Daughter of the Thirteen: Bourbon Street Witches Book 1 (9 page)

The four girls gathered in front of the massive mirror that hung on the wall in the parlor. When they stood together, they created a rainbow of sparkling color.

Each girl looked remarkable in her gown, the color carefully chosen to bring out her natural beauty.

The ball gowns were easy to get. Mora paid a visit to Magnolia Hall and persuaded Madam Arlington to help.

Normally Madam Arlington wasn’t so generous, but Mora made her an offer she couldn’t refuse. In exchange for the gowns, she’d agreed to drop some information about Magnolia Hall to the male guests attending the masque. Madam Arlington would never turn down an opportunity of advertising to such affluent gentlemen.

“Look at us!” Mora exclaimed. “The Witches of Bourbon Street … all dressed up for the ball. We don’t even have to worry about wicked stepmothers, or the clock striking midnight. We are free!”

Laurel frowned.

Mora was enjoying this a little too much. If there was one thing she’d learned about her new friend, it was that Mora was a modern opinionated woman. She had no qualms of expressing her opinions either, which had a way of turning any situation into mischief. That usually didn’t bode well for those who were with her.

Gazing into the mirror, Laurel had to admit Mora had chosen the gowns well.

Laurel’s gown was cream colored, and sparkled with millions of tiny glass beads. It was low cut and her shoulders were bare, but that was the style. A matching hairpiece held her mass of dark curls in place, helping to add even more magic to her appearance.

Arlene’s shimmering red satin gown complimented her coloring perfectly. For Bridgett, Mora chose a silver ball gown that hung on her body like wisps of moonlight.

For herself, Mora decided on sky blue, which obviously drew attention to her eyes.

All of them had feathered masks to match their gowns.

On the outside, Laurel was the image of tranquil joy, but she was quaking on the inside.

Tonight she would face the people responsible for murdering her mother. Just the thought nourished the darkness that was on the verge of blossoming in her heart. It was that darkness that encouraged her to lash out - to make the Coven of Lazar suffer. But if she acted on it, she’d be playing right into the Dark Prince’s hands.

“Okay girls. Let Jack take our photograph now,” Bridgett told them.

Turning to face Jack, and the monstrosity of a photograph machine he was standing behind, the girls gathered close together.

“Hold right there,” he told them.

There was a whoosh sound and a blinding light, but still they remained frozen for what seemed forever.

“Okay, I got it,” he said, standing from a leaning position behind the camera. As soon as he stood up, he started for the door. “Now I better get down below before someone steals us blind.”

Laurel exhaled loudly, happy that she could now breathe without fear of ruining the photograph.

“So what is this grand plan of yours?” Mora asked, shifting her attention to Bridgett.

Bridgett looked up from the handbag she was packing. “When I was a child, everyone would gather at Rose Hall for celebrations and holidays, especially All Hallow’s Eve.
The children were never told anything, except that we were going to a ball or dinner party, but all thirteen families were always there. Just before midnight, the drivers would return to fetch the children, but the adults stayed.”

“So you think they operate from Rose Hall?” Laurel asked.

“Not the house itself. I’ve been all over that house and have never seen anything that would point to witchcraft, but we weren’t permitted beyond the back garden. They told us it was too dangerous, with all the old slave cabins and fields.”

“So that’s where you plan to look?” Mora wanted to know.

Bridgett nodded. “I’ll wait until you are all settled in before I slip out. If the three of you stay and mingle, they probably won’t even notice I’m gone.”

There was a knock at the door and Jack stuck his head in. “Your carriage is here ladies.”

* * *

The trip to river country wasn’t a long one, but it was long enough for Laurel to brood over their predicament.

Marcos was gone and they were on their own.

All they could do was hope Bridgett knew what she was doing. There wasn’t any reason to doubt her. Bridgett was familiar with the Coven of Lazar. She’d spent the better part of her childhood in the coven.

Bridgett would still be with the coven, if her mother hadn’t gotten out when she did.

From what she’d been able to gather, Bridgett’s mother wanted no part in the slaying of the thirteen daughters. As soon as she’d discovered what was planned, she’d gone to Monique, hoping to persuade her sister to leave before it was too late.

Monique refused to leave her son, or to believe the coven would betray her in that way. Fortunately, Natalie hadn’t been one of the chosen daughters, and therefore was free to leave without consequence.

This she did, leaving behind her husband, Bridgett’s father. With what money she had, Natalie opened St. Claire House. There, she raised her daughter and practiced her craft.

Although she and Bridgett had a similar background, the big difference was that Annette had been one of the chosen daughters, and she’d defied the Dark Prince.

Laurel’s mother paid for her transgression with her life, but she’d paid for it too.

A thought occurred to her.

Who was her father and where was he?

She’d been so focused on her mother and the coven’s pact with the devil, she hadn’t thought much about the man who’d fathered her.

Lost in thought, it didn’t register that they’d stopped until the carriage door opened.

One by one the girls were helped from the carriage.

When it was Laurel’s turn, she ignored the hand offered to her and left the carriage without assistance. It turned her stomach to think of touching the hand of someone who possibly had a part in her mother’s murder.

The scowl she saw on Bridgett’s face let Laurel know the witch wasn’t happy with her behavior.

That was fine. She’d given in to most of what the others wanted. They could deal with a few things, like her not wanting to be nice to those responsible for turning her life upside down.

The front of Rose Hall was decked out with festive fall colors, and lots of flowers. There were also several dozen jack o lanterns placed in various locations. The candles burning inside the pumpkins provided plenty of light.

The four girls mounted the huge staircase and were ushered in the door by a man, Laurel assumed to be a butler. Bowing to them, he motioned to the brightly lit ballroom.

When they entered the ballroom, Laurel felt the air rush from her lungs. Its beauty was absolutely stunning.

Rows of crystal chandeliers hung from a cathedral ceiling. The candles burning in them reflected off the crystals, creating a prism of color throughout the room. Led by
handsome gentlemen, finely dressed ladies swirled to the smooth melody created by an orchestra of violins and harps.

“I’ll get us something to drink,” Bridgett told them before disappearing into the crowd. Bridgett could have saved herself the trouble, if she’d only waited two more minutes. A waiter appeared with a tray of drinks.

Taking a tall glass of the tan - bubbly liquid, Laurel tasted it and then made a face. It was champagne, which was something she’d never tried. It wasn’t the most pleasant tasting drink she’d ever had, but her throat was so dry she didn’t care.

After taking several more swallows, she began to feel slightly lightheaded.

“You better slow down,” Mora advised. “You keep drinking like that, we’ll have to carry you out of here.”

“I’m just so thirsty,” Laurel said, placing her empty glass on a nearby table.

Bridgett returned with another tray of drinks in time to overhear. “Try one of these,” she offered. “It’s just cold tea.”

When Laurel reached for a glass of tea, the trembling in her hands was noticeable. “Relax,” Mora whispered. “Someone will see how nervous you are and get suspicious.”

After finishing her drink, Bridgett handed the empty glass to a passing servant. “Now let’s split up and start mingling. If we are all standing together, it will be easier to notice if one of us is gone.”

Laurel frowned. “I don’t know anyone to mingle with.”

“Just walk around and look pretty. Some fancy man will come and ask you to dance.” Mora laughed.

The other girls scattered and Laurel was suddenly alone. With no idea what to do next, she decided to scour the room in search of demons.

There were demons among the guests, she was sure of it. No matter how much beauty surrounded them, their stench still lingered. That was one thing they couldn’t disguise, at least not from her. She’d come to know the stench of the demon too well in her last days at Saint Michael’s.

After making a casual, once around the room, she decided the man talking with Cynthia McAllister was probably a demon. He was wearing gloves to hide his hands, but the
stench grew stronger when she drew near him. They were both wearing masks, but Laurel knew the girl was Cynthia.

When walking by, she caught the witch’s attention.

Leaving her companion, Cynthia made her way to Laurel. “Well don’t you look lovely tonight.”

The girl’s blond hair hung in ringlets around her shoulders, reminding Laurel more of the
antebellum
fashion, than anything near to modern.

Laurel forced a strained smile. “Thank you, but you look far better than I.”

It wasn’t really a lie. Cynthia’s gown reminded Laurel of spun gold. It had to have cost a fortune.

Through the mask, she could see Cynthia’s icy blue eyes flashing with something akin to fury.

What reason did Cynthia have to be angry with her?

Cynthia’s next words hinted at what lay behind the girl’s chilly attitude.

“Have you noticed that Mister St. Claire is absent?”

“No, I hadn’t noticed,” Laurel replied, forcing indifference into her voice.

“That’s a surprise, considering he is your guardian.”

Laurel was no longer listening. She’d caught sight of someone across the room - someone who wasn’t supposed to be there.

He was wearing a mask, but she’d never mistake those eyes for belonging to anyone else.

As if on cue, he looked up and their eyes clashed. Recognizing her, he put his index finger to his lips, motioning for her to keep quiet.

What nerve!

After he’d tried to kill her, he expected she should keep quiet about what she knew of him.

“Excuse me, but I think I see someone I know.” Laurel walked away before Cynthia could ask questions.

The girl was furious. Laurel could feel Cynthia’s anger, even from a distance.

Weaving through the crowd, she made her way to the vampire.

“Bale Spencer … what a surprise that I should see you
here
.” Laurel said, giving him a knowing smile.

The vampire’s lips twitched into a nervous grin. “Well if it isn’t the lovely … renegade witch, Laurel.”

Taking a step closer, Laurel asked, “What are you doing at a witch’s ball?”

“I might ask you the same?” he replied with his own question, his smile widening. “The last I heard … you were demon bait, and this place is infested with the foul creatures.”

Bale was dressed immaculately, just as he’d been the last time she saw him. He would really be quite handsome, if it weren’t for that little problem of being a vampire.

“I asked first,” she came back.  Laurel wasn’t about to give him any information. As far as she knew, he had come to feast on witch’s blood, including hers.

Eating the other witches might not be such a bad thing, but it was doubtful he’d stop with just the wicked ones.

“You’re really very attractive when you are trying to be devious.” He chuckled.

Laurel was aware the vampire was avoiding an answer, but had no intention of backing off.

“Would you give me the honor of this dance?” he asked, holding his hand out to her.

There were enough people about, she didn’t think it would be too dangerous to dance with the vampire, and it would give her the opportunity to get some information out of him.

When he took her hand in his, a chill traveled up her arm.

Suddenly she remembered how sneaky demons could be.

Could one of them have taken Bale Spencer’s identity, or even possessed him?

It would be impossible to detect a possession, but she could tell by looking at his hands that he wasn’t a demon shifter.