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Authors: Deanna Chase
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was Dan involved? He hadn’t even a trace of supernatural ability. I would know after living with him for two years.
I glanced up to see Pyper and Kane staring at me. “What?”
“You know, none of this stuff started happening until you showed up.” Pyper’s lips twisted into a curious smirk.
“Pyper,” Kane warned in a hushed tone. “It’s not her fault her ex is a psycho.”
It could be my fault. He’d been tortured as a fifteen-year-old because of me. Then I’d lied to him for years about my empath ability, basically spying on his deepest emotions without his knowledge. When I’d finally come clean, I’d witnessed firsthand the sense of betrayal and personal invasion he’d experienced. After that, he’d changed into someone I didn’t even recognize. I suppose he saw me the same way. But I wasn’t intentionally messing with voodoo dolls. At least, not yet.
I stood. “We have to put them somewhere safe.”
Kane’s eyebrows rose as he contemplated me. “Why?”
“Why are boys so stupid?” Pyper reached out and picked Felicia up out of the chair. “Because if someone with a fetish for stick pins gets a hold of these, we could end up with another Roy on our hands.”
She was right. I moved to help her, but she shooed me away. “I got this. We don’t need you getting whisked away into more memories. Your face goes slack and you start to resemble a post-op lobotomy patient.”
“Lovely.” I moved back toward the bar to deter myself from touching any of the dolls again. I wasn’t scared. Everything about them was pleasant, inviting even. My heart swelled with warmth as I remembered the little girl laughing in the river. But that’s what made it so dangerous. Anything could go wrong. When messing with the mystical plane, even the best of practitioners made mistakes. Being an empath—and quite possibly a white witch, if Lailah and Bea were to be believed—meant that dealing with any unknown curses left me particularly vulnerable. And make no mistake; joy sucked out of trapped spirits was a curse. A dark one.
Pyper and Kane started carting the dolls toward the back door.
“Where are you taking them?” I asked.
“My place,” she called over her shoulder. “It’s the only logical choice.”
I nodded. I couldn’t take them. Kane wouldn’t risk having them at his house since I spent so much time there. Leaving them in the club was out of the question. Too many people coming and going. Still, I hated the thought of her spending time with the cursed dolls. Just because she didn’t have any natural intuitive or magical abilities didn’t mean she wasn’t susceptible to wayward curses. “Lock them in the spare room and don’t touch them any more than you have to,” I called back.
A moment before the back door clicked closed, I heard Pyper’s faint reply. “Yes, Mom.”
I pulled out my phone and called Kat. Crap! Voicemail. I disconnected and sent her a short text: Where are you? Call ASAP .
When Pyper and Kane returned, I said, “Come on. We need to talk to Bea about this.”
Chapter 7
The tires of Pyper’s VW Bug squealed when Kane rounded the corner onto Bea’s street in the Garden District. The car bounced over a pothole, and a teeth-grinding scrape of metal against asphalt made me wince.
“Sorry,” he said.
Pyper scowled. It was a testament to her restraint that she hadn’t clubbed him after he cut off a dozen cars and possibly lost her muffler in one of the road craters.
There was no way to avoid the gaping holes in the narrow streets. You’d think being the Garden District, the city would do something about the failing roads. No such luck. He should have slowed down, but my desire to see Bea had me secretly pleased Kane was impersonating a Formula One race car driver.
We pulled up to Bea’s gate a mere seven minutes after we’d left Wicked. The French Quarter wasn’t far, but not that close, considering the street lights on Saint Charles.
“If there’s any
I glanced up to see Pyper and Kane staring at me. “What?”
“You know, none of this stuff started happening until you showed up.” Pyper’s lips twisted into a curious smirk.
“Pyper,” Kane warned in a hushed tone. “It’s not her fault her ex is a psycho.”
It could be my fault. He’d been tortured as a fifteen-year-old because of me. Then I’d lied to him for years about my empath ability, basically spying on his deepest emotions without his knowledge. When I’d finally come clean, I’d witnessed firsthand the sense of betrayal and personal invasion he’d experienced. After that, he’d changed into someone I didn’t even recognize. I suppose he saw me the same way. But I wasn’t intentionally messing with voodoo dolls. At least, not yet.
I stood. “We have to put them somewhere safe.”
Kane’s eyebrows rose as he contemplated me. “Why?”
“Why are boys so stupid?” Pyper reached out and picked Felicia up out of the chair. “Because if someone with a fetish for stick pins gets a hold of these, we could end up with another Roy on our hands.”
She was right. I moved to help her, but she shooed me away. “I got this. We don’t need you getting whisked away into more memories. Your face goes slack and you start to resemble a post-op lobotomy patient.”
“Lovely.” I moved back toward the bar to deter myself from touching any of the dolls again. I wasn’t scared. Everything about them was pleasant, inviting even. My heart swelled with warmth as I remembered the little girl laughing in the river. But that’s what made it so dangerous. Anything could go wrong. When messing with the mystical plane, even the best of practitioners made mistakes. Being an empath—and quite possibly a white witch, if Lailah and Bea were to be believed—meant that dealing with any unknown curses left me particularly vulnerable. And make no mistake; joy sucked out of trapped spirits was a curse. A dark one.
Pyper and Kane started carting the dolls toward the back door.
“Where are you taking them?” I asked.
“My place,” she called over her shoulder. “It’s the only logical choice.”
I nodded. I couldn’t take them. Kane wouldn’t risk having them at his house since I spent so much time there. Leaving them in the club was out of the question. Too many people coming and going. Still, I hated the thought of her spending time with the cursed dolls. Just because she didn’t have any natural intuitive or magical abilities didn’t mean she wasn’t susceptible to wayward curses. “Lock them in the spare room and don’t touch them any more than you have to,” I called back.
A moment before the back door clicked closed, I heard Pyper’s faint reply. “Yes, Mom.”
I pulled out my phone and called Kat. Crap! Voicemail. I disconnected and sent her a short text: Where are you? Call ASAP .
When Pyper and Kane returned, I said, “Come on. We need to talk to Bea about this.”
Chapter 7
The tires of Pyper’s VW Bug squealed when Kane rounded the corner onto Bea’s street in the Garden District. The car bounced over a pothole, and a teeth-grinding scrape of metal against asphalt made me wince.
“Sorry,” he said.
Pyper scowled. It was a testament to her restraint that she hadn’t clubbed him after he cut off a dozen cars and possibly lost her muffler in one of the road craters.
There was no way to avoid the gaping holes in the narrow streets. You’d think being the Garden District, the city would do something about the failing roads. No such luck. He should have slowed down, but my desire to see Bea had me secretly pleased Kane was impersonating a Formula One race car driver.
We pulled up to Bea’s gate a mere seven minutes after we’d left Wicked. The French Quarter wasn’t far, but not that close, considering the street lights on Saint Charles.
“If there’s any
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