Witches of the Big Easy, Book 3
HAUNTED
SUSAN E SCOTT
Haunted
Copyright © 2019 , Susan E Scott
Published by Painted Hearts Publishing
About the Book You Have Purchased
All rights reserved. Without reserving the rights under copyright, reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or any other means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book. Such action is in violation of the U.S. Copyright Law.
Unauthorized reproduction of distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
Haunted
Copyright © 2019 Susan E Scott
Publication Date: September 2019
Author: Susan E Scott
Editor: S West
Proofreader: Jennifer Griffin
Cover design by E Keith
All cover art and logo copyright © 2019 by Painted Hearts Publishing
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
We all start out knowing magic.
We are born with whirlwinds, forest fires, and comets inside us.”
— John McCammon
Foreword
Bram Stoker said, “There are things which we cannot understand, and yet which are; that some people see that others cannot.” Do you believe in such things as ghostly spirits and witches? Vampires and demons? Is it possible these things exist?
Medieval maps often pointed out places where there was danger from things we couldn’t always see. They used illustrations of dragons, sea monsters and other mythological creatures to point out places where such danger was thought to exist. HC SVNT DRACONES or HERE BE DRAGONS was code for this; a metaphor, in a way, for the paranormal or magical creatures thought to roam in certain places. Most of the time, the maps were wrong, and the edges of the map simply showed unknown or uncharted territory. But sometimes, the old mapmakers got it right.
Portals have always existed in our world. Entrances, like cracks in a wall, for the unknown to come through. Most often these cracks appear in places where the wall is already thin between this world and others. The city of New Orleans has always been such a place.
And where these creatures exist, there must be lawmakers and peacekeepers. Those who will make sure the evil doesn’t take over and blot out all the good. Those who will protect the innocents of this world and keep humans from knowing about what coexists with them. The Législateurs (also known as Les Batons), a group of powerful witches, perform this duty for New Orleans, for both the living and the undead, both by day and after dark in the city known as The Big Easy.
Chapter One
Detective Gage Arceneau
I guess you could say my troubles started when I first met Rafe Delessard. But to explain that statement, I need to go back to the beginning.
I hadn’t planned on getting drunk that night, but shit happens. I’d just wanted to unwind a little bit after a hellacious work week that included finding a dead body in an old singlewide full of cats. The neighbors called it in because of the smell, and by that time, it had been in there for almost a week. In an unairconditioned trailer. In the Louisiana heat. To say it was bad wouldn’t be doing it justice. The DB was a guy the same age as me. Even the same birth month. He’d left a note saying that at the age of thirty-five, he’d realized he had accomplished nothing, and his life was all pretty much meaningless. Then he stuck the business end of a sawed-off shotgun in his mouth and pulled the trigger.
It seemed a little precipitous to me, but a small part of me understood what the guy might have meant in that sad note. I’d turned thirty-five a couple of months ago myself, and I can’t say I had a lot to show for it either. I was happy in my work—being a cop was all I’d ever wanted to do, really. But I was feeling restless, like maybe it was time for me to settle down, start a family and be a grown-up. Look for somebody to have a relationship with instead of just sleeping around with the occasional hookup, and even those had been scarce lately. Anyway, I was depressed enough about the whole thing that I decided that after work I’d stop in and have a drink or two at the Golden Lantern on Royal Street in the Quarter.
It’s one of several gay bars in the French Quarter and just happened to be a few doors down the street from my loft apartment. It’s also my favorite bar. They make a hell of a Bloody Mary there, a drink they’re famous for, and I’m acquainted with most of the bartenders, so that makes it easy to find a conversation even if no one much is around.
I thought I’d have a couple of drinks and leave, unless a better opportunity presented itself, but as soon as I ordered my drink, the guy on the barstool next to me turned and smiled. “Ah, you sound like a local, cher. But I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”
I glanced over at him and almost fell off my stool. He was fucking gorgeous. I mean he really was literally beautiful, with hair that was a little long and styled to look like he’d just crawled out of someone’s bed. It was such a deep brown, it was almost black, and his eyes were dark and mysterious looking, like he had secrets. Secrets I was anxious to know. He had a bit of scruff on his jaw, too, and all that dark hair and those eyes gave him a look that was very intense and almost other-worldly. From what I could see, his body looked pretty hot, too. All in all, he was sex on a stick, and my dick decided right then and there that whatever he might be selling, I was buying.
I realized I hadn’t responded to him. I cleared my throat and scrambled for something to say. “Yeah, lived here my whole life. I live just down the street, as a matter of fact.”
He smiled. “Oh yeah? I’ve lived across the river in Jefferson Parish since I was about two years old. My name’s Rafe,” he said, sticking out his hand, and I took it, holding it a little longer than a usual handshake.
“Gage,” I replied, and he looked down at our joined hands and raised one perfect eyebrow.
Without another word, he stood up, gave me a little wink and headed toward the bathroom, giving me a coy look over his shoulder that indicated I should follow him. Just to make sure I understood, he gave me a head tilt and a grin. For about ten seconds, I just sat there with my mouth hanging open, unused to the gods dropping gifts like that in my lap. Then I practically fell off the damn bar stool and went after him. He was waiting for me as I stepped inside, and he reached behind me to lock the door. Without a word, he moved in close, wrapped his arms around my neck, and pushed me back against the door. He was tall, but I was taller and bigger. I easily reversed our positions and leaned down to take his mouth in a fierce kiss. Between the two of us, we managed to pull and push his jeans down to his knees, then he slipped off his shoes and kicked them off the rest of the way. I hoisted him up, and he wrapped his long legs around my waist, clinging to my shoulders.
God, he smelled so sweet, like some kind of woodsy body wash and aftershave and a hint of the musky pre-cum that was leaking from his pretty cock. His mouth tasted of Jack Daniels whiskey. Altogether, it was an intoxicating brew, and I felt drunk on the feel of warm skin under my hands. I leaned him back against the door, an
d rocked my hips against his, feeling a little out of control.
He clutched the lapels of my jacket and his breath was coming in little gasps. I pushed my hips in closer and ground against him, then stuck two fingers inside his mouth. “Get them wet,” I growled at him, and he nodded eagerly. He sucked them, looking up at me with those gorgeous dark eyes, and then licked them with his tongue. Trembling a little, I pulled my fingers away and eased them inside the crevice of his ass cheeks. I began to work his hole with determination and ardor, and he widened his eyes and gasped, his head falling back against the door.
“I’m taking you home with me tonight,” I told him, whispering in his ear. “And this is where I’ll put my cock and ride you until morning.” I lowered my mouth to his neck and sucked up the blood, and he moaned and banged his head back against the door again.
This was not the place to take this beautiful creature for the first time, and we didn’t have the supplies that we’d need. Anyway, I could hear voices outside the door and knew it would be only seconds before someone started beating it down. His hips were humping into me, and I had a knee up under his ass to hold him against the door. I put a hand on his cock and kept up a relentless assault on both his ass and his dick, but I was afraid there was no time to end this to either of our satisfactions. Then suddenly he groaned, and his eyes rolled back in his head. He came without warning, spilling all over the hand I’d wrapped around him to stroke him through his orgasm.
By this time, some asshole was slamming his fist against the door, and I moaned and eased the gorgeous Rafe back to his feet to give him a tender kiss. I pulled out my handkerchief to clean him up and yelled something at the fool on the other side of the door. I think I may have threatened bodily harm, but he kept up his steady assault. Then Rafe made a little sign with his fingers and waved them at the door, and the knocking quickly stopped. I had no idea what that was about and thought it was odd that the dude broke it off so fast, but I thought maybe whoever it was had left to complain to management. I held Rafe there a few more seconds as he recovered, his dick twitching in my hand, and I kissed him again. I caressed his balls and let him settle down some, and together we straightened his clothes.
He grinned up at me. “What was that you said about taking me home with you?”
I think I growled at him a little. “Let’s go.”
We had just walked back out to the bar when a loud, raucous commotion started up in the back of the room. Some jackass stood up and took a swing at another jackass that had been sitting at his table. The bouncer was on duty, but when he went to break it up, both guys turned on him. With a heavy sigh and a squeeze of Rafe’s elbow, I moved toward the fight, calling back over my shoulder to the bartender to call 911.
The fight turned out to be a lovers’ quarrel over one of them paying way too much attention to some guy at the bar. By the time patrol arrived, which, thankfully, only took a few minutes, I had them seated and quiet, but glaring at each other. I showed the officer my ID, and he squinted down at it.
“Detective Arceneau, Criminal Investigations Division in Jefferson Parish, huh? You over here working a case or…” He glanced around at the clientele with one eyebrow raised and back at me. I took back my badge and frowned at him.
“No, just came in for a drink. And I’d like to get back to it.” I pointed at the guys seated at the table, saying quickly, “Lovers’ quarrel. That one hit that one. Then they both hit the bouncer.”
I turned my back on him then and moved back toward Rafe. I had no patience for homophobic shit tonight, and I was anxious to get back to my evening with the gorgeous Rafe.
I turned around and found him…long gone.
Damn it! I looked around the room for him, but he was nowhere to be seen. The bartender was busy, but as soon as he was free, I called him over and pointed to the stool next to me. “What happened to the guy that I was just here with a few minutes ago, Billy?”
“I don’t know, cher. I turned my back for just a minute, and he was gone. I think his phone rang just before he stepped out, but I’m not sure.”
“Do you know him?”
“Sure, I know him. He works here. He started a couple of weeks ago, but I don’t really know much about him, other than his name. Sorry. He seems like a nice enough guy, though.” He winked at me. “Pretty too.” Starting to turn away, he stopped. “Thanks for handling that little incident, by the way.” He eyed my drink. “The next one’s on the house.”
I nodded, feeling disappointed and wondering what happened. What had I done or not done to make Rafe leave? I didn’t have long to contemplate it, though. By the time the next drink arrived, a new guy had filled the seat next to me. He was young and good-looking—almost too good looking, and I wondered what the fuck was going on. Not that I was exactly a troll, but I’d never had this kind of attention before. The guy was flirty as hell, and there was no mistaking what he was after, but after my little interlude in the bathroom with Rafe, I was about done for the night. No doubt I still reeked of sex, and I just wanted to finish my drink and go home. Still, when the new guy leaned into me and ran his tongue down the side of my throat, even nipped at my neck with his teeth, my cock gave a hopeful twitch.
He whispered in my ear, and it sounded French—not the Cajun French I grew up around, but actual French. I didn’t understand a word, but it sounded sexy as hell. His mouth against my ear caused a shiver to go through me, and I began to feel a little boneless and like I wanted to lay my head on his shoulder and let him whisper to me all night.
I was saved by the gods that watch over drunks when a voice behind me said, “Get off him, Henri. This one’s off-limits.” It was Rafe, standing behind me with a face like an avenging god, and just as gorgeous. Was he jealous? God, I hoped so.
Henri gave Rafe a little pouty look and glanced back at me again, nipping at my ear. “Too bad. I was just getting warmed up.”
“I’m sure. Get the fuck out of here, or I’ll tell my friends the Législateurs that you’ve been trolling Royal Street again.”
After that cryptic little remark, the other man slid off the stool and was gone so fast I thought I must have been a lot drunker than I’d been aware of. Rafe turned to me and smiled sweetly. “Cher, I think it might be a good idea if Jacques walked you home. I’d love to go with you myself, but I have to go help a friend. Maybe some night soon, though, hmm?”
Of course, I had to argue. I shook my head. “Sure, but I’m good here…I’ll just have one more for the road.” Rafe smiled, but gave Jacques a look and a nod, and the big bouncer took my arm and pulled me to my feet, out of the bar and onto the sidewalk.
“C’mon Detective, I’ll walk you home. Didn’t I hear you say you have to work tomorrow?”
That penetrated the fog I seemed to be in. “Oh, fuck yeah. Okay. Let’s go.” I looked around for Rafe, but he was gone. People were coming and going too fast for me to catch up.
Jacques walked me down the block to my apartment. I owned the building, but I rented out the bottom to a voodoo shop that catered mostly to tourists. I suspected actual voodoo practitioners were customers as well, as I’d seen them going into the back room with the owner of the shop on occasion. I didn’t know anything about spells and magic and thought it was pretty much all bullshit.
I was wasted, which was unusual for me, so as soon as I got inside my apartment, I drank a bottle of water to hydrate myself—which didn’t work—took a cold shower, fell into bed, and didn’t wake up until morning.
I’d had way too much to drink the night before, and I was paying for it now as I sat at my desk the next morning in the Jefferson Parrish P.D. I was trying hard to be as still and quiet as I could in hopes I could prevent my head from falling off. Four other investigators shared this office—two who would be on duty with my partner and me when he arrived, and two others who were just coming off a twelve-hour night shift. They were laughing it up with the other guys on duty today, and I was seriously contemplating taking my gun out of the draw
er and shooting each and every damn one of them in the face just to shut them up.
Making things worse, a phone on the desk next to mine started vibrating, playing some heavy metal shit. What. The. Fuck. Why would anyone want to have that crap as a ringtone? What the hell was wrong with just a normal ring? I was just about to reach over and grab the damn thing and throw it against the wall to silence it, when the Captain stepped out of his office and looked straight at me.
“Arceneau, you’re up.”
I took my gun out of the drawer and stood up—carefully, still worried about the head thing—and walked over to get the paper he was handing me with the address on it. He gave me a penetrating look. “Are you okay? You look sick. Or hungover.”
“I’m fine, just a headache.”
He stared at me for a moment. “Okay, if you’re sure. You’ll have to go alone since your partner’s gonna be late, but CSI will be there, so you’ll be okay.” He paused and looked at the piece of paper he’d handed me. “You know where that is, right?”
I looked down and saw Ravenwood written on the note. Nothing else. If I could have rolled my eyes without experiencing excruciating pain, I would have. I’d lived in and around New Orleans my whole life, so of course I knew where that creepy old place was. Anyone who’d grown up here knew. I’d been fascinated by the place—almost drawn to it—since I was a kid in school. It was on the outskirts of New Orleans, across the river in Jefferson Parish.
I had seen it for the first time when some buddies and I had ridden past it on our bikes. We were about twelve years old at the time, and we stopped to look at the house because it was so unbelievably creepy. One of my friends even claimed that a family of witches was said to live there. When they decided to move on, I still stood there, transfixed. It was like there was something in the house that was calling to me. Realizing I wasn’t with them, my buddies stopped and yelled for me, so I shook the feeling off and moved on with my friends.
Haunted (Witches of the Big Easy Book 3) Page 1
