Spells A Bayou Magic Novel - Kristen Proby Page 0,12
I say, patting her shoulder. Mallory spent many years trying to suppress her abilities until she finally realized that she had to use them to finally have peace in her life. “It’s so fun having you around.”
“Thanks.” She grins. “Okay, ladies, I’d better get back to the shop. Let me know if you need anything.”
She waves and hurries down the street, and Dahlia follows me into Witches Brew.
“I know you’re about to close,” she says, “but I would love one last shot of caffeine for the day. And then I’ll be out of your hair, I promise.”
“Of course.” I set to work making her drink just the way she likes it, and pass it over to her.
As she reaches for the cup, her sleeve falls back, revealing a nasty cut healing on her arm.
“Oh, my goddess. What happened?”
She frowns in confusion, then looks at her arm.
“Oh, that. Let’s just say the thorns on roses are nasty. I’m always cutting myself on something.
After she pays, Dahlia waves and heads for the door.
“Have a good evening, friend!”
“You, too,” I call after her. I wipe up the mess I just made and then check the time—three o’clock on the nose.
Time to close up for the day.
I turn the lock and then hurry back to the restroom before I get to work cleaning up for the evening.
When I’ve finished and walk to the sink to wash my hands, I take a deep breath and enjoy the smell of Frankincense and orange that I infuse into the hand soap. I rinse and reach for a paper towel just as I glance up and see a streak of blood across the top of the mirror.
It’s a big smudge, not like the little smears I’ve found on my front door recently. This one is the size of a man’s hand, and it spans the entire width of the mirror.
My heart starts to pound with awareness, and the hair on the back of my neck stands on end as I lower my gaze to my reflection in the mirror.
Standing behind me, just to my right, is Horace. He’s grinning like an evil Jack-o-lantern.
I spin around, but there’s no one there, and then I run from the bathroom. I reach for my phone and immediately call Brielle.
“I need you here at the Brew, now. Right now. We have to cleanse this place.”
“On my way. Daphne’s with me. Be there in five. Are you okay?”
“No, I need you.”
I hang up and pace the space behind the counter. How is this even possible?
But then I think back to what Lucien said yesterday. Was he in my house, kissing me, just yesterday? It suddenly feels like weeks ago.
He said that a physical body means nothing when a spirit possesses the powers that Horace did. Does.
And this means that Lucien’s right.
It’s starting again.
The bell above my door dings, and I glance up, expecting to see my sisters, but it’s not them.
It’s Lucien.
And he looks…angry.
“I locked that,” I say as it occurs to me that Lucien just walked through a locked door.
“You’re not the only one who can unlock a door with the flick of a wrist,” he replies. “What’s going on, Millicent?”
I start to shake my head, to deny that anything’s happened, but Lucien comes around the counter and cages me between his arms.
“Don’t say nothing’s going on. I felt it from across town. Tell me everything.”
I take a deep breath, wishing I could make this sudden headache go away. I’ve been getting them more frequently lately.
Lucien swipes his thumb over my forehead, and within seconds, the ache disappears.
“Stop doing that,” I say softly. “I don’t want you taking on my pain.”
“It’s what I was born to do,” he says simply before leaning in to kiss my forehead. “Tell me.”
I explain the blood smear on the mirror, and seeing Horace standing behind me.
“He didn’t say anything,” I say. “He just stood there. Grinning. Like the creep he is. I don’t understand, Lucien. I cleanse this place regularly. I smudge. I have protection spells. A crystal grid. All of it.”
“But you also have hundreds of energies coming in and out of here every week,” he reminds me. “Hell, I’ve seen the little girl spirits in here for as long as I’ve been coming.”
“Damn,” I whisper. “I was hoping I’d gotten rid of them for a while.”
“You can’t see them?” he asks.
“No, I’ve built up my shields too strong,” I reply. “On purpose. I don’t see the spirits, but I also can’t read the minds