Sword of Elements Series Boxed Set 2: Bound In Blue, Caught In Crimson & To Make A Witch

by Heather Hamilton-Senter

  “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” I hissed. Breaking curfew could get me kicked out of school. I didn’t know if the same rules applied during the holiday break, but I didn’t want to find out.

  I wasn’t insensible to the irony that I was more worried about getting kicked out of this school than I’d been about releasing monsters at the Halloween dance at my old one. But that was when I belonged to the Crone and her mind was my mind, almost literally. I was her vessel and any spell I mastered made her stronger. She’d promised to give me some of that power when my service to her was finished, but had her head cut off before she could keep that promise.

  “Don’t be such a sissy or I’m going to assume you’re lying about being such a bad girl at your old school.” Ava’s teeth showed white in the darkness.

  I shrank back into the shadows as the headlights of a car filtered through the gaps in the trees and shrubs lining the fence. “How are we even going to get out? The gate must be locked by now.”

  “How sad, oh ye of little faith—very inappropriate this time of year, by the way.” She jerked her head. “Follow me.”

  As the guard disappeared around the opposite side of the building, Ava darted out, but instead of heading down the drive toward the front gate, she disappeared into the shrubbery.

  “What are you doing?” I hissed.

  A strong hand with long, tapered fingers encircled my wrist and pulled me into the bushes.

  “Careful!” I used my free hand to protect my face as Ava drew me into the small space between the plantings and the wrought iron fence.

  Leaning in close, she put her hands on my shoulders. “This is a secret that has been passed down from senior class to senior class for fifty years. You must swear to never reveal it to outsiders or to anyone who is not a senior.”

  “Ava . . .”

  “Swear it!” she insisted, completely serious.

  “I swear.” As I repeated the words two more times in my mind, there was a brief sensation of heat on my arm. Pulling away, I waited for a black mark to emerge, but the warmth faded and there was nothing.

  Ava pushed on a section of rusty fence and it bent outward, creating enough space to squeeze through. In one sinuous movement, she was out. Following, I regretted my decision to wear a full-skirted, slightly retro dress, a cropped leather jacket with a zipped pocket for my wallet, and high-heeled boots—I hadn’t anticipated an exit via shrubbery. Thankfully, I only snagged my jacket once and otherwise made it through unscathed. Out in the open, I hesitated, but Ava put her hand in the center of my back and propelled me down the street.

  “No second thoughts. We’re on holiday!”

  My parents and I had stayed in a suburban hotel off the expressway that catered to business travelers. The school was in the heart of the Garden District, but thus far, I hadn’t seen any more of New Orleans than an impression of light and life at the end of the darkened streets. I was surprised to realize I was excited to get a better look at it. Surprise and excitement were among the many emotions which had been leeched away by the Crone’s training, but apparently I was more resilient than I’d feared.

  My heart beat a little bit faster as I turned in a circle to take it all in. Directly across from the school and stretching down the road were southern mansions of flaking white paint, pink stucco, and black wrought iron. They were romantic, decadent, and so different from the sensible brick houses I grew up with. Walking backwards, I nearly tripped when the modern concrete of the sidewalk transitioned abruptly to aged and broken stone arranged in a herringbone pattern.

  Ava glanced at my high-heeled boots and grimaced. “We can go up a block to St. Charles and get the streetcar to Canal, but we’ll still have to walk a bit. Can you make it in those?”

  I bit my tongue and counted to three to prevent myself from snapping that I’d been wearing heels since I was nine and this wasn’t my first time off the farm. “I’m fine. Where are we going? Bourbon Street?” It was the only place I knew in the city—a knowledge based strictly on movies and TV shows.

  “Hell no! Not unless you fancy wading through urine and vomit while pushing past strippers. I know a place just off the French Quarter where we can get some dinner. Then we can see where the night takes us after that.”

  I felt giddy and reckless. “Let’s go then!”

  The streetcar ran regularly into the night and we arrived at the stop just in time to catch it. The slatted wood seats made me wish for more of my lost padding to return, but the historic St. Charles Avenue streetcar was vintage New Orleans and worth it. Still, after a fifteen minute ride, I was glad to get off and stretch my legs as we walked the block up to Chartres St. and into The Crescent Bar and Kitchen where the hostess directed us to a table beside a stone fireplace. Part late-night bar, part hipster eatery, The Crescent was a comfortable mix of cozy and trendy.

  I settled into a vinyl bucket seat. “I’m surprised they’re still serving food this late.”

  Ava tossed me a menu. “Sure. They serve until around four in the morning.”

  I stared at her. “You’re kidding.”

  She grinned. “They’ll still card you though, in case you’re wondering.”

  Annoyed with myself that I’d let her surprise me, I shrugged casually. “I don’t drink.” Ava raised her eyebrows but didn’t comment. As a slightly harried looking waitress approached carrying two glasses of ice water, I scanned the menu. “So what’s good?”

  “Try some real New Orleans food. Get the red beans and rice or the gumbo.”

  I took her advice and ordered the gumbo while Ava chose something called a meatloaf sandwich. As we waited for our food, Ava declared that she needed to rest her eyes and slumped down in the chair, apparently napping again. The girl was definitely a little odd, but I didn’t mind the silence.

  I was happily people watching when a young man entered the restaurant and immediately captured my attention. As he walked over to the bar, he passed by so close that the disturbed air was almost a touch against my arm and my skin tingled. I watched him as he sat on a stool and ordered a drink, laughing at something the bartender said. When my breath caught in my throat with an audible gasp, he turned and the light of the simmering fire awoke bright sparks in his blond hair.

  He looked just like Peter.

  His eyes met mine and I could almost imagine that Peter had come to find me, had forgiven me, had finally realized I was his. Looking away, I sipped my ice water, but the knot of pain in my throat made it difficult to swallow. The truth was that Peter was gone. He was in Las Vegas with Rhi and the other Protectors who followed Taliesin the Bard. Not a single one of them would be sad if I dropped off the face of the earth, and I couldn’t really blame them.

  Peter wasn’t coming for me. He would never be coming for me.

  “What’s wrong? You look like you’re going to cry.” Ava seemed to be part cat; capable of dozing off for a minute and then emerging immediately awake and recharged.

  I finally managed to swallow and forced myself to smile a perfect, careless smile. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

  But I still couldn’t take my eyes off the young man at the bar. It wasn’t until he slipped off his stool and came towards us that I realized I was still smiling my fake smile directly at him. It must have looked to him like a blatant invitation. I let my gaze wander away, but he wasn’t deterred.

  “Hey, I’ve seen you here before, haven’t I?” The words were directed at Ava in a soft drawl, but he was looking at me.

  “Probably. I come here all the time. You’re a local?”

  That was all the opening he needed and he sat down in one of the empty seats at our table. “Local enough. I grew up just outside of Baton Rouge. I’m Ethan, by the way.”

  “Ava—Vermont. Lacey—Canada. We’re seniors at Westover.” Ava gestured languidly between us.

  “Cold weather gals then.”

  “The coldest,” Ava replied, but her laugh was husky.

  Up close, Ethan didn�
�t look as much like Peter as I’d thought. He was shorter and his hair was more bronze than gold. As he continued to banter with Ava, I tuned them out and focused on the closest TV screen.

  “It’s a cryin’ shame. They should string up whoever did that. As if it weren’t bad enough all the damage Katrina did to this city.”

  The silence alerted me to the fact that Ethan’s comment was addressed to me. I widened my eyes as I turned my attention to him.

  “Pardon?”

  “The tomb—that’s what you were looking at, right?”

  I was saved by Ava. “What tomb?”

  “Marie Laveau’s tomb! Look, they’re still talking about it.”

  The TV was on mute, but closed captioning ran across the bottom of the screen. It was a news report on the vandalism of the tomb of the notorious Voodoo Queen of New Orleans, Marie Laveau. An image of the structure filled the screen. Someone had painted it bright pink.

  The waitress brought our food and Ava and Ethan kept up a conversation that I knew I participated in from the look on Ethan’s face when I spoke, but couldn’t for the life of me recall. There was something about the story of the vandalism of the tomb that had both intrigued and unsettled me, so when we finished eating and Ethan suggested taking a walk over to have a look, I agreed.

  There was a bit of a bite in the air when we stepped out into the street, but it was nothing compared to what I was used to in December and it was easy to ignore. “How far is it?” I asked.

  “Only ten minutes or so. It’s an easy walk.”

  Ava was already striding down the street. “C’mon! I’ve been in New Orleans for three whole years and I’ve never once been to the grave of a Voodoo queen. It’s practically criminal!”

  It was an easy walk, but I still felt a frisson of fear when the crowd thinned and we entered a rougher, less tourist-friendly neighborhood. It suddenly felt very reckless and dangerous to be out on the streets late at night with a young man who was hardly more than a stranger. I was almost glad when we arrived at the gates of St. Louis Cemetery No. 1 and discovered they were locked up tight.

  Ava pouted. “Well that was a waste of time!”

  Ethan’s smile was a little too self-satisfied. “Now, do you think I would bring you all the way up here without a plan in mind? Don’t despair, darlin’. I happen to know another way in.” The tattoo on my arm suddenly became warm.

  As he disappeared around the corner, I held back and Ava looked at me in surprise. I shrugged. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea. Maybe we should just head back.”

  Ava threw her arms around my shoulder, nearly knocking the breath out of my lungs as her heavy bag thumped against my back. “McInnis, you need to live a little. Nothing bad’s going to happen.” She jerked her chin towards the road. “There’s a police station right over there. You said you were a wild child back home. Don’t wuss out on me now.”

  She was right. I’d seen much worse than a spooky old cemetery. As long as the dead stayed dead—and without magical intervention, they usually did—there was nothing to fear here.

  I felt myself grin, and for once, it was real and honest and spontaneous. “OK.” Following the direction Ethan had taken, we turned the corner onto Conti St. This street was darker, more secluded, and many of the houses had plastic over the windows and doors and seemed to be abandoned. Here, the white-washed wall that enclosed the cemetery revealed its true face of scarred and broken brick, and one section of it was about three feet shorter than the rest.

  Ethan was waiting for us. Motioning for us to be quiet—perhaps the street was not quite as abandoned as it looked—he put one foot into a divot in the wall where the first layer of brick had completely broken away. With one hop, he leveraged himself onto the top. As he looked down at us, I wondered how I’d ever thought he looked anything like Peter at all. His hair and eyes were much darker and there was something heavy about the contours of his face. He was also older than I’d first thought. Hadn’t he told us he was a college student? Or had I just assumed that?

  Oblivious, Ava grabbed Ethan’s hand and he hauled her up beside him. With a flash of white teeth gleaming in the light of the streetlamp, she slid down the sloping roof of the tomb on the other side and disappeared from sight.

  CHAPTER THREE

  A CHANGE

  The mark on my arm was still warm, but I wasn’t aware of exerting any of my inherent magical charm. Even as I brushed my fingers against it, the warmth disappeared. My skin felt smooth, and I knew that this last spell and its accompanying mark had almost disappeared.

  I took Ethan’s outstretched hand and shivered; it was cold from contact with the air-chilled brick. He pulled me up easily, but since I was so much shorter, he dropped to the ground first and grabbed me around the waist to lift me down. It was a strangely old-fashioned gesture you might imagine of a man lifting a young lady down from her carriage.

  The moon was only a crescent, but the night was clear, and the streetlights surrounding the cemetery gave enough light to see by. Ava was already wandering down one of the laneways. White burial vaults lined every side like little houses on a city street.

  Ava paused at a newer, pyramid structure. “I heard some actor built that for when he croaks.” She turned around. “Why is everything above ground?”

  Ethan ran his hand over the crumbling plaster covering one particularly ancient specimen. “The cemetery dates back to the late 1700s when New Orleans was part French and part Spanish. The tombs reflect their tradition. And it’s the high water table too. You can’t have corpses rising to the surface every time it rains.” He lifted his arms dramatically. “It’s a city of the dead.” Dropping his arms, he grinned and gestured for us to follow. “C’mon, the Voodoo queen’s tomb is this way.”

  Ava’s expression was bright with interest. “How come you know so much about this place?”

  Ethan shrugged. “I’ve been here a few times, tagged along on a couple of tours.”

  We turned right and Marie Laveau’s tomb was unmistakable in bubblegum pink paint. A simple, rectangular structure with a peaked roof and a white inset like a front door, it was surrounded by flowers, jewelry, and even food strewn on the ground.

  Ava whistled. “The pictures didn’t do it justice. It’s not just pink—it’s pink. Why would anyone do something like this?”

  I didn’t answer, but I knew. I could feel it. One, two, three—I counted in my mind. Even though the paint was fresh, a few new X’s in sets of three were scratched into the surface. When I brushed my fingers against them, I felt the scores of others buried beneath the paint. They should have hummed with power, but the desecration of pink had broken them.

  Ethan tapped one of the new marks. “A rumor began back in the Thirties that if you make three X’s on the tomb and then turn around three times and speak your wish, Marie Laveau will grant it.”

  One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two three. I forced myself to speak, trying to break the compulsion to make my own marks on the tomb. “Is that Voodoo?”

  Ethan sniggered and something about the sound annoyed me enough to stop the counting loop in my mind. “No, just a local legend.”

  But I could feel that while this explained some of the more recent marks, the oldest had been made with a purpose.

  Grabbing my wrist, Ethan tugged me around to the right side of the structure. “Come see this.” I glanced at Ava, but she was kneeling and squinting at a small plaque on the tomb.

  The reflected light of a streetlamp shone directly on the wall of the structure. With his free hand, Ethan pointed to a patch where the plaster was gone and brick showed through. He pushed on the exposed brick with his finger and a piece of it shifted.

  When he smiled, he looked nothing at all like Peter. “You see, chère, I wasn’t exactly telling the whole truth. I actually spend a lot of time here. There’s always a tourist who’s wandered off or some kid sneaking in after dark on a dare. Easy pickings. I found the paint in the garage of a house down the st
reet; it must have come from a little girl’s bedroom. The color didn’t matter. I just had to break the binding spells protecting the tomb.”

  “Why?” I whispered.

  He shrugged. “I don’t know why actually. It’s what the creature asked me to do. I never saw it clearly; it hid in the shadows.” He laughed and his accent deepened. “I didn’t care neither. The creature promised to protect me if I did what it asked.” He tapped the brick lightly and it moved again. “When I came back the next day, do you know what I found?”

  Prolonged contact was proof that Ethan’s hand wasn’t just cold from the night air; it was a band of ice around my wrist. He leaned in close and his breath was sour against my face. “Or to be exact, what I didn’t find.”

  Placing his hand flat against the bricks, he gave a push and several fell into the tomb, leaving an opening just big enough to put your upper body through. A foul smell emanated from it, but I wouldn’t give Ethan the satisfaction of seeing me gag.

  He looked disappointed. “Don’t you get it? All the bones were missing—poor Marie Laveau and how many others of her kin she was mingled with—but their loss was my gain. I’ve got a nice little hidey-hole for my special friends when I’m done with them.” He smiled and his teeth were white and sharp in the pale light of the crescent moon. “After all, what good is a tomb if it’s empty?”

  “Ava . . . ,” I moaned, sure that if I screamed, Ethan would pounce.

  He ignored my cry. “The creature told me to keep an eye on that fancy school of yours—said I was to watch for a little blonde chit like you. It was just my luck when you two snuck out through the fence.”

  I inched away as far as I could until my arm was extended straight. Searching desperately for any remaining magic, I played for time. “The creature must want me for something. You’ll make it angry if you hurt me.”

  His glamour was all gone now. I could see clearly his full cheeks, olive skin, and thick, red lips. His hair was so black and glossy that it was almost blue, and the tips of his sharp canines touched his bottom lip. “Maybe. But promises are promises. Blood is blood. Besides, ‘a bird in the hand’ and all that.”