The Voodoo Children: An Urban Fantasy Witch Novel (Retail Witches Series Book 2)

by Les Goodrich

  “What did he mean, it’s a date?” she whispered to herself along the building corridor. “That’s a weird thing for a teacher to say. Dinner, coffee, flirt, kiss at the end: that’s a date. Talking for thirty minutes before class about Shakespeare is not a date. It’s an expression, that’s all. I’m crazy.” She looked up to pass two approaching girls who had been watching her talk to herself as she walked.

  “Hi,” Brit said and the girls sent awkward little grins and kept walking as did Brit. “Crazy person coming through,” she said aloud and pushed through the doors into the Sun. She stood tall and content and walked briskly across West Lawn where other students sat and talked in the gazebo, or lounged on the grass in small groups.

  The afternoon Sun bathed a cloudless sky in white light and chased away all shadows and it was the first clear day in weeks. She breathed in the still, cool, drier air and the bright day had a feeling of expansion and potential. At the rack in front of the library she opened her bike lock and coiled the cable around the seat post. She looked up to see Datura casually strolling along the far side of the narrow Valencia Street.

  Brit popped an inch off the ground and felt her heart block her throat when she saw her, but then she took a deep breath. Datura had apparently not seen her, or was at least acting as if she hadn’t. Brit looked around at the library and the campus corner and she thought about what might be west on Valencia that Datura could have been coming from. She couldn’t help the feeling that the Shadowclan witch’s being there had something to do with her. Then again, it was a public street along the edge of the school grounds. It wasn’t as if she was deep in the middle of campus for no reason. She could have come from the far exit of the library.

  “I don’t buy it,” Brit whispered aloud to herself and she swung her bike around and decided to follow Datura, even though she was already late, just as far as she might go on her way to the shop. She walked her bike and stalked from a safe distance. Datura turned right on Cordova Street and Brit cut through the Kenan Hall parking lot, but slowly. She strategically kept behind the trees in the lot center and she waited until she saw Datura come south along Cordova. She wore a sleek black dress, gleaming black heels covered in chrome spikes, and a thin, red, cashmere sweater. When she emerged into the Sun where it streamed up Cordova, Brit saw she had a black Coach satchel on her far shoulder.

  “That’s a really nice purse,” Brit thought out loud. Then she saw Datura was holding her wand in her right hand.

  “Shit!” Brit whispered and when Datura turned east on Treasury Street she said, “I must truly be crazy.” She pulled out her own wand and followed her further. Datura stopped and looked up Spanish Street. Brit was at the corner of Cordova and Treasury standing with her bike in the open and if Datura had looked back then, she would have seen her. Instead Datura looked down the opposite sidewalk, gave a quick nod, continued along Treasury, then turned left onto Saint George.

  Brit moved slowly to give Datura time to move up Saint George. She walked her bike between the high walls of the buildings on both sides of Treasury at that point. She approached the pedestrian-only Saint George Street and peered around the building corner. There were a dozen or so tourists meandering in both directions along the road but Datura was not in sight. It was possible that she had strolled beyond the immediate area, but she was tall and she stood out. Brit looked for a few more seconds but there were only tourists milling about.

  Her wand still in her hand, she swung her bike around and came face to face with Datura, wand up, with Brit pinned against the white building wall just around the corner from the main street.

  “You Though-Flooded my hexpawn,” Datura sneered.

  Brit’s mind reeled. That was the last thing she had expected. “I’m sorry,” Brit said and hearing the words made her furious at herself. She wasn’t sorry. This bitch had hexed her boyfriend. She stood up as tall as she could and gripped her wand tight. What she planned to do with it, she had no idea. Even so, it gave Datura pause. The truth was, Datura didn’t know what Brit was capable of. Only an exceptionally well-delivered Thought-Flood spell could have undone the hexpawn tattoo curse. And she had already escaped from Gwen once. But Datura was a champion of bluffing and she would never let Brit know she was the slightest bit concerned by her drawn wand.

  “Relax Brittany. If I wanted to curse you you’d be mumbling in the back of a cowan ambulance already. Now look, you may pretend like you’re a dangerous witch in the bookstore. But lose me another pawn and you’ll take their place.”

  “Gee Datura,” Brit snapped, seeing a tinge of nervousness cross Datura’s brow, “I’m really sorry if I inconvenienced you and your slave trade. Marshal was my boyfriend. I’m the one who should be mad.” Brit straightened her wand arm and watched Datura’s wand and the two faced each other like cowboys with drawn pistols. Both watching. Brit pictured the Body-Bind spell freezing Datura and she knew she only needed to get the word body out first to beat her. She held the very word between her lips like a bullet. Her heart pounded.

  “You can have him back,” Datura relented.

  “So you can just tattoo him again and get him to kill me?” Brit asked impulsively.

  “It can only be done once,” Datura snarled in a condescending tone and she stalked off up Saint George Street into the crowd.

  “Holy shit,” Brit said, by then far beyond caring about talking to herself out loud. “Did I just face down Datura and beat her?” She pushed her bike into a coast, then got on and rode to Charlotte Street to go the shop that way. Let’s not get cocky, she thought. She could have smoked me before I ever knew she was there, like she said. Still, I think I held my own just then. I did. She smiled and rode faster. I did for sure.

  The shop was busy when Brit walked in. Tanner was ringing customers with two more people in line. Other customers were at various spots in the store and Brit moved to put her backpack on the front table. “I thought Carol was helping you today.”

  “She left a while ago. Nice of you to join us. Could you just go help people in the store and see what’s going on back there.”

  “I’m going. Hi,” she said to the people in line and moved off into the store. “Hi guys,” she said to two young men at the bookshelf. She looked into the Crooked Cupboard but it was empty. She helped a woman find copal resin incense, then she moved to the Wiccan shelf that held cauldrons, chalices, and a few Goddess statues where a customer knelt and compared two black candles.

  “Hi Jack. What’s up?”

  Jack turned to see Brit and stood. “Hi Brit. Are both of these solid black?”

  “Yes. All of our candles are solid color all the way through.”

  “Then why is this one more?”

  “Because it smells.”

  Jack smelled the candle and recognized the scent as patchouli. “Oh cool. I’ll get this one. So what’s up with you Brit?”

  “Oh you know, school, work, fighting evil witches.”

  “Oh yeah. So you’re a Light Tribe witch now, right? I remember you telling me you were an academic witch. Something.”

  “I was that and still am in a way. But yeah, I’m doing the Light Tribe year and a day, so it’s official. Light Tribe for me.”

  “Me too. Tribe.”

  “Tribe.”

  “All you guys are Light Tribe in here, huh?”

  “Um, no. Tanner is Ashenguild.”

  “Really? I didn’t know that. That’s cool. My grandfather was an Ashenguild witch. He was a flying ace pilot in the British Royal Air Force. World War Two.”

  “The big one.”

  “Yeah the big one. And now my family rents kayaks and bikes. Amazing huh?”

  “Amazing. Are you gonna go into that business?”

  “I might. I like it. I like meeting all the new people.”

  “Good deal,” Brit said. “I better go see who else needs help. See ya.”

  “See ya,” Jack said and he took his candle to the front.

  When Jordan arrived the c
rowds were gone and only two young girls were in the shop going over books in the chairs under the back bookshelf. Tanner was sitting on the front table, his gear all ready to go, and Brit was at the register. “Kind of slow today, huh,” Jordan said. Brit and Tanner looked at each other.

  “You missed it,” Tanner said.

  “We got this, you can go,” Jordan said.

  “I’m waiting for Carmine.”

  “Oh Joy,” Jordan moaned.

  “You know you like him,” Tanner said and he moved out from behind the counter so Jordan could put her things down. “You know what we need? Chairs out front.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Brit said.

  “Yeah, just two and maybe a small table. We could put them in front of the window. People could sit there when it’s nice out, and customers could wait for their wife or husband who come into the shop when they don’t.”

  Jordan looked through the window and imagined chairs there. “I wouldn’t be against it. Ask Carol what she thinks. So who’s going to New Orleans to catch bad guys?”

  “We were too busy to talk about it and Carol took off, so we don’t know,” Tanner said.

  “I guess it depends on when we go and for how long,” Brit said. “You guys always get to go and I get stuck here waiting to be kidnapped.”

  “I’m going no matter what,” Jordan said. “Did Carol mention it earlier?”

  “No,” Tanner said. “But here she comes now.” He nodded to the visitor spell mirror.

  “Look at you, mister scryer these days,” Jordan said looking at the mirror and her mouth twisted. “She’s not alone.”

  The door opened and Carol said, “Thank you,” and came in ahead of Carmine.

  “My pleasure. Good afternoon everyone,” Carmine said and there was something in the way his greeting came across that implied he was also saying hello on Carol’s behalf, which was preposterous, and Jordan instantly knew the two had been together for more than simply their walk down the alley. She looked at Brit whose eyes grew wide under raised eyebrows, and without a word the girls shared the same thought.

  “Buon pommeriggio, Carmine,” Tanner said to his mentor.

  “Ciao Tanner,” Carmine said and twirled his walking stick.

  “And these girls in the back?” Carol asked moving to the counter and looking into the store.

  “Just witches from Deland,” Brit said. “Light Tribe.”

  “Okay fine,” Carol said. “Everyone here is up to speed about Josephine Lemort and her tale of Gwen and this Figment person. I want Tanner to go to New Orleans the day before the full Moon.” Jordan stood upright like a statue come to life. “You’re going too dear,” Carol assured her then Carmine spoke.

  “Since this involves a witchcraft crime against cowans, and since Jordan and Tanner will be acting in a private detective capacity that will take them across state lines, it was my suggestion to notify the IWM. Carol agrees.”

  “Yes, Carmine is right. This is a complex situation. We’re doing more than searching for a lost artifact. This involves finding and apprehending a dangerous fugitive. Assuming we can find and catch him, we have to do something with him. Turning him over to the IWM is the only option. The sooner they know the better. Which is why Carmine has come today. Carmine.”

  “Thank you,” Carmine said and Jordan and Brit shared another look. “In order for an individual to be recognized as a private detective by the IWM, that person must meet three requirements. They must have their concealed wand license, they must be declared and dedicated to one of the three main witchcraft tribes, and they must be acting as an agent for a third party. Jordan and Tanner meet the first two requirements. I am here to provide the third.”

  Jordan asked, “What does that mean exactly, acting as an agent for a third party?”

  “It means employed or contracted by either an individual, corporation, or government agency to investigate the actions of another. Any investigations must be registered with the IWM and the person being investigated must be wanted, either by the International Witch Marshals themselves, or traditional law enforcement. The three requirements and the registration of the investigation only apply to instances where both magickal law and traditional law have been broken, and therefore the investigation may result in the cowan arrest of the alleged perpetrator. If you are just spying on a cheating husband or wife, then none of this applies. But if you are trying to catch someone who has broken a criminal law, you need to do it by the book.”

  “Or what?” asked Jordan.

  “Or risk getting arrested for interfering with an investigation, or unlawfully retaining someone,” Carmine said.

  “You still wanna go?” Carol asked Jordan.

  “Oh yeah. So we’ll be working for you then?” Jordan asked Carmine.

  “Only on paper.”

  “Fine. Where do we sign?”

  Carmine didn’t answer. Jordan steamed but still listened. “Carol and I have put a call in to the IWM office in Miami. Carol has told them everything we know or suspect about Figment. They’re sending an agent.”

  “Here?” asked Brit.

  “Yes here.”

  “When?” Tanner asked.

  “He will arrive at noon tomorrow. Jordan, Tanner, can you be here to meet him?” Carmine asked. Jordan just stared at him silently, so Tanner answered.

  “We’re both working, but we’ll need someone to help in case the store gets busy.”

  “I’ll be here to run the shop,” Carol said.

  “I have class in the morning and it’s my day off, but I can still be here by noon,” Brit said.

  “I knew you were off hon,” Carol said. “I wasn’t going to ask you to come in.”

  “It’s okay. I’m not missing the chance to meet an IWM agent.”

  Chapter 12

  Connections

  Jordan opened Wednesday and Tanner was in at ten. The morning was busy with a blend of witch customers and tourists and both Jordan and Tanner were excited and somewhat nervous about meeting the agent.

  “I feel like he might give me a surprise drug test or something,” Jordan said.

  “The only drugs the IWM would be interested in would be illegal flying ointments or some outlawed potion. They don’t care what you grow on your patio or what you do with it.”

  “It’s a good thing,” Jordan smiled and she moved into the shop to help customers.

  Brit came in just before noon and Carol right after her. The store was hopping and Tanner rang up sales and said hello to Carmine when he came in with a leather briefcase added to his usual formal attire. He placed the briefcase on the glass counter, opened it, and situated a file of papers and a pen.

  “The contract is simple. One page. Four copies are here. One for each of us and one for the IWM agent. Sign each copy after you read it.”

  Jordan walked up. “Hello Carmine.”

  “Jordan. Did you hear that?”

  “I heard it.” She read the contract. “So this is your basic witch detective contract then? Nothing in here about me signing my soul to you for eternity?”

  “You can add that if you like.”

  “No thanks,” Jordan said and she signed the four pages.

  Tanner did the same, then Carmine, and they each took one of the copies.

  Carol counted into the register, Brit milled about talking to customers, Tanner and Carmine sat in the back bookshelf chairs, and Jordan helped an older woman looking for books on familiars in the Crooked Cupboard.

  At precisely twelve noon the door opened and a man in a leather jacket, olive cargo pants, leather messenger bag, and a brown fedora stepped in and his piercing eyes swept the store across a briarwood Dublin pipe clenched in his teeth. He moved with the lightness of a man far younger than his thirty-seven years but his wide stance conveyed a readiness capable of great endurance. He removed the pipe, tested the heat of the bowl with his fingers, then stuffed it into his inside jacket pocket. He removed his hat, brushed back his long waves of chestnut
hair, and introduced himself to Carol at the register. Freed from the hat his long hair took on a wild, unruly shape of it’s own and it wavered and swung as he leaned to shake hands and his eyes never stopped sweeping the room and the door behind him.

  “And I’m Brit. Light Tribe,” Brit said and the power of his hand around hers combined with the conscious way he matched the strength of her grip without squeezing too hard caused her heart to not so unexpectedly race. His rugged look, wild hair, square jaw, and piercing hazel eyes looked to have been assembled from four different people but the combination held Brit’s attention and she wondered if the adventure wand was influencing her attraction to such a reckless looking character.

  “Nice to meet you,” the agent said and he had to pull twice to retrieve his hand.

  Jordan and her customer emerged from the hallway as Carmine and Tanner stood.

  “I think he’s here,” Tanner said.

  “Who, Indiana Jones?” Jordan looked to the front.

  “Or Giorgio Tsoukalos,” Tanner said.

  “I love that guy!” Jordan lifted both hands and said, “Aliens!”

  Jordan, Tanner, and Carmine moved to the side counter as the customer paid for her book. She left and Carol introduced the agent.

  “This is Jordan, Carmine, and Tanner. Everyone, this is agent Rick Warren of the IWM.”

  “Tanner F. Hampton, Ashenguild, a pleasure,” Tanner said and he shook Rick Warren’s hand, as did each person as they introduced themselves.

  “I am Carmine Pavoni, Ashenguild, Stregherian Order of Aradia.”

  “Jordan Beaumont, Light Tribe, damn glad to meet ya.”

  Carmine opened his briefcase. “Tanner and Jordan, both concealed wand witches, will be investigating on my behalf. Since they will be traveling across state lines, we have asked for your assistance.”

  “Very good. As Carol has said, I’m Rick Warren, Ashenguild, and IWM Field Agent. I should tell you, the only reason the IWM isn’t leading this investigation at this point, is because the cowan FBI considers bank robbery to fall under their jurisdiction. However, if magick is involved, we’re interested. I appreciate the call.” Agent Warren took his copy of the detective contract provided by Carmine, read it, then put it in his satchel.