I was not talented enough in the kitchen to attempt dessert on my own - and Marie had voiced the same thoughts, so I opted to pick up a box of beignets instead. I could serve them with coffee and liquor.
Without further thought, I turned the heat down on my soup, grabbed my bag, and marched out the front door, towards Café Du Monde.
The heat rolled against my skin, pressing in against my body, pulsing through my blood, the Magick of New Orleans furling upwards and welcoming my own Magick like a long lost friend. It was unsettling, leaving me hot and queasy. As I walked down the street, my sandalled feet weaving through the throng of crowded tourists, I was aware of Dimitri’s men tracking me - watching me from various corners and alleys, marking my progress. And while I knew it was for my safety, I didn’t think it would ever be something I could get used to.
I hadn’t seen or heard from Lauren since our last meet, but I knew that we were simply waiting each other out - seeing who would cave first, react first. But I didn’t know how to react, because Arlo was dead, and so far the threat against Dimitri’s business interests had been quelled. It was the threat against us that was problematic, but Charl hadn’t exactly been open to talking about it - to finding a solution to the mountain problem that was the Voodoo community in New Orleans. Because even though I was under Dimitri’s protection, each time I walked through the streets of NOLA, I saw one of them watching me - monitoring me - and there was always a look of gravity in their eyes, a sneer on their lips - as if my Magick was somehow less than theirs, as if what Charl had muddled us with now made us unworthy of dabbling with the elements.
I averted my gaze and kept walking, because until we had a solid plan, I could do nothing.
Café Du Monde welcomed me with open arms, with Eric - one of the waiters - hurrying to fetch my order. They all knew that I was with Dimitri, and so the wait time was almost nothing. In some ways, I longed for places like this - places where the crowds were overflowing, but you could still revel in your solitude.
Eric pressed the box into my arms, promptly informing me that the Café had thrown in a few extra, and could I please ‘let Dimitri know.’ I merely nodded, and made my way back to the house, allowing the sounds and smells of NOLA to wash over me. The deep sounds of the sax from the corner, the overhead plane that flew above me, dragging an equal rights flag along with it. The smell of an impromptu barbecue taking place on the sidewalk. A man marched through the street dressed in a hawaiian shirt with a chihuahua seated on his shoulder. A woman dressed in a purple summer dress, wreathed in flowers, danced through the streets, a plastic cup of Purple held firmly in her grasp as she moved. A businessman dressed in a charcoal suit leant against the faded brick wall opposite me, the wind snuffing out the flame from his lighter each time he attempted to light the cigarette pressed between his lips.
It was the ebb and flow of life. Old and young in a collective microcosm where music preferences seemed to matter more than age.
By the time I made it back to the house, Henla was already there. I didn’t have to rely on my intuition to know exactly what she thought of me. Her dark eyes narrowed on mine as she took in my appearance and scoffed. When she saw the candles on the table with my carved sigils, she did nothing to hide her eye roll.
It also wasn’t lost on me that Henla was not what I was expecting. I had somehow built an image of her up in my mind of a kind, elderly house-keeper who looked after Dimitri and Arlo - perhaps even knew Dimitri’s parents. But that was not the case, and in truth, I should have consulted the cards - should have asked for guidance and not simply assumed, and I, out of all people, knew not to simply make assumptions.
Because Henla was gorgeous. She had jet black locks and piercing blue eyes, and her voice was accented, which told me she was Russian. Not only was she gorgeous, but she was also well put together, wearing tight jeans, black high heeled boots, and a black halterneck lace shirt. It was a far cry from my shorts and band shirt combo. Add the fact that I smelt like Rosemary and everything else I had been cooking, and it wasn’t difficult to understand why I didn’t feel like I belonged next to the housekeeper.
She scrunched up her nose at my food preparations, sighing loudly as if my mere presence offended her somehow, and that was all I could take of Henla and her absolute disdain for me.
I left her to linger and spun on my heel, knowing full well that I needed to get ready for the dinner, and that a shower would soothe me.
Dimitri arrived exactly on time for dinner. He did not arrive early to shower and shave. He did not come home to change prior to our guests' arrival. He arrived exactly on time. That was not to say that he had not showered, in fact, Dimitri looked shaved and handsome. His musky aftershave engulfed me as he stepped into me, the hardness of his body slamming into mine in the semblance of a hug - a greeting.
“Smells good,” his breath brushed the top of my head, and then suddenly he was two feet away from me once more.
Thiswas the problem - I didn’t know what to make of Dimitri, and while I also wasn’t a fan of PDA, this was just on another level.
Where had he showered and changed? Who had he been with? Were we even exclusive?
I mentally scoffed at my last question, because I didn’t think Dimitri was idiotic enough to fuck over a Witch. No - something else was going on. I would have to consult my deck.
Ravi and Stepen walked in immediately after Dimitri, also appearing freshly showered and changed, but Ravi had a petite blonde woman draped across his arm. She was beautiful, in an almost old-school Hollywood glamour kind of way, and I had to quell the urge to ask her to leave. Something about the proximity of this woman near Dimitri caused the veins of my blood to swell with jealousy.
I wish I could say that I wasn’t a jealous person by nature - and perhaps that was partly true, but I had never been in a relationship - had never even had sex until I was hired by Dimitri and Arlo, and so instead of acting on my emotions, I swallowed them down.
An elderly man arrived and it was Ravi who stepped forward to introduce him as Eli.
“So, you’re the Vedman?” Eli’s question came across more like a statement, and I could only smile the way my mother had taught me.
“Yes,” I answered stiffly, but there was no one to save me from the social awkwardness of it all. Dimitri was at the other end of the table speaking to Stepen, and Ravi was enraptured by the blonde on his arm, which left me with Eli.
“And tell me, Vedman,” Eli’s voice was gruff and low, commanding with every lilt of every note, “have you blessed our venture? Are our people safe?”
A lick of heat ran up my neck - a combination of embarrassment and something akin to a warning. This man did not like me - did not like what I stood for, but I knew that if I told him that the Bratva were blessed, he would leave me be. And yet, I could not lie.
Because his question was far too complex to offer such a simplistic answer, and I would not stand before these men and lie.
“I have done a few protection spells and ceremonies, but in order to protect all of the Bratva, I would have to do a ceremony for each man - key the intention to them specifically. But in the current circumstances, they are as safe as they were before the Voodoo Priestess entered the playing field - or even myself for that matter.”
Eli grunted - a non committal response, and I wondered if he even knew about Magick - even understood the intricacies I had just spoken of - the sheer volume of work that he was asking about.
“And we are blessed?” He pressed on, “Dimitri is blessed?”
I tried to stop the blush creeping across my face, tried to hide my embarrassment when it came to blatantly being asked about my sex life at the dinner table.