Margo could hear the Toussaint twins moving closer.
“Wait!” Enola shouted. “Stop it!”
With a narrow-eyed warning, Bishop slowly removed his hand.
“Watch your mouth!” he sneered.
Enola gave Bishop a shove and stepped between them. The vampire was not easily moved, but willingly took a step back. Gideon’s movement in Margo’s peripheral warned of an unwanted confrontation.
“Can you two deal with your domestic dispute later?” Enola gritted. “We don’t have time for a lover’s quarrel.”
Bishop frowned, pressing his lips together. He was obviously pissed, but Margo didn’t care. It was a good question. Where was he when the vampires tried to kill them? He hadn’t shown up until the ass-end of the battle. Too busy sucking on his pretty little blood bag.
Margo rolled her eyes and walked over to the sofa. She stared pointedly at Bishop as she sat, and “Sharon Stone” crossed one leg over the other.
“Okay, so, she’s my sister,” Enola continued. “Where has she been all this time? And again, why is she trying to kill us?”
Bishop exhaled a frustrated breath and walked away.
“We got something,” Boone offered. “After your father’s death, your mother, pregnant and grieving, retreated into a self-imposed exile. But the witches were watching. She was alone in a motel on the south side of Chicago when she went into labor. Once she went into labor, they strangled your mother and took your sister. They thought she was dead and left her there.”
“What they didn’t know,” Boone continued. “Was that there were two. Luckily, a hotel maid walked in and discovered your mother bleeding out on the floor. She called an ambulance, and your mother woke up in a hospital with a new baby girl.”
Enola shook her head. “That makes no sense. My mother would have never stopped looking for her child.”
“She couldn’t have known,” Ruby breathed.
“But how is that possible?” Enola questioned.
Boone shrugged. “She woke up in the hospital with a baby,” he pointed out. “If Olivia knew that she had another baby out there somewhere, she never told a soul. The witches raised Vivienne. They taught her to hate your entire tribe. In her mind, you’re the enemy.”
Margo looked at her mom. She was in shock. If she knew any of what Boone was telling them, she deserved an Emmy.
Enola’s head fell forward. Margo couldn’t see it in her eyes, but she could tell she was sad. The room went silent when her mom walked over and put her arms around her.
Because everyone else was, Margo remained silent. But it was becoming uncomfortable. She cleared her throat to break the silence. As expected, everyone in the room looked over at her.
“Okay, soo... now that we know who she is, how do we stop her from detonating bombs in our heads?”
A bunch of eyes narrowed in her direction. As usual, her timing was shit. But was it not a valid question? With the heat from burning glares, she waited for an answer. Alas... nothing.
“Well, when y’all come up with a way to defeat my killer cousin, hit me up.”
Margo tossed her empty water bottle in the trash behind the bar and went to exit the parlor. She wanted to comfort her cousin, but there was really nothing she could do. Gideon and her mom were there, and Margo had to go to work. On her way out, she stopped by Enola and squeezed her shoulder.
“If you need me, call me,” she told her.
Enola nodded. When Margo left the room, she could feel the heat of Bishop’s eyes on her, but she didn’t dare give him the satisfaction of her turning around.
Chapter Fourteen
MARGO
Margo sprinkled red curry powder and a pinch of dried garlic in a bowl of jumbo prawns and flipped them to blend.
“Let’s go to da islands,” she told Tyrel, her other sou chef. He was Jamaican.
“So, yuh feel say you a hot gal?”
Margo tilted her head and glared at him.
“Huh? Was that English?”
Tyrel laughed. “You da one goin’ to da islands.”
Margo giggled and poured the shrimp into a large cast-iron skillet. Once she got a good sizzle, she grabbed a bottle of sweet red wine and doused a little on the delicious smelling prawns.
She instantly thought of her gran. A warm, loving feeling washed over her. It was the food; the flavors, the aroma, creating is what gave her joy. It reminded her of the home she had when her Grand-Mére was alive. She created dishes, conceived with love, that made all right in the world.
Margo stood there, trapped in the nostalgia of her grandmother’s cooking. The incredible aromas floating throughout the house would slap her senses, instantly making her feel grateful to be home.
“Chef?”
Emma’s voice yanked her off the warm and fluffy cloud she was floating on. Margo sighed, and turned to the manager, waiting to hear what stupid new concept she had come up with. For the life of her, Margo couldn’t figure out why Emma was given the management position. The only thing she did was get on her last nerve.
“At table five, we have some... how do say in America? Bigwigs? They want to compliment the chef.”
Emma claimed she’d been living as a citizen of the United States since she was three years old.
Lies.
Margo was no fool. To have been raised in the States, her prominent French accent hadn’t diminished a bit. The woman sounded like she’d just come through customs.
“Okay. I’ll greet them with the dessert tray.”
Margo didn’t mind going to the front of the house to greet their patrons. What chef didn’t love admiration from adoring diners?
“Aubrey?” She called out to the pastry chef.
“Yes, Chef?”
“What we working with tonight?”
Aubrey smiled with glee. All one needed to make her smile was mention dessert. She was in love with both the creation and consumption of her sweet treats. How she kept her tiny waist, Margo had no idea.
“Well, Chef,” Aubrey sang with delight. “Tonight, we have maple bourbon crème brûlée, raspberry macaroons, petite lemon souffle, and some good ole fashion pineapple pound cake.”
Margo’s stomach rumbled with anticipation.
“Dang, Miss Aubrey, I might have to do a little sampling tonight.”
Aubrey giggled and threw her hands on her hips.
“I recommend it.”
Margo waved over a female server. Like most restaurants, they had a revolving waitstaff; she didn’t know the woman’s name.
“What’s your name?”
She smiled but seemed nervous.
“Penny, Chef. I mean... my name is Penelope, but...”
“Nice to meet you, Penny. I need you to grab the dessert tray and follow me.”
The server nodded and disappeared around a corner before reappearing with the tray of well-designed artificial sweets. Margo opened the door that led to the front of the house and held it open for the server to pass.
Together, they weaved their way through tables and tables of jovial diners until they were a few feet away from the table of the so-called “big wigs.” Margo’s eagerness for being bathed in compliments vanished as soon as Vivienne’s smiling face came into view.
“Wow, cousin, you surprise me. What a splendid meal. The best I’ve had in Louisiana.”
Margo noted that none of the other presumed witches at the table were smiling. Quite the opposite. If looks could kill, she’d be six feet under already.
“I know,” Margo snickered.
Penny moved to present the dessert tray, but Margo stilled her with a hand to her shoulder. The server seemed confused when Margo reached for the tray, but she handed it over without question.
“My very own cousin...” The fake sugar in her tone was sickening. “A world-renowned chef.” She turned to a young, auburn-haired member of her entourage. “Can you imagine that?”
“No, Viv, I am utterly flabbergasted,” the red-head mocked.
<
br /> Vivienne smirked. “I must admit, I’m happy to see that your cooking skills are stronger than your magic.”
Margo chuckled. “Yeah? Well, then you must let me know what you think of dessert.”
Margo frisbee’d the tray in their direction. The witches shrieked, jumping out of their seats when the tray crashed into the glasses and plates on the table.
Margo was beaming with satisfaction as they scrambled to avoid the mess.
“Bon appétit,” she muttered before walking away, leaving behind the sweet sound of distressed witches. If her newfound cousin’s well-being wasn’t tethered to Enola’s, Margo would have, for certain, played nice while poisoning her food.
Chapter Fifteen
ENOLA
Enola took a generous sip of chamomile tea and stared out at the vast land of their family’s plantation. She stood on the lanai, admiring the luscious field of green, dotted by colorful, Bayou flora. Her eyes scanned the property until they landed on the Olympic-sized swimming pool. Right then, she decided to enjoy a cool dip and a couple of hours of lazily laying out in the warm southern sun.
Enola turned and walked through the sliding doors and entered the kitchen. After rinsing her teacup, she placed it in the dishwasher. She hurried through the arched doorway, down the hall, and up the staircase.
Enola wanted to get changed and get to the pool before someone stopped her and reminded her of something she should’ve been doing. She nearly made it to her bedroom door when she ran into Gideon in the hall. It was 11 AM. He should have been at the hotel, or somewhere handling hotel business.
“Hey, darlin’, are you...”
Enola threw a hand up, interrupting him.
“Aht aht! We’ll talk later. I got something to do.”
Without looking back, she rushed past him and hurried into her bedroom. Whatever voodoo, vampire, or witch drama waiting for her, would have to wait one more day.
Enola moved to the tall chest in a corner of the room and fished out a cute yellow bikini. After a quick rinse in the shower, she checked to see if she needed to shave. She was good, so she slipped into her swimwear, wrapped herself in a coverup, and headed out the door.
Luckily, Enola made it outside without the inconvenience of human contact. In the pool house, she grabbed a towel and a cold bottle of water from the fridge. Armed with everything she needed, she walked out and practically danced over to a lounger. She laid down, closed her eyes, and allowed the sun to envelop her like a soft, warm blanket. Enola could finally relax, and she was grateful for the brief moments of peace. However short-lived.
“You’re doing this all wrong.”
Enola blew out a frustrated breath and squinted up at Margo. She was standing over her, wearing a white bikini. Next to her was Benjamin. He carried a tray and on it among a few things was a pitcher filled with fruit and red liquid.
“Sangria,” Margo offered, holding a glass out for Enola.
“This is how you relax by the pool.”
Enola grabbed the glass.
“Move. You’re blocking my sun,” she fussed before taking a sip.
Margo smacked her lips.
“Blocking your sun? Girl, if you don’t shut yo black ass up!”
Margo turned on her heel and accidentally spilled a bit of the cold liquid on Enola’s thigh.
“Damn, Margo!”
“My bad,” she apologized with a grin. “I brought snacks.”
Enola raised a brow. “You mean Ben brought snacks.”
She used her free hand to shield the sun from her eyes. “Thank you,” she said to Benjamin.
Benjamin nodded. He sat the tray down on a table next to her lounger and walked back to the house. Margo sat her glass down on the table and dropped her towel on the lounger next to Enola.
“It is hot as shit out here!”
She walked over to the pool and dove in. That’s who Margo was, the type to dive right in. Enola, on the other hand, was a put your feet in first kind of woman. Even as a child, Margo was the more outgoing of the two. She was gushing with personality and made friends easily. But what Enola didn’t understand about Margo until recently, was no matter how social or friendly she seemed on the surface, she was a very private person.
Enola realized her cousin was only allowing people to see what she wanted them to see.
Margo climbed out of the pool, looking fit and curvy, reminding Enola that she needed to spend more time in the gym. She’d been so busy training to fight enemies when she should have been training some extra fat off her ass. And speaking of extra fat, she sat up to see what treats Benjamin left behind.
“Ceviche,” Margo informed, grabbing a tortilla chip from a bowl. She scooped up a big chunk of the fish dish and popped it in her mouth.
“Try it,” she urged, crunching a mouthful.
Enola didn’t have to be told twice. She scooped and enthusiastically ate. Her taste buds awakened from the explosion of herbs, citrus, and fresh fish.
“Oh, my God, Margo, this is amazing,” she gushed with delight. “Benjamin made this?”
Margo’s grin spanned from ear to ear.
“Mm-hm. It’s good, huh?”
“Gah... damn,” Enola confirmed with a groan. “This right here...”
Margo laughed and took a sip of sangria. Enola had to admit, she was glad that her cousin invaded her quiet time. Since her return to Louisiana, they hadn’t spent much time together. At least, not “girl time.” It seemed their need to survive had hijacked their time. They spent all of their time trying to protect their family.
Enola swallowed the deliciousness, then gulped down a good portion of sangria.
“I don’t get to see much of you these days,” she pointed out. “What’ve you been up to?”
Margo blinked. At first glance, she seemed apprehensive.
“Not much. Just hangin’ with my squad, doing karaoke and shit.”
Enola frowned. “Karaoke?”
For some reason, and she didn’t know why she expected an answer with a little more substance, even from Margo. Her vague response was yet another one of her avoidance techniques. But Enola was enjoying her time with her, so she decided not to push. She changed the subject.
“Man, Margo, you’ve always been like a fish in the water. It’s like your second home.”
Margo giggled. “Yeah. Well... more like my first home. If I could spend all my days in water, I would.”
Enola didn’t know why she couldn’t. She was, after all, an heiress... a downright socialite. She didn’t work. All she seemed to do was shop and party with her friends. Unlike Enola, who had to work most of her adult life, Margo always dangled a silver spoon on her tongue.
Since Enola’s mom ran from all things magic, her financial upbringing had been mostly modest. Even though Enola was bitter about it, she understood their differences. What she really wanted was to find commonality and spend some quality time with her cousin.
“You plan on getting in?” Margo asked, interrupting her thoughts.
Enola nodded. She stood, walked over to the pool, and as per usual, she sat on the edge and dipped her feet inside, and stared down at the cool blue water.
MARGO
“Mm-mm, girl...” Enola mumbled with a mouth full of ceviche. “This is soo good. You should go see if Ben will make some more.”
Three pitchers later, Enola was feeling no pain. Margo chuckled with no intention of telling her she was the one that made the ceviche.
“Hey! Go in there and use your voodoo. Compel some more food and another pitcher of margarita outta Ben.”
Margo hopped up from the lounger and pulled her bikini bottom out of her butt.
“I don’t have to compel Ben. We can just ask him.”
Enola sat up like she was gonna stand but plopped back against the lounger.
“Shit, we need a bell,” she giggled.
“Or... an iPhone,” Margo rebutted quietly. “By the way, where’s Uncle Gideon? I need to talk to him about so
mething.”
“Ugh,” Enola grunted with a frown. “Stop calling him that. It’s creepy.”
“Oh, that’s creepy,” Margo quipped with laughter.
“Shut up, Margo! He ain’t my damn uncle!”
“Um... but he is,” Margo muttered under her breath. “More than a hundred years removed, but an ancestor none the less.”
“That blood tie was diluted a long time ago!”
“Still a relative,” Margo muttered, teasing her drunk cousin.
“Well, I didn’t know that when I fucked him!” Enola blurted with a tipsy slur.
“Oh, my, the language,” Margo mocked before walking over to the pool.
Without hesitation she dove in, allowing the cool water to cleanse the film of humidity covering her skin. Margo worked her way to the deepest part of the pool and went limp until her relaxed body floated effortlessly.
Enola was right. She was very at home in water. There, she found a peace that didn’t exist on land. While submerged, Margo could drown out the noise and chaos of the outside world. And apparently, since she’d spent so much time in the water, her lung capacity was better than most.
After a few minutes of floating, she swam to the surface. She took a breath and swam to the pool ladder. As she climbed out, the sight of Bishop towering over her surprised Margo. Her heart raced. She inhaled a sharp breath. Her grip on the poles tightened. If not, she would have probably fallen back into the pool.
“Well, that looks refreshing. Maybe I should join you.”
His deep, accented rumble sent chills down her spine. Margo climbed out of the pool, trying to appear cool and composed when she was feeling anything but. From head to toe, the man was devastatingly handsome. From his thick, blonde man-bun, to the casual, white shirt, and tan linen slacks, down to his classy, but understated, Gucci loafers. The man had his shit together.
“What are you doing here?”
The last time she and Bishop saw each other, they’d exchanged words that were not so nice.
“I came to see you, of course.”
BLOODLUST Page 11
