by Judith Post
Babet put a hand to her lips, grimacing. The circle was drawn with cat skins, woven together. In its center, dried blood had seeped into the brick floor, staining it. Cat and rodent teeth were scattered inside. Chicken feet lay heaped in a pile. Black magic.
Morgana whipped her neck forward to hit Babet’s leg. Babet jumped, then frowned at her. The snake bobbed her head toward the street.
“Is someone coming?” Prosper asked.
Morgana nodded.
They didn’t need to know more. They let themselves out a back door that locked behind them and disappeared into a nearby alley. Babet whispered a chant, and a breeze blew away their scent. Shadows engulfed them. They heard voices and yowls. Babet strained forward to see. A man and four women matched strides as they approached the church. Celeste Moonbeam’s white-blond hair shone under the street lamps. Two other witches that Babet didn’t know accompanied her. The red-haired witch carried a burlap bag. Bumps writhed, hissing and fighting inside it.
Babet squinted, trying to see better in the gloom. The man was tall and whipcord thin, dressed completely in black. His head was shaved and covered with tattoos. In the flickering light, it looked almost as if the inked drawings moved.
The five people hurried up the steps and inside the building. Lights danced and darted as candles were lit. Babet flipped her cell open. She called her mother, then Vittorio.
Voices rose in a chant. Darkness thickened around the church, heavy and oppressive, almost a living presence. Babet bit her bottom lip as she listened to the witches’ words. The stink of black magic grew stronger. Four arms rose high enough to see them through the clear, side windows. Each hand held a knife. When the chant reached fever pitch, the arms plunged down. Cats screeched in final death cries. Then silence. The ceremony was over. Babet knew what came next. The women would sprinkle the cats’ blood inside the circle. Then they’d skin the bodies and weave the new skins into the old, to increase the circle’s strength. What they did with the bodies, she had no idea.
She glanced at her watch nervously. If the coven didn’t get here soon, the black service would be over, and the necromancer would go home with his witches.
She fidgeted. Prosper shot out an arm and gripped her wrist. He shook his no. A warning. To challenge them would be a suicide mission. She forced herself to be still.
The candle flames went out inside the church. When they left the building, a fifth woman walked with them. Her pitch-black, straight hair fell almost to her waist. She stood as tall as Prosper. Helia Chanter—one of most infamous witches in history.
The group barely made it to the street when a flash of magic shot out and hit Helia in the forehead. She crumpled to the pavement, dead again. Mom and the coven stepped from the shadows of nearby buildings.
Babet sighed her relief. They’d killed Helia before she could reach her full power. No such luck with the other four witches. They pressed their bodies in front of the necromancer’s, forming a shield to protect him. Babet was about to go to join the others when Prosper stopped her again. He pointed. Evangeline had taken her place, standing beside Perdita. Before Babet could make up her mind what to do next, blasts of magic shot back and forth.
At a signal from her mother, the witches separated into groups of three, and each group concentrated on a particular one of the dark witches. Even with the odds of three against one, her mom’s witches were struggling.
Celeste Moonbeam swept her hand in a semi-circle, and a blaze of energy sprayed the area in front of her. Perdita gasped and grasped her right arm. It hung uselessly by her side. With a laugh, Celeste aimed for Evangeline.
Babet stepped forward. A white, hot ball shot from her palms. It slammed Celeste in the back, knocking her off her feet. It would have killed most witches, but Celeste quickly sprang up again. This time, she stood sideways, ready to aim in both directions—toward Evangeline and Babet. Suddenly, she whipped both hands together, forefingers pointing like a gun. A spark of lightning hit Evangeline’s shoulder. The wound smoldered, and Evangeline whimpered.
Babet could feel fury build inside her—mixed magic. When she unleashed it, a blast as tall and wide as Celeste herself engulfed the witch. When the glare faded, Celeste held out a hand to balance herself. She looked emaciated, drained, and Babet realized her father’s powers had joined with her mother’s to make a lethal combination. Before she could blast Celeste again, a body leapt from a rooftop and sped toward the witch. Fangs down, a vampire ripped out Celeste’s throat. Another witch, dead.
Tamber Grisly snapped her fingers, and the vampire flew across the street, slamming into a building. He sagged to the ground. Not real dead, but unconscious.
Tamber turned to face Babet, while Hennie worked with Babet’s mother to make a lasso of magic. It whirled overhead and settled over Tamber’s shoulders. The red-haired witch cackled, enjoying herself. She tossed up her fingers, and the lasso rose in the air and dropped over Hennie.
Babet rushed to her mother’s side, and together, they raised their arms and flung energy at Tamber. The witch chuckled as she dodged one spell after another. Evangeline made a cutting gesture and the blazing rope sagged to the ground and disappeared, freeing Hennie. She went to stand beside her, shooing Perdita behind them, out of harm’s way. Babet glanced at the other witches in their coven. Two were sprawled on the cement, alive or dead, she couldn’t tell. The witches squared off against each other again, but before anyone could act, mists burst into the area. They settled over the black witches, so thick, they couldn’t see. Faces formed, whispering insults into the enemies’ ears.
Tamber cried a spell, but witch magic had little effect on voodoo spirits. Babet saw Manette’s misty face press nose to nose with Tamber’s, mocking her. On the edge of the mists, Babet saw the necromancer take a few steps back, edging toward a gap between buildings. He meant to flee into hiding until he knew he was safe. One step more, and shadows moved in the dark alleys. Red eyes glowed. Vampires lay in wait. The necromancer moved closer to his witches.
Babet used the moment of confusion to text Vittorio. If she and the coven could keep the black witches busy, she had an idea that just might work. Tamber screamed a chant, and winds came to blow the mists away. Angry, the red-haired witch raised both palms, shooting snaps of lightning in every direction.
Babet threw up a protective shield. It wouldn’t last long against Tamber’s sheer strength, but it gave her enough time to shoot a straight, solid blast at the witch. It hit her in the chest and made her stagger. Tamber’s eyes widened in shock. Then her lips twisted into a snarl. She barely began to chant before she jerked with surprise and kicked her right foot out in pain. She and Babet looked down at the same time. Morgana was slithering away as fast as she could after biting Tamber’s ankle. Purple was already discoloring swollen veins.
Tamber aimed for the snake, but Babet knocked her off balance again with a blast of heat. It hit and raised a welt. Tamber narrowed her eyes, studying her opponents. Babet darted a glance at the other witches. Four of her mom’s coven were locked in battle with a witch Babet couldn’t identify. Their energies met between them and couldn’t move forward or backward. When the witch’s black power began to creep toward them, a huge, brown bear hit her from behind, slashed his claws across her neck, and nearly beheaded her.
Tamber screamed her anger. She tossed her arms into the air to call for a curse. Babet whipped energy at her and bound her hands together. Lips pressed tightly together, eyes bulging, Tamber jerked her arms free, but Prosper was hidden in shadows again, safe. So was Morgana.
Tamber squared her shoulders. Mom, Babet, and Evangeline did the same. They took steps closer to each other, and power erupted like fireworks. Blasts of light flew skyward, smacked into buildings, and left dents and holes. When it all settled, all four witches were still standing. But this time, Tamber was panting, nearly exhausted. Vittorio plummeted to earth behind her and sank his fangs into the necromancer’s throat. He gulped a long draught, and the man fell to his k
nees. Vittorio had timed it perfectly, just as Babet had suggested. If Tamber turned to defend her master, Babet would skewer her with magic. If she didn’t, she’d die anyway. After all, the necromancer was the witches’ energy source. Without him, she’d sag to the ground.
“Wait!” Tamber held out a hand to stop the vampire. “If you spare Osman, I’ll tell you where your friend is. He still lives.”
Chin bloody, Vittorio raised his head to study her. “No, I’ll make you a deal. Tell me where Jesus is, and I’ll bury your body at a crossroads. Someday, if you get lucky, someone might summon you again. If you don’t help me, I’ll burn your corpse, and you’ll be no more.”
“I put a curse…”
Before she could finish, Vittorio sucked more blood from the necromancer. Tamber fell to her knees, too weak to stand. The last witch still standing cried, “The abandoned liquor store on Fourth Street. Bury me. You promised.”
“If you’re telling the truth.” Vittorio bit deeper and drained the necromancer. When he released him, the man fell forward, nothing but a husk. Prosper strode forward and slashed across his neck. His head rolled free. No one wanted to fight a new vampire with necromancer powers. This way, Osman would stay dead.
Both of his witches collapsed. Dead, too.
Prosper shifted back to his mortal form, wondrously naked, but no one cared. He looked at the bodies littering the street. “What should we do with them?”
Vittorio motioned to his friends, who stepped from the shadows. “We’ll take them somewhere to burn. All but the one. I’ll keep my word.”
Prosper frowned. “You’ve done this before?”
“Vampires, upon occasion, are forced to dispose of dead bodies.”
Prosper shrugged. “It’s not like anyone’s looking for witches who died in the Dark Ages. And I have no idea where the necromancer came from. If you can make the bodies disappear, we can sweep this whole mess under the bayou.”
Vittorio looked at Babet. “Will you help me find Jesus first?”
She gave a quick nod, and they headed toward Fourth Street, where the boarded up liquor store was. Prosper came too. They’d passed it twice today. She handed her mother the agate before she left.
Mom and Hennie were busy, trying to pour white magic into their fallen friends to help heal them.
When they reached the shop, Vittorio paused with his hand on the doorknob before pushing it open. “How bad will it be?”
“Tamber made the Spanish Inquisition look nice.” Babet’s stomach churned, already queasy. She tried to think positive thoughts, but dreaded what she was about to see, hoped she wouldn’t get sick.
“If he’s bad, can you heal him?”
“I’ll try.”
All three of them froze when they opened the door and saw Jesus, spread eagle and duct taped to a wall. Prosper put his hands on Babet’s shoulders, trying to comfort her. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to pretend she’d never seen what she did. A strangled sound escaped Vittorio. He rushed to his friend.
“P….ease…” Jesus couldn’t talk, not after what Tamber had done to him. “Fin….me.”
Vittorio plunged his fangs into someone for a second time. But this was a mercy killing. When he took the last sip, Jesus crumbled into dust. Babet called for a breeze to blow his ashes away.
Vittorio stared as his friend’s remains flew skyward. He ran a hand through his beautiful, long hair. “Thank you.” He looked at Babet in disbelief. “For everything. Does this make us friends?” He glanced at Prosper. “Our kind doesn’t do well with Weres and witches.”
Babet sighed. “Not friends, but allies. If you need us, call.”
“Likewise.” Vittorio straightened his posture, took a deep breath. “I’ll go back to help Leam. He hit the wall really hard, but vampires heal fast. I guess you learn who you can count on in times like these, right?”
Babet turned to Prosper. “We should go back too. The coven will want to know what happened.”
Prosper nodded, took her hand, and started for the door. Babet shook her head. “Do you keep spare clothes in your car for when you shift?”
He grinned. “As a matter of fact, I do. Why? Am I distracting you?” He was trying for a playful tone. It was laced with too many other emotions—anger, hurt, a little despair. He’d seen a lot as a detective, but nothing like this, she knew.
She laced her arm through his and moved close. They could both use a shoulder to lean on tonight. “Come on, big guy. I’ll walk you to your car.”
He smiled. “And when all of this is over?”
“I’ll pour you a stiff shot of bourbon and sleep curled against you all night.”
He sighed. “There was a time when that would have been disappointing, but tonight, it sounds just about perfect.”
They started to his car, and then the coven, and then home. This time, it would take them both some time to recuperate.
Bad Juju
The Fourth Babet & Prosper Novella
A Lunch Hour Read
by
Judith Post
Copyright 2012
Babet opened one eye. It felt like someone lurked over her. Sure enough, Prosper was standing at the foot of the bed, studying her. She crooked a dark brow. "What? Am I drooling?"
A grin lifted his lips. "No, just enjoying the view."
She ran her tongue over her teeth. Swallowed hard. Did she have bad breath? She scraped her fingers through her long, unruly hair. "I feel grungy."
"You look soft and sweet when you sleep."
"What are you saying? That I'm not soft and sweet when I'm awake?"
His dimples showed. "If I wanted a nice, even-tempered woman, I wouldn't be here."
But here, he was.
Prosper folded his thick, muscled arms over his equally impressive chest. He stood in the arch between Babet’s bedroom and bathroom, a towel riding low on his hips. He hadn't shaved. Dark stubble covered his chin. “I want a drawer.”
“A drawer?” Babet realized she should have been prepared for this. Prosper was spending more and more time at her cozy bungalow. Less and less time at his apartment. They ate suppers together, slept together, but enjoyed their alone time, their separateness.
“I already have a key. I’m not asking for laundry privileges, but I’m tired of driving home to dress before I go to work.” He dropped the towel to pull on underwear he’d left on the floor last night and followed those with his wrinkled jeans.
The sun slanted through the slats of the bedroom shutters, striping his bronze skin in light and shadow. She’d never met anyone as exotic as her detective. What had he called himself? Part Indian, part Creole, a splash of this, a pinch of that. A combination of all things good. Babet sighed. “I suppose you’ll want some closet space next.”
“That’s a given. If I decide to wine and dine you on the spur of the moment, I need the proper getup.” He ran a hand through his thick hair, still damp from the shower. The Were looked lovely when mussed.
Babet threw off the sheets to saunter closer to him. His gaze roved her body, and she gave a smug smile. Prosper enjoyed every inch of her and let her know it. “This is a small house. Space is hard to come by. If you want storage, what’s in it for me?”
His chuckle was a low rumble. “I already start coffee in the morning, take out the trash, and help with the dishes."
All true. He never balked at pitching in.
His arms circled her waist, and huge hands grabbed her behind. "And I've saved this beautiful ass on several occasions. What more do you want?”
“Hmm, there must be something.”
A brief flare of hurt squenched his eyes, but passed quickly.
It made her heart seize. She'd never hurt him. "It'll be hard to come up with anything," she said in a teasing voice. "You exceed my expectations on a daily basis."
The dimples returned. "True, that. Even your dad liked me."
"That's because you helped us fight Jaleel." When the demon attacked her to tormen
t her father, Prosper had stood by her side to battle him. With their help, her dad, the Underworld's gatekeeper, had been able to capture Jaleel and return him to his pit.
"And I worked with you to beat the necromancer and his witches," Prosper added, lifting her off her feet to nuzzle her cheek.
"I helped you on that case," she argued.
He shrugged. "Whatever. We make a good team."
Thumps landed on the bedroom door. Prosper lowered Babet to the floor and shook his head. "Morgana isn't happy. She doesn't like being left out of the action."
"Snakes aren't allowed in the bedroom, even if she is my familiar."
He pulled a T-shirt over his head. “I still want a drawer and maybe a few hangers, but I have to go. I have two cases that Hatchet and I are working on. Not making much progress.”
She knew better than to ask. When he worked with Hatchet, it was usually a homicide. He could only tell her so much about his job. And she could only share so much about her witchcraft.
She tossed on a summer dress—nothing underneath. When they stepped into the hallway, Morgana slithered around Babet's ankle. The snake seemed unusually agitated.
"You okay?" Babet asked.
The snake gazed at the front door. A few seconds later, someone pounded on it.
“Something's up, isn't it?”
Morgana uncoiled herself and hurried toward the tiny foyer. Babet and Prosper followed. Babet glanced out the huge, front window on their way. Evangeline stood on the front stoop. When the girl peeked in and saw her, some of the panic left her eyes.
There must be trouble. Since Evangeline had discovered she was half-voodoo princess and half-witch, she’d been training with their coven regularly, and a lot of the fear of mixed magics had left her. But this morning, she looked terrified and worried.
Babet opened the door and ushered her inside.
Evangeline looked at Prosper. “I came here first. I was hoping to find both of you. Ines is gone, taken.”
