Her father’s diary hinted at a power struggle between covens, of danger and threats, but he also claimed she was the prophecy’s hope.
A small pinprick of pride touched her soul. She glanced around her circle, examined the picture in the book... “I hope this is right, Mom, Dad.” A soft breeze ruffled her hair and warmed Lisette all over. She carefully inspected her work, double-checking each step with a sense of pride and satisfaction.
She’d cast the circle within the stones with sea salt. Double protection. Five candles marked the points of the pentacle for added protection. A triad of protection. Protection times three. Three a magical number.
Okay, maybe it was overkill, but she had zip for skills. According to the instructions, any single method should have been enough to protect her, but she was a novice, and under the circumstances, she couldn’t risk being discovered.
Out here, she only had the Mother Goddess, her father’s diary, and her mother’s Grimoire. Her life depended on her existence and power remaining a secret from her enemies, whoever they were.
She drew her protective bubble of light around her and began the first simple incantation.
“Mother Goddess of day and night,
Protect me with all your might.”
The wind picked up, blowing open her flimsy robe.
“Uh, right.” She looked around in all directions, before removing the final barrier. She shivered, sky clad beneath the light of the full moon, and faced her altar. She should have researched a warming spell.
Power swirled around her, touching her skin like butterfly wings. Light circled her body, and a protective aura danced within her circle. Heat, light, and myriads of colors, filled her vision.
Pick the right one.
How could she be certain? She didn’t dare make a mistake.
The aquamarine blue called to her.
Tentatively, she reached out and touched the pastel hue, holding it in her hand as if it had substance. A thrill of excitement jolted through her as power filled her soul.
“Oh, my, goodness. This is awesome.”
Real. Magic.
Suddenly, the idea, no longer a myth, frightened her. She’d inherited her parents’ legacy and according to her father’s diary, they’d been killed for their power. Now someone wanted her.
She turned to the altar, to her mother’s Grimoire, looking for answers. The wind blew and the book opened to the page she needed. Trembling, she held out her arms and prayed using her own words. “Okay, Goddess of the Earth and sky, I place my power and being in your hands. What do I do now?”
New Orleans, the same night
Michael stood before the scrying glass with the limited light from the beeswax candles, enhancing the altar. The scent of fragrant incense filled the air, and the distant sound of the ritual bells and pagan drums enhanced the sound of the woman’s chant. Smoke swirled within the glass like fog on a breezy night, allowing glimpses of the woman the warlock longed to identify...
Had he finally found her?
Here in this world. This life. But not this city. The forest where the woman performed her ritual to the Goddess was dense pine and new spring growth. Northern woods. Large stones stood in a circle as if they’d been there since the beginning of time.
She was nervous, afraid. The sense of fear crept through the scrying glass, traveling through time and space. A stone circle, the salt, the candles, and the pentagram circle—she wasn’t taking any chances.
Yet he’d been able to scry through her defenses. She wasn’t using the right spell.
She had power he could feel, but she was using beginner’s spells. Simple incantations.
Why?
Remove the hooded robe.
The wind blew the robe open as if obeying his command, and she removed it.
“Thank you, Goddess.” Michael’s body tightened with need when all her perfection was revealed—her supple shape, her creamy, porcelain skin.
As she continued calling on the Goddess, chanting her incantations as if using the words for the first time—practicing the spell that sounded awkward coming from her lips—he took in all her splendor beneath the light of the moon, and wanted one more thing…to see her face.
He gave another prayer of thanks to the Goddess before asking...if only she would turn...
“No wait.” He stopped the thought before he dared complete it. There was something...there...on her back, beneath her hip length hair. He wanted to push the shiny tendrils aside to examine it more closely. To make out the details of what appeared to be a witch’s mark.
The witch stood her ground, her back to him, her black hair reminding him of Lisette’s—distracting him. The chronic ache gut punched him the way it always did when he thought of her. He’d almost grown used to the pain of wanting her. Of not having her. Of knowing they would never be.
He should be happy. Instead, the thought of giving her up brought him pain—deep soul searing pain.
A wry laugh escaped. He’d find his soul mate. His universe. The center of his power. For his people to regain their ability to shift, the two halves of the Pentacle of Power must be reunited.
He gripped the pendant resting against his chest. Half of a whole. Was this woman his other half? His body reacted as if she was, but even a controlled warlock, such as himself, was merely a man when confronted with the perfection of an exquisite woman.
The wind whipped her ebony mane into a frenzy, exposing her slender back and rounded hips. And there at the base of her spine was definitely a birthmark. Michael still couldn’t see the details.
He had to be certain. Imagining his scrying mirror closing in, he was almost close enough to touch her. The wind held her hair aloft as he focused on the birthmark.
It was the mark of the witch. The mark of his soul mate.
Michael, tempted as never before, reached out as if to physically caress the mark, but before his finger reached through the magic glass, the witch whipped around and stared straight into his eyes.
She knew he was there despite his powerful concealing spell. Beautiful beyond hope, she was everything he ever had wanted, and she was to be his.
A smile formed on his lips and peace soothed his soul. Lisette.
But how? He knew little about her background. Orphaned. From Maine.
Ah! The first Acadians. Did they still have covens there?
Desire stirred within his groin, and the chains holding his heart hostage released. Now all he had to do was convince Lisette, he’d loved her from the start.
He scrubbed his face with both hands and shook his head. “Oh Goddess, thank you for this gift, but you aren’t making things easy for me.”
****
Eyes! Watching!
“Who’s there?” Lisette snatched up her robe and covered herself. Someone had been spying while she practiced and chanted her spells.
The eyes!
She saw them in a mist as she turned. Someone had been watching her from behind smoke and mirrors.
Those eyes...she shivered. They’d been close enough for her to see the pupils dilate with interest when she confronted the sleazy voyeur.
Or was it her imagination running amuck with all this woo-hoo magic stuff?
She sent her power out into the night, searching.
Hmm, she sensed nothing there now. She could be mistaken, but just to be cautious...
The Grimoire. She put down the robe and began turning pages. Hadn’t she seen a different protection spell? An incantation to close her mind against outside interference and keep anyone from reading her mind or influencing her thoughts?
Here. She put her finger on the spot until she moved the ribbon from the last book marked page.
Again, she opened her arms and called on the Goddess, chanting the new incantation.
“In this place and in this hour
With the secrets of the light
Watch the visions of the night
Protect the entrance to my heart
Close th
e portals to my mind.”
The wind whipped her hair around again then shifted and blew out the candles. She flicked her fingers, and the candles reignited.
“Hey, I’m getting pretty good at this.”
She heard laughter, as if from a distance. Deep, male, muted laughter echoed off the stones, and a sense of amusement touched her mind.
Really? Was this some joke? Irritation turned her fear to anger, then determination. She’d get good at this “Very good,” she swore.
Then let’s see who’s laughing last.
Chapter Three
The Magic Cauldron Club
French Quarter, October 29th
Lisette allowed her eyes a moment to adjust to the flashing lights and her senses to the loud pounding bass of the music. She slipped passed the clamoring crowds, sending them happy thoughts so no one would resent her pushing to the front. She suspected Marisa had ulterior motives about meeting here to discuss the coven’s masquerade party at Michael’s tomorrow night. Even after telling her the whole story, right down to her secret past, Lisette’s best friend continued to push Michael at her. Thinking about him was painful enough. Seeing him would be like opening a wound for the salt.
But she couldn’t avoid him forever, not if she needed to join the local coven. The snippy witch playing receptionist at coven headquarters told her all applicants required the leader’s approval. And to Lisette’s disgust, guess who that was?
Right! Michael Veret.
After all that time and his cat and mouse interest, she hadn’t even suspected he was a warlock.
The lights flashed and an image of Michael naked in front of an altar blinded her. As quickly as it appeared, the image vanished and a hand touched her arm.
“Babe, what’s up?” The bouncer’s stark white smile glowed against his deep bronzed skin as he eyed her up and down. His silky voice relaxed her in ways few things did.
“Nothing, Desmond. Just meeting Marisa.” Her friend’s choice of meeting places never changed. A party animal to the core, Marisa liked the paranormal clubs, her music loud, her clubs crowded, and her choices of men plentiful. “You see her?”
“I see all.” Desmond laughed like a bass drum.
She bet he did.
“Marisa headed to the back lookin’ real good.” His eyes, brightened and he winked, giving her a lopsided grin. “But you, woman. You’re lookin’ like fire on an Arctic night—purely wicked.”
“Ha-ha.” She placed a hand on the mountain of a man’s forearm and grinned up at him. “Your lines are getting much more creative, but even you have to admit they’re still not on par with Shakespeare.”
Desmond chuckled—a low deep rumbling sound coming from his enormous chest. “I may not be on par with Will with words, but I’ve been told, I’m one hell of a Burns in bed.
“Clever, very clever.” She didn’t hold back the laugh. He never stopped trying to seduce her, and as charming as he was, they both knew she wasn’t interested. There was but one man for her. Her soul mate. “I’ll keep that in mind if I should be in need of your services.”
“The world doesn’t need another Shakespeare, dahlin’. Less of my poetic soul and more of my seductive prowess is what this world needs.”
His flirting tickled her until his voodoo eyes turned serious. He glanced around the bar and loosened his shoulders. The huge muscles bunched when he waved a few people by.
“Tell me the truth. Why are you here? Are you lookin’ for anythin’ or anyone in particular?”
“Just Marisa. Why?” Her gaze shot up to his and stared into his handsome, expressionless face as his eyes stared, unfocused, into the crowd. She wondered what he saw.
Lisette trusted the man’s instincts. There were times he knew things before anyone else. Tearing her gaze from his, Lisette sent her senses out like feelers. She drilled through the masses searching. For what? She didn’t know. But a power called to her.
“Desmond, should I be looking for someone in particular?”
His expression tightened, as if he struggled with a memory, and then his face relaxed. His one eyebrow lifted like the answer was obvious, and he gave her a lopsided grin. “How about me?”
“I would if I could. I’m sure there’s not another man who can hold a candle to you.” She touched his arm and squeezed. The muscle didn’t budge. Wow. He felt like an artist had cast him from steel. “I’m meant for someone even if I haven’t met him yet.”
“Go on...” He nodded and pulled the rope farther aside for her. “I get the same vibe.”
With a sexy slide and quick squint to adjust to the lights and the sounds, she skirted around Desmond. Once inside the club, enhancing a bored pause with a slight cock of her hip, allowed Lisette time to scope out the room in detail.
The bouncer understood she was here for the power. She’d use her attributes to her best advantage, and she guessed the same about him. The power in the air tonight carried a warning, and it called to both of them.
She couldn’t get a bearing on where it originated. She searched the crowd. Unable to confirm the source, she shrugged it off.
Never mind. Next week would be soon enough to start the search for her soul mate.
The power teased. He is here.
Who came to mind when she felt the power caress her skin like down feathers floating in the air? Her soul mate or Michael?
If he was here, what would she do? Avoid him?
Her heart flipped inside her chest.
Yes. Avoid him.
God knows, she’d pondered the problem long enough, last year. Hadn’t she broken it off with him to build up her resistance? A pain stabbed deep inside her head.
A fleeting memory of Michael handing her a bottle in a forest clearing popped into her mind.
She stilled. I did break it off with him, didn’t I?
Yes, sure you did.
She remembered...why couldn’t she remember the details of the break up? Why did she keep seeing his eyes staring at her with longing every time she closed her own?
All the resistance she built up over the summer waned thinking about him. Power she sensed coming from him, battled with another power, darker, trying to influence her.
Think about the soul mate.
Not now. Not ready for a soul mate, yet. Hell, she hadn’t even had time to shop for a costume or properly prepare for the Night of the Witch ceremony.
Exhaling sharply, she remembered her goals. One, find Marisa in this mess and two, get the hell out as soon as possible. She promised to meet her here. She hadn’t promised to stay.
Tomorrow would be soon enough to face Michael and grovel for his approval. She’d put her old animosity aside to join his coven. She couldn’t take the consequences of loving him if he refused to love her in return. It was better this way—final, impossible—she had a greater purpose. Staying alive.
Her eyes scoured the room, touring the social trap. A few frat guys, barely college age let alone old enough to drink, hung at the bar. Beer and alcohol, sweat and smoke lingered. The underlying scents in the air were camouflaged by breath mints, aftershave, and deodorant.
One muscled jock sidled up to her, slipped an arm around her waist, and put his mouth close to her ear.
“Wanna dance?”
“No, thank you.” She twisted away from him and suppressed the urge to make little sparks of fire dance up his arm.
Control helped dispel any threatening nervous power surges. “But she does.” Lisette sent an image of a young female to his mind and pointed to the other side of the room.
The frat boy looked confused then stammered out an “O-oh, thanks.” He searched the far corner and followed her subliminal suggestion.
Lisette grinned. Not bad for a beginner.
Now find the other half of your power.
No.
With painful deliberation, she worked her way to the back, weaving through an older set and a few business types, all forty-something, metro sexual guys with gel spiked hair to p
rove it. They lounged around the sparse tables scattered throughout the room congregating with others of their ilk. They were unsuccessfully hitting on the even fewer females who displayed disdain at their flaccid conversations.
Refocused on finding Marisa, Lisette released a resigned sigh. Several couples discreetly groped in the corners, while a few bolder bodies obliviously ground against each other on the dance floor, faking a rhythm to the music. Like a bargain hunter at a yard sale hoping to find the treasure in the junk, she browsed the crowd. Lisette searched the empty, animated, and desperate expressions on the faces of the club dwellers.
Then power too strong to ignore barraged her—the pull of a certain familiar male.
Michael?
It could be him.
An image popped into her head—a tantalizing vision of Michael, naked with a family crest tattooed on his lower back, him in front of an altar, chanting, calling on the Goddess, going into a trance, and turning into a panther.
Recently, disturbing, ridiculous memories began manifesting, and focusing on the broken images, gave her a headache. She shook off the image.
Probably a subconscious reaction to discovering Michael was a warlock. She was so done with his casual flirtations.
I don’t need him, just his approval.
The flutter in her stomach said otherwise. The odd sensation she experienced when he was around, teased at her and made her uneasy. But tonight, some other dark power intruded and successfully broke through her defensive shields.
Lisette gave in to the pain of fighting off the memory and dropped her mental block for a moment. Long enough for the quick image to flood her mind…along with panic.
A bear. Danger! Run! An ugly man’s face morphed into the bear, a man with gasoline and a match. His eyes met hers, and she held back the scream choking her as flames rose around her.
“No. You. Don’t.” Lisette fought back the fear and doubled her efforts, wrapping her power around her. She pushed away the dark vision.
Scanning the energy in the room and still not seeing Marisa, Lisette passed a tightly knit group blocking her way to the back.
Hauntings in the Garden, Volume One Page 2
