Serendipity (Bayou Magic 3)

“Is this your first time here?” he asks. We’re at Miss Sophia’s house for a Halloween party.

No, that’s not right. An All Hallow’s Eve party. It’s Samhain. What the witches call their new year. And there are supposedly all sorts of fantastical things about the night.

I nod and bite my lip. “I guess I’m kind of nervous.”

“Oh, you don’t have to be nervous,” he assures and leads me over to a table where a black cauldron sits, full of smoking liquid. “Want a drink?”

“What is that?”

He laughs and ladles some. “It’s punch. It’s just fun to put it in here like it’s a magical brew or something.”

“Oh, okay.”

I take a sip and blink in surprise. It’s fruity and delicious.

“I know we just met and everything,” Jackson says and wipes the palm of his hand on his jeans. “And you might run away when I say this, but I think you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen in my life.”

Wow. No one’s ever said that to me before.

“Gonna run?”

“No.” I smile and then laugh a little. I’m still nervous, but if he thinks I’m pretty, I guess I can relax a bit. “Thanks for saying that. You’re handsome, too.”

And when he touches me, it’s as if I’ve known him for a long time.

“I’m going to marry you someday,” he says with so much confidence, it makes me laugh in surprise.

“I’m only seventeen,” I remind him.

“I said someday.” He nudges me with his shoulder. “I’m a patient guy. And I’m only eighteen myself, so we have lots of time.”

* * *

I don’t know how I’m going to tell him. How does a person cut the one they love the most so deep? This will leave a scar forever.

The only man who’s ever loved me. The first man I’ve given my love and trust to.

I may be young and not yet old enough to order a drink on Bourbon Street. I may still have a lot to learn about my gifts and how I walk through life with the hand Fate dealt me. But I know without a single doubt in my mind that Jackson Pruitt is meant for me. He’s my soulmate—the other half of my heart.

And what I have to tell him will hurt him. It could change what we have between us forever.

“I’d rather cut my eyes out,” I mutter with a sigh. I pace the living room of the apartment I share with my two older sisters in the French Quarter, waiting for Jack to come and get me for our date.

I haven’t told anyone what I saw.

That’s not new to me. I see so much, all the time, that I keep most of it to myself. Talking about the things I see usually only scares people.

Not Brielle and Millie, of course. We’ve spoken about our gifts among the three of us our entire lives. But others—classmates and co-workers—would only be scared if I talked about the horrible things I see. It’s hard enough to make friends as it is.

But when I met Jack, I just knew. Something moved in me, through me, as soon as I looked into his brown eyes. Some recognition. I knew that not only would he change my life, but he’d also be my life.

He knocks on the door. I hurry to open it and am swept up in his arms, his mouth on mine as he shuts the door behind us.

“I missed you,” he murmurs against my lips.

His brown eyes are hot as he looks at me, but I see they still carry sadness in them.

“Same here. Jack, we have to talk.”

“About dinner? Because I’m starving.”

“No, not that.” I smile. Jack’s always hungry. I guess that goes with the territory of being so young. “We need to talk about your dad.”

All humor flees from his face, and his brows draw together. “No, we don’t.”

“We really do,” I insist and reach for his hand. Unfortunately, I regret the touch because I can feel his emotions.

Grief. Irritation. Weariness.

Jack’s the only one I can read this way. Usually, only objects tell me stories, not people.

“Let’s sit down.”

Jack’s dad died two weeks ago. That’s bad enough all by itself, but Jack also lost his mother after a long battle with cancer four weeks before that.

My love has known more heartache in the last year than any one person should.

“I saw something,” I begin and take a deep breath. I always expect him to smirk or turn away from me, but he never does.

He loves me—gifts and all.

It doesn’t hurt that he also has powers and was raised with the craft.

I feel my lips tremble, but I press them together as he takes my hands in his.

“Are you okay, Daph?”

I shake my head. “No. I’m not. And you won’t be either after I tell you this.”

His eyes narrow. “What happened? Did someone hurt you? Did you touch something? Damn it, Daph, you know to keep your shields up.”