Daughter of the Thirteen: Bourbon Street Witches Book 1 (7 page)

His footsteps echoed through the empty halls of Cypress Grove. Stopping at one of the paintings that hung in the huge upstairs foyer, Marcos stared at the image of a life snuffed out too soon.

There was a time when looking at the portrait of his mother was the only way he could spur any emotion, but that was beginning to change. Laurel was making him feel again, and he found it fascinating.

Before the angel witch came into his life, the only time he’d felt anything was when his mother was alive. In spite of knowing what he was, she’d loved him as only a mother could.

A mother loves her child, even if he is a monster.

Monique St. Claire never treated him as the monster she knew him to be
. She would cuddle him, tell him bedtime stories, even kiss him goodnight.

His mother did all of this, as if she were completely unaware of what he was.

He suspected that his mother pretended. In her mind, he was just a normal little boy.

Monique St. Claire was one of the most beautiful women to ever grace Louisiana, but she was a witch, as was her sister, Natalie. The St. Claire family had been witches for generations. They were part of the Coven of Lazar.

Life in Louisiana was good to the St. Claire family; at any rate it was good until the War of Northern Aggression.

After the war, life changed for everyone, including the coven. To regain even a semblance of their former lives, each coven family offered up a daughter to the Dark Prince.

His mother was chosen to be the sacrificial lamb for the St. Claire family.

The daughters of the coven brought forth the children of the Dark Prince. All would have been well if Annette hadn’t betrayed them.

He should hate Laurel for her mother’s betrayal, but he didn’t. Laurel was as much of a victim as his mother had been.

Marcos closed his eyes, trying to shut out the image of the raven-haired beauty that was his mother, but as usual, closing his eyes wasn’t very helpful. He could still see that nightmarish scene as clear as if he were reliving it all over again.

That was the night Hell came to the world of man.

He could still hear his mother’s voice as she told him his favorite troll story, but then he’d drifted to sleep. The next thing he recalled was his mother’s screams.

Scrambling from his bed, he ran to the window, where he could see the front courtyard.

Monique St. Claire was being dragged out of the house, kicking and screaming.

“Please don’t take me from my son!” she begged.

Her please were ignored.

Even now his insides would shrivel when he thought about what they’d done to his mother. It was the same as they’d done to all the daughters of the coven.

She’d been burned as a witch.

The memory of her shrieks was so real that he would still hear them at the oddest times.

Was his mother’s ghost haunting him - blaming him for what happened to her?

The coven killed his mother and the other daughters, but they did so to save their own lives. They knew what Annette’s betrayal meant.

Demons had been unleashed from Hell, and they would come for each of the girls, tearing them to bits, along with any family members. Offering the girls as a sacrifice was the only way to save the coven.

The Dark Prince didn’t care that twelve of the daughters had given birth to his progeny, it was the betrayal of the thirteenth daughter that mattered.

“Where’s the witch?” The gravelly - female voice drew him out of the memory.

Marcos turned to see Sue Bennett standing behind him.

When he was a child, he’d called her Sooie. Her pug nose reminded him of a pig’s snout, but he’d only dared do it when she wasn’t around.

As she stood there glaring at him, she looked exactly the same as she had the first time he’d seen her, over two decades before.

Her stout body had a little too much ham on it in the wrong places, and her hair was the oddest red color he’d ever seen, kind of a sickly, yellow - orange.

One day she’d appeared on the doorstep of Cypress Grove, offering her services as nanny to the son of the house. It was no coincidence that each of the coven’s special children got nannies at about the same time. All of these women arrived, demanding entrance into the lives of the Dark Prince’s progeny.

At first he hadn’t realized what she was, but over time it became clear. Sue Bennett was really a demon sent to nurture him to be what he was born to be. She was constantly pushing him to bury his humanity and embrace his dark nature.

As he stared at her now, he could see traces of her true form beneath her human disguise. Her blue eyes had a red sheen to them that was noticeable only at certain times, such as in a dimly lit room, or when she was angry.

Only once had he seen her in her true form.

It was the night she’d come into the room and found him reading the troll book. The tears in his eyes had infuriated her.

Grabbing the book out of his hands, she’d thrown it in the fireplace. “Never think of that whore of a witch again!” Sue bellowed.

In that instant, he saw the rotting corpse of her body and the serpent’s tongue in her mouth.

Still being a child, he’d cowered from her anger. That wasn’t the case now. He was of a much higher status than she was, but the demon bitch still hadn’t learned her place.

“I am handling the situation the way I see fit,” he responded in a flat - even tone.

“She is the last … the daughter of the thirteenth daughter. The witch must carry his seed, or every family will be destroyed.”

Sparks of fury flew from his eyes. “I will take care of this in my own way.”

Without another word, he turned and left her standing in the foyer.

“You are running out of time, Marcos! We will devour her flesh and soul!”

He didn’t bother to respond. There was no reason to. Time
was
running out, not just for Laurel, but for all of them.

He wasn’t interested in saving his own hide. Maybe Hell is where he belonged, along with the rest of the coven.

But Laurel didn’t deserve it. The betrayal was her mother’s, not hers.

* * *

When Bridgett finished her story, all three girls were gaping at her.

Finally it was Laurel who broke the silence. “So your mother was Natalie, and Marcos’s mother was Monique?”

Bridgett nodded. “Our mothers were sisters. It was only by fortune that mother was away at school when this happened. With her being the younger sister, she would have been the chosen one.”

“Does Marcos resent you for this?” Arlene inquired.

Bridgett lifted her slight shoulders. “I’m not sure, but I don’t think so. You must understand … I am as dead as he is when the demons come for the coven,” she explained.

Laurel felt the blood rush to her face when she realized that she would be the cause of so much death, if she did not submit.

“Maybe I should …”

Mora cut her off. “Nonsense! Their pact with the devil has nothing to do with us … any of us!” she added, directing her words to Bridgett.

Tapping her long fingernails against the delicate china teacup she held in her hand, Mora continued, “There has to be a way out of this.”

No one responded.

“But the two of you are safe here … right?” she asked Bridgett.

Bridgett nodded. “Marcos and I put a protection spell on St. Claire House.”

The image Bridgett painted of Marcos didn’t fit well with how Laurel had come to view him.

Laurel was willing to admit the possibility that she was only seeing the dark side of him,
if
there could be any other side to an offspring of the devil.

“The St. Claire family have always been powerful witches,” Mora put in with another nod of her head, “but are they powerful enough to hold off a herd of demons? That’s the question.”

“I also have this.” Bridgett lifted the amulet that hung between her full breasts.

Laurel reached up to feel the amulet beneath the fabric of her gown. “I have one of those too.”

“My mother always said that as long as I kept it on, the amulet would protect me. Perhaps she was referring to the demons,” Bridgett offered.

Leaning forward, Mora set her cup on the little table in front of the divan. “It’s not enough. We need a plan.”

Laurel was uncertain of what to say. There was no question about the fact that they needed a plan, but actually coming up with one that would work, was the trick.

How did one fight off Hell’s demons?

Finally Bridgett stood and placed her hands on her hips. “Well until we do form some kind of plan … you are all welcome at St. Claire House, but there’s work to be done here. We serve spirits and green fairies, and we do what we can to entertain the customers … within reason of course,” she added.

None of them had a problem with helping out, but Bridgett wasn’t done yet.

“There are times when we do have clients of a different sort. Those are the people we take into the back room. It’s easy,” she told them with a shrug of her shoulders. “Mostly
they just want something simple, like a potion to get rid of warts, or a spell to find true love. Nothing especially sinister.”

“What about vampires?” Laurel asked, looking at each of the girls.

The sudden silence was so complete, one could have heard a dropped pin hit the floor.

Arlene cleared her throat. “Why do you want to know about vampires?”

Laurel told them of her encounter after leaving Magnolia Hall.

“I didn’t even know vampires were real,” she finished.

“They are as real as you or I,” Mora said, getting up from the divan. “Until recently they’ve kept away from us. They prefer easy prey, to a witch. Feeding from a witch is too risky for them.

Without looking at the others, Mora began pacing the floor. “Witches and vampires have always been in this city, and they’ve coexisted peacefully, until Omar brought his nest here. He is an ancient, and just as much of a threat to us as the demons.”

Now it was Arlene’s turn to stand up. “It would be my suggestion that we tackle one problem at a time. At the present, the vampires are after any witch, not us in particular. As long as we remain indoors after dark, we should be safe enough.”

“Not necessarily,” Mora interrupted. “This is a place of business … a public building. They could come here if they choose to.”

Bridgett shook her head. “The protection spell will keep the vampires out too, but we will still need to take care when we go out after dark.”

Dropping a deck of tarot cards in Laurel’s hands, Bridgett motioned to the back room. “Mrs. Jensen will be here soon. She always comes for a reading on the second Wednesday of the month. I would take care of it, but Jack will be late coming in today.”

Jack Lambert usually tended bar, but lately he’d been skipping out on them.

Laurel didn’t mind helping out with other things, especially since she had no talent for mixing drinks. The problem was that she also didn’t know how to give a tarot reading.

“But I’ve never given a reading before,” Laurel protested.

“You already have the ability, just use it. When you look at the cards, read them with your third eye,” Bridgett instructed.

“I’ll try.” Thinking of a grotesque third eye sitting on her forehead was enough to bring on a frown.

Bridgett called the back room, her workroom. This was where she performed all her magic.

The workroom was at least as large as a fairly good-sized parlor, and painted completely black. She used black, not because she dabbled in dark magic, but because it was powerful. Also, it added to the atmosphere her patrons expected.

That might be true, but Laurel felt the black to be too oppressive, which did little to ease her anxieties.

Almost as soon as she entered the room, there was a knock at the side door. This was a separate entrance, used exclusively for those customers who came for
other
reasons.

Laurel opened the door to see a little old lady standing there.

Mrs. Jensen’s milky blue eyes opened wide with surprise. “Oh dear! I was expecting Miss St. Claire.”

“Bridgett asked me to apologize for her not being available. She had urgent matters to attend to, but asked if I would help you. That is if you don’t mind?” Laurel smiled, hoping to ease the woman’s discomfort.

Mrs. Jensen’s deeply lined face twisted into a scowl. “I don’t know. This is a delicate matter. Perhaps I should come back another time.”

Laurel scrambled to sway Mrs. Jensen. Bridgett had been so generous with her and the other girls, she didn’t want to disappoint her.

“Of course you may make another appointment, but I would love to help you. I was trained by Miss St. Claire,” Laurel added.

It was just a little white lie, but still the heat of shame flooded to her face.

Her Catholic upbringing was deeply engrained. Lying wasn’t something she did casually.

Mrs. Jensen seemed to consider her options for a long time before she finally nodded. “I suppose once will be fine.”

Laurel led Mrs. Jensen to a little round table, positioned in the middle of the room. The candles in the candelabra had already been lit. Though the room was still dim, the flames from the candles provided enough light to read the cards.

Laurel had watched Bridgett when she gave Arlene a reading, though she wasn’t sure how much of it she’d retained. At the time, she’d had no idea that she would need to know how to read the cards.

Laurel did remember that she would have to shuffle the cards, and then Mrs. Jensen would need to cut the deck.

Closing her eyes, Laurel focused her energy on the deck before placing five cards on the table, facedown. When she opened her eyes, she flipped over the first card, as she’d seen Bridgett do.

It was the Death Card!

At first she was startled, but then she recalled something Bridgett said. She’d told them that the meaning behind the Death card wasn’t necessarily literal. The card’s meaning would ultimately depend on the other cards that showed up in the reading.

Taking a deep breath, Laurel flipped over the next card. It was also the Death card.

That was impossible!

There was only one Death card to the deck.

Frantic, she quickly flipped over the rest of the cards. They were all Death cards.

“No … it can’t be!” she said, shaking her head.

“What’s wrong dear? Are you feeling well?” Mrs. Jensen asked, but there was something strange about her voice. It was deep, like a man’s voice.

Laurel looked up at the woman sitting across the table, but it wasn’t Mrs. Jensen she saw. It was a man so pale, he could have easily been mistaken for a ghost.

Maybe he was a ghost!

He was wearing a long black overcoat and a top hat. One of his hands rested on a walking cane that he’d placed at his side.

“My … you look positively ill, Laurel,” he said, his lips spreading into a wide smile.

“Who are you? What have you done with Mrs. Jensen?” Though she was terrified, she managed to keep her voice from shaking.

“Nothing … yet,” he added. “I’ll come for the old girl soon enough, though I’d suggest that you not be blunt with that information.”

“Is that her reading then?” Laurel asked.

He tipped his head in affirmation.

“So you are the Angel of Death and the first card was right? Something in her past will lead to her death.”

Again, he gave her the same dark - haunting smile. “It is always something from the past that brings about death. Birth is the first step towards death,” he explained.

None of this was making any sense. Laurel swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the lump in her throat. “I don’t understand. Why am I seeing you?”

Arching one dark brow, he answered her question with another. “Why do you think?”

Laurel shrugged. She hadn’t the slightest idea why she was seeing him. In fact, she couldn’t even be sure that she wasn’t sleeping and this was all some grand story she was dreaming.

“Alone, each of you are very talented … but together, you are a force to be reckoned with.”

His evasive responses were beginning to irritate her. “That wasn’t an answer.”

“If you were reading these cards without the others being nearby … you would see only a card. Alas … you can see me. With that, I would assume you have a connection to the realms of darkness and light. Each of you has certain unsurpassed talents. I would advise that you make good use of them. They are coming for you, Laurel. Your demon lover will only be able to do so much before he also perishes.”

“He’s not my lover,” she interrupted.

Bringing one finger up to touch the rim of his hat, he nodded and then vanished.

Laurel was staring into the confused, horrified face of Mrs. Jensen. “Who’s not your lover? What’s all this about death?” The woman asked.

Laurel opened her mouth to respond, but couldn’t think of anything to say.

The old woman used the table to stand. “Perhaps you are not quite ready for this job. Please tell Miss St. Claire I’ll return at my regular time next week … and that I do hope she’ll be available.”

Nodding, Laurel got to her feet. “I’m so sorry Mrs. Jensen. I don’t know what happened.”

“It’s okay dear. Not everyone can do what Bridgett does,” she said, patting Laurel’s arm.

If she only knew!

She could save face by telling Mrs. Jensen what she knew of her future, but it was too dark. The last thing Laurel wanted was to bring darkness and fear to the old woman’s last days. It was best she believe Laurel was too inexperienced to read the cards, and that when she’d been talking about death, she’d been rambling.

Laurel forced a bright smile. “Thank you for coming.”

As soon as Mrs. Jensen was gone, Laurel was startled by the sound of applause. When she spun around, she came face to face with Marcos.

“Bravo!” he exclaimed, as he continued clapping.

Tossing him a sour look, she put her hands on her hips. “You should be ashamed of yourself. Eavesdropping is bad manners.”

His deep laughter vibrated off the black walls. “If that were the most serious of my sins … I’d have wings.”

Laurel’s frown deepened. “What can I do for you?”

“I think I would like a reading,” he told her, his eyes dancing with amusement.

“I can’t,” she said, shaking her head.

“Why ever not?”

“Just because I can’t.”

Strolling to the chair Mrs. Jensen had recently vacated, he sat down and fixed his eyes on her. “I’m afraid I must insist.”

Judging by the tone of his voice, it was clear it wasn’t a request.

It was always possible that he’d find a way to punish her for defying him, but she’d already made up her mind that she would not bow down to Marcos St. Claire’s demands.

“I am not feeling up to it.” She turned away without waiting for a response.

Before she could take two steps, he was in front of her, blocking her way.

He brought up one hand to brush the hair away from her eyes. “Oh my sweet Laurel, why do you insist on being this way?”

“Why do you think?” Laurel asked, cocking her head to one side.

“Everything I do is for you. Haven’t I let you remain with your friends?” Now he was caressing her cheek with the back of his hand.

When his skin made contact with hers, she felt that thrilling spark ignite the desire she was trying so hard to forget. Each time he touched her, it was becoming more difficult to pull back from that dark desire.

But she could disguise it with sarcasm and indifference.

“Of course what you do for me … is for my own good,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I am not a fool. You have a motive, and I doubt very much it has anything to do with what is best for me.”

Taking a step back, he smiled. “You are right. I do have a motive, but it isn’t as sinister as you might think. I want you all together because it makes you more powerful, and we’ll need that power if I’m to save you  … as well as the thirteen coven families.”

“If
you
can’t do it, I don’t know what makes you so certain we can.”

He shrugged. “Intuition perhaps.”

“I’m afraid I don’t share your optimism.”

“There is always the other alternative. You could come to my bed,” he suggested.

Bedding her was his true goal, no matter how he tried to disguise it, and he was right to think it would be the easiest solution to their problems.

It wasn’t as if the thought was entirely bad.

Maybe the reason she held back was because of why he wanted it. It wasn’t so much that he really wanted her. He just wanted to solve a problem. She was no more than a means to an end, and that’s what she didn’t like.

“You haven’t told me why you are here,” she pointed out, ignoring his suggestion of going to his bed.

“I’ve come to tell you that I will be going away for a time. You will need to take extra care while I’m gone.”

Laurel was startled by the fear that squeezed at her heart.

Having Marcos close helped to ease her mind a lot more than she cared to admit. With him gone, they’d be on their own.

“Where are you going?” she asked, realizing too late that her question wasn’t appropriate.

Marcos smiled and took her hand in his. “Don’t fret angel witch. I will only be as far away as your thoughts.”

“Thoughts will do us no good if they come for us while you are gone.”

Laurel hated to show him weakness, but she was desperate. Just the memory of the creature that had stalked her through the halls of Saint Michael’s sent shivers up her spine.

The laughter left his dark eyes. “I cannot avoid this, or I would.”

“But …” she started to protest.

His fingers brushed against her skin as he lifted the amulet from her bosom. “The Fabre witches have always been among the elite. Do your ancestors proud and learn how to harness your power. That and this amulet will give you far more protection than I ever could.”

His hand slid down the chain to grasp the golden
penta
gram. When he made contact with the metal, his flesh began to sizzle.

Startled, Laurel jumped back.

Stunned into silence, all she could do was stare at him.

“You see … you are looking to a monster to protect you from monsters.” Hearing the agony in his voice was as painful as the torment she saw reflected in his eyes.

Laurel tried to force a response, but searching for words was like groping in the dark.

“Mind the shadows, angel,” he said before disappearing through the doorway that led to the bar.

Once she’d managed to pull herself together, Laurel ran after him, but was too late. Marcos was already gone.

* * *

After exiting St. Claire House, Marcos hesitated, but only briefly. When the sleek black carriage pulled up, he boarded without waiting for assistance from the driver.

The sooner he left, the sooner he’d return.

He had to make the journey to the Underworld, but his human body was forbidden entrance to that realm. There was only one way to get there, and only one person who could help him.