Toni was still contemplating these new powers of hers. But she was also disturbed by it. To be a witch would suggest that she derivative of something – someone. So, who?
But she’d get to that in a minute.
What she wanted to know now wouldn’t let her focus on anything else.
“So, you’re a born witch too?” Toni asked, pressing a finger into her temple and massaging it. “Please let it be that simple. If you tell me that you’re a vampire or something, I’m going to throw up.”
Jericho chuckled. At least, she still had her humor. “I’m a warlock,” Jericho answered truthfully and with absolute resoluteness. He watched her face contort like he had just told her that he was Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny.
She was smitten, mystified. Eyes widening, she tried to wrap her mind around his words.
The journalist in her kicked in…
“Wait. I thought warlocks were bad.” She didn’t know much about the occult, but she had seen a few movies.
“Bad is relative,” he said absently. How could he ever explain this to make her truly understand? There was so much history there, so many layers and levels to what he was, and how he came to be the man he was now.
Another question came to mind. “Is there a such thing as vampire and werewolves?” she asked, half-hoping he would say no.
Jericho squinted. “Yes to both. But I’m not either. I knew a few, but…”
“You know what…forget I asked,” Toni said, cutting him off. “Let’s get back to you. Are you bad?”
Giving a reassuring smile, Jericho took her soft, trembling hand in his own. “I used to be very bad, but I changed a long time ago. Warlocks, just like normal people, can change if they so desire. We all have free will.”
Finally, a word she understood – free will. But something else dinged her. “How long ago is long ago for you? You can’t be much older than me?”
Jericho pursed his lips together. “Age is relative also. Let’s just say, I’m much older than I seem.”
“How old? Try me. I’m normally good at this.” She crossed her legs Indian-style on the sofa.
In all his years on this earth, he had never had the pleasure to divulge his true existence to a lay person. Mostly, because it was forbidden, but also, because who would ever believe him?
This could be interesting. If nothing else, it was enticing.
“How old do I look?” he asked, trying to ignore that her nipples were pebbling more and more as they talked.
God, if this this got her off, he would be undone.
“I’d say you’re no more than 38,” she said, shrugging. “I’ll give you 40 because you might have good genes, but that’s pushing it.”
“Well, then I’d definitely say I’m pushing it. By human years, I’m 300 years old this year.”
As he revealed himself, a vision flashed through his mind. Toni St. John would be his wife. But his visions changed according to a person’s life choices and understanding. Nothing was certain.
When he first shook her hand in the hotel, he hadn’t been able to see the vision, because she had not accepted or knew what she was.
Now, the possibilities were endless. Suddenly, he could see her in a white wedding gown standing beside him at the family’s plantation home on the bayou, but he’d never tell her that.
It would scare the hell out of her, possibly run her off completely.
“I call bullshit on all of that,” Toni said with a snort. “300 years?” She pulled away and shook her head forcefully. “For you to be that old, you’d have to be immortal.”
Jericho didn’t answer that. He was immortal, but it had no bearing on the conversation.
“I am 300 years old, whether I’m mortal or not.”
Toni didn’t like that he said so without flinching. She had taken a course a few years back to learn when people were lying to her during interviews, and by all accounts of his reaction to her, he wasn’t lying, which either meant her one thousand dollars on the course was a waste or that he, at least thought he was telling the truth.
Plus, she could not deny what she had experienced in the last 24 hours, which led her to believe that he was by far the oldest man she had ever been attracted to.
“You’re ancient.” She cocked a brow.
“I’m not ancient. I’m just older,” he clarified. He knew warlocks much older than he.
But Toni was determined to make her point. “By normal standards, you’re ancient. I mean, it’s nothing that you’d put on an online dating profile.”
“I don’t do online anything,” he said a little salty. “I meet women the old-fashioned way. Face-to-face.” He hoped she understood his meaning.
She did.
Jericho waited for her next question, absolutely entertained by her ability to keep an open mind. If she thought this was something, he couldn’t wait to show her what he could do in bed.
But Toni didn’t ask any questions…
Her journalistic mind was frazzled. Even more so than that, he was staring at her again, making her feel as though she was floating.
The electricity in the room went up a notch. All she could think of was kissing him, falling into him, finding out if what she was feeling for him, he felt for her.
Her silence was suffocating him.
So, he decided to ask a question of his own. It was either that or disrobe her.
“Well, let me ask you something, if we are coming toward the end of your inquisition. Do you have a mark on you? Something you’ve had your entire life? It would look like a birthmark but more defined, like a tattoo or a brand?” He moved closer to her, glad to invade her private space. “A clover, maybe?”
Her voice was light. She batted her eyes quickly. “Like a four-leaf clover?”
“The number of clovers doesn’t really matter.” He glanced over her exposed flesh and fought a hard-on. “Do you have one?” He had a feeling that she did. “A clover?”
“Yeah.” Swallowing hard, she hiked up the left leg of her shorts to reveal a clover-shaped birthmark on her inner thigh. “It’s been there my entire life.” She looked down at the mark, understanding it for the first time.
Before he could catch himself, Jericho ran a finger over the mark. God, she was beautiful. Every single inch of her was absolutely breathtaking.
His touch caused her brown eyes to flutter. She liked the way it felt for him to touch her and being close to him only made her want him to touch her more.
Jericho’s mouth watered. She was giving off pheromones again. He could taste them in the air, feel them as they clashed against his skin. His penetrating gaze locked her into position with fervent lust boiling in his golden eyes. “It’s the mark of the chosen.” Trying to concentrate beyond his desires, he felt his migraine slashing through his head. Touching his temple, he found strength to fight against the pull of her.
“Chosen for what?” Toni asked, oblivious to his pain.
For me, he thought to himself. “When this country was first forming, families who were running from persecution for practicing witchcraft fled from Ireland, England, France and other countries to America and settled in New Orleans and other small parishes around Louisiana. They intermingled with the slaves and the free-born Africans here who also practiced. As you can imagine, they were further persecuted for that and moved out into the bayou where it was safer, and they could be left alone. Others hid among the city as normals, pretending that their mates were servants and working their way up the social hierarchy of the city. During that time, the heads of their families cast a spell to mark their children for generations to come so that it would be easier to identify those who were born into the craft.”
Now, this was interesting. Toni pushed up closer to him. “So, you’re telling me that I came from one of those witch families?” Her eyes were wild with possibilities.
Jericho almost snickered. All of this did get her off. Shit, what were the chances of that? It was getting him off, too.
&
nbsp; “Yes. You came from one of those families. Which one, I’m not sure, but you wouldn’t have that mark otherwise.” His finger lingered on her inner thigh.
“How do I find out which family I came from?” In the bar, she had lied about not wanting to know who her mother was. She had spent countless hours and resources trying to do just that over the years, but nothing had come from it.
While this was her first trip to Louisiana, she had called down to the adoption agency, sent for records and done everything that she could to figure out who she was.
But her case was closed shut. No one was talking.
Up until today, not one shred of her family’s history had been revealed.
“Jericho, you have to tell me,” she begged. “You have to help me.”
The need in her voice broke him. There was no way he was going to leave her in the dark or allow her to find out who she was alone.
“Of course, I’ll help you,” he said before he could catch himself.
She nodded. “Okay. How?”
Jericho knew only one person who could help her find her family and the truth about who she was, but once they asked for his help there would be no turning back.
It was only fair to give her a disclaimer, a way to back out of this once and for all. “Are you sure? You could just get on a plane and go back to New York. I could even create a spell that might help you forget all of this. You could go back to being normal. Live your life. What’s one story?” He wanted her to say no, wanted her to press for more information, but he also would not dare make her walk this journey, if she didn’t want it – no matter how badly he wanted her.
Toni wasn’t sure that forgetting was an option for her anymore. She had never run from a good story, and she wasn’t about to start now. Life demanded answers. She was on the verge of something great, and all he wanted to do was offer her a safe way to tuck her tail and run. “I’m absolutely sure of what I’m asking. I want to know everything.” Her eyes gleamed with naive curiosity. “And I want you to help me.”
His voice was wary at her quick response and her willingness to be snatched from her beautiful illusion. “Be careful what you ask for, Toni. The world you want to enter is not a safe one. At times, it’s not a just one. We have different rules, different ideals.” He rose from his seated position, needing to get some space between the two of them, and walked over to the window, contemplating what he was bringing her into for his own selfish gain.
“Jericho,” her voice disarmed him.
He turned to look at her. God, he would give her anything she asked for right now.
She pushed to the edge of the sofa, revealing more of her exposed body. The robe had hitched up to her waist and thick, brown muscular legs with the most feminine curves stretched out before him. “Look, I may be ignorant to the idea of being a witch or whatever, but I have no doubt that it isn’t any easier than being human, and an African-American woman on top of that,” Toni said, back erect. “Regardless, I want in. So, either show me everything or show me nothing at all.”
Jericho had to look away. If he kept his eyes on her, he would not be responsible for what happened next.
Gazing beyond the plantation blinds at the hotel pool, he slipped his hands down into the pockets of his jeans. “I can take you to my father. He’ll know how to help you. He’s much older than me – wiser as well. He’s seen more. But I can’t promise that the experience will be a pleasant one.”
“Dully noted.” Toni stood up, ready to meet his father. “How about I get dressed quickly, and somewhere on the way to your father, we can get breakfast that hasn’t been spat in?” She clasped her hands together in gleeful anticipation. “Sound like a plan?” Raising up on her tip-toes, she smiled.
Looking down at his watch, he counted the hours. They only had a few. If they were going to do this, it would have to be quick. “Sounds like a plan.” He glanced back up at her. “But, please, hurry. We don’t have a lot of time.”
“I just need ten minutes,” she said, holding a finger up as she ran into the bedroom.
Jericho felt a tug at his heart as his migraine grew stronger. Either he was leading her to the truth or leading her to danger, either way, he was now solely responsible for the welfare of Toni St. John.
Pulling out his phone as he heard her shower turn on, he called his father. “Father, I need your help.”
Chapter Seven
“And the father of the heir shall rip his past from the pages of time and present them at her feet in exchange for forgiveness of his deeds when she reveals her gifts.”
The Prophecy
I t wasn’t sexy, but it was damn sure good. On the way out of the city limits, Jericho stopped at a corner store with a small restaurant inside and picked up two delicious non-defiled shrimp Po’ boy sandwiches for them and a couple bottles of chilled Coke.
At first, Toni was skeptical of the dive. It was a red-bricked building with an old sign hanging off the side. Residential apartments littered the second floor with air conditioners stuffed in windows and leaking water. The street sign on the corner tilted as though it would fall down and wild grass grew on the side of the building in between a battered wooden fence holding back a very grouchy pit bull.
The guys standing outside selling drugs on the corner didn’t help either, but when Jericho came out of the store and presented the foil wrapped treasures, Toni discovered that she had never had a sandwich so delicious.
Ahh, the rich flavor of blackened tilapia, juicy Roma tomatoes and crunchy lettuce between hot thick butter buns slathered in mayo and drenched in hot sauce was delectable.
Licking her fingers, she was almost brought to tears when she got down to the last bite. And when she was done, she wanted another one more than she wanted to breathe.
“It was made by one of the best witches in the Quarter,” Jericho confessed with a naughty grin after she was done. “Nothing like it in the whole, wide world.”
With the top down and jazz playing on the radio, he zoomed through the streets of New Orleans until they finally ended up on I-10 coasting through the Bayou Sauvage National Park.
Toni marveled at the majestic birds flying into the overcast, white-washed clouds, the grayish-green swampy marshes only a few feet from the road and the coastal hardwood forest out in the distance.
She found it more beautiful than eerie, although the further that they got into backlands, the more she felt a presence around her that put her on edge.
Everything here was old and ancient, just like Jericho. She could feel the pull of the place – it was like home, though she had never visited.
Jericho seemed to also relax more the further he got from the clutches of the raucous city. His tense shoulders dropped, and a calm grin set across his regal features.
Turning onto an old gravel road, Jericho coasted down a lane filled with Weeping Willow trees, old-world lanterns and cascading manicured grounds until a large white antebellum mansion emerged on the horizon.
“We’re on a plantation?” Toni asked, eyes focused on the house. Dred filled her.
“Yes, my family’s home.” Jericho could feel her ramping apprehension.
“Your family owned slaves?” she asked with disdain. “You owned them?”
“As I said, I wasn’t always a good man.” He braced for her judgement and tried to move past his guilt.
Toni rolled her eyes. Asshole. “I think being a slave owner is far worse than being a warlock,” she blurted out.
“Many where both,” Jericho explained.
Toni pursed her lips together and folded her arms. “Well, all I know is that if we pull up here and a Black woman opens the door, and you proceed to call her Mammy, I’m out of here.”
Jericho smirked. “Her name is Martha, and she’s German.”
“Well…she better not be a Black German.”
Pulling up to the house and parking in the circular drive, Jericho jumped out of his car and walked over to open the door for Toni.
She stepped out and looked at the three-story mansion in awe.
No matter how she disliked Jericho’s past, she couldn’t deny the house’s beauty or its distinctive old-world Southern charm.
Moss-covered trees lined the property, and porches surrounded the first and second level. The third level was crowned with a large belvedere.
It was all very Gone with the Wind.
“I feel like I just went back in time,” Toni said, wiping sweat from her brow. An even back in time, it was still hot as hell in this place.
“Yeah, it tends to have that effect on people.” Jericho took her hand and led her up the short steps to the large porch held up by bulky white Doric columns.
Hanging over the porch was an American flag, on the porch white wicker furniture with green, yellow and blue plaid upholstery decorated its expansive concrete structure.
As they walked up to the dark oak double doors with Tiffany stained-glass, Toni expected a woman to come out offering a tray of mint julips in a dress with a petticoat, but instead a large white woman in a pink jogging suit opened the door. She had short white hair and bright, welcoming eyes.
“Hello, Martha,” Jericho greeted.
“Hello, Jericho,” she said rather joyfully. “Your father said to expect you. He’s out in the sunroom with your brothers waiting.”
“Hello,” Martha said to Toni. Her warm tone was disarming.
There was a pregnant pause. “Hellooo,” Toni answered, gripping Jericho’s hand. She noticed that Martha’s eyes didn’t glimmer like the others. Could it be that she was normal and still chose to work for these wack jobs?
“Welcome to Cypress Pointe,” Martha said, moving out of the doorway.
“We can give her the tour later,” Jericho interrupted, southern drawl more pronounced now. “At the moment, we need to get to work.”
Holding her in a protective clutch, he rushed Toni through the opulent foyer, past all of the finely decorated rooms, bright with large windows, dramatic colors and priceless paintings to the very back of the large mansion where the lofty sunroom was located.
Warlocks: The Creole Coven (The Laveau Coven) Page 8
