Witches of Bourbon Street (35 page)

A soft click of the door sounded behind me. I glanced back and found the door closed. Kane’s energy told me he was waiting outside. I silently thanked him and led Kat to her couch.

I dabbed her tears with a tissue.

She sniffed and held an envelope out. “I have something for you.”

I took it, not saying a word.

“It’s from Dan. He explains everything that happened from before he moved here ’til now. Or at least, as much of it as he can remember.”

I stared at it. “When did he give this to you?”

“When I visited him in the hospital.” Her tears started to flow again.

“Tea?” I asked. When she nodded, I left her on the couch and retreated to the kitchen. After filling the kettle, I leaned against the counter, running the envelope through my fingers. At that moment, I wasn’t at all sure I wanted to open it. When the tea was done, I took a mug out to Kane, thanked him, and returned to Kat on the couch.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Of course.” I took a sip of spiced chai and leaned forward. “He’s a hero, you know.”

She nodded. “A flawed one.”

“Who isn’t?”

A tiny smile played on her lips before it disappeared. She glanced at the envelope. “Are you going to open that?”

I shrugged. “Do you know what it says?”

“No. He handed it to me before they wheeled him off for x-rays.” Her voice hitched. “It was the last time I saw him.”

It was her suffering more than anything else that made me open the letter. I read it out loud.

Jade,

Let me start by saying I’m sorry. Sorry for everything. The way I handled things when you told me about your empath gift, the break-up, and everything that happened after. I was hurt and handled it very badly. I hope you can forgive me.

I’m writing this down because every time I try to warn you about what’s happened, the demon takes over. I’ve been fighting it, but she’s winning.

About a month after we broke up, I’d finally started to calm down and became curious about your ability. I went to see a family friend who claimed to be some sort of psychic. Up until then, I’d always just thought she was a kook. But when I got there and asked about you and your gift, she started talking about your mom, how she’d disappeared. It started me on my journey to find her.

I don’t know. I guess I thought if I could help you find her, you’d forgive me someday for going home with that other woman. I don’t blame you if you can’t. I doubt I’ll ever forgive myself.

I looked up at Kat. “Did you know he felt this way?”

She shrugged. “I knew he was sorry about the way he handled things, despite the way he behaved around you.”

When I’d first moved to New Orleans, I hadn’t known I’d be running into Dan. As far as I knew, he’d been still living in Idaho. It came as a shock to find out not only had he moved, he was also dating Kat. It had made for a volatile situation; Dan and I had never made peace.

Eventually, after Dan attempted to assault me, Kat had broken up with him. Now I had to wonder if the demon had been the cause of his attitude all along.

I turned my attention back to the letter.

My family friend pointed me in the direction of your mother’s old coven. I went to see Izzy Frankel, who I believe was the coven leader when your mom disappeared. She was very knowledgeable and put the portraits and the voodoo dolls in my care. She told me they were the key to finding your mother.

I had every intention of handing them over to you. In fact, it’s the reason I kept encouraging Kat to get you down here. But something strange started to happen. With each day I had the portraits, I started to feel less and less like myself. I was angry half the time and depressed the other half. I was lashing out at people—not just you, but people at work, at the market, on the streets. Pretty much everywhere I went, I got into some sort of verbal confrontation.

Often I’d come home and stare at the portraits. They seemed to draw me in. Especially Meri. Then one night, she came to me in a dream and made me a deal. I was to destroy the voodoo dolls, and she’d tell me where to find your mother. I figured once I knew where your mom was, I could get rid of the portraits for good. It seemed like a good idea at the time. But I couldn’t do it. I tried, but every time I came close to harming the dolls, something inside me made me stop. Now I know it was the innocence they carried.

I thought things would get better when I moved in with Kat. I even rented a storage locker and kept the dolls and the portraits locked up. But after that night in the club, with you and Kat, I couldn’t stay away. I kept going back to the storage locker. Obviously, by then I knew something was very off about them, but I didn’t know what. Eventually I threw out the portraits, praying my life would go back to normal.

Honest, Jade. I have no idea how they ended up in Kane’s club. All I knew was I was out of control and/or being controlled. Fearing I’d be forced to harm the dolls, I left them in your care.

I haven’t handled any of this well, but I hope now that you have this information, you do find your mother. You deserve it. Be careful.

All my best,

Dan

P.S. Please pass the included note on to Kat.

I checked the envelope and found a folded-up blue piece of paper with her name on it. “Here.”

She took it and stared at the note for a while. She didn’t look up when she spoke. “He was trying to help you. Like always.”

I blew out a breath and sat back. “It seems so.”

“And now he’s gone.” Her voice was so small and childlike it made my heart ache.

“No. Not gone. Just missing,” I said in a commanding tone. “I’m not going to let him suffer in Purgatory, or Hell, or wherever he is. One way or another, we’re going to find him and bring him back. I owe him that.”

“How?”

“I don’t know.” I reached out for her hand. “You know, I suspected something was wrong, but I was too hurt to try to help. I gave up on him once and I’m not going to do it again.”

Tears shimmered in her eyes, but this time she wiped them away. “Whatever I can do to help, you know I’m here.”

“I know.”

She stood. “Get up. Kane’s waiting.”

“I can’t leave you here by yourself.”

“Yes, you can.” She practically dragged me to the door. “It’s late. I’m exhausted. You’re exhausted. Your mom needs you. Go. Do what you have to. Get strong, and when you’re ready, we’ll find Dan.”

Kat had her fire back, and though I knew she was mostly putting on a brave front, something had shifted in her energy. The helpless despair had vanished, replaced by a tiny blossom of strength.

I hugged her one last time and made her promise to call if she needed anything.

She clutched her blue letter. “I have everything I need right here.” She opened the door. “Now, go on.”

Kane stood and gave Kat a hug of his own. She blushed when he gave her a peck on her cheek, waving him away. “Goodnight, you two.” She closed the door softly, and we headed back to Kane’s.

When we got to his front door, he turned to me. “Is she all right?”

“She will be.”

“And you? Will you be okay?”

I wrapped my arms around him. “Just as soon as you get me into your bed.”

The slow, sexy smile I’d come to love so much spread across his chiseled face. “That, my love, is easily arranged.” In one quick movement, he picked me up and strode through the door. He didn’t stop until he laid me down on his queen-sized bed. “Has it only been two days?” he murmured.

“Feels more like two weeks.” I trailed a finger down his stubbled jawline.

“Looks like we have some catching up to do.” His mouth covered mine, and when his hands found the curves of my body, everything else ceased to matter.

Kane was home, and he was all mine.

About the Author

Deanna is a native Californian, transplanted to the slower paced lifestyle of southeastern Louisiana. When she isn’t writing, she is often goofing off with her husband in New Orleans, playing with her two shih tzu dogs, making glass beads, or out hocking her wares at various bead shows across the country. Want the next book in the series? Visit
www.DeannaChase.com
to sign up for the New Releases email list. Book three is due out in late fall of 2012.

Haunted on Bourbon Street Excerpt

There was no way I was sharing my new two-hundred square foot apartment with a ghost. To be honest, I didn’t know if the speculation was true, but I’d gotten the place at a steal because my landlord couldn’t keep it rented. Considering the abundance of documented ghost lore in the French Quarter, I wasn’t taking any chances.

On moving day I walked the two blocks to The Herbal Connection. The front window housed an elaborate book display of the title,
Vampires of New Orleans
. To the right were neat rows of Suck It wine with blood-tinged fangs on the labels. I grimaced. All signs led to the likelihood of just another tourist shop. Still, it was possible they had basic supplies I could work with.

As soon as I walked in I knew I’d found the perfect shop. The sandalwood scent dissipated and a gentle, salt-filled sea breeze tickled my senses. My favorite place on earth was the beach. Whoever ran the place was doing an excellent job. It took a highly skilled practitioner to cast an illusion tailored to each individual patron.

“Can I help you?” A southern drawl floated from the back of the shop. As she stepped from behind a display, my eyes settled on a more expensive, classier version of my Aunt Gwen. The two could almost be twins, except the shop lady had salon-dyed auburn hair and wore white linen slacks, topped off with a coral blouse, while Gwen had natural gray curls and always wore her standard red T-shirt and coveralls. Of course, Gwen rode her tractor daily, and I had no trouble picturing this woman sipping mint juleps on a veranda.

I smiled. “Hello. Yes, I need a sage and cedar smudge stick if you have it.”

“Of course we do, dear.” She crossed the room and held out her hand. “I’m Bea, owner of the shop.”

My clammy hand met her cool grip. “Jade. Nice to meet you.”

“Cleansing negative energy?”

I nodded.

She grinned. “You must be new in town.”

Looking down at my faded jeans and simple cotton T-shirt, I wondered if I had a fresh-from-Idaho vibe radiating off me. It was possible. I’d only been in New Orleans for a month. “Is it that obvious?”

She laughed. “No. I would have remembered if you’d been here before.”

Why? Did she have a photographic memory? While I’d been told my willowy frame and long strawberry-blonde hair combined with my pale Irish skin was striking, I hardly stood out in the sea of characters who wound their way through the French Quarter on a daily basis.

She rushed to explain. “Most people who come in here don’t know what they’re looking at. I know almost everyone in New Orleans who has knowledge of the craft.”

Oh. Doing a simple cleanse was miles from using craft. I didn’t particularly like being mistaken for one who manipulated spells.

She hummed softly as she packaged my items, and when I handed her my credit card she peered at me. The beach breeze vanished, replaced by the sandalwood scent. A warm sensation wrapped around me in a slow circle. It took me a moment to realize it was coming from Bea. She was reading me with a witch’s spell. Instantly I dropped my barriers and sent out my senses. If she could read me, I could do the same to her. Only, I wasn’t a witch. Empaths don’t need spells to read other people.

Excitement mixed with a heavy dose of curiosity radiated from her in light, feathery waves. I realized her energy was a lot like mine. Most people’s emotions are a little thick and sometimes hard to wade through. Hers felt light, inviting and familiar. What exactly could this woman do, and what had she learned about me? I’d assumed she was just a witch practitioner; now I knew she was also some sort of intuitive.

I stepped back, blinked, and the sea-salted air returned.

“There’s something special about you,” she said.

More like a curse. I pasted on a smile and pretended nothing had happened. “That’s what my mother always used to say.”

Her eyes sparkled, and she leaned in closer. “Very interesting, indeed.” She placed her hand over mine, and a spark sent a jolt to my shoulder.

Jumping back, I pulled my hand out of her grasp.

Her smile turned to a grin, and she clapped her hands together in delight. “Oh, my dear! You simply must come by my house for tea some afternoon. We have much to talk about. Here’s my card.” She slipped it in the bag.

I grabbed the handle and turned to go. “Um, okay. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome, Jade. I look forward to hearing from you soon.”

I waved as I pushed the door open to the street, knowing I wouldn’t call her. My last memory of my mother blowing me a kiss as she headed off to her coven meeting flashed in my mind. Tears burned the back of my eyes. I blinked them back. Bad things always seemed to happen when witches and intuitives got together. No. It didn’t matter how curious I was about Bea, I knew it was best to keep to myself.