Lost Souls (A Caitlyn O’Connell Novel) (8 page)

Cait stripped off her tank top, toed off her boots, and shoved her pants down her legs.

Celeste gave her body a look, her gaze pointedly lingering on her bra and panties. “Ain’t got not’ing I ain’t seen before. Or dat Morin ain’t touched.”

With her cheeks burning, Cait removed her underwear, shivering a little in the air wafting from a small fan set atop the psychic’s counter.

“Stand in da circle.”

“Which way’s north?”

Celeste pointed, and Cait aligned her body to face that direction.

Celeste gathered short black candles from a shelf and placed one in each point of the pentagram. Then she placed the other items Cait would need in the north corner. She handed Cait a handmade broom made from the stiff silk of broomcorn and stepped back into a shadowy corner.

Remembering another time she’d prepared a magic circle with her mama while standing in their kitchen along with a child’s spell she’d written, Cait held the broom.

“
Sweep, sweep,
” she whispered, brushing from the center of the circle.

“Sweep away the dark. Brush away the bad.

With whisk and wish, I command thee.”

Under her breath, she repeated the incantation to cleanse the circle of any negativity, whether thoughts or spirits. As she worked, she felt her irritation calm.

When she’d finished brushing away imaginary cosmic dirt, she held out her hand for Celeste’s offering of a cone of incense, a small brass dish, and a lighter.

Cait lit the incense and blew on the tip until smoke wafted in the air. Then she walked clockwise around the edge of the circle, fanning the smoke, this time reciting her mother’s much more eloquent spell.

“In this circle, safely unbroken,

Hear my words, truly spoken.

With cleansing smoke and truest heart

Remnants of evil, I bid thee part.”

As she moved, the sweet smoke swept away the remnants of the scents of death and sulfur that clung to her skin, even the faint hint of burning hair that had filled her nostrils since she’d been buzzed.

After three turns and three recitations, Cait set the incense in the southeast point of the pentagram, and then accepted a bowl of water with sea-salt grains settled at the bottom.

Cait swirled her fingers in the water to help the salt crystals dissolve, and then faced the opposite direction. Holding the bowl in front of her she circled, her movements growing more fluid as she went.

“In this circle, safely unbroken,

Hear my words, truly spoken.

Waters open this mystic gate;

Worlds collided, entwined fate.”

After placing the bowl in the eastern point, she picked up a silver salt shaker. As she circumnavigated the pentagram, she sprinkled grains onto the floor.

“In this circle, safely unbroken,

Hear my words, truly spoken.

I call the elements, this circle bound;

Secure my path, while truth is found.”

With all the Elements called into play, save Spirit, Cait prepared to give them their due. Drawing in deep breaths, she
cleared her mind, seeking the quiet place inside, the place where she connected with the spirits. Then she carefully erected a wall in her imagination, enclosing the circle with strands of spider’s silk until she stood inside a floor-to-ceiling web, noting only dimly when the black candles laid at every point lit themselves, one by one.

With a chirp from his siren, Sam pulled the unmarked sedan into a parking space in front of Celeste’s new-age shop.

The garish neon sign announcing P
SYCHIC
I
NSIDE
had been repaired and the large glass window replaced. The last time he’d stood on the sidewalk looking in, a tornado of flying debris had circled inside like a cyclone. At the center had stood Cait, facing a wispy wraith that had trashed the shop and flapped Celeste against the ceiling as though she weighed nothing.

Ghostly wraiths didn’t appear to be their problem this time around. Still, he felt trepidation entering the shop. He’d never admit it, but he felt magic in the air every time he entered. A feeling that reminded him all too clearly of the part of Cait’s life he’d never truly understand or share.

He pushed open the door, only to have to duck suddenly.

Celeste stood to the side, holding up a long stick, the point thrust inside the bell above the door, muffling the chime while he closed it.

Lowering the stick, she pressed a finger to her lips and then motioned him to follow her back to the room where
she did her readings. At the opening in the counter, she turned. “You may stand at da door and watch,” she whispered, “but you may not interfere.”

Sam nodded, then slipped past her, quietly parting the beads. The sight greeting him made his breath catch in his throat.

Cait stood at the center of a web-like curtain, candles flaring high and warm golden light playing against her naked skin.

His gaze flew back to Celeste, but she was gone.

Sounds, like chanting but more musical, drew his gaze again. They came from inside the circle where Cait stood swaying. Her eyes were closed. Droplets of water glistened on her skin. A breeze lifted her thick dark hair to send the tendrils dancing around her head. Flames from black candles surrounding her feet blazed, the tips flickering, painting her skin with shadow and light, moving upward like the strokes of a fiery paintbrush to skim her belly, the tips of her hardened breasts, and then her face. She turned slowly, her lips moving with words impossible to hear. Her eyelids drifted upward, and her gaze found him.

For a moment she held still, a swallow working the muscles of her neck, an embarrassed tinge brightening the flickering flame dancing on her skin.

From one moment to the next, he blinked and the image was gone.

Cait stood alone with smoke wafting from doused candles, the sickly sweet scent of incense in the air. She raised her arms to cover herself, then dropped them, perhaps realizing it was a little too late.

“What’s going on, Cait?” he asked softly, still entranced by the vision that had dimmed and aroused as never
before. His fingers itched to touch her skin and see whether it was hot.

“A little begging, on my part.”

“To whom?” he murmured, although inside he was intensely jealous her pleas weren’t addressed to him right now.

She lifted her hands but then dropped them again, maybe growing nervous at being found standing nude and alone. “The Powers That Be.”

To ease the thickness of his tongue, Sam swallowed hard. “You know ’em?” he asked, his words coming out nearly garbled.

“Not personally. I have to take some things on faith.”

Uncomfortable with yet another reminder of all the things he didn’t quite understand about her, he shrugged off the comment and headed back into familiar territory. “You were supposed to wait for me at the hospital. In case you didn’t realize it, the doctors never officially released you.”

“I felt better after they got fluids in me. No damage, see?” she said, giving a little self-conscious twirl. “Good as new.”

Her hair was still poofy, but he didn’t mention it. If she wanted to pretend everything was back to normal, he’d let her have her fantasy moment. From here on out, he’d watch her like a hawk. His body stiffened. Nothing was going to happen to her on his watch. Not again. “Do you know what we’re facing?”

“Not yet.”

“Let me guess.” He ran a hand over his jaw. “You need to see a guy about a book.”

She wrinkled her nose and looked around, stepping quickly to her pile of clothing and beginning to dress. “I
tried a location spell, but it didn’t work. So I had to cleanse my aura.”

“Will the spell work now?”

“Guess we’ll see. Ready to chase some birds?”

As the streets grew still and the sky darkened in an instant, Sam couldn’t deny a little thrill of wonder. Running behind Cait as she chased her murder of crows, he could see how magic could be every bit as addictive as scotch to someone like her.

She’d tossed the dried herbs into the air and then crouched while a mini-whirlwind caught the grit, funneling it tightly before it exploded into a swarm of birds. He’d watched her face, the almost childlike delight she took in seeing her spell work.

Chasing her through alleys, they wound their way to Beale Street toward a small alcove café where diners sat frozen with their forks held in midair, where a street musician’s pick clanged against guitar strings and the sound stretched eerily.

The red door with the shiny brass knob—a door that didn’t belong there—appeared once the crows bunched together before sweeping upward to disappear into the dark sky.

Cait reached out, twisted the knob, and then entered the dimly lit bookstore. Like a place out of time, gaslights flickered from old-fashioned wall sconces. Candles sat on tables awaiting a match.

Out of habit, because he could never quite believe it, he glanced over his shoulder at the large plate-glass window that
looked out on the café alcove. A window where a brick wall should have been. He glanced to his right, noting a long marble counter he hadn’t paid attention to before. Behind the counter was a cabinet with small wooden cubbies, each with purple glass knobs glinting in the pale sunlight.

Footsteps scraped from the raised dais straight ahead, and he faced forward again, girding himself against Morin’s appearance.

The other man’s tall, dark figure appeared from around the corner of one of the bookshelves. In the golden lamp glow, Morin’s expression was wary as his gaze met Sam’s across the distance.

Morin was right to be hesitant. Every fiber of Sam’s body was taut. His fists curled at his sides. All it would take would be one risqué remark, and he’d let loose his fury at the man who’d taken Cait’s innocence and then continued to play with her, hoping she’d be the one to unlock him from his self-imposed prison.

Morin was the one who had made the demon that had nearly killed Cait. All because he’d desired a girl who’d wanted nothing to do with him. He’d knowingly unleashed evil and then pretended regret, trying to pluck at Cait’s heartstrings to feel sorry for him in his self-imposed exile.

Only she wasn’t seventeen anymore, and she wasn’t innocent. She’d lived in the intervening years with her personal curse.

Morin wet his lips and then offered Cait a tentative smile. “I’m so glad to see you looking well,” he said in a low tone.

A soothing voice Sam was sure would charm snakes.

Cait wasn’t as immune to his charms as she liked to believe.

She touched her hair. “Don’t flatter me. I need something. It’s the only reason I’m here.”

“I assumed as much. A cup of tea?”

Cait hesitated. “And a bite to eat? I’m starved.”

Morin nodded, and then turned to lead the way toward the small kitchen beyond his library.

Sam snagged Cait’s wrist, holding her back but not knowing exactly what to say.

She gave him a sideways glance. “I’m okay,” she whispered. But when he released her wrist, she tucked her hand inside his. “Don’t worry, Sam. I won’t ever trust him again. Not like I do you.”

Sam felt the tension inside him ease a fraction. He was right to fear Morin’s influence, but the man didn’t hold her in thrall. Cait was all grown up. If the things he’d seen her do were any indication, her powers might one day outstrip her mentor’s.

For now, she needed him, wanted him. He’d hold that knowledge close to his chest and hope that Cait’s determination to keep her feelings for Morin unentangled from her past wouldn’t falter. His thumb rubbed along her pulse. If ever her determination weakened, Sam would have her back.