Spells (Bayou Magic 2)

“They’ve come and gone my whole damn life,” I remind them. “They’re not new.”

“Lucien dropping into your shop isn’t usual,” Daphne replies, and I glare harder.

“You know, looking into my head is a violation, Daph.”

She just smiles and takes a sip of her drink.

“Lucien came by?” Brielle asks as she swirls a sprout in the sauce on the plate, then pops it into her mouth. “Spill it. Now.”

“He just wanted coffee, and to talk about shit stirring up. But nothing is stirred up, you guys. He’s just paranoid. He needs to stay in his lab and look at DNA samples.”

“Cash got to work with Lucien on a case a few months ago,” Brielle says. “He was very impressed with Lucien’s work. His analysis helped the department solve the case.”

“Yeah, he’s brilliant,” I mutter and frown down at my plate. “Let’s talk about something else.”

“Why is that crowd forming?” Daphne asks, pointing out to the street. We’re sitting outside in the restaurant’s courtyard, and she’s right, a small crowd is gathering around something in the street.

Suddenly, someone lets out a blood-curdling scream.

“Don’t look, Millie,” Brielle says, but she’s too late. I’ve already reached out with my mind.

I look at them both and shake my head. “We need to go see this.”

We hurry over and push our way through the crowd. In the middle of the street lies a body. A man, probably in his mid to late thirties with brown hair. He’s been cut—all over his body.

“Some of these wounds are scabbed over,” Daphne points out.

And some are fresh.

But there’s no denying that he’s dead. The gaping wound at his throat is a definite giveaway.

“I’m calling Cash,” Brielle says.

Someone else is already talking to a 911 operator.

“Oh my goodness, what’s happened?”

I turn and see my friend, Dahlia. She owns the flower shop, Black Dahlia, across the street from my café. She’s also a member of my coven.

“I don’t know,” I reply. “But it’s horrible.”

“That poor man,” Dahlia agrees.

We step away from the chaos as the police and ambulance arrive.

“Did you try to see?” Brielle asks me.

“Yeah, but I can’t read anything,” I reply. “I have no idea what happened to him.”

“I didn’t even see a shadow,” Brielle adds, looking around the area. “Hey, Dahlia. How are you?”

“Well, I was fine,” the other woman says and pushes a shaky hand through her blond hair. “I was meeting someone for dinner, but I don’t think I’m hungry anymore.”

“Yeah, same here,” Daphne agrees. “Let’s go back to the Brew and have some coffee. What do you say?”

“I think that’s an excellent idea,” I reply. “Dahlia, why don’t you join us?”

“Oh, thanks for the invite, but I have to at least say hi to my friend. And then I have some things to do. But you three have a good night.”

“Take care.”

We walk away, in the opposite direction as Dahlia, and head toward my café.

“I’ve seen enough of this crap to last a lifetime,” Brielle mumbles.Chapter Two"My knife’s so nice and sharp I want to get to work right away if I get a chance."

-Jack the RipperHorace watches the three women walk away and finally, after all this time, feels satisfaction fill his chest. It’s taken months of rest, of recovery, of patience to get where he is today. And it’s all because of their selfishness, their entitlement, that he lost so much time.

How dare they think they could get rid of him so easily?

How could they be so ungrateful? They saw what he did for them. They know how hard he worked, for years, to make everything perfect. And instead of gratitude, they tried to get rid of him.

Yes, teaching them a lesson is imperative.

He smirks and turns to walk in the opposite direction, where more of his toys wait. Leaving the cup of blood in Millie’s fridge last year depleted his energy. Any time he tried to manifest himself to them after that, it drained him for weeks—sometimes months.

That just wouldn’t do. There was too much work to be done, too much punishment to dole out to those little bitches. He had to find another way.

Now, he realizes this is what he needed all along. Yes, this is much better.

He walks into the small house less than two miles from where he saw his girls. This dwelling was deserted after Katrina ripped through the area, leaving it uninhabitable. The front door still has the markings on it from the National Guardsmen who came through on boats, searching for survivors.

Of course, all four people who lived here were dead.

Their spirits are still here, but he’s taken care of them, showed them that he’s not to be messed with.

It didn’t take long for him to reinforce the windows and doors and to gather some supplies. It’s not nearly as good as his playroom in the bayou, but it’ll have to do.