Lost Souls (A Caitlyn O’Connell Novel) (27 page)

That’s what I figured.
She tucked the watch into a front pocket of her jeans. “Your tea’s getting cold.” She picked up her own cup and saucer and headed back into Morin’s shop, straight toward his apothecary’s counter, sipping as she walked because urgency built inside her again.

She stepped behind the counter and scanned the shelves and drawers. “Have you rearranged anything?”

“If I had, everything would be exactly where it was the next time I looked.”

“Then simple answer, no.”

While she slid open small cubby drawers to peer inside, Morin gathered other items: a set of scales, a mortar and pestle, small vials, and a tin of charcoal.

“I’ll package together everything for each part,” he said, reaching for a basket underneath the counter. “Having bundles will make casting simpler for you once you arrive at the hotel.”

Ignoring the scale, Cait added pinches and handfuls of dried herbs into the mortar. She broke off a chip of benzoin resin, and the scent of vanilla drifted up to her nose. Then she used a knife to cut a chip of frankincense into the mix to mask the aromas of the herbs she blended, lest the demon figure out what she was up to before she could put everything into play. With the pestle she pushed her hand with a twisting motion and ground the ingredients together.

“I’m adding a bowl and paraffin to your basket.”

“Thanks,” she murmured, wetting her finger then touching her blended spell. She sniffed, liked the mingled scents, and then tasted it. An acrid tingle on her tongue. She made a face and wiped her fingers on her jeans. She wasn’t sure why she’d felt the need to taste and sniff, but a feeling of satisfaction filled her.

Instinct guided her, and instinct said the mixture was complete.

Next, she packaged ingredients for the spell to trap the demon, dropping them into a hemp bag.

Morin handed her a wine bottle filled with water. She wrapped it in paper and snuggled it safely into the basket.

“That everything?” he asked, leaning an elbow on the counter.

Scanning the immediate area, she nodded. “I hope so.”

Morin raised a finger. “You need a mirror.”

Cait felt a shiver slither down her spine. “I hate mirrors,” she said, remembering how she’d found Henry Prudoe’s body in one and how she’d broken another after trapping a demon inside it.

“I know. But when you face the demon, he won’t be able to look anywhere but at himself.”

She held still, thinking about what Morin said. When she’d faced the demon who had possessed Leland, he had first greeted her from inside the mirror. She’d thought he was hiding to prevent Sam from seeing him, but maybe his action meant more than that.

Morin rummaged through a cabinet and pulled out a small handheld mirror, the kind a lady might have used to primp in her boudoir.

“It’s tiny,” Cait said doubtfully. “How’s that going to hide me?”

“It’s not the size that matters.”

Biting back a snort, she arched a brow. “When is that ever true?”

Morin laughed.

Cait tucked the mirror into the basket, then covered the basket with a cloth. She had everything she needed. She strode around the counter. As her gaze met her mentor’s, she opened her arms. He’d come through for her again. She owed him now.

Morin smiled, stretching out to accept her quick hug. “Good luck,” he whispered against her hair.

“I’ll need it.” She tightened her embrace one more time and then stepped back, lifted the basket into her arms, and sighed. “Know a spell to summon a cab?”

He shook his head. “Say a prayer to The Powers. Something will turn up.”

He left unsaid,
If it’s meant to be…

Cait tipped the driver and gave him her thanks. Then she stepped down, shaking her head at the irony of arriving at the hotel in a horse-drawn carriage. Faster than walking, but still the plodding gait of the single horse had nearly driven her crazy.

Who but she would find a horse-drawn carriage traveling down Beale Street in the early morning hours?

The driver had said he’d been hired for a special event that lasted hours longer than the term of his contract. Not that he minded, as he’d been well paid for his efforts. Both he and his horse were tired, and he was happy for her company as they made their way back to the stables, seeing as how he was headed her way anyway. The old man with a thick white beard was dressed in “royal” livery and driving a carriage with Christmas lights winding around a pumpkin-shaped metal frame.

Discounting what the carriage looked like, Cait didn’t feel like Cinderella arriving at the ball, although her boots did pinch because she’d been wearing them so long. She waved to the driver and patted the horse’s hindquarters, watching for a moment as they clomped down the street and around the corner.

Then, tucking the basket’s handle into the crook of her arm, she eyed the hotel, hoping everyone was sleeping. Especially the demon in the walls.

Once again, she stood in the shadows opposite the hotel, the smell of garbage filling her nose. Streetlights popped and fizzled, lightening then darkening her surroundings, their intermittent hum seeming to enter her body and sizzle along her nerve endings. A taunt she didn’t need. All too well, she remembered the stinging feel of the lash of the demon’s electrified whip. She worried about the coming danger, worried she wouldn’t be strong enough or brave enough to carry out what she had to do.

The last time she’d faced a demon, she’d had Sam and Jason covering her back. This time, she’d be going it alone. That is, unless she could find the one person whose loyalty she would have to sway to help her.

If she failed, she needn’t worry about aftermaths. She’d be dead. And glad of it. For living without Sam in her life was unimaginable. Even if bringing him back didn’t solve their problems, didn’t keep them together, just knowing he was nearby, somewhere in the same city—that he was healthy and breathing, that he might find some happiness for himself—would be enough to get her through the rest of her days.

At that thought, her eyes filled, and she allowed herself one last bout of tears. One last moment of weakness. Before
she was a PI or a witch, she was a woman who had also, briefly, been a wife. Not a good one, not by any definition. But she’d known for a time the experience of sharing her bed and her dreams with another living soul.

Cait closed her eyes and summoned Sam’s image to keep it in the forefront of her mind—dark hair, strong jaw, ripped body, and that intense blue stare—to keep her strong.

Drawing a deep breath, she stared hard at the tall exterior of the hotel, telling the demon in her mind that she was there. That he had better be ready for a fight. Because she wasn’t leaving without her husband.

A police cruiser was parked in front of the hotel. Something, and probably several someones, she’d forgotten might pose a problem. She pulled her phone from her pocket and tapped a number.

“Hughes here,” came a groggy voice.

“Leland?”

“That you, Cait? What are you doin’ callin’ me at this time of morning?” Still absent was his usual bluster. In its place was something softer.

Hearing his tone, she nearly teared up again. “I need a favor, Leland. Still got cops on the elevators and on the stairwell doors leading to the third floor?”

“You at the hotel?” he asked, his voice sharpening.

“I’m outside. And it’s time.”

She didn’t say for what, but he must’ve figured out something big was about to go down. He stayed silent so long.

Braced, she waited, but he didn’t tell her she had no business being there. Instead, he asked in an even tone, “Jason with you?”

“No. This is something I have to do alone.”

“Dammit, Cait. I can’t find another body in the walls.
Not yours.
Sam wouldn’t stand for it.”

Pain pierced her chest at the mention of her ex’s protectiveness. “Sam’s dead. I have to finish this.”

After a long pause, Leland sighed. “You tricked up with something powerful?”

“I have a basketful of something powerful.”

“I’d wish you luck, but I know you.” He exhaled a long breath. “You won’t need it.”

As close to a vote of confidence as she would ever hear from him.

“If things go sideways…” she said softly, unable to express her feelings. For all his bluster and irritation, she knew he cared about her.

“Yeah, I know, Cait. Do your daddy proud.
And
your mama. And don’t get dead.”

Her gaze lingered on the cruiser, and she smiled wistfully. “Take care of the officers for me?”

“Calling them as soon as I hang up.”

She ended the call, checked her watch, and then stepped out from the shadows.

Avery Lewis stood in the center of the foyer as she entered. Did he ever sleep?

“You’re up late,” she said, drawing as near as she dared. She kept her expression relaxed, hoping she didn’t betray she knew exactly what he was.

“Didn’t figure I’d see you here again after what happened earlier.” His brows wrinkled. “You have a death wish or something?”

“Mr. Lewis, I think you’ll understand if I couldn’t sleep thinking about it. I lost someone today. Someone I cared about.”

His expression didn’t change. No sly hint of satisfaction at the grief she suffered. No hint of curiosity about what she was doing there now.

“The lieutenant has the third floor blocked,” he said. “No elevators. No stairwell access. It’s all locked up tight.”

An officer strode toward them, a hand lifted in greeting. “I have that key to the elevator, Ms. O’Connell.”

She offered a slight smile to the manager and patted her basket. “I’m assembling a little altar. The LT gave his approval. Since no one’s stirring, no one will be disturbed. I won’t be long.”

His eyes narrowed. “You be careful up there, miss.”

“Thanks for your concern,” she murmured, then stepped past him, not liking the fact she had to walk away while he glared daggers at her back.

The officer stepped to the elevators and inserted a key into the control panel. The doors slid open on one car.

“Guard the doors,” she said, her gaze slipping to the foyer. “No one goes up after me. No matter what anyone might hear.”

Although his eyes glittered with curiosity, he gave her a nod. “Yes, ma’am. The LT said to give you whatever you needed but to stay back.”

“That was good advice.”

He shook his head, his steady gaze reflecting doubt. “Strange goings-on up there, ma’am. You be careful.”

She gave him a faint smile and stepped into the car. The doors slid shut. Reaching across to the panel, she hit the button for the third floor.

The car shimmied and then began its ascent, the hum of gears accompanying the slow trip upward.

She gauged the timing and hit the stop switch a second before the doors would have opened on the third floor.

Bending, she placed the basket on the floor. She pulled the watch from her jeans pocket and stared down at the gleaming glass face as a tiny golden hand ticked through the seconds. Twelve hours were reflected on the face. If the charged watch worked, she would only have the opportunity to change something that had happened within the past twelve hours. She couldn’t rewind time any longer than that to save any other victims. Madame Xavier and Sylvia were lost forever.

A pang of regret went through her, and she slid it to one side of her mind.
Focus on what you can do.
Sam and the cop who’d had the misfortune to pull duty on the third floor were the only ones she might be able to help.

The gold housing warmed in her hand, seeming to pulse. Pulling down the neck of her shirt, she placed the glass face against her chest, right above her heart.

Cait cleared her mind, concentrating on taking slow, even breaths. She thought about what she hoped to achieve, running through the sequence, then forming images of Sam in his crisp dress shirt, his eyes alert and questioning, his body standing straight and tall. Fully alive.

Then she rewound, in her mind, the moments before his death, and played them forward, dreaming of catching him when he came through the vortex to the other side. Her arms surrounding him, cushioning him as they fell
together to the hotel room floor. “I need only a minute, maybe two,” she whispered. “Grant me this wish, and I will embrace everything I am. I’ll practice… I’ll pray.”