“Is that her reading then?” Laurel asked.
He tipped his head in affirmation.
“So you are the Angel of Death and the first card was right? Something in her past will lead to her death.”
Again, he gave her the same dark - haunting smile. “It is always something from the past that brings about death. Birth is the first step towards death,” he explained.
None of this was making any sense. Laurel swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the lump in her throat. “I don’t understand. Why am I seeing you?”
Arching one dark brow, he answered her question with another. “Why do you think?”
Laurel shrugged. She hadn’t the slightest idea why she was seeing him. In fact, she couldn’t even be sure that she wasn’t sleeping and this was all some grand story she was dreaming.
“Alone, each of you are very talented … but together, you are a force to be reckoned with.”
His evasive responses were beginning to irritate her. “That wasn’t an answer.”
“If you were reading these cards without the others being nearby … you would see only a card. Alas … you can see me. With that, I would assume you have a connection to the realms of darkness and light. Each of you has certain unsurpassed talents. I would advise that you make good use of them. They are coming for you, Laurel. Your demon lover will only be able to do so much before he also perishes.”
“He’s not my lover,” she interrupted.
Bringing one finger up to touch the rim of his hat, he nodded and then vanished.
Laurel was staring into the confused, horrified face of Mrs. Jensen. “Who’s not your lover? What’s all this about death?” The woman asked.
Laurel opened her mouth to respond, but couldn’t think of anything to say.
The old woman used the table to stand. “Perhaps you are not quite ready for this job. Please tell Miss St. Claire I’ll return at my regular time next week … and that I do hope she’ll be available.”
Nodding, Laurel got to her feet. “I’m so sorry Mrs. Jensen. I don’t know what happened.”
“It’s okay dear. Not everyone can do what Bridgett does,” she said, patting Laurel’s arm.
If she only knew!
She could save face by telling Mrs. Jensen what she knew of her future, but it was too dark. The last thing Laurel wanted was to bring darkness and fear to the old woman’s last days. It was best she believe Laurel was too inexperienced to read the cards, and that when she’d been talking about death, she’d been rambling.
Laurel forced a bright smile. “Thank you for coming.”
As soon as Mrs. Jensen was gone, Laurel was startled by the sound of applause. When she spun around, she came face to face with Marcos.
“Bravo!” he exclaimed, as he continued clapping.
Tossing him a sour look, she put her hands on her hips. “You should be ashamed of yourself. Eavesdropping is bad manners.”
His deep laughter vibrated off the black walls. “If that were the most serious of my sins … I’d have wings.”
Laurel’s frown deepened. “What can I do for you?”
“I think I would like a reading,” he told her, his eyes dancing with amusement.
“I can’t,” she said, shaking her head.
“Why ever not?”
“Just because I can’t.”
Strolling to the chair Mrs. Jensen had recently vacated, he sat down and fixed his eyes on her. “I’m afraid I must insist.”
Judging by the tone of his voice, it was clear it wasn’t a request.
It was always possible that he’d find a way to punish her for defying him, but she’d already made up her mind that she would not bow down to Marcos St. Claire’s demands.
“I am not feeling up to it.” She turned away without waiting for a response.
Before she could take two steps, he was in front of her, blocking her way.
He brought up one hand to brush the hair away from her eyes. “Oh my sweet Laurel, why do you insist on being this way?”
“Why do you think?” Laurel asked, cocking her head to one side.
“Everything I do is for you. Haven’t I let you remain with your friends?” Now he was caressing her cheek with the back of his hand.
When his skin made contact with hers, she felt that thrilling spark ignite the desire she was trying so hard to forget. Each time he touched her, it was becoming more difficult to pull back from that dark desire.
But she could disguise it with sarcasm and indifference.
“Of course what you do for me … is for my own good,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I am not a fool. You have a motive, and I doubt very much it has anything to do with what is best for me.”
Taking a step back, he smiled. “You are right. I do have a motive, but it isn’t as sinister as you might think. I want you all together because it makes you more powerful, and we’ll need that power if I’m to save you … as well as the thirteen coven families.”
“If you can’t do it, I don’t know what makes you so certain we can.”
He shrugged. “Intuition perhaps.”
“I’m afraid I don’t share your optimism.”
“There is always the other alternative. You could come to my bed,” he suggested.
Bedding her was his true goal, no matter how he tried to disguise it, and he was right to think it would be the easiest solution to their problems.
It wasn’t as if the thought was entirely bad.
Maybe the reason she held back was because of why he wanted it. It wasn’t so much that he really wanted her. He just wanted to solve a problem. She was no more than a means to an end, and that’s what she didn’t like.
“You haven’t told me why you are here,” she pointed out, ignoring his suggestion of going to his bed.
“I’ve come to tell you that I will be going away for a time. You will need to take extra care while I’m gone.”
Laurel was startled by the fear that squeezed at her heart.
Having Marcos close helped to ease her mind a lot more than she cared to admit. With him gone, they’d be on their own.
“Where are you going?” she asked, realizing too late that her question wasn’t appropriate.
Marcos smiled and took her hand in his. “Don’t fret angel witch. I will only be as far away as your thoughts.”
“Thoughts will do us no good if they come for us while you are gone.”
Laurel hated to show him weakness, but she was desperate. Just the memory of the creature that had stalked her through the halls of Saint Michael’s sent shivers up her spine.
The laughter left his dark eyes. “I cannot avoid this, or I would.”
“But …” she started to protest.
His fingers brushed against her skin as he lifted the amulet from her bosom. “The Fabre witches have always been among the elite. Do your ancestors proud and learn how to harness your power. That and this amulet will give you far more protection than I ever could.”
His hand slid down the chain to grasp the golden pentagram. When he made contact with the metal, his flesh began to sizzle.
Startled, Laurel jumped back.
Stunned into silence, all she could do was stare at him.
“You see … you are looking to a monster to protect you from monsters.” Hearing the agony in his voice was as painful as the torment she saw reflected in his eyes.
Laurel tried to force a response, but searching for words was like groping in the dark.
“Mind the shadows, angel,” he said before disappearing through the doorway that led to the bar.
Once she’d managed to pull herself together, Laurel ran after him, but was too late. Marcos was already gone.
* * *
After exiting St. Claire House, Marcos hesitated, but only briefly. When the sleek black carriage pulled up, he boarded without waiting for assistance from the driver.
The sooner he left, the sooner he’d return.
He had to make the journey to the Und
erworld, but his human body was forbidden entrance to that realm. There was only one way to get there, and only one person who could help him.
The Swamp Witch lived in the marshlands west of New Orleans. The journey into the swamps was treacherous enough, but add a black-hearted witch to the mix, and anything could happen.
According to legend, Melba Boucher’s heart was as dark as the swamp she dwelled in.
Melba had no qualms about delving into the obscurity of black magic. She would perform a satanic ritual as casually as she drank homebrewed wine.
Relying on a witch made him nervous. It wasn’t so much that she could wield any power over him. He wasn’t vulnerable to any mortal, witch or not. At least he wasn’t under normal circumstances.
That would change when she sent him into the Underworld. While on this journey, his body would be left defenseless.
He could only hope the witch feared the Dark Prince enough to deter her from mischief.
His thoughts turned to Laurel and the Bourbon Street witches.
Laurel was new to the world of magic, but the other three were already familiar with it. They had been flexing that muscle for a while now. He could only hope they’d grown powerful enough to protect his Laurel while he was gone.
Staring out the window, his mind barely registered the sights of the swamp as they made their way deep into voodoo country.
When had his focus changed?
When had the witch gone from being a troublesome chore, to something more?
Perhaps it was the moment he looked into her eyes and saw how terrified and lost she was, or maybe when he’d kissed her and felt the stirring of something in his heart?
His life meant nothing.
If he were to survive, it would only be so that he could wreak havoc on mankind.
Laurel was different. She had a purpose to her life - a destiny to fulfill. He felt this with every ounce of his being.
Laurel had to live, no matter what the cost.
At the very least, that would mean defying the Dark Prince, possibly even going to war with the being that had sired him.
Exactly how this would play out would greatly depend on what happened during his journey into the Underworld.
His soul already belonged to the Dark Prince; now he may lose his life as well. But if that’s what it took to save Laurel, so be it.
Chapter Twelve
It was mid morning and St. Claire House was dead. Most of their patrons were night owls, which meant it would be at least late afternoon before the bar began filling with people.
This was the time of day reserved for cleaning away all evidence of the drunken revelry that remained from the night before.
Rarely did they get visitors so early in the day, which would explain why she was startled when she heard the door open.
Looking up from the floor she was scrubbing, Laurel was shocked to see two women come through the door.
Ladies never stopped in at St. Claire House. The only women she’d seen were either prostitutes, or ladies looking for a reading.
That’s what it was. They were lost and came to the wrong door.
“May I help you?” Arlene asked, dropping the washcloth she’d been using into a basket behind the bar.
“We are here to see Laurel Fabre. Is she available?” It was the older of the two women that replied.
Arlene’s eyes darted to where Laurel was kneeling on the floor, a scrub brush in her hand.
Getting to her feet, she smoothed her gray skirt. “I’m Laurel.”
It might not have been too smart to admit who she was, but if they were there for malicious reasons, it was best to direct their efforts to her and away from the others.
Smiling, the woman stepped forward. “Greetings Miss Fabre. I’ve heard so much about you. My name is Sally McAllister. You don’t know me but your guardian, Mister. St. Claire, is a good friend of the family.”
“Hello.” Laurel nodded.
Her smile seemed genuine, but there was something about Mrs. McAllister that put Laurel on edge.
Without letting her guard down, Laurel looked over at the second woman. She was much younger, close to her own age. Unlike the woman, the girl was making no pretense at being polite. Her glassy blue eyes literally glittered with hostility.
Why?
She didn’t even know these women, but the girl seemed to hate her.
Laurel forced a smile. “Thank you for stopping by. It was very gracious of you.”
Sally McAllister nodded. “We have actually come by to invite you to the Rose Manor Masque. It is sort of a tradition in these parts. We come together to celebrate All Hallow’s Eve.”
A masquerade ball? She hadn’t been expecting that.
Laurel wasn’t aware Mora had entered the room until she spoke up, putting her two cents into the conversation.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t think Laurel will be attending,” Mora’s voice was unyielding, leaving no doubt of her distrust.
Despite the fact that Laurel had been prepared to decline the invitation, she was still irritated with Mora.
Before Laurel could speak her mind, Bridgett entered the room.
For the first time since the two women had arrived, the younger girl joined the conversation. “Oh Bridgett! You are still as pretty as a little doll.”
“Hello Cynthia.” Bridgett’s smile was more tolerant than welcoming.
“We were just discussing the All Hallow’s Eve Masque with Miss Fabre,” Mrs. McAllister informed her. “Please help us persuade her to come … all of you. Tell her what she’ll be missing.”
Bridgett turned to Laurel. “The Rose Manor Halloween Balls are legendary on the river.”
“But …” Laurel’s words trailed off when she saw a flash of warning in Bridgett’s eyes.
Turning back to the two women, Bridgett continued, “We will consider your invitation.”
“Of course.” Mrs. McAllister nodded.
She was obviously irritated she wasn’t able to secure a commitment from the girls. “I’ll send a carriage to fetch you … just in case.”
“That’s very generous of you.” Bridgett forced another smile.
“Good day,” Sally McAllister offered before turning to leave.
“Good day Sally … Cynthia,” Bridgett offered before they were through the door.
When she was sure they were gone, she turned her attention to Mora. “You can’t decline their invitation.”
Mora narrowed her eyes. “Why not? They’re just a couple of stuffy bags that think they’re better than the rest of us. Let’s not forget, we are supposed to stay in during the evening hours … and at the present time, St. Claire is gone.”
Bridgett shook her head. “You don’t understand. The McAllisters are one of the coven families. They cannot suspect we know anything. Remember, Marcos is supposed to be bringing Laurel into the fold, not helping her to stay out of it.”
“All the more reason to stay clear of them,” Mora snapped.
“If they figure out what’s going on … so too will those nasty hell creatures. They’ll come after Laurel long before Marcos returns. I think we should go,” she announced.
They all stared at Bridgett as if she’d lost her mind.
“You know it’s a trap,” Laurel put in. “What better time to get us than when Marcos is gone. We won’t have him to stand against them, or the protection spell. We’ll be like babies out in the cold.”
“I know.” Bridgett nodded.
“Well at least you know something.” Mora scowled.
Throwing Mora a sour look, Arlene stepped in. “Bridgett is right. The Coven of Lazar has a lot to lose if Laurel doesn’t come into their fold. They may panic if they believe they are losing her. Why not let them believe she is ignorant of their intentions, and therefore has nothing to fear from them, or the Dark Prince?”
“I don’t know.” Mora shook her head. “This seems too coincidental … to convenient. I don’t like it.”
�
��We’ll go for a dance or two, and then leave. This will put them at ease and buy us some time,” Arlene suggested.
“Maybe I should do this alone,” Laurel interrupted. “I’m the one they’re after. It isn’t fair that the rest of you be put at risk.”
Mora rolled her eyes. “Now you are acting insane. Walk right into their trap with no way to defend yourself, and no one to help you.”
Laurel drew her brows together in a frown. “I’m not completely helpless you know.”
Bridgett cleared her throat. “Ladies! All this bickering between us isn’t helping matters.”
“There could be demons there … disguised as humans.” Mora continued the argument.
“This is true, but if you know what to look for, they are easy to spot. When a demon takes human form, they are flawed. There will be a discoloration to their fingernails,” Bridgett explained.
“Marcos’s nails are not discolored,” Laurel informed her.
Sighing, Bridgett sat on one of the tall stools at the bar. “My cousin is different. He was born to this world, but is part of both. A demon has never had a body. When you see a demon take human form, what you are seeing is magic … the manipulation of dark energy.”
Mora shrugged. “It just seems like an unnecessary risk to me.”
“There is another reason we should go,” Bridgett added.
Mora arched one perfectly shaped brow. “And that is?”
“We need to get a spell from the coven’s grimoire. It is said that the Coven of Lazar has a spell to open or close the doorway to the Underworld. If we can get that spell, we can close the door ourselves.”
“What’s to stop the Dark Prince from just opening it again?” Laurel wanted to know.
“It was the spell and the pact that made it possible to open the door in the first place. He will not have such an easy time with it closed.”
“Why don’t they just close it themselves then?” Mora was doubtful.
Bridgett smiled. “Anyone descended from the coven cannot go against the pact to close it. That leaves Laurel and I out … but on the other hand, you and Arlene could do it.”
Mora’s eyes sparked with understanding. “We could close it … but still. There are enough witches around. Why wouldn’t they just have another witch do it in the same way.”
Daughter of the Thirteen: Bourbon Street Witches Book 1 Page 8
