Warlocks:
The Creole Coven
Latrivia Welch
Warlocks:The Creole Coven
RiverHouse Publishing, LLC
1509 Madison Avenue
Memphis, TN 38104
Copyright © 2018 by Latrivia Welch
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
All RiverHouse, LLC Titles, Imprints and Distributed Lines are available at special quantity discounts for bulk purchases for sales promotions, premiums, fund-raising and educational or institutional use.
www.latriviawelchbooks.com
This book is dedicated to my loving family, my baby sister, Loria Jackson, my editor Karen Moss, all my sister-authors of the Creole Nights collection, the women of Swirling in the Big Easy in New Orleans, and to Gerrilyn Gibson for bringing all of us together. Thank you all.
Acknowledgments
This book would not have been possible without the dedication and determination of my fearless friend, Karen Moss, and the creative team who drives the dream at RiverHouse Publishing.
Dear Readers
T his is my first paranormal work of fiction, and I do hope that you enjoy it. The entire concept was born out of the Swirling in the Big Easy book conference in New Orleans. The authors attending the event decided we should create a boxset of awesome short stories in preparation for the event. Well, after I gave birth to my son and had a surgery, I couldn’t attend. So, Warlocks: The Creole Coven ended up being my only presence at the conference.
After the book was released and received great reviews, I decided to go back, revamp it and share with all of you. I hope you like it. I can tell you that if you read the first book in the Creole Nights box set, this is nothing like the original. We’ve got a lot more excitement in store. If you are reading this book for the very first time, I can tell you that it’s meant to be fun, adventurous and completely fictional. Purely for entertainment only.
Okay, I’m taking a deep breath for you as you turn the page or swipe the screen to begin. Three. Two. One…
Sending you all my love.
Your biggest fan,
Latrivia Welch
Chapter One
“And the two chosen souls shall be pulled through time together and joined at the appointed place.”
The Prophecy
The French Quarter
The New Bourbon Hotel
4:00 p.m.
T oni St. John stepped out of the back of a yellow cab with a small Louis Vuitton overnight bag and headed into the front of the New Bourbon Hotel as fast as her feet could take her.
The southern summer heat of New Orleans, Louisiana, thick with molasses-like humidity, had soaked right through her Armani black, cotton t-shirt. And since she had arrived at the airport an hour ago, little by little, the heat was starting to wear at the tattered edges of her sanity.
But she had to endure.
This was the most important gig of her career, and she couldn’t let something as small as hell-storm weather deter her from reaching her goal.
A freaking Pulitzer Prize.
She had already started to write her acceptance speech in her head. Once she cracked this story, she’d be on her way to A1-above the fold status with the rest of the top journalists at the paper.
“Welcome to the historic New Bourbon Hotel,” the caramel-colored doorman, donning a crisp white uniform, said with a toothy smile as he opened the ornate wooden doors for her and the homely little bellhop who followed carrying her other luggage. “Enjoy your stay, ma’am,” he hummed like a tune.
It was so cliché – his smile and Southern twang, but it was so remarkably authentic that it yielded a mental note for her story.
“Thank you,” Toni said absently, running a hand over her back pocket to feel for her cell phone - a habit acquired as a result of being joined at the hip with her technology and by losing said technology more often than she cared to admit.
As the doors to the hotel swung open, a gust of cold air greeted her, cooling her scorched cheeks and easing her spirit.
Damn, that felt good.
She took a deep breath and wiped a dollop of sweat from her arched brow.
How anyone lived before air conditioning was beyond her.
She hated herself for wearing jeans today. What she needed was a sundress for her nether regions to breathe, because right now, her thighs were on fire. Not sexy at all. But she would remedy that as soon as she got to her room and wouldn’t make that mistake again while she was here.
Pausing to take in her elegant surroundings, she looked around the hotel awestruck. Bob said this place was nice, but he had completely understated its old-world opulence. It was like stepping back in time.
Shining marble floors, over-sized Persian rugs, ornate crystal chandeliers, hand-carved crown molding, exquisite antique furniture and a man playing the piano in the corner were the first things that she noticed as she breezed through the small crowds of stylish sophisticates to the concierge desk in the back.
The second thing she noticed was that the New Bourbon Hotel wasn’t for the meager middle class, but more for the wealthy looking to get away from their stuffy mansions and play in the debauchery of the famous French Quarter.
She made a mental note to include that in her story as well.
Thank God no one was in line when she arrived at the concierge desk.
It must be my lucky day, she thought to herself, taking it as a good sign. This story was hers for the taking.
Pulling off her Ray Ban aviator shades, Toni leaned against the black marble counter. “Hi, I’m here to check in,” she said to the Black female clerk, who hung up the phone and gave full attention to the new guest.
“Glad to have you, ma’am. Welcome to the New Bourbon Hotel. Do you have a reservation with us?” the woman asked, moving her small hands over to the computer keyboard.
“Yes, Toni St. John with USA News,” she said, slipping the end of her shades into her mouth. Chomping at the plastic tip, she looked behind the clerk to notice a famous painting hanging on the wall.
“Isn’t that The Storm of the Sea of Galilee?” Toni asked, narrowing her gaze to study the stroke marks on the masterpiece.
“People ask all the time. It’s an expensive replica the owner had commissioned when we opened our doors,” Anna explained. “He thought it would make for a great conversation piece.”
“Wow, looks like the original,” Toni said, brushing it off.
“That’s the point,” the clerk said under her breath, still typing on the keyboard.
The odds of a missing Rembrandt showing up in the lobby of a New Orleans hotel was highly unlikely. It had been stolen in Boston during the most famous art heist in America’s history during the 90s. To date, the FBI was still offering $5 million for information on its whereabouts.
“I have you right here. Seven days, seven nights. Booked for our junior suite, Bourbon Street side,” the clerk said, entering information into the computer. “And do you have a credit card for incidentals?”
“Sure do.” Toni slid an American Express card across the counter.
“Thank you,” the woman said, taking the card and putting it into the chip reader.
Within seconds, she slid an envelope with room cards over to Toni and pointed toward the bank of elevators to their left. “You’re in suite 325. If you go to those elevators and hit three…” The clerk paused, eyes trailing over to a tall, handsome man, who emerged from the back office and stalked toward them.
His eyes wer
e cast low at first, avoiding contact with Toni, as he came to stand beside the clerk. “Anna, who is this charming guest of ours?”
He towered over both women at six feet four inches tall and was at least 250 pounds of pure muscle. But his size was not nearly as imposing as his breathtaking masculinity.
The stranger boasted olive-toned skin, Romanesque features, majestic, short black hair, thick brows, curly dark lashes, a wide-set thin mouth, and a strong jaw that suggested impeccable breeding.
He wore a tailored black suit with a black dress shirt that fit his broad shoulders and wide chest with perfection. He had forgone the tie today, and the top of the shirt was unbuttoned just enough to see the thick column of his neck.
He smelled of an intoxicating cologne that nearly choked Toni with its teeming sensuality.
DAMN. They do it like this in New Orleans?
Despite every effort, Toni could not move or speak - two things that were never good for a journalist.
It was as though he had cast a spell on her.
Suddenly, her throat was dry, her skin was heated again, and her eyes wouldn’t pull away from his enchanting gaze.
WTF?
He had a supernatural way about him, a serpentine grace and countenance that seemed to command the room, but more specifically, it commanded Toni.
However, the heavy-set clerk, Anna, was not as compelled by the man’s captivating charms. She rolled her eyes at Toni’s response to her boss, having seen it a hundred times before and continued with her job.
“Mr. Laveau, this is Ms. Toni St. John from the USA News. She’s just checking in,” Anna explained.
She stepped further to the side to give her boss some room - uncomfortable being too close to him. “I was just telling her how to get to her junior suite.” Without asking, Anna knew that if Mr. Laveau was coming out of his office to greet a guest, it had to be important.
Painstakingly, he turned his attention away from Toni for just a second. “Junior suite? Which one?” There was something alarming in his voice as he tilted his head and looked at the computer screen for a second.
“Who booked this?” he asked, reading the notes.
“I don’t know. There is no reference number attached,” Anna said, reading the screen as well. “That’s odd.”
Mr. Laveau clenched his jaw. “I’ll look into this later?”
“Is there a problem?” Toni asked, praying that she wouldn’t be turned away after such a long journey.
“No, of course not.” With blazing golden eyes, he landed his gaze on Toni again, this time sweeping his eyes from her hips up to her long, black mane. Inhaling her beauty, his voice was soft for the moment.
“You are our special guest; here to write about the mysterious suicides on our property. Isn’t that right, Ms. St. John?” His unique southern, creole drawl mixed with his low, smooth baritone cut through the air like a hot knife on butter.
Toni cleared her dry throat and shifted her weight from her left side to her right. His knowing stare made her uncomfortable.
“That’s correct,” Toni said, intrigued by the strange man. Involuntarily, she checked out his wedding finger to see that he didn’t appear to be married. “But I didn’t know that you were expecting me.” This was supposed to be an undercover story, and she knew that because she was the one who had pitched the idea to her editor, Bob. “Who told you that I was coming, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Mr. Laveau grinned like he had the entire world figured out and her with it. “It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know that someone from a national newspaper would eventually pick up the story, Ms. St. John. I simply made an educated guess.”
Educated guess my ass, she thought to herself. However, Toni played along.
“Well, four suicides in one month,” she shrugged, “some could call that peculiar.”
His left eye twitched.
She shifted again from one foot to the other seeing he might be a harder nut to crack than normal. Suddenly, the weight of his stare became too heavy, so she changed the subject for a minute. “And which Laveau are you, anyway? I believe that I read that there were several of you running this hotel.”
She had done her homework on the New Bourbon and knew far more than she would let on. What she could not find was a picture of the owner or any of his sons. And in a world of selfies, Internet and Facebook, that was truly odd.
“Yes, this hotel is one of our many family businesses. I’m Jericho Laveau,” he said proudly. “One of the six sons of the owner, Lafayette Laveau. My father is out today taking care of other business. I’m here overseeing things in his absence. So, on behalf of all five of my brothers, myself, and my father, it is a pleasure to meet you.” He extended his hand across the counter and offered it to her.
The gesture seemed more sinister than kind, like the pilgrims offering their hands to Native Americans right before they pushed them off their own land.
Toni looked down at his manicured hand suspiciously, and then finally slipped her slender hand in his, too reluctant to be rude.
On contact, his warm embrace was electric, making the fine hair on her arm stand on end as he curled his fingers around hers.
She glowered at him, confused at the varied reaction his simple touch had caused in her.
His eyes burned brighter as he held her in place, somehow aware of the sensation he sent through her.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you as well,” she finally said, releasing a stream of air from her lungs. Pulling her hand away and wiggling her fingers, she was struck with an idea. “Hey. Maybe later, when I get settled, I can have a few minutes of your time to talk about the suicides, Mr. Laveau.”
She already had police reports, but her readers would want an inside perspective. A quote from one of the managers would be perfect.
Anna smirked snidely, quietly watching the exchange.
“Please, I insist that you call me Jericho,” he said, scanning the lobby to make sure no other guests were approaching to hear their conversation.
His elegant face was impassive. “And while I can’t talk about the unfortunate deaths, due to an ongoing investigation, I’d be happy to talk to you about the hotel. It has an amazing backstory.”
Toni gave a snide smile, reading between the lines. “I’m sure it does, and I’d love to hear about it.” If nothing else, she was good at her job. She’d get him comfortable, get him talking, and then she’d eventually find out about the suicides.
Her grin seemed to prick at his sensibilities. Pushing his fists down in his pants pockets, he rolled his majestic eyes over to his clerk. “Anna, please select the Presidential suite for Ms. St. John’s seven-day stay with us.”
Toni’s full lips parted in surprise. “Oh, my editor didn’t authorize that…” She knew the rate card for this place, and that room would easily go for three grand a night.
It was way too steep for her pockets or her boss’s meager budget.
Jericho cut her off as a strange look flitted across his face. “It’s on the house. We won’t be charging you for your stay at all.”
Anna typed on the keyboard and then hesitated at something on the screen. “But it’s booked starting tomorrow,” she said, voice lowered. “It’s Mr. and Mrs. Davenport.”
The Davenports were regulars to the hotel, and they always demanded nothing but the best for their stay. To even consider putting them in a lesser room would be out of the question.
Toni waved a dismissive hand at such a major upgrade anyway. All she needed was a place to plop down, look at her notes and open her computer.
“Really, the junior suite is fine. I’m a native New Yorker. Small and efficient is my way of life. You should see my apartment,” Toni joked with an off-key laugh.
Jericho didn’t crack a smile. “Send our regards to the Davenports. Offer them another time and a discounted price, offer them a suite at another hotel in the district on us, but cancel their reservations and give the Presidential suite to Ms. St.
John,” Jericho said, voice sterner now. He forced a smile toward Anna and nodded. “Go on now,” he urged.
“Of course, Mr. Laveau,” Anna answered, taking the other cards back from Toni apologetically. “Here are your keys to the Presidential suite. If you need anything at all, please let us know.” She waved toward the bell hop, who was standing obediently just out of ear shot. “Darnell will take your bags up for you.”
Toni’s chest swelled in preparation to reject the offer.
“And there will not be another word about this,” Jericho said before Toni could protest. “We southerners pride ourselves on hospitality as you New Yorkers on your efficiency. You must allow me this small courtesy.”
Toni took the cards and tapped them against the counter. There was no doubt that this guy was hiding something. “Thank you,” she said, eyebrows raised at the handsome man. Her voice trailed off. “I appreciate it.”
“We appreciate you. Again, we are very happy to have you at the New Bourbon Hotel. Enjoy your stay, and I’ll see you this evening for that chat. Now, if you’d excuse me, I must get back to my duties,” he said, giving her a mischievous wink before he turned with his hands still in his pockets and disappeared into his office.
Toni watched him walk away, checking out his firm rear and wide back. When he was completely out of sight, she looked over at Anna and shook her head in utter dismay. What a character?
“Is he always that gracious to reporters?” she asked Anna.
In Toni’s experience, people normally hated to see journalists coming, especially if they were doing a piece that could be not-so-flattering for their business.
But it seemed that this guy welcomed the controversy, and based upon the bustling lobby packed with people, even with the deaths, it hadn’t slowed down business.
Anna looked over her shoulder to make sure Jericho was gone. She turned back to Toni and dropped the act. “That man is never kind to anyone. If he’s being nice to you, he wants something from you, but don’t quote me on it,” she said, a smirk across her lips. “Have a good day, Ms. St. John.”
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