Spells (Bayou Magic 2)

“He’s a fucking psychopath,” Daphne reminds her. “And a sociopath in some regards. I don’t think making sense is high on his priority list.”

“Well, there’s that,” Millie says.

“Do you have the bloodstone with you?” Brielle asks Cash.

“Actually, I do.” He takes a plastic bag out of his coat pocket. “I brought it for you, Lucien, to add to the other two for examination.”

“You’re just walking around town with a bloody stone in your pocket?” Millie asks. “Murder cops are weird.”

“So are witches.” Cash winks.

“I want to touch it,” Daphne says. “Maybe if I hold it, I’ll be able to see where he is, determine how to find him.”

“That’s worth a try,” I agree with a nod. But when Daphne reaches for the stone, she gets a shock that sends her back several feet.

“Ouch.”

“That’s what happened to me yesterday.” Millie shrugs.

“Let me try.” Brielle says, and the same thing happens to her. “Okay, so he’s cast a spell on the stones and has blocked us that way.”

“There has to be a way to find him. To lure him out,” Daphne insists.

“Oh, yes, let’s taunt him,” Brielle quips, but I’m already nodding.

“She’s right. The coven is having a special ritual on All Hallows’ Eve, under the full blue hunter’s moon. We may be able to cast the circle and force him out.”

“Now, that’s something worth researching,” Millie says, reaching for her phone. “I’m going to call Miss Sophia and see if she can help with that.”

Cash’s phone rings in his pocket. “This is Cash.” He listens for a moment. “I’ll be there in thirty. No one touches that scene, understood? Block it off and start getting statements.”

He hangs up and runs his hand down his face.

“Dead body was just discovered in Audubon Park.”

Millie flinches next to me.

“And?” Brielle asks.

“He’s missing a hand and a foot.”Chapter Twelve"The dead won't bother you, it's the living you have to worry about.”

—John Wayne GacyThere’s a war happening inside his head, and he’s too exhausted, too spent from killing his last toy to fight as hard as he wants to.

He wanted to make it last longer. He’d cut off and cauterized the wrist, did the same with the foot, but the pain was too much, and the toy died.

It made him furious. It’s like the toy didn’t even try to work through the pain. To do as he suggested and just breathe, to go to a nice place in the mind.

No, the fucker just gave up.

And that was a huge disappointment. It seems he’s been dealing with that constantly, one big disappointment after another.

But this one drained his energy. He had to drag the body through the house and into his car, and then through the park to just the right spot.

That would have been taxing on him when he was still alive.

Plus, he’s beginning to think maybe he made a mistake in the human he decided to use as a tool to complete his work.

Because they’re fighting him. Trying to take back the body he rightfully stole.

His hand shakes as he reaches for his phone, not of his own volition, and types a note:

GET LUCIEN

The phone falls to the floor, and he collapses next to it, a grin on his face. Oh, yes, he’ll get Lucien.

Don’t you worry.

He just needs some sleep. Some rest to restore the energy and make him strong again, and then he can get back to work. With giving each toy the attention they deserve, making sure that Millie doesn’t forget he’s always nearby, and setting his next moves into motion, he’s been busy.

He is a hard worker, after all.

But even those with the best work ethic need to rest, so he’ll just take a nap to recharge his spirit.

The next phase of his plan is almost ready, and it will require all of his resources.Chapter ThirteenMillieThe wisteria is blooming. The arbor Lucien built for me behind the house, where we’ve set chairs and a little glass table for eating during every season except summer, is full of the heavy, purple blooms. It smells sweet and lovely, and is a welcome sight.

Purchasing this home in the Garden District of New Orleans was a dream come true for my husband and me. He worked long hours at the hospital to earn enough money to afford it, and I don’t take one day for granted in our grand, white house with its green iron railings that keep the evil spirits at bay.

Well, that’s the legend anyway.

They don’t really keep anything at bay, especially things of the spiritual variety.

But it’s a lovely thought.

I look in on our sweet Sabrina, only nine months old and napping in her carriage. My familiar, Tarot, lurks in the garden, chasing butterflies before taking a leisurely nap in the shade.

With both of my sweet ones safe and nearby, I get to work harvesting some lavender, rosemary, and a little mugwort. I look in on the tomatoes and carrots and pluck a few cucumbers for a nice salad later.