The Babet & Prosper Collection II: Beware the Bogeyman, Celt Secrets, The Trouble With Voodoo, and A Friend in Need (The Babet & Prosper Collections Book 2)

by Judith Post

  Table of Contents

  Beware the Bogeyman

  Celt Secrets

  The Trouble With Voodoo

  A Friend in Need

  Other Titles by Judith Post

  The Babet & Prosper Collection II

  Four Novellas

  Beware the Bogeyman

  Celt Secret

  The Trouble with VooDoo – NEW!

  A Friend in Need – NEW!

  by

  Judith Post

  Copyright 2013

  Beware the Bogeyman

  The Fifth Babet & Prosper Novella

  A Lunch Hour Read

  by

  Judith Post

  For Summit City Scribes,

  my writers' group

  Babet glanced at the clock on her nightstand. Two a.m. Prosper still hadn't come home. He'd called to tell her that he was working a case with Hatchet—pulling a long shift—part of being a cop—especially when he was paired with River City's liaison between mortals and paranormals. But he rarely worked this late.

  She tossed on a short robe and went to the kitchen. Water might taste good. Oh, hell, who was she kidding? She poured herself a glass of wine and walked outside to the back courtyard. Holy Hecate, she was going soft! She'd enjoyed the single life for decades before she met Prosper, and now she woke in the middle of the night when he wasn't lying beside her. Pitiful.

  The moon curled itself into a golden crescent. Shadows loomed beneath the high, brick walls that circled the cement patio. A slithering movement followed her, and Babet glanced at Morgana. Good grief! The boa was restless without Prosper too. Should that worry her? Morgana wasn't just any snake. Her familiar was gifted with magic and poison. Did she sense something Babet couldn't?

  Babet sank onto a lawn chair, dangling her free hand to stroke Morgana's back. They sat, silently brooding, until they heard the crunch of tires in the cramped space outside the far wall that Babet and Prosper used for parking. A car door slammed and footsteps approached the side gate. Prosper cracked it, and there he stood—all six-foot-three, lusciously muscled inch of him.

  He saw them, and crossed to sag onto the lawn chair next to Babet's.

  "A bad night?" She offered him the rest of her drink, but he shook his head. Just as well. She took another sip.

  Prosper heaved a weary sigh. "I usually can't talk about my cases, but I got permission to share with you. Everyone at the station wants this one closed and whoever or whatever we're looking for caught."

  She tensed. If he was allowed to tell her about it, the culprit must be paranormal, some kind of supernatural the cops had never dealt with. "Do you think magic's involved?"

  "Not witch magic. At least, I don't think so." The moonbeams on his skin made it look burnished. It always had a bronze tint, warm and inviting, but tonight, Prosper looked especially good. He hesitated, trying to gather his thoughts. A bad sign. Nothing straightforward and simple.

  Babet finished her wine and placed the glass on the patio floor.

  Prosper ran a hand through his thick, brown hair—the same lustrous brown as his fur when he shifted to Bear. "It's the middle of the night. There's no short way to tell the story. Would you rather wait till morning?"

  "Me? Wait? Not my strong point." She gave Morgana a final pat to focus on Prosper's story.

  He rushed right into it. "Three kids have disappeared, different ages. The first went out, late at night, to buy drugs. His mom tried to stop him, but he's fifteen, pushed past her. Never came back."

  "Is that unusual, or does he keep whatever hours he wants?"

  "He always comes home, maybe not the same night, but in a day or two, knows where the food and money are."

  "So you think something happened to him?"

  Prosper nodded, leaned his head against the chair back, and rubbed his eyes. "We found a witness, another kid he hangs out with, and that kid swears he saw a tall man with a cloth sack thrown over his back prowling the streets that night."

  Babet laughed. "Santa's a little early this year, isn't he?"

  "No jolly Saint Nick. Whatever the kid saw scared the crap out of him."

  "Did he describe the guy?"

  Prosper pushed himself out of his chair. "I'm getting a beer. Want another glass of wine?"

  Babet handed him her glass. This didn't sound like a story that went well with tea. She frowned at the skyline while she waited for Prosper to return. Two palm trees made interesting silhouettes in her neighbor's backyard, hardy palms. River City wasn't really tropical, but subtropical plants survived here—live oaks, red maples, and tupelo. She inhaled the night air. Without the exhaust from heavy traffic, she could smell the river that gave the city its name.

  Prosper padded from the kitchen, barefoot. He sank onto his chair again, handed her the glass of wine, and wiggled his toes. Babet liked his feet--square-shaped at the top with stocky toes that he could curl to pick up things. His hands were square-shaped and practical-looking too. Hell, everything about the man looked strong and sturdy.

  He took a gulp of his beer, then returned to his story. "You asked how the kid described the guy with the sack. All he could tell us was that the bagman was made out of shadows."

  Morgana's head lifted from the cement. She was curious too.

  "Shadows?" Babet repeated.

  "That's what he said." Prosper took another gulp from his mug, licked foam from his lips.

  Babet sat silent a moment, thinking. There were lots of kinds of demons. Did some lurk in shadows, becoming part of them? She'd have to ask her mom and Hennie. Mom was the head of River City's coven, mated to the Gatekeeper for the Pits. Hennie supplied herbs and potions for their coven's many spells. Between them, they acted as walking encyclopedias of magic. But for the moment, Babet wanted to hear the rest of the details about Prosper's case. "You said three kids came up missing. What about the other two?"

  "The second was a twelve-year-old girl. Liked to steal cars. Great at hot wiring. Took off in a tourist's BMW. The last trip she ever took."

  "How do you know?"

  "Found the car, not the girl."

  "That doesn't mean she's dead."

  Prosper's expression turned grim. "No proof, but the night she disappeared, vice picked up a bunch of hookers, who almost clawed their way into the paddy wagon. Told us they didn't want anything to do with the tall man with a sack on his back that stalked up and down the streets, looking for someone."

  Babet rubbed her arms. "And the third kid?"

  "Disappeared at sundown tonight. Eighteen. Made a point of smacking his brothers and sisters around. Bullied his mom. Pushed her down a set of stairs once."

  "For any particular reason?" Babet hated bullies. "He's legal age. Why did his mom put up with him?"

  "Said she was afraid of him. Had a horrible temper. He slept off a drinking bout at her place today, then took off when he woke up, but not before he gave his seven-year-old sister a set of bruises."

  Morgana hissed. The snake didn't like the sound of the boy any more than Babet did.

  Babet leaned forward in her chair, too keyed-up to relax. "If the boy left the house this evening, why do you think something happened? You haven't even given him the usual twenty-four hours before you declare someone missing."

  Prosper drained his beer and leaned forward too. He looked directly at her. "Because the boy walked outside of a bar to take a d
rag on his cigarette, and everyone heard him scream. The bouncer raced out the door, and all he saw was the kid's cigarette, still lit, lying on the street."

  "And the man with the sack?"

  "The bouncer saw him round a corner two blocks away."

  A shiver shot up Babet's spine. "This sounds like a kid's scary bedtime story, the kind parents used to tell them to keep them in line."

  Prosper gave a slow nod. "It would scare me, but what do you think we're up against? People saw the man with the sack, but no bodies. He couldn't just click his fingers and make the kids disappear. What did he do with them?"

  "I don't know." This type of supernatural was outside of Babet's expertise. "I know witches and warlocks and some kinds of magic. Can a succubus dissolve and reform?"

  "They don't stuff children into sacks. They seduce their prey to steal some of their life energy."

  That's what Lillith had told Babet, too, when she visited River City's famous madam. The original succubus, Lillith employed a wide variety of supernaturals to pleasure her clients. She enforced strict rules, though. Even mortals were safe to cavort with them.

  Prosper pushed himself to his feet and stretched. "It's been a long day. I have to hit the pavement to look for answers tomorrow." He glanced at his watch. "Make that in a few hours. I need some sleep."

  Babet rose alongside him and followed him into the house. Morgana curled outside the bedroom door as they shut it. Once Babet snuggled against Prosper, she said, "I haven't been much help. Anything you want me to do?"

  "Talk to your mom and Hennie, anyone you can think of who might have some answers. They'll give you more information than they do Hatchet or me."

  "Will do." As she drifted to sleep, a kids' Christmas song played through her mind. "You'd better watch out, better not cry…." She skipped to the song's theme. "Gonna find out who's naughty and nice…." And if you're naughty, you won't just get a lump of coal in your stocking. But what happened to the kids?

  Babet thought of Nadine and the voodoo women in their small settlement. They sent spirits to the city to spy for them. Could someone send them to capture bad children? And why would anyone want to? It didn't seem possible that something made of shadows and mists could kidnap a live person. But what did she know? Lots of magic surprised her. She'd have to drive to the settlement to ask Nadine about it.

  * * *

  Babet reached out an arm and woke. Prosper wasn't beside her. Eight a.m. He was already at the station. She rolled onto his pillow and inhaled his scent—a mix of masculine and Were, both sexy. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and smelled the aroma of coffee. Prosper always started a pot for her before he left, even when he didn't have time for a cup himself. The man was a keeper. She tossed on her short robe and headed for the kitchen.

  Morgana roused as Babet passed her in the hallway. She slithered to the patio doors for Babet to let her outside. Babet threw the doors wide and left them open. Late October brought air so soft, it felt like silk. Less humidity. Less heat.

  Babet poured herself a mug of coffee and went to her lawn chair to enjoy the morning. When she heard a car pull into their small parking space and footsteps crunch to the gate, she smiled. Had Prosper decided to drive with her when she talked to her friends?

  It was a private spot. Everyone else parked on the street, just a few steps from her front door. Maybe she and Prosper could enjoy a morning tumble before they left. She pulled at her sash and opened her robe to greet him. There was nothing underneath it. But when she heard a quick knock, she scrambled to tie everything shut.

  Hatchet stepped through the opening. He looked away until her sash was tight and her feet hit the cement. Then he stalked toward her. Whipcord lean, he looked like his body sliced through the air. "Prosper said you were going to see your mom and Hennie today. I want to go with you. We need help on this case. Any lead you can give us is more than we have now."

  She downed the last of her coffee. "I'm guessing you want to leave soon. I haven't had a shower yet."

  He sniffed the air. "You don't stink. You'll do. Throw some clothes on. Your mom doesn't care what you look like."

  She sighed. Hatchet's nickname fit him. He was long and rawboned with a narrow face, sharp features. An edgy personality. She had no idea what his real name was. No one ever used it. It was a good thing for him that she liked him. Whenever the department needed a witch to help with an investigation, Hatchet showed up on her doorstep.

  "Give me fifteen minutes," she said. "Grab some coffee if you want."

  He followed her into the kitchen and went straight for a mug while she went to get ready. Hatchet was right. No need to bother today. She pulled on jeans and a T-shirt and yanked her dark, unruly hair into a ponytail. A quick scrub for her face, a toothbrush, and she was ready. She slipped into flipflops.

  Hatchet was waiting at the door when she came out. He rinsed his mug and placed it in the sink—always thorough. He raised a pale eyebrow at the snake.

  Babet shook her head. "Morgana's not crazy about visits. She'll be happy staying on the patio. I'll leave the door open for her."

  "That doesn't worry you? What if someone tries to rob you?"

  "She's poisonous. That's their problem. And all of my wards are set. No enemy can get past them."

  He gave a quick nod and led her to his unmarked car. Supposedly, no one would know he was a cop, but anyone on the streets knew Hatchet. They drove the short distance to her mother's shop, just off the main tourist area. As usual, people clogged the sidewalks. A good thing. River City depended on its tourists.

  Hatchet parked in the small lot behind the two-story, brick building. Mom and Hennie lived above the magic shop and school for witches. "Here's hoping your coven's heard something, anything, that gives us a direction to try."

  Babet's mom often knew things others didn't. Babet entered the shop through its back door. School was in session, so Mom would be teaching a new batch of young witches—a serious undertaking. Along with reading and writing, government and calculus, they had to find their special skills and hone them. They needed to make their magic strong enough to help them survive if they came under attack. Hennie would be in the herb shop, waiting on customers or restocking ingredients. Witches came from all over the world to purchase her special blends of magic.

  Babet headed toward Hennie.

  Hennie grinned from ear-to-ear when she saw her. "Baby, glad you stopped by."

  "You've probably heard…."

  Hennie nodded her snow-white head. A ploy. Not one wrinkle marred her beautiful face. At first glance, the witch appeared like a cheerful Mrs. Santa, comforting and welcoming, but Babet knew how powerful her magic was. Hennie pursed her lips. "You're here about the bogeyman."

  Hatchet gave her a hard look. "I've heard that rumor, too, but there is no such thing, is there?"

  Hennie waggled a finger at him. "You've worked liaison long enough to know anything's possible. How old are you anyway? You're not quite human, but no one can say exactly what you are."

  "I like it that way." Which meant he wasn't going to tell them. Babet had learned from experience that it did no good to pester him. "I've lived in River City a long time. Not as long as you and Rowan, but I've seen a lot of shit. Never a bogeyman."

  Hennie nodded. "He visited here once before, when Rowan and I first settled on the river, before our families died and we joined Magrat's coven."

  Babet had never heard this story before. How had she missed it? "You mean, the bogeyman is real?"

  "What happened back then?" Hatchet asked. "Did kids disappear?"

  "Lots of them, but then the demon—Jaleel—attacked, and the bogeyman must have moved on. By the time Magrat died in the battle with Jaleel, he was gone."

  "And the kids were never seen again?" Hatchet persisted.

  Hennie shook her head. "But then, the part of the city they lived in was ashes, a lot of the families there burned. Even if they escaped, there wouldn't be much to come back to."

>   Hatchet's gaze swept the shop, all of the apothecary jars lining shelf after shelf. "Do you have any magic that can stop him?"

  Babet's mother left her classroom to join them. "Not that we know of. We've never dealt with him before." She smiled at Babet. "Hi, kid. Thought they might call you in on this case."

  "Do you know anything about the bogeyman's powers?" Babet asked.

  "We weren't witches the last time he came," her mother said. "We didn't know magic."

  With a brisk nod, Hatchet turned to leave. Their business was finished. "Then we'll have to keep looking. Thanks for your time."

  "You're a good son, aren't you?" Hennie asked on their way out.

  He turned to stare. "I'm not a kid. Don't have to worry."

  "That's where you're wrong," Hennie told him. "Until you're married and belong to someone else, age doesn't matter. Babet's always been a good daughter, and she's with Prosper now. But you—you could still be taken."

  Hatchet's laugh made goosebumps form on Babet's arms. "Let him try."

  * * *

  Ever the gentleman, Hatchet closed the car door for Babet. He slid behind the wheel and turned to her. "Who's next? Who else might have answers?"

  Okay, a gentleman, but a brusque one. These were his work hours. No time to dawdle. "I was going to drive to the voodoo settlement and talk to Nadine. Those women deal with spirits all the time. They might know something that could help."

  "Done." He pulled into traffic and headed toward the river.

  They rolled down their car windows to enjoy the breeze. What beautiful weather—an Indian summer. No need for air conditioning. Once they left the city, Babet barely glanced at the scenery they passed. This trip was becoming way too familiar—head south and follow the river. Been there/done that. She zoned off. An alligator's roar—usually only heard during mating season—interrupted her thoughts.

  "Thinking about those kids, weren't you?" Hatchet asked.