Daughter of the Thirteen: Bourbon Street Witches Book 1

by Lorraine Kennedy

  Maybe the coven had grown so corrupt that they could no longer sense dark energy?

  Shrugging it off, Laurel made her way to the main hall. There, a powder room had been set aside for the ladies.

  She needed a moment away from the crowd to gather her thoughts.

  Where was Bridgett?

  She’d been gone a long time.

  What if someone caught her?

  Laurel suspected that if Bridgett were discovered, none of them would get away from Rose Manor alive.

  The powder room was empty, which she thought a little unusual, considering the number of guests.

  A gasp forced its way through her lips when someone grabbed her arm from behind.

  It wasn’t until she saw it was Bridgett that she started breathing again. “You startled me!”

  “I could have been anyone. You should pay closer attention … especially while we are here,” Bridgett scolded.

  “Did you find anything?”

  She nodded. “Follow me.”

  Bridgett led her out the servant’s door to the back garden. From there, it was a maze of shrubbery and flowerbeds until they entered a thicket of trees. The trail was narrow, but well traveled and easy to follow.

  Laurel wasn’t comfortable being in the woods. The orphans of Saint Michael’s rarely went out, and they certainly weren’t taken into any forests. “Where are we going?”

  “I found something out here. I probably wouldn’t have come across it unless I were looking,” Bridgett explained, as she was trying to untangle her gown from a stray branch. “I tried to get in, but there’s a protection spell. Maybe with both of us trying we can break through.”

  Laurel was confused. “How could a protection spell keep only particular witches out?”

  “Simple. Those allowed inside, probably have some kind of charm,” Bridget grumbled.

  Finally the trees opened to a large - circular clearing.

  There was nothing there.

  Laurel stopped. “I don’t see anything.”

  “Take a closer look, but see beyond the obvious.”

  The moonlight was bright enough to see that there was nothing in the clearing.

  She was ready to turn back when she noticed that the scenery wavered a little, as if it were a mirage. Soon she could make out the faint outline of a large domed building.

  “How interesting! They camouflaged it with magic.”

  Bridgett nodded. “If anyone happened to find it, there would be too many questions.”

  “How do we get in?” Laurel asked. “It doesn’t even look real or solid.”

  “It is,” Bridgett assured her. “Watch.”

  Bridgett held up her hand and muttered, “Videbitur.”

  Blue light shot from her hand to cover what appeared to be a door. Soon the building took shape, appearing solid.

  Laurel could see why the Coven of Lazar wanted to keep it hidden. With its huge dome and medieval architecture, the building was out of place in the river country of Louisiana. That alone might have raised some eyebrows.

  “What happens when you try to open it?” Laurel asked, stepping forward.

  “Nothing. It’s like running into a wall. This is how we are going to do it. Hold my hand and put your other hand on the door, then say … ‘O great ones that hold the elements within, send your power through my hand and break free that which binds.’ It’s easy if you focus,” Bridgett told her.

  “If you say so,” Laurel said, taking Bridgett’s hand. Together, the two witches placed their free hand against the door.

  “O great ones that hold the elements within, send your power through my hand and break free that which binds.” Their singsong voices carried through the night.

  A sudden gust of wind stirred the trees.

  The building began to vibrate as it was bathed in beams of light. A few seconds later, the building was as solid and as real as Rose Hall.

  As soon as Bridgett threw the door open, they were hit with a blast of hot air and the reek of demons.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The witch’s fiery green eyes bore into his soul. Her face was only inches from his - so close that he was overcome by the stench of the swamp. It clung to her like a protective blanket.

  He wanted to pull away, but he couldn’t let himself do it.

  This was his one chance to confront the darkness that created him. As repulsive as the witch was, she was his key into the Underworld.

  Muddy water still dripped from the witch’s long - dark hair, but now she at least looked human. When she’d emerged from the swamp, she’d resembled a creature that was something between woman and reptile.

  They were in a clearing, surrounded by swamp. The flames of a small fire cast flickering light on a face that still held traces of the beauty that she’d once been.

  “You are couyon,” she muttered with a thick Cajun accent. Shaking her head, she added, “Only a fool would journey into shadows.”

  “No matter. My soul is already there.” His voice was soft, but unyielding.

  “The matter you claim to know. Tell me now,” she demanded.

  Marcos shook his head. “I must leave you with incentive to bring me back.”

  “And if I can’t?”

  “You will,” he growled.

  Melba stood from the kneeling position she’d been in and slowly walked to the fire. Pulling something from the pocket at the side of her dress, she threw it into the fire and screamed, “Fosse aux serpents!”

  The fire exploded, sending billowing flames into the night sky.

  In that instant, he detected movement out of the corner of his eye. The surrounding swamp came alive with slithering snakes.

  They were coming right at him.

  Marcos tried to move, but couldn’t. He was paralyzed with no way to escape the hundreds of snakes crawling toward him.

  This couldn’t be happening!

  He was the son of him!

  No witch could do this!

  Even as the thoughts formed, he felt their cold slithering bodies wrap around him. The snakes were pulling him into a gaping hole that was opening in the earth.

  For the first time in his life, he felt real fear.

  He would never again see Laurel with his human eyes.

  That was the only thing he could think of as the earth swallowed him and the snakes.

  In a flash, the snakes were gone.

  He was standing in the middle of a misty forest. The trees were bare of leaves, as if the land were in the grip of winter, but it wasn’t cold. In fact, he felt no temperature variation at all.

  The ground beneath his feet shook as dark laughter filled the air around him.

  “I have come to make a deal!” Marcos yelled.

  “You want to bargain for the witch!” Again the ground shook as the voice wrapped around the very fiber of the murky world he was now in.

  “Give up your claim to her and let her live. I will convince her to carry my seed so that your bloodline will live on.” Even to his own ears, his voice sounded too weak.

  “More!” The Dark Prince thundered.

  Hell already had claim to his soul, but there was one more thing he could bargain with.

  The thought hadn’t even taken form when the trees opened up to reveal a huge - descending staircase of fire.

  He was on the fringes of the Underworld, but if he stepped onto that staircase, he would enter into the heart of the Dark Prince’s kingdom.

  Marcos held back, but only until Laurel’s angelic face swam before his eyes.

  * * *

  When she hesitated, Bridgett grabbed her hand and pulled her through the door. “Don’t worry. We are a lot more powerful together.”

  As soon as they stepped over the threshold, the huge room lit with dozens of flickering candles.

  The building was even larger than it had looked from the outside.

  A massive pentagram had been charred into the middle of the hardwood floor. Two black candles burned on the a
ltar that was positioned in the center of the pentagram.

  “It smells of demons in here,” Laurel told her.

  Bridgett gave her a curious look. “You can smell them?”

  Laurel nodded. “They were after me when I was at Saint Michaels. The stench was how I could tell they were around. They smell like sulfur and rotting flesh.”

  “Well I don’t feel anything here now. It must be the residue.”

  Laurel nodded. “I think so … I hope so.”

  “There it is.” Bridgett pointed to the altar.

  The huge - antique book sat between the two candles.

  “What will happen when we close the door to the Underworld? What will happen to the demons that are already here?” Laurel wondered.

  “I don’t know.” Bridgett shrugged. “But I think it will suck them back in.”

  That wasn’t exactly what she wanted to hear. Getting rid of the demons was good, but what about Marcos?

  Bridgett went to the altar and began skimming through the book. The pages were so old and fragile, she had to take care when turning them.

  “I found it!” Bridgett called out as she was tearing a page from the book.

  “So you did!” The sugary sweet voice echoed through the room.

  Bridgett and Laurel looked up at the same time to see Cynthia step through the door.

  She was blocking the only exit out of the building.

  “Back off Cynthia!” Bridgett warned. “We are not here to harm you.”

  “But you are.” The girl’s voice was still soft, and very calm. “If you interfere with the pact of the thirteen, it will destroy us all.”

  Bridgett shook her head. “No Cynthia. You have already sold your souls. It is only your fortunes that will suffer further.”

  “I could mangle you both!” Cynthia growled, baring her teeth. Her soft features seemed to transform into something ugly and dark.

  Taking a step toward them, Cynthia fixed furious eyes on Laurel. “This is all your mother’s fault, and you are just as pathetic as she was! Do you think you can steal Marcos away from us?”

  Laurel was taken aback by the pure hatred in Cynthia’s voice.

  “You are wrong. Mine and Bridgett’s mother were the only smart ones out of all of you.” Laurel retorted.

  Suddenly the Lazar witch screamed and doubled over. A moment later she stood and lifted her arms into the air.

  Drops of some kind of black liquid spewed from her hands. As the substance hit the air, each drop turned into a raven until the room was filled with the cawing black birds.

  The birds swirled around the two girls, creating a vortex of hundreds of flapping wings that prevented their escape.

  Laurel used her arms to protect her head. With no way to get to her face, the birds began pecking at the exposed flesh of her arms.

  She was so absorbed in processing what just happened, she could barely feel the birds tearing away at her skin, or the change in the atmosphere. The air turned so hot, it was difficult to breathe.

  As quickly as the birds appeared, they were gone.

  But it wasn’t just the birds that were gone, so were Cynthia and Bridgett.

  She was completely alone and enveloped in a silence so complete, she could hear herself breathing and the thudding of her heart against her ribs.

  Just when she thought she’d been condemned to some kind of silent hell, a cyclone of wind circled around her.

  She was no longer in the room, but flying through a turbulent storm of fire. In a blink of an eye, she was standing in the ballroom at Rose Manor, but now it was different.

  It was deserted - empty of life, sound, and even light. She could see the ballroom clearly, but it was as if she were looking at it through a green window. It was the ballroom, but at the same time, it wasn’t, at least it wasn’t the same ballroom it was in the normal world.

  She was still in shock when she saw him.

  Marcos stood only a few feet away, staring at her with an expression of shocked disbelief.

  “Laurel! How is this possible?”

  Marcos was dangerous, but he was also the only aspect of the normal world she had to cling to.

  Running to him, she threw her arms around his neck. “Please be real,” she cried.

  Pulling back, Marcos brought his hand up to gently cup her chin. “Something is wrong. You shouldn’t be here.”

  “Where is here?” she asked.

  Although they appeared to be in the ballroom, it had to be an illusion. Everything was too dreamlike to be real.

  “I am in the Underworld,” he told her.

  Drawing in a sharp breath, she asked, “How? Is that why you told me you were going away?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said, shaking his head. “What matters is that you shouldn’t be here. What happened?”

  “We found the coven’s altar … and Cynthia was there. She conjured dozens of ravens to attack us, but then they were gone and I was here,” she explained.

  Marcos drew his brows together in an angry frown. “This has to be the Dark Prince’s doing.”

  “So this is the Underworld,” she commented, as she was looking around.

  “No, not exactly.” He shook his head. “We are in-between. You are innocent and can’t be taken into the Underworld against your will. They can take your life, but not your soul.”

  Pulling her into his arms, he covered her mouth with his. His kiss was sweet, sad, and hungry, all at the same time.

  He brought his hand up to stroke the bare skin of her shoulders, slowly his touch moved to her back.

  This time she didn’t pull away. He did.

  “You can’t be here,” he told her.

  As if his will had the power to cast her out of that world, the scene wavered, changing abruptly.

  Now she was in the gardens at Saint Michaels. Though the scene no longer had a green tinge to it, it was still misty and not quite real.

  A young woman sat on the marble bench. Her eyes were closed. She appeared so serene that Laurel thought she might be asleep.

  The woman’s skin had a golden sheen to it that reminded Laurel of sunshine. She wore her black hair up, though several strands escaped to frame her face with untamed curls.

  “Hello,” Laurel said.

  She wasn’t sure if the woman was real or not, but since there didn’t seem to be anyone else around, she figured the woman might be the only one who could tell her where she was.

  She was at Saint Michael’s, but not really. Just like the ballroom.

  The woman looked up and smiled. “Laurel, you’ve grown into such a beautiful girl.”

  “Who are you?”

  “I am your mother,” she said, patting the bench next to her.

  “What are you doing here?” Laurel wanted to know.

  “Sit,” Annette invited. “We’ll have a mother - daughter talk.”

  Maybe this was a trick and the woman was a demon?

  Noticing Laurel’s hesitation, Annette smiled and held out her hand. “Test me with your amulet.”

  Taking the amulet from between her breasts, Laurel let it rest on Annette’s fingers. Nothing happened, but she couldn’t be sure that it would even work in this netherworld that she’d been sucked into.

  Dropping the amulet, Annette tenderly brushed hair out of Laurel’s eyes. “You are still suspicious, but that is good. It will keep you alive longer.”

  “What are you doing here?” Laurel asked.

  “I am here to help … and to ask your forgiveness.”

  Laurel shook her head. “There is no reason to forgive. You did nothing wrong. In fact, you did everything right. If you had followed the others, I would be sharing in their curse.”

  Annette looked away. “There is always a price to pay, no matter how you decide to play the game.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I might have saved your soul, but it could cost you your life.”

  “I know,” Laurel nodded. “But my soul is worth mo
re.”

  Annette acknowledged Laurel’s words with a slight nod. “Trust no one daughter, except your sisters.”

  She knew her mother was referring to Mora and the other girls.

  “Marcos?” Laurel asked, her voice so soft it might have been a whisper.

  “Marcos is at war with the darkness he was born to. Even if you win his heart, don’t forget it will come at a steep price. The Dark Prince doesn’t play fair.”

  She noticed that Annette hadn’t told her not to trust Marcos, only that to do so might be risky.

  Tilting her head to one side, Annette asked, “You really don’t remember him, do you?”

  Confused, Laurel asked, “Who?”

  Annette pointed to the garden, and as Laurel turned to look, the scene didn’t just change, but fingers of light reached out to pull her into another time.

  She was four years old. It was a warm day and she was alone in the garden having a tea party with a grand lady, or maybe even a queen. Her young mind preferred to think of the lady as a queen.

  None of the other girls wanted to play with her. Since that silly incident when she’d gotten angry and made the bedroom door slam shut, the other children shunned her.

  “Witch … Witch! Laurel’s a witch!” The children would chant those words whenever they thought the nuns weren’t paying attention.

  At first she’d been crushed, but after awhile, she’d grown accustomed to being alone.

  Today she was happy to be alone and having tea with Queen Annette. The queen was always happy to play with her, even if she could make doors shut with just a thought.

  Sister Agnes took pity on Laurel, smuggling out two tin cups and some milk. After all, she had to have something real to offer the queen.

  Queen Annette was in the process of explaining how important it was that she ask Sister Agnes for something called an amulet. Laurel looked away for only a moment to pour some more milk in the cups, and when she looked back, a boy was standing next to her.

  “Who are you?” she asked, perturbed with the boy for scaring away Queen Annette. The queen never stayed when other people showed up.

  The boys and girls of Saint Michael’s were not permitted to play together. She rarely saw the boys, except for at mass. They had their own wing and dining room. They even played in a different area of the property.