the impression that I wasn’t coming with you?” Lucien smirks as I lock the door behind us. “Silly witch.”

  Chapter Five

  "I like hurting little things that can't fight back."

  – Mary Bell

  * * *

  “It’s been a wonderful day,” he says, sneering in the face of one of his toys. “She saw me. The look of disgust in her eyes was disrespectful, so she’ll have to be punished, of course. My Millicent always was the most difficult of my girls. But she’ll come around.”

  He nods and backs away, laughing when his toy tries to free himself from his bindings.

  “The new ones always struggle.” Horace shakes his head with pity. “You’ll learn that struggling is futile. You’ll only hurt yourself, and that will anger me, Lucien. Every drop of your blood is for me. For Millie. And if you spill any, I’ll have to punish Millie more. You don’t want that, do you?”

  The toy starts to cry, but he turns away, secretly enjoying the wailing sound of the tall, strong man.

  “Now, while I’m in a good mood, I’m going to go find someone new. I had to dump that last body sooner than I thought I would, and I need a replacement.”

  He walks into a bedroom that holds the smell of animal feces, and steps into a black dress that shows off his host’s tits well. He smears red lipstick on his pouty lips, fluffs the blond hair covering his flesh suit’s head, and then walks out of the house, headed right for the bar.

  He had to stop wearing heels because he just couldn’t get used to walking in them, and it’s easier to move around when his feet are steady under him.

  He sits at the bar and orders a whiskey sour. He’s never loved the taste of alcohol, but it’s all part of the image—the role he’s playing.

  It doesn’t take long before a man approaches and looks him up and down, and much to his delight, this one fits the bill just perfectly.

  “Hello,” the man says. “I’m Chad. What’s your name?”

  “Betty,” he replies with a Cheshire Cat grin. “You’re handsome, aren’t you?”

  The man blushes and looks away long enough for Horace to slip the belladonna into his drink.

  Before long, the man’s eyes turn glassy. The time is perfect to lead him to the playhouse.

  “Come along, Lucien,” he orders, wrapping an arm through his toy’s. “We’re going to have so much fun.”

  Chapter Six

  Millie

  “We got some fantastic new books in,” I inform Esme, who’s just walked back to the reading nook to let me know she’s here for duty.

  “Some of these are paranormal romance,” she says with a grin. “This is totally my jam.”

  “I thought you’d like them. You can borrow them, but you have to bring them back.”

  “I’ll just come in on my day off and read back here.” She flops down on the sofa and starts to read. “I love the vibe back here, Mil. It’s so chill and serene.”

  “I think so, too.” I grin as I fluff an orange pillow. “And I love that customers have been coming back here more and more to spend time. I need to add a table or two for those who want a quieter place to work on computers.”

  “You could put them in that corner,” Esme suggests, pointing to the room’s only empty space. “Well, one at least.”

  “And only one because there are fire codes, and I think more than that would block the path to the doorway.” I prop my hands on my hips and survey the space. “But one bistro table will do for now. Anyway, I have to run across the street to Dahlia’s to pick up a fresh flower bouquet. I’ll unlock the front door on my way out and flip the OPEN sign.”

  “I guess that’s my cue to get my ass off this couch.” She laughs and follows me out to the dining area. Esme walks behind the counter, ready to take coffee orders, and I grab the to-go cup that I already made for my friend.

  “I’ll be back in a few,” I say as I wave and head out the door and across the street. It’s way too early for Dahlia’s flower shop to be open, but she’s always in early and lets me come in to buy fresh blooms each morning. It always helps that I’m armed with free caffeine.

  “Good morning,” she says when she opens her door and holds it for me, gratefully taking her coffee. “You have no idea how badly I need this today. I’m exhausted.”

  “Not sleeping well?” I ask with a frown. “You know, I can give you something for that.”

  “Oh, it’s nothing.” She waves me off. “I just have times now and then when my sleep is restless. I’ll rub some vetiver on my feet tonight. That should do the trick.”

  “Drink some chamomile tea, as well,” I suggest. “And I really don’t mind whipping y
ou up a sleeping aid. I have everything I need across the street.”

  “I’ll let you know if it comes to that,” she says. “What would you like today?”

  “I think I’m in a red mood,” I reply after thinking it over.

  “Blood red?” she asks.

  “Mm, yeah. Deep red for sure. And let’s add some purple to it.”

  She nods. “I have just the thing. Hold on.”

  Dahlia disappears into her large walk-in cooler, where I see her arranging flowers, choosing a stem here and there from a bucket, and then arranging some more.

  When she returns, I blink rapidly at the arrangement she offers.

  It’s very…different for Dahlia. Bigger. Not as symmetrical as she normally does.

  “Interesting,” I say. “It’s sort of…wild, isn’t it?”

  “Is it?” she looks at the flowers in my hand and then tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. “Oh, I suppose it is. It’s early, and I’ve only had one sip of coffee. Here, I can spiff it up a bit if you like.”

  “No, it’s fine. Thank you. Just add these to my tab.”

  She nods. As I turn, I hear a blood-curdling scream.

  “What in the hell?” Dahlia and I both run outside, and I see a woman staring down at the bench beside the Brew’s front door, screaming as if she’s being tortured to death. “What’s wrong?”

  The woman points, and I glance down, immediately moving the other woman back.

  “What is it?” Dahlia asks.

  “Call 911,” I order her. “Right now.”

  Esme comes running outside with her phone already in hand. “On it.”

  “Let’s get all of these people back. Sorry, folks, but I need you to stand back.”

  “Uh, Mil?” Dahlia says and gestures at the bench. I turn and feel my blood run cold.

  It’s a hand. A severed hand, resting on the bench, its fingers clenched in a fist. Except now, the fingers are relaxing, opening, revealing something in its palm.