The Babet & Prosper Collection I: One Less Warlock, Magrat's Dagger, A Different Undead, and Bad Juju (9 page)

It was an unsubtle hint. The battle was over.
Gazaar had returned home. And Mom needed some time alone.

Before they left, though, Babet turned to
Nadine. “I thought Morgana was a boa. They’re not poisonous. Are
they?”

“Morgana’s a voodoo snake, full of magics.
Your familiar. She has many talents, probably more than she’s shown
to either of us.”

Babet stared. Morgana rubbed her head against
her leg. There was more to the snake than met the eye.

Prosper put an arm around her waist. “Let’s
go home.”

She leaned into him and they started toward
his car. The others broke into groups and followed. Soon, they were
all going their separate ways. Babet smiled at the trees. Their
branches waved, cheering their victory, as they passed.

“At least I don’t have to call in backup for
forensics this time,” Prosper said. He glanced in the rearview
mirror to see Morgana curled contentedly on his back seat.

“It all happened so fast, I haven’t had time
to process it.”

“This one’s going to take a minute, Babs. I
could help you along. Spend the night so you have a shoulder to
lean on, someone to talk to.”

Babet raised her eyebrows, considering his
offer. “Not a bad idea, and if I remember right, you still owe me a
fancy dinner somewhere.”

He frowned. “I always pay a debt. Didn’t know
I was behind.”

“When I helped you solve Emile’s death, you
promised me dinner and dancing.”

“But you’re the one who wanted to spend the
night at home.” He gave a wicked grin. “We ordered in food, and we
danced, more than once.”

“Not the same.” But once she thought about
it, who needed the ambience of a restaurant when she had Prosper
for a night?

He gave a nonchalant shrug. “It’s your call.
But if I remember, you were starting gumbo when I came to ask you
for help. I remember smelling a roux.”

“Gumbo takes a while,” she said. “How hungry
are you?”

“Famished. But I can dance while the food
simmers. I usually dance more than once.”

That decided it for Babet. They’d eat in
again.

The Third Babet & Prosper Novella

A Lunch Hour Read

by

Judith Post

Copyright 2012

To Lauren & Abby at Dystel &
Goderich, for always having the right answers

To Michael Prete, for my beautiful book
covers

&

To Robyn & Heidi for always liking what I
write

Babet smiled as she cradled the package under
her arm. She’d spent more on the lingerie than she meant to, but if
Prosper reacted the way she hoped he would, the money was well
spent. She turned to mingle with the foot traffic on Magic Avenue.
In summer, finding a place to park was impossible, so she’d walked
here from her bungalow eight blocks away. She’d be hot and sweaty
before she got home, but a cool shower would fix that.

Her footsteps froze as she gazed ahead.
Someone familiar turned the corner onto Eye of Newt Boulevard.
Really. Whoever thought of that should be shot. But tourists loved
it. Someone bumped into her and tried to push past her. She was
holding up traffic. She stepped closer to the curb, out of the
flow, and looked again. Nope. She hadn’t made a mistake. She’d
recognize that face anywhere. It was in every young witch’s
textbooks.

Celeste Moonbeam. Such a nice name for such a
dark witch. Long, cornsilk, blond hair and huge, silver-gray
eyes—the image of purity and innocence. She looked remarkably good,
considering she’d been dead for quite some time now. Babet hurried
to the corner to follow her, but Celeste was nowhere in sight.
She’d either ducked into one of the specialty stores or disappeared
down an alley.

Babet turned on her heel and walked toward
her mom and Hennie’s shop, tucked onto a narrow, side street, away
from the press of tourists. Maybe they’d have answers she didn’t
have. When she stepped inside the store, out of the hot, muggy air,
blasts of coolness greeted her. Aaah. Heaven. Summer in River City
was a stick-fest. Her clothes clung to her. Her dark hair stuck to
her damp cheeks and forehead. Sweat pooled in her cleavage. She
raised an arm—ich—and lowered it again. So much for deodorants.

“You’re just in time for lunch!” Her mom
rushed past shelves displaying bottled herbs and potions to greet
her. School was out for the summer, and Mom’s young witches had
scattered. She used the time to help Hennie gather and make more
supplies for their shop.

Hennie looked up from an inventory sheet she
was studying, caught Babet’s expression, and frowned. “Something’s
bothering you. What is it?” Hennie was like an aunt to her and
could always read her moods.

“I just saw Celeste Moonbeam on Magic
Avenue.”

Mom waved that away. “Impossible. She was
hanged during the witch hunts before the Black Plague.”

“Then they buried her at a crossroads, so she
could never rise again,” Hennie added.

Babet shook her head. “I know what I saw.
Celeste is here.”

Mom and Hennie exchanged glances. “There are
ways…” Mom said.

Hennie crossed the room to lock the door and
turn the sign in the window to Closed. “Let’s have a quick lunch.
Maybe you’d like to invite your nice detective to join us.”

Her nice detective was Prosper. After he’d
helped her defeat the demon, Jaleel, he’d hung around more than
usual. They’d been spending more and more time together. “If you’re
including him, you think something’s up. Why would Celeste come to
River City?”

Her mom started up the steps to the apartment
she and Hennie shared. “Celeste didn’t raise herself, if she’s
actually walking and talking again. Someone brought her here, but
let’s wait to discuss this until Prosper can join us. Why don’t you
run to buy us each a po’boy? Shrimp, for me.”

Babet couldn’t bully her mom into telling her
more, she knew, so she gave in gracefully. After she called
Prosper, she walked the two blocks to a small, carryout place near
the river. It was tucked in an out-of-the way row of buildings,
away from tourists, meant for the locals. There was still a long
line. Prosper preferred oysters to shrimp, so she ordered
accordingly. When she got back with their food, Prosper’s unmarked
car was already parked at the curb in front of the shop. She felt
like a limp dishcloth, but there was no time to freshen up.

He raised a dark brow when he saw her. His
gaze went to the sack of food in her hand, then slanted to the
white, sleek bag still dangling under her arm. “Sinful Pleasures?”
he asked, reading the shop’s name. “A present for me?”

Babet’s libido had vanished. She tossed him
the bag. “You can try them on, if you want.”

Her mother called from the top of the steps.
“No time to banter. We have things to talk about.”

Babet and Prosper dutifully trotted up to the
apartment.

Mom passed the food around the table, then
got right down to business. She told Prosper about Celeste while
they ate. Babet could tell that she and Hennie had already hashed
over ideas and were none too happy about the outcome.

The Were bear glanced significantly at
Babet’s white package, tossed onto a chair, as he swallowed his
last bite of oyster po’boy. He shrugged. “This is a new one. A dead
witch is walking around River City?”

“Not just any dead witch. Celeste Moonbeam.”
Hennie cleared the table.

“But why is she here? How does that work?” He
looked to Babet’s mother, the head of River City’s coven and the
person who taught younger witches their craft.

“Someone brought her,” her mother said.
“Someone powerful.”

“So she was summoned, like Jaleel?” Prosper
had helped them fight the demon and return him to his pit.

Mom gave a quick nod. “Voodoo might be able
to raise spirits, but not bodies, so that rules out Nadine and
Evangeline. If a warlock went to the bother to summon someone, he’d
choose a demon.”

Hennie’s lips pressed together. She plopped
heavily into her chair. “I hope you’re wrong, Rowan.”

Her mother locked gazes with her old friend.
“Can you think of any other explanation?”

Hennie looked away.

“I know how you feel about necromancers, but
who else could call a body from its grave?”

“Necromancers?” Babet rubbed her arms. “Are
they for real?”

Prosper ran a hand through his sleek, black
hair. “What are we talking about exactly? Zombies?”

“No, Celeste will look exactly as she did
when she was alive. With the same powers. Black witches’ bodies
don’t rot in the dirt. They wait. That’s why most people burn them,
so only ashes remain.” Hennie wrinkled her nose. “There are nice
necromancers, I suppose, but I haven’t met one. Mostly, they use
the dead to achieve their goals.”

Prosper looked nervous now. “And what goals
would this necromancer have?”

Mom sighed. “Who knows? But he brought
Celeste back for a reason. It’s a long, arduous ritual to call back
the dead. Sometimes it takes days, weeks.”

“Can we send Celeste back?” Babet wasn’t sure
how to classify the dead witch now? Was she a walking corpse? Just
on vacation from the cold ground? Or was she alive again? “Does her
heart beat? Does she think?”

“It’s not going to be easy,” Mom said. “She’s
just as alive as she was before. Only this time, the energy to stay
that way comes from her necromancer. He’s like the battery she’s
getting power from. If he grows tired of her, and releases her, she
drops where she is.”

“So if we can’t stop her….” Prosper’s brows
knitted together in thought, “…we can stop him—her supplier. Can
you tell a necromancer when you see him? What do you look for?”

“He…or she…looks like a normal, everyday
person. He won’t be pale, like a vampire. He doesn’t have to keep
any unusual hours, but he will leave a magic trail. All magic takes
time to dissipate. Still, he won’t be easy to find.” Mom looked to
Hennie. “Would he need any unusual supplies to perform his
ceremony?”

“None he can’t find himself. Nothing he’d
have to buy here. Blood, bones, magic circles, talismans….” Hennie
ticked them off on her fingers.

“Human blood?” Prosper asked.

Hennie shook her head. “Any sacrifice will
do. Most use cats or chickens. The magic circles are stronger if
they’re made from strips of cat skin. And almost all of them use at
least one chicken’s foot as a talisman, among other things.”

Babet grimaced. Dirty business. “Any other
talismans that might help us?”

“They’re pretty individual,” Hennie said.
“There’s usually a crystal of some kind, scattered teeth, and
something personal.”

Prosper had heard enough. He stood and went
to look out one of the long, narrow windows that led to a small
balcony off the kitchen. “Okay, a dead witch dropped into town. A
necromancer might have brought her here. What do we do now?”

Mom’s voice was steel. “We start asking
around. Anyone who sees Celeste will remember her. She’s stunning.
And she’s new here. She’ll stand out. We ask if anyone’s seen her
with a friend and what that friend looks like. The coven will help
us. We’ll cover as much territory as possible.”

Babet thought about that. “Why not involve
everyone possible? I’ll ask Lillith to help and I’ll visit the
vampire Emile hired as a P.I.”

Hennie winced at the word vampire. Witches
and vamps didn’t cozy up to each other often, but she gave a quick
nod. “The more people looking, the better our odds. I’ll ask Nadine
to send her spirits into the city.”

Babet shivered. She could picture Manette’s
face with its down-turned lips and glittering eyes. That spirit
loved prying into other peoples’ business a little too much. “Good.
We have a plan.” Mom pushed away from the table. “Let’s get
busy.”

A call to action. Babet rose, grabbed her
package, and followed Prosper down the stairs. He opened the car
door for her. “I’ll give you a lift. It’s too hot to walk in the
midday sun.”

She slid in, glad that his car seats were as
far back as they’d go. Prosper’s legs were even longer than
hers.

He glanced at her shiny, white bag and
smiled. “What if we separate for the afternoon and then meet up
again around eight-ish? I could drop by your place and we could go
over what we learned about the case.”

The case. Police talk. “Are you bringing
food?”

“I can do that. Crab cakes and hush
puppies?”

She nodded, smiling. “I’ll open the
wine.”

He dropped her off at the curb and she opened
the wrought iron gate that led to her small, front yard. Her
bungalow was painted bright-yellow with a red, front door. Happy
colors for a witch. But then again, she was a happy person. She
glanced at the arched, front windows. Morgana was coiled on the
deep window casement, looking out at her.