She waves and hurries off to the back of the café where Millie has a little area set up for reading, working, or just sitting quietly.
“Please, please don’t put any potions in my coffee,” I plead with my sister, who simply raises an eyebrow.
“Why?”
“Because I just want coffee.” I’m almost desperate when I reach over and cover her hand with mine. “No frills. No extras. Just coffee.”
“As soon as we’ve put all of this craziness to bed, you can have as much plain coffee as you want. But for now, you need the extra protection. So, as long as I’m the one making it, that’s how you’ll drink it.”
“You’re mean.”
I plop down onto a stool and sulk.
“No, I love you, and I’m looking out for you,” she says and works her magic on my brew. Literally. She even waves her hand over it, whispering something. A little puff of smoke rises from it.
“Did you just poison me?”
She laughs and secures the lid, then frowns. “These lids have been wonky lately. Be careful, okay?”
“I’ve got it,” I reply and take it from her. “It won’t be in there long enough to worry about it. I think I’ll stroll down to Mallory’s shop and look for a few things before I head back to my place.”
“That sounds fun.” Millie waves as a couple of people walk into her café. “Tell her I said hello.”
“Will do. Talk to you later.”
I step out into the French Quarter and turn to walk the couple of blocks to Bayou Botanicals, our friend Mallory Boudreaux’s business. She sells potions, crystals, oils, and all kinds of fun things. She’s a member of Miss Sophia’s coven and has been a good friend to us.
I push through her door and take a deep breath.
“It always smells so damn good in here.”
Mallory’s head turns at my voice, and she grins. “I have some new rosemary and lime soap. You should try it.”
“Hell, yes, I should. Put me down for a bar. I’d also like some new crystals for my shop.”
“Good idea.” We spend a good amount of time sniffing and playing with lotions and oils. When she rings me up, I’m several hundred dollars poorer.
“Wow, we shopped like it’s our job,” I say as I pass her my card.
“It is my job,” she says with a laugh.
“I guess it’s mine, too, now that I think about it.” I sign the slip and pass it back to her. “You have such awesome stuff in here, Mal.”
“Thanks, I try.”
“How’s the family?”
Her smile spreads wider. “Beau’s the best. He’s home with the babies today because the nanny called in sick. So, he’s working from home while they sleep.”
“A billionaire hanging out with babies.” I sigh and shake my head. “I think that might be the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“I know, right?” She laughs and pushes her red hair over her shoulder. “I’m going to close early and go relieve him so he can get to the office. But everyone’s doing well, thanks for asking. Having babies and making boats. Spending time at Inn Boudreaux out in the bayou.”
“It’s such a lovely place,” I say, remembering the huge house the Boudreaux family converted into a bed and breakfast. “Gabby does a great job out there.”
“We’re having a little BBQ out there next week. There won’t be any guests, and the weather is supposed to be cool. We’d love to have you. All of you.”
“Oh. Well, thank you. That sounds like a lot of fun and something to distract us from… other things.”
“I think so, too. I’ll text you with the details.”
“Sounds great.” I take my bag of goodies and grin at the other woman. “I can’t wait.”
“I’ll see you soon, then.”
I wave and set off down the street, headed back to my car in front of Witches Brew. I love the French Quarter. It’s so full of color. Life. The history is limitless. I’ve learned to keep my shields in place because of that vast history, but still, I love it.
I’m grateful to be able to live and work here.
I sip my coffee and grin.
I don’t know what spell Millie casts on these so it stays warm until the last sip, but I love it.
I’m having a damn good day.
When I reach the car, I open the back door first to set my big bag in the back seat, and then I sit in the driver’s seat and fasten my belt.
Only to look up into an eyeless face.
I scream, my coffee falling and spilling all over the front of me. It takes me a full twenty seconds to realize that what I’m staring at is a photo.
A polaroid.
“Fucking hell,” I mutter and push my fingers into my eyes. “Scared the hell out of me.”
I don’t bother to take the photo out from beneath my windshield wiper. I don’t want to touch it. Instead, I fire up the engine and call Cash.