Daughter of the Thirteen: Bourbon Street Witches Book 1 (8 page)

The Swamp Witch lived in the marshlands west of New Orleans. The journey into the swamps was treacherous enough, but add a black-hearted witch to the mix, and anything could happen.

According to legend, Melba Boucher’s heart was as dark as the swamp she dwelled in.

Melba had no qualms about delving into the obscurity of black magic. She would perform a satanic ritual as casually as she drank homebrewed wine.

Relying on a witch made him nervous. It wasn’t so much that she could wield any power over him. He wasn’t vulnerable to any mortal, witch or not. At least he wasn’t under normal circumstances.

That would change when she sent him into the Underworld. While on this journey, his body would be left defenseless.

He could only hope the witch feared the Dark Prince enough to deter her from mischief.

His thoughts turned to Laurel and the Bourbon Street witches.

Laurel was new to the world of magic, but the other three were already familiar with it. They had been flexing that muscle for a while now. He could only hope they’d grown powerful enough to protect his Laurel while he was gone.

Staring out the window, his mind barely registered the sights of the swamp as they made their way deep into voodoo country.

When had his focus changed?

When had the witch gone from being a troublesome chore, to something more?

Perhaps it was the moment he looked into her eyes and saw how terrified and lost she was, or maybe when he’d kissed her and felt the stirring of something in his heart?

His life meant nothing.

If he were to survive, it would only be so that he could wreak havoc on mankind.

Laurel was different. She had a purpose to her life - a destiny to fulfill. He felt this with every ounce of his being.

Laurel had to live, no matter what the cost.

At the very least, that would mean defying the Dark Prince, possibly even going to war with the being that had sired him.

Exactly how this would play out would greatly depend on what happened during his journey into the Underworld.

His soul already belonged to the Dark Prince; now he may lose his life as well. But if that’s what it took to save Laurel, so be it.

It was mid morning and St. Claire House was dead. Most of their patrons were night owls, which meant it would be at least late afternoon before the bar began filling with people.

This was the time of day reserved for cleaning away all evidence of the drunken revelry that remained from the night before.

Rarely did they get visitors so early in the day, which would explain why she was startled when she heard the door open.

Looking up from the floor she was scrubbing, Laurel was shocked to see two women come through the door.

Ladies never stopped in at St. Claire House. The only women she’d seen were either prostitutes, or ladies looking for a reading.

That’s what it was. They were lost and came to the wrong door.

“May I help you?” Arlene asked, dropping the washcloth she’d been using into a basket behind the bar.

“We are here to see Laurel Fabre. Is she available?” It was the older of the two women that replied.

Arlene’s eyes darted to where Laurel was kneeling on the floor, a scrub brush in her hand.

Getting to her feet, she smoothed her gray skirt. “I’m Laurel.”

It might not have been too smart to admit who she was, but if they were there for malicious reasons, it was best to direct their efforts to her and away from the others.

Smiling, the woman stepped forward. “Greetings Miss Fabre. I’ve heard so much about you. My name is Sally McAllister. You don’t know me but your guardian, Mister. St. Claire, is a good friend of the family.”

“Hello.” Laurel nodded.

Her smile seemed genuine, but there was something about Mrs. McAllister that put Laurel on edge.

Without letting her guard down, Laurel looked over at the second woman. She was much younger, close to her own age. Unlike the woman, the girl was making no pretense at being polite. Her glassy blue eyes literally glittered with hostility.

Why?

She didn’t even know these women, but the girl seemed to hate her.

Laurel forced a smile. “Thank you for stopping by. It was very gracious of you.”

Sally McAllister nodded. “We have actually come by to invite you to the Rose Manor Masque. It is sort of a tradition in these parts. We come together to celebrate All Hallow’s Eve.”

A masquerade ball? She hadn’t been expecting that.

Laurel wasn’t aware Mora had entered the room until she spoke up, putting her two cents into the conversation.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think Laurel will be attending,” Mora’s voice was unyielding, leaving no doubt of her distrust.

Despite the fact that Laurel had been prepared to decline the invitation, she was still irritated with Mora.

Before Laurel could speak her mind, Bridgett entered the room.

For the first time since the two women had arrived, the younger girl joined the conversation. “Oh Bridgett! You are still as pretty as a little doll.”

“Hello Cynthia.” Bridgett’s smile was more tolerant than welcoming.

“We were just discussing the All Hallow’s Eve Masque with Miss Fabre,” Mrs. McAllister informed her. “Please help us persuade her to come … all of you. Tell her what she’ll be missing.”

Bridgett turned to Laurel. “The Rose Manor Halloween Balls are legendary on the river.”

“But …” Laurel’s words trailed off when she saw a flash of warning in Bridgett’s eyes.

Turning back to the two women, Bridgett continued, “We will consider your invitation.”

“Of course.” Mrs. McAllister nodded.

She was obviously irritated she wasn’t able to secure a commitment from the girls. “I’ll send a carriage to fetch you … just in case.”

“That’s very generous of you.” Bridgett forced another smile.

“Good day,” Sally McAllister offered before turning to leave.

“Good day Sally … Cynthia,” Bridgett offered before they were through the door.

When she was sure they were gone, she turned her attention to Mora. “You can’t decline their invitation.”

Mora narrowed her eyes. “Why not? They’re just a couple of stuffy bags that think they’re better than the rest of us. Let’s not forget, we are supposed to stay in during the evening hours … and at the present time, St. Claire is gone.”

Bridgett shook her head. “You don’t understand. The McAllisters are one of the coven families. They cannot suspect we know anything. Remember, Marcos is supposed to be bringing Laurel into the fold, not helping her to stay out of it.”

“All the more reason to stay clear of them,” Mora snapped.

“If they figure out what’s going on … so too will those nasty hell creatures. They’ll come after Laurel long before Marcos returns. I think we should go,” she announced.

They all stared at Bridgett as if she’d lost her mind.

“You know it’s a trap,” Laurel put in. “What better time to get us than when Marcos is gone. We won’t have him to stand against them, or the protection spell. We’ll be like babies out in the cold.”

“I know.” Bridgett nodded.

“Well at least you know something.” Mora scowled.

Throwing Mora a sour look, Arlene stepped in. “Bridgett is right. The Coven of Lazar has a lot to lose if Laurel doesn’t come into their fold. They may panic if they believe they are losing her. Why not let them believe she is ignorant of their intentions, and therefore has nothing to fear from them, or the Dark Prince?”

“I don’t know.” Mora shook her head. “This seems too coincidental … to convenient. I don’t like it.”

“We’ll go for a dance or two, and then leave. This will put them at ease and buy us some time,” Arlene suggested.

“Maybe I should do this alone,” Laurel interrupted. “I’m the one they’re after. It isn’t fair that the rest of you be put at risk.”

Mora rolled her eyes. “Now you are acting insane. Walk right into their trap with no way to defend yourself, and no one to help you.”

Laurel drew her brows together in a frown. “I’m not completely helpless you know.”

Bridgett cleared her throat. “Ladies! All this bickering between us isn’t helping matters.”

“There could be demons there … disguised as humans.” Mora continued the argument.

“This is true, but if you know what to look for, they are easy to spot. When a demon takes human form, they are flawed. There will be a discoloration to their fingernails,” Bridgett explained.

“Marcos’s nails are not discolored,” Laurel informed her.

Sighing, Bridgett sat on one of the tall stools at the bar. “My cousin is different. He was born to this world, but is part of both. A demon has never had a body. When you see a demon take human form, what you are seeing is magic … the manipulation of dark energy.”

Mora shrugged. “It just seems like an unnecessary risk to me.”

“There is another reason we should go,” Bridgett added.

Mora arched one perfectly shaped brow. “And that is?”

“We need to get a spell from the coven’s grimoire. It is said that the Coven of Lazar has a spell to open or close the doorway to the Underworld. If we can get that spell, we can close the door ourselves.”

“What’s to stop the Dark Prince from just opening it again?” Laurel wanted to know.

“It was the spell and the pact that made it possible to open the door in the first place. He will not have such an easy time with it closed.”

“Why don’t they just close it themselves then?” Mora was doubtful.

Bridgett smiled. “Anyone descended from the coven cannot go against the pact to close it. That leaves Laurel and I out … but on the other hand, you and Arlene could do it.”

Mora’s eyes sparked with understanding. “We could close it … but still. There are enough witches around. Why wouldn’t they just have another witch do it in the same way.”

“Because … they do not want to give up the riches they received from the pact they made. Laurel and I have nothing to lose by closing it. They do … and believe me, they will try and stop us.”

“Well what are we waiting for?” Arlene interrupted. “We have ball dresses to get.”

Laurel still wasn’t too sure about Bridgett’s scheme, but it was better than sitting around and waiting for Marcos.

* * *

His black leather boots were covered in muck, but trudging through the marsh was the only way in. A good portion of the trip could be covered by boat, but there was no way to get a boat through the shallows.

The Boucher witch wasn’t about to take any chances. Anyone practicing black magic was bound to have more than a few enemies. Melba Boucher certainly had her share of those.

Fighting his way through the murky water and Spanish moss would have been easier if he could have used his power to aid his progress, but that wasn’t possible.

Melba was powerful, possibly the most powerful witch to ever live in recent times, next to Marie Laveau. She’d spelled the swamp to neutralize all outside magic, another move to protect herself.

As soon as he zapped a tree out of his way, she’d know he was coming and counter his power. He needed what power he had to combat the witch, just in case she turned on him.

After emerging from a thicket of trees, he saw the witch’s cottage about two hundred yards away. The old shanty was built on stilts above the swamp.

Boucher was there, as was evident by the soft glow of light in the windows. Of course there was never any doubt that she would be. The Swamp Witch hadn’t stepped foot out of the bayou her entire life.

Now he was only a hundred yards away, but stopped suddenly when he heard the sound of rippling water.

Little by little, the form of a woman rose from the black water.

He knew better than to wonder how she’d managed to hide in the shallows. Melba was so in tune with the swamp that some even claimed she could change forms to become one of the swamp creatures.

With her body covered in mud and her blazing green eyes, she resembled a vengeful spirit.

Black water dripped from her long hair. It was impossible to tell what color it was beneath the muck.

“What is your tribute?” He could hear her raspy voice echoing through the trees, though her lips never moved.

He’d already decided how to handle this, and it wouldn’t be in the way the witch would be expecting. It paid to research your enemies, as well as your allies.

“I offer you information.”

Legend had it that something turned Melba Boucher dark, and he knew exactly what that something was.