by Deanna Chase
Spirits, Beignets, and a Bayou Biker Gang
Paper Rayne, Book 3
Deanna Chase
Bayou Moon Press, LLC
Contents
About This Book
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Book List
About Deanna
Copyright © 2016 by Deanna Chase
First Edition 2016
Cover Art by Janet Holmes
Editing by Anne Victory and Angie Ramey
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locals, business establishments, or persons, living or dead, are entirely coincidental.
Bayou Moon Press, LLC
About This Book
Medium Pyper Rayne and her witch boyfriend Julius are on an impromptu getaway in southern Louisiana. The quaint bayou town has everything: a Victorian inn, a famous brew pub, the best beignets this side of the Mississippi. Oh and an infamous bayou biker gang.
When a ghost rider suddenly appears with clues to an unsolved kidnapping, Pyper and Julius find themselves smack in the middle of a crime ring. Only not everyone is who they seem. They’ll need to untangle the web of secrets and figure out who to trust before they risk everything… including their own lives.
Get the next book in the Pyper Rayne novels: Spirits, Diamonds, and a Drive-thru Daiquiri Stand
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1
The Harley rumbled to a stop as Julius pulled into a dirt parking lot. The scent of fresh rain mixed with musky swamp mud filled the early spring air. I hopped off the back and removed my helmet, shaking out my long dark hair. Directly in front of us, I spotted an old airboat tied to a dock on the bayou, and to the right there was a weathered shack with a sign that read: Swamp Witch.
“Friend of yours?” I asked my boyfriend, who just happened to be a witch himself.
He wrapped his arm around my shoulders and leaned in, kissing me on the temple. “Not yet, but if this witch has a cold soda in there somewhere, he or she is going to be my new BFF.”
“BFF?” I laughed. “Since when have you joined the twenty-first century?”
“Since I hooked up with you.” He grinned and tugged me toward the fuchsia-colored door.
Julius had lived his formative years back in the early nineteen hundreds. After his unfortunate demise at the hands of a fellow witch, he spent the next ninety or so years as a ghost. Luckily for both of us, he’d recently made his way back to the living with a little help from Bea, the former New Orleans coven leader. Now he worked for the Witches’ Council, dealing with abnormal paranormal activity. But not this week. We were on an extended weekend getaway in Mayhem, Louisiana. The small bayou town was south of New Orleans and off the beaten path—perfect for riding the Harley and exploring places like the Swamp Witch.
“After you,” Julius said, opening the door for me.
A bell that sounded suspiciously like a bamboo wind chime whispered through the sage-scented shop. I weaved my way through narrow aisles filled with herbs, chicken feet, incense, candles, and dusty bottles of potions until I came to a display of brightly colored voodoo dolls. I pointed at the purple one marked Fire, Bacne, and Cauldron Bubble.
“Bacne?” I said out loud and then chuckled, reaching for it. A voodoo doll to produce back acne was evil and hilarious all at the same time.
“I wouldn’t touch that if I were you.” A woman wearing a lime-green peasant skirt and formfitting tank strolled toward me. Her wide, honey-colored eyes crinkled at the corners as she sent me a welcoming smile. She inclined her head, indicating the voodoo dolls. “They’re a little more potent than I’d expected.”
“You’re saying if I pick one up I might get voodoo’d?” I asked, snatching my hand back. A sharp pain stabbed me in the shoulder blades, and a glass jar smashed on the old wood floor right behind me. I turned, gasping out, “Oh no! I’m so sorry.”
“It’s all right. I can— No!”
I was already bending over to pick up the pieces of the shattered jar. But just before my fingers closed over the lid, the shop owner called, “Purgamentum!”
The pieces swirled up into a spiral and shot across the room, landing in a large waste basket.
I stood and wiped imaginary dust from my jeans. “Well, that was handy.”
She was already headed toward the register area, shaking her head and muttering something unintelligible to herself.
Julius glanced between me and the witch, then cleared his throat as he followed her across the store. “Excuse me.”
She glanced up, her brow furrowed. “Yes?”
“Can I pay for whatever it is my girlfriend just accidentally broke?” he asked, already reaching for his wallet.
“Oh no.” She waved a hand and grabbed another empty mason jar from the shelf behind her. “That wouldn’t be fair since it was Red’s fault.”
I glanced around the shop, seeing nothing but overcrowded shelves and dust particles floating in the sunlight.
“Red?” Julius asked.
She just smiled as she placed the unopened jar in the middle of the counter. Closing her eyes, she raised her hands and chanted in a language I didn’t understand. Haitian, I guessed. A warm wind whistled eerily through the shop, raising the fine hairs on my arms. I glanced behind us, noting the flicker of the candles.
Julius slipped his arm around my waist, pulling me close as the wind intensified and whipped a strand of my dark hair over my eyes.
I clutched Julius’s arm as the floor started to tremble while glass jars on the shelves rattled together. The door burst open, followed by all the wind being sucked out of the room. The door slammed shut, making me jump slightly as everything went silent.
“What—?” I clamped my mouth shut when red smoke materialized in front of us, curling and twisting into the empty jar still sitting on the counter.
The shop witch’s eyes popped open, and she slowly lowered her arms, keeping them straight out and her palms flat as if she were forcing the smoke into the jar.
I stared, fascinated. The smoke coiled inside, resembling a rope, until it was all there, pulsing slightly inside the glass.
“Fini!” The witch slapped her hands down on the counter, and the lid flew up in the air, landing on the mason jar.
Julius and I stood there in awed silence, watching as it screwed itself on.
Julius finally nodded an acknowledgment at the shopkeeper. “Impressive. I assume Red is the spirit you trapped in the jar?”
; She smiled. “Yes. He likes to play games when he gets bored. It’s been quiet around here the past few days.”
“Red is a spirit?” I asked, frowning. Why hadn’t I picked up on that? Ever since I’d come into my medium abilities, the only spirits I’d encountered had been ones who had human form.
“A very old spirit. Not the kind you want to tangle with.” She placed the jar behind her on a cluttered shelf. “Now, what can I do for you kind folks?”
As Julius enquired about a couple of cold drinks, I stared at the large jar and the red smoke swirling within. If I squinted and concentrated enough, I thought I might actually be able to identify the outline of a face. Pointed chin; sharp cheekbones; narrow, wide-set eyes.
“I wouldn’t stare at him too long, child,” the witch said. “He forms attachments, and then he’s sort of hard to get rid of.”
I tore my gaze from the jar and moved to the left, putting distance between myself and the jar. The last thing I needed was an unstable ghost following me around. Two weeks ago, when we’d been on the cruise ship Illusion, I’d had enough crazy to last a lifetime. Between the three ghosts trapped aboard and the certifiable witch who’d tried to turn me into his personal songstress, I was ready for a little normalcy. Well, as much normalcy as one could expect when she was a medium who was dating a witch.
Of course, that would be easier to do if we didn’t insist on frequenting places like the Swamp Witch, which appeared more Voodoo than new age.
“Don’t worry. He’s not going anywhere for a while.” The shopkeeper set a pair of ice-cold glass soda bottles on the counter. With a snap of her fingers, the tops popped right off and landed with a tinkling sound on the counter.
Julius picked his up and saluted her before downing half the beverage.
“Thanks,” I said and took a small swig of cola, wondering if she was always this showy with her magic.
“No.” She shook her head, holding my gaze. “Only when I sense my visitors have the gift.”
I froze, my fingers tightening on the glass bottle. Had she just read my mind? Jade, the woman I basically considered my sister-in-law, was an empath and could read people’s emotions. It wasn’t much of a stretch to think there was someone out there who could hear thoughts too. “How did you…?”
A patient smile curved her lips and lit her amber eyes. “I’m a seer of sorts. Some call me the oracle, but I prefer Avrilla. Avrilla Chateau. Come.” She crooked her finger as she moved out from behind the counter. “I just got in some fun things I think you’ll like.”
Julius and I shared a look as we followed Avrilla down one of the dusty aisles. When we got to the end, she picked up a lone bottle filled with green sludge. The murky contents looked like they’d been scooped right out of the swamp. She handed the bottle to Julius. “For when you need a helping hand.”
He palmed the potion. “What’s in it?”
She didn’t answer. Instead, she turned to me, handing me a small dagger sheathed in a black leather case. “All this requires is a drop of blood to keep you safe.”
The smooth mahogany handle had been polished to a shine while the black leather sheath had intricate carvings of cypress trees and swampland.
“Make sure you’re ready for it when you use it. There’s no going back,” Avrilla said and moved to another aisle.
I glanced up at Julius, noting his eyes narrowed as he stared at the dagger in my hand. “What?”
“That dagger… It’s really old.”
“You think?” I held it up to the light and started to pull it out of the sheath.
He wrapped his hand around my wrist, stopping me. “Don’t. Not here.”
I frowned. “Why not?”
Julius shook his head. “Old daggers have a mind of their own sometimes. Be very careful about when and why you draw it.”
“But how do I know if I should buy it unless I take a look at it?”
Julius chuckled. “When a witch handpicks something for you, there’s no question. Especially one who is a seer.”
I shrugged. “Okay, but you know this a little strange, right? I mean, I’m not even a witch.” Not really. A few weeks ago it was revealed that I might have a tiny bit of magic, but not enough to actually do anything with. Not on my own at least.
“Doesn’t matter.” Julius smiled at me and pulled me toward the checkout counter. “The items in this shop are spell-ready. You don’t need to be a witch to activate their powers.”
Well. Wasn’t that handy? Most of the items in Bea’s shop required magic, and thus someone with power, to activate them. Which, let’s face it, was probably for the best since a large majority of her customers were French Quarter tourists. Only things like temporary love spells and mood enhancers worked for the average Joe.
“You’ll want these too,” the swamp witch said, placing a brown paper bag in the middle of the counter.
I leaned over, ready to peer into the bag. “May I?”
“Of course.” The witch grinned, showing off her perfectly straight white teeth.
Inside, I found a pile of individually packaged voodoo dolls. The one on the top read: Bubble, Bubble, Crotch Rot, and Trouble. Another read: Chafing of the Shrew.
Glancing up, I burst out laughing. “Do these really curse people?”
She just smiled that knowing smile of hers. “Careful, they’re potent. Especially Impotent Gentleman of Verona. That one can last for weeks.”
Julius shuddered.
I laughed harder, imagining handing them out as souvenirs when we got back to New Orleans. “Oh man. These are evil in the best possible way.”
Julius handed over his credit card and paid the bill without comment. I was still chuckling when we walked outside. Squinting into the sunlight, I followed Julius over to a picnic bench at the edge of the bayou.
I placed our purchases on the table as I sat next to him. “That was interesting.”
“Not as interesting as that.” He pointed behind the shop where the witch was standing near the water.
“Come here, Buffy,” the witch called as she sat down on the dock, kicked off her shoes, and dangled her feet in the water.
“What the heck is she doing?” I asked, my skin crawling. There was no effing way anyone would catch me putting my feet in the bayou. Didn’t she know there were snakes in that water? Poisonous ones. Of course she did. She was a swamp witch. Maybe she’d spelled them to stay away from her toes.
The water rippled with movement as a large alligator surfaced, heading straight for the witch.
I stood, my body taut and itching to flee. Which was fairly ridiculous since the gator wasn’t anywhere near me.
Julius slipped his hand into mine and smiled at me. “Look,” he said quietly.
The gator had climbed up onto the dock and laid her head in Avrilla’s lap. The witch stroked Buffy’s head, murmuring something to the large beast. Then she lifted one of the alligator’s front legs and proceeded to trim its claws.
“Eww. Is she doing what I think she’d doing?” I asked, my eyes wide.
“For spells probably,” Julius said and took a swig of his cola.
“Well… that’s odd. And gross.”
He chuckled, but I continued to stare, half expecting Buffy the gator to turn on the witch and eat her face off. But that didn’t happen. When she was done, the witch stowed the collected claw clippings in her skirt pocket and waved the gator away. Buffy slipped back into the bayou and floated for a minute, then disappeared into the murky water.
The swamp witch waved on her way back into the shop. “Say hello to Sterling for me.”
“Sterling?” I asked Julius.
He shrugged and held his hands up as if to say “no idea what she’s talking about.” When he finished off his cola, he stood. “Ready?”
I nodded, grabbed our bag of tricks, and followed him back to the Harley. After securing the loot in one of the saddlebags, I climbed on behind Julius and hung on.
Julius roared out of the parking
lot. Half a block down the highway, he stopped at a deserted red light. He tapped his fingers impatiently on my thigh, waiting for the light to change. Only it didn’t, and just when he revved the engine as if he was done waiting, the roar of another motorcycle came up from behind us.
A rider on an electric-green, custom chopper stopped beside us. He wore a skullcap helmet and full leathers with a double-headed snake on the back of his jacket.
Suddenly the noise of the motorcycles faded away, and the rider turned to me. He looked vaguely familiar, a snake tattoo crawling up his neck, but I couldn’t place him.
“Hello, Pyper,” he said, his voice gravelly.
Julius stared straight ahead as if he hadn’t noticed the rider, and I instinctively knew I was dealing with a ghost rider. Though I had no idea how he knew my name or why the motorcycle noise had faded.
“How did you do that?” I asked, waving a hand around us, indicating the silence.
“A gift from the swamp witch.”
“Sterling,” I said, understanding the witch’s parting words.
His lips curved into a faint smile, then vanished as his expression durned deadly serious. “Your help is needed.”
I stifled a sigh. Of course it was. It wasn’t every day ghosts came upon a medium they could talk to. “What can I do for you?”
“Not for me,” he said, his voice grave. “It’s Mia. She’s alive.”
“Mia?” I asked, but as soon as I said the name, a young woman’s smiling face flashed in my mind. The teen’s picture had been plastered all over the news during a statewide manhunt when she went missing five years ago. She’d never been found and was presumed dead.
But thirty days after Mia Trebelle had gone missing from her New Orleans home, the state police had raided a shack out in the bayou that resulted in taking out her assumed abductor—Sterling Charles.
2
I stared at the ghost, my mouth hanging open. Holy hell. My heart started to pound against my rib cage. Could it be true? Mia Trebelle was alive? “Where is she?”
