by Hailey North
Penelope hugged her arms to her chest and hurried up the dark street. The lower end of Bourbon Street where the Bayou Magick Shoppe was located was residential, as different as night and day from the stretch where tourists traditionally came to drink, gawk, and act out in ways they never would have thought of doing back home in Iowa.
She’d had to park four blocks from the shop. Most of the house fronts were shuttered from the street. Warnings about muggings raced through her mind and she wondered why she’d agreed to chase after Mrs. Merlin’s stupid magic supplies in the middle of the night. And a work night, too!
Then she reached one house where lights blazed, a dinner party in full swing. Several young men sat on the stoop, drinking wine and chatting. For a moment she felt safer, and her spirits rose.
She crossed to the next block and the feeling vanished. Walking up the steps to the door of the Bayou Magick Shoppe, Penelope couldn’t banish the feeling that someone watched her. Probably Mr. Gotho, she tried to convince herself, as she rang the bell and waited anxiously for him to come to the door of the shop, a shop clearly closed for the night.
Her mood was darkened by her concern over something David had said at dinner. In her mind, she’d been working it over and over, the way she did when a popcorn hull got stuck in a tooth. Pretty soon her mind grew frustrated and she tried to let go of the worrisome thought that Hinson was more than he appeared on the surface.
More what? She shivered and rang the bell again. More dangerous?
Don’t be ridiculous, she told herself. He’s a lawyer, same as you. Maybe he has some bad clients, but he also has good clients.
But how did he know which legal recruiting firm had found her the job in New Orleans?
Behind her she heard shuffling footsteps. Penelope whirled around.
An old man walking his dog glanced up at her.
“Evening,” he said. The dog lifted his leg against the metal post of the RESIDENTIAL PARKING ONLY sign. Penelope smiled weakly and turned back to bang on the door.
“Come on,” she said, wanting nothing more than to be in her bed safe and sound. She should have insisted on bringing Mrs. Merlin along with her, though she would have been good for nothing more than moral support.
But at this moment, with the wind picking up and the street darker than ever with the clouds covering the moon, moral support was exactly what she needed.
Mrs. Merlin continued to insist this mission had to be accomplished alone.
Penelope was beginning to get the feeling Mrs. Merlin pretty much made up her magick rules as her mood suited her. On the other hand, the kindly woman wouldn’t knowingly have sent her on a risky errand.
Of course, she probably hadn’t been on the lower end of Bourbon Street after dark for half a century.
She heard a lock scrape on the other side of the door. Another echoing slap of footsteps accompanied the noise. For a fleeting instant, Penelope wondered whether Tony was the source of her sensation of being followed.
The door creaked open and she discarded the idea. This time of night, he’d probably bedded down with his babe of the moment.
Mr. Gotho wore jogging shorts and an LSU T-shirt. With his inscrutable gaze, he studied Penelope as she stood framed in the door.
Her imagination had dressed him in a crimson dressing gown, pipe in hand, nightcap on his head. She didn’t know why; despite his silvery brown hair, he didn’t look too many years her senior. It was his eyes that looked as if they’d lived for at least a century.
Watching him watch her, though, she decided not to comment either on his wardrobe or his age. She wanted to pass whatever test he’d summoned for her, get the goods, and get home.
“Come in, Penelope,” he said in that low voice of his that sounded so mysterious.
She stepped inside the shop.
He shut the door behind her.
And locked it.
Penelope decided she’d lost her sense of adventure before it had a chance to blossom. “Uh . . .”
“Do not be afraid. You are safer in here than you are on the street. There is“—Mr. Gotho inclined his head sideways, as if listening—”evil out there. But there is also good.”
Yeah, right. Oops. Penelope told her mind to behave itself. How did one keep one’s ego in line?
Mr. Gotho smiled. “To wonder is to begin to understand.”
Could he read her mind? Penelope wanted to ask him, but she felt silly doing so.
“It’s okay to ask me whatever you wish,” Mr. Gotho said, walking to the back of the shop. He lifted the counter gate and waited for her to follow him. “I don’t read minds. But I do interpret expressions.”
Penelope laughed nervously. “And everything I think shows on my face, I guess?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that.” He paused beside the door where he’d been when he’d tossed her out the other day. The other day? Only the day before. Penelope couldn’t quite grasp that her life seemed to be changing with such lightning speed.
Certainly since she’d met Mrs. Merlin everything had been topsy-turvy.
And since you met Tony Olano, she reminded herself.
Tony? Tony is only a bossy, arrogant, troublemaking ex-cop who got himself thrown off the police force. Why should his existence make me feel as if my life has changed?
“Do you wish to go on?”
Mr. Gotho’s voice broke into her thoughts. Penelope blinked and stared at the snarling purple tiger on the front of his golden T-shirt. “Sorry,” she said, “I forget myself sometimes.”
“Of course,” he said, and opened the door.
Once inside the storeroom, Penelope stared at the rows of shelves covered with bottles, boxes and bags of all sorts, shapes, and sizes. Candles in a rainbow of colors lined one side of the room.
“Your list?” Mr. Gotho held out a hand.
“List?” Penelope knew her face fell. Mrs. Merlin had said she wouldn’t need a list. Then she smiled. Mr. Gotho was only testing her. “I only need what is necessary,” she said.
“Very good.” Her personal shopper in the realm of magick moved about the small storeroom, a gentle smile tugging at his lips as he pulled various items off the shelves and put them onto the tiny round table in the center of the room.
The candles were arranged by color, starting with white, then gray, then black along one wall. Another shelf held candles in varying shades of red. As she looked around, Mr. Gotho selected one of the cherry-red candles and placed it on the table.
“What a wonderful color,” Penelope said, reaching out to stroke the candle.
“It carries strength of heart,” Mr. Gotho said. “This candle is for you.”
“Me?” Penelope stilled her hand where it touched the smooth, waxy side of the candle. “These supplies are for Mrs. Merlin, not for me.”
Mr. Gotho smiled. “Perhaps.”
“I do like this color,” she said. “It feels right.”
“It is you, as you can see.”
She let go reluctantly and stepped back as Mr. Gotho started to pack the candles and other items into a shopping bag.
“Mrs. Merlin may fall short when it comes to patience, but she is an excellent teacher,” Mr. Gotho said. “If you listen to her, you will learn from her.”
“Learn? You mean to do my own spells?” The very idea was incredible. Penelope, as much as she lived in her fantasy world, was very much a believer in the rational and logical.
“You never know what you’re capable of until you reach for the stars, my dear,” Mr. Gotho said, handing her the bag.
She accepted the weighted shopping bag. “How much do I owe you?” It was a good thing she’d brought her checkbook. It looked as if Mrs. Merlin’s supplies could add up to a large sum.
He shook his head. “Mrs. Merlin will pay me later.”
“You’re sure?” Penelope reached for her shoulder purse. “I really don’t mind taking care of it.”
“That’s not necessary.” He opened the storeroom door, held it
open for her, then followed her back up the hallway to the front of the store.
Penelope paused at the door. “You believe in all this, don’t you?” She didn’t ask in a skeptical way; she really wanted to understand this enigmatic man.
He cocked his head to one side, a finger to his chin. “I believe in what is possible,” he said. “And I think you do, too. Go quietly into the night and seek the forces of good.”
“Thank you, Mr. Gotho,” she said, surprisingly touched by his words. She nodded and slipped out the door.
She heard the bolt shut behind her. Squaring her shoulders, she started walking down the now deserted street.
The four blocks to her car seemed like a mile, but she felt safer now, somehow protected by the peace she’d absorbed during her visit with Mr. Gotho.
That was why when she heard the footsteps behind her, she ignored them at first.
Only your imagination, she told herself.
But when she speeded up, so did they.
Chapter 14
If she walked just a little faster, she’d reach her car ahead of whoever stalked her in the darkness.
Penelope forced herself to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other as she worked her car keys out of her pocket and into her hand. With a sweaty palm, she grasped the bag Mr. Gotho had given her. Whatever happened, she had to hang on to that.
The steps kept pace behind her. If only she had the courage to turn around, she might find that they belonged to yet another innocent old man walking a dog.
But Penelope knew better.
Fear drove her on.
She turned the corner to the sidestreet where she’d parked her car.
Right at the corner.
The blacktop of the street glared back at her, empty under the streetlight.
She glanced over her shoulder. Her fears materialized in the shape of a young man, one hand thrust into the pocket of a windbreaker.
She swallowed, gathered her breath to scream.
A car pulled up beside her, the front passenger door hanging open.
“Get in,” called a low voice.
She froze.
“For Pete’s sake, it’s me.”
Penelope started to laugh. Then she bolted toward the car as the youth who’d been following her ran in the opposite direction.
“I’ve never been so glad to see anyone in my life,” Penelope said to Tony Olano, sliding into the car and locking the door behind her.
He grinned. “Just call me a knight in shining armor.”
Her teeth chattered. “I knew someone was following me, but I didn’t have the nerve to turn around.”
“Just as well,” he said, squealing rubber as he roared into a left-hand turn in front of an oncoming cab. As the car steadied into a slightly more moderate pace, he turned toward her, a grim look on his face. “Now, do you want to tell me what the hell you were doing on this end of Bourbon Street at this time of night?”
Penelope bristled. “That’s none of your business.”
He slammed on the brakes. “Want to get out and walk?”
“I certainly will.” She grabbed the door handle.
He yanked the wheel, sliding the car to the curb. “Forget it,” he said. “I’m not letting you out on this street. Jesus,” he said, running his hands through his hair, “do you know how much trouble you are?”
“No, I do not.” Penelope swung around in the seat. “I didn’t ask to be rescued, so just take me home—now, if you please. I need to call the police and report my car was stolen.”
“Your car is probably locked up tight in the impound lot ‘cause you parked too close to the corner. Forget about that. You didn’t ask to be mugged, either, but that’s what was about to happen to you. Do you have any idea how frightened you would have been then?” Tony reached over, and before she knew what had happened, he had his arms around her, pulling her close to him.
She caught her breath in her throat, half-sob, half-laugh. “Oh, Tony,” she said, snuggling against him, wondering how he’d happened along when he had, but too thankful to question the timing. She’d started to shake, and he ran his hands up and down her arms.
“There, there,” he said in a low voice, “you’re okay, you’re with me. Tony-O is here to take care of you, so don’t you worry.”
She nestled her head against his chest, wondering if she’d ever felt so safe.
He stroked her hair, murmuring silly words about brave Penelope taking on the world.
For the longest time, she lay wrapped in a security she’d never known existed. Then she struggled to sit up, to regain her sanity.
“I—”
“Shhh,” he said, and lowered his lips to hers.
She lost all notion of reality, sanity, order, and discipline as his mouth claimed hers. With a gasp of surprise, she opened her lips and his tongue accepted the unconscious invitation to explore her mouth. Greedily so, as he plunged deeper, circling the roof of her mouth, causing her to cry out in an ecstasy she’d never known.
“Oh, my,” she whispered, and snuggled even closer to his chest. One arm crept around his waist, claiming a path above his belt in a way that felt completely right and natural to her.
Tony leaned into her, his hands on her hair, her back, her breasts, stroking, teasing, finding their way to the most responsive parts of her body. It was as if he knew what would make her cry out, what would make tears sparkle in her lashes.
She moaned, responding to his lips still hot on her mouth. He lifted his head slightly, so that his lips barely brushed hers. She raised her hands, shyly, only knowing she wanted his lips back on hers.
He grinned and placed her hands on the back of his head. “Pull me down, sweetheart. Tell me what you want.”
Her eyes widened. Then she did exactly what he’d suggested.
This time he moaned as he plunged his tongue inside her mouth. Abruptly, he stopped and pulled back, holding her at arm’s length. “You’re shivering,” he said softly.
She nodded, realizing she’d been trembling since she’d first heard the ominous footsteps behind her in the darkness.
“I know just the thing to make you feel better.” He let go of her and pulled the car into traffic.
Penelope felt like telling him he was already making her feel better, but shyness held her tongue. Hugging her arms around herself, she said, “And what does Dr. Olano have in mind?”
“A true New Orleans remedy—café au lait and beignets at Café du Monde. Have you been there?”
She shook her head, thinking she ought to quit working so much and see more of the city she now called home.
“Going to Café du Monde, especially at night, is a local tradition.” He smiled. “I used to date a girl in high school whose mom would only let her go out with me if we were on a double date to Café du Monde. That’s how safe you’ll feel there.” He winked.
Penelope couldn’t help but smile. She wondered if the girl’s mom had ever considered just how devastatingly charming Tony Olano must have been between home and the café and how little time they must have spent sipping coffee.
She pictured him in high school, same great body, same killer eyes. He must have been the heartthrob of every teenage girl, the very opposite of her own secondary school experience. Penelope sighed and touched her fingertips to her lips.
“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are when you go all dreamy-eyed like that?” Tony had stopped the car and turned toward her.
Penelope started to blush. “No,” she said frankly. “I don’t think of myself as beautiful.”
“And they tell me how smart you’re supposed to be,” he murmured, reaching over and loosening the knot of her hair. “How about we get our coffee and beignets, then I teach you just how beautiful you are?”
Speechless, unable to believe the man with bedroom eyes was saying those words to her, Penelope managed a nod. Looking out the window, away from Tony’s intense gaze, she saw by the name emblazoned on a green and white
awning that they’d parked by their destination.
Tony opened the door for her. Despite the late hour, the sidewalk activity was going strong. From across the street came the drivers’ cries advertising buggies for hire. “Bugg—ee! Bugg—ee!”’ An unblinking mime commanded the nearby entrance to the sidewalk café, hat held forth for tips. Almost half of the many tables were occupied and waiters hustled about.
Penelope smiled up at Tony. “This is fun,” she said.
He draped an arm around her shoulders and led her to a table. As she sat down, Penelope realized she’d stopped shaking.
Tony took the seat beside her, his thigh brushing hers in a way she found both exciting and comforting. He pointed to a battered aluminum napkin holder. “The menu.”
She bent her head to read the choices plastered on the side of the napkin holder. Her hair swung forward. Shifting her hand, she reached to tuck the wayward strands behind her ear, but Tony was faster.
He gently brushed her hair from her face. “Like silk,” he said, then in a quick change of tone he added, “I recommend two orders of beignets.”
She nodded, not hungry for food, but definitely starved for every minute she could have with this man. When he wasn’t annoying her, he made her feel like a princess. A sexy, desirable princess.
A waiter approached, a stack of thick white saucers lodged under one arm. “Take your order,” he said in rapid-fire, heavily accented English.
“Two café au laits and two orders of beignets,” Tony said.
Penelope decided she’d better keep her thoughts firmly on food and far away from her other appetites. “What is a beignet?” she said, stumbling over the word as she tried to imitate Tony’s pronunciation that sounded like bin-yeah.
“A donut coated in powdered sugar. And café au lait is coffee made with steamed milk.”
“New Orleans has its own version of so many things,” Penelope said. “In any other city, they’d simply say donut and coffee with steamed milk.”
“And it wouldn’t taste nearly as good,” Tony said. He reached over and stroked the back of her hand lightly. “Everything’s better in New Orleans,” he murmured.
Penelope was saved from trying to come up with an appropriate response by the waiter delivering steaming cups and saucers piled with what looked like mounds of powdered sugar. “Wow,” she said.
