“Maybe we should have called, checked first,” I say and sigh, a frown permeating my entire demeanor.
“It’s fine,” James assures. “They close all the time during normal business hours.” He bangs his fist against the door.
“Why would they do that?” Confusion presses into my forehead.
“Because they don’t need the touristy traffic. In fact,” he says and bangs the wood barrier again. “They don’t want it. They cater to the serious practitioners and those people know when to find this place open.”
I nod, a slow up-and-down motion of my head.
The door cracks a quick open, and the bony, pocked face of a guy appears in the sliver of space provided. “Whatcha want?”
“I’m looking for John,” James says, shifting toward the opening.
“Yeah?” He lifts his chin. “Who you?”
“I’m his brother, James.” James shoves his hands into his pockets and shifts his weight.
The man swings his scrutinizing gaze over James, then me. “Minute,” he says and shuts the door.
James turns to me and grimaces. “They’re not the most thoughtful bunch.” His gaze drops to the ground, and he scuffs his shoe against the cement.
“I don’t mind. If your brother is able to help heal my mom, I’ll put up with all the rudeness New Orleans has to offer.” I crack a half-smile.
“You say that now, but just wait…”
The shop door swings open, cutting James’s words off sharp and fast.
“What are you doing here?” John holds the door halfway closed and fills the open space, blocking any view of the store beyond with his body. His face is stern and his eyes narrowed on his brother.
“We need your help,” James blurts. “My friend here…” He motions to me.” Her mom has some sort of problem we haven’t been able to heal or pinpoint and I thought…”
John pushes the door all the way open and steps out onto the street. My gut reaction is to take a step back, but I hold my ground. Where James is warm and inviting with his fashionably relaxed hair and clothing in soft, warm tones, John is a bit intimidating with his black leather jacket, black t-shirt, and silver chain pendants. His hair is cut tight to his head, just like his mustache and thin beard. “You thought my magick might succeed where yours has failed.”
“You don’t need to be harsh like that.” James’s chin thrusts back into his neck.
“But I’m right, aren’t I?” John crosses his arms.
“It’s more like, I thought you might recognize the true issue…” James shrugs into his shoulder. “I don’t think we know what it is we’re actually dealing with. Because of that, we’ve been trying to treat the wrong thing.”
“It’s her mom, you say?” John’s attention shifts to me, and his brow arches. “Your kind are not smiled upon here, little witch. You’d be better off to find a different playground.”
I swallow hard. Grandma warned me and my siblings against the French Quarter. Miri told me she experienced issues, but this is the first time anyone has said something directly to me.
His chest heaves, and he releases a heavy sigh. “Tell you what.” He looks at his watch. “I’m getting kind of hungry and am craving a juicy po’ boy, but I still have things to do here. Why don’t you guys meet me at Mother’s in ninety minutes?” His gaze shifts between me and James.
“Thanks, John,” James says with a quick nod. “We really appreciate it.”
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” John waves a dismissive hand in our direction. “Now stop loitering in front of the shop.” He steps inside and closes the door between us.
James spins toward me and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Well. That’s a start. At least he has agreed to meet with us.”
“Yep.” I glance up and down the street. “So, how would you like to kill time in the interim?”
His lips torque to the side, and his eyes raise, as if looking directly for an answer in the dark recesses of his mind. With a jolt, his body perks, and a smile spreads across his lips. “What do you say to checking out the herb shop that opened last year? I’ve been meaning to go and have yet to do so.”
“Sure.” I shrug into a follow.
Despite the dreary weather, the crowds are a tad thick. Many Mardi Gras tourists and visitors are already present and getting acquainted with the Quarter. We make our way several blocks to our intended destination. The doors to the shop are propped open, and the bewitching aromas of herbs and spices spill out onto the street.
James shivers, grabs my hand, and rushes us inside.
“Isn’t this fabulous?” His voice spikes. He pauses, closes his eyes, and inhales deeply. Smiles wide. “What I wouldn’t give to have a shop like this closer to home.” He drags me down the first aisle, taking in the goodies on either side of us.
“That would be cool.” My feet shift in quick motion to keep up and not trip. “But I grow a lot of my own herbs and spices.”
“So do I, as you know,” he says, a hint of offense in his tone. “But one can only grow so much in tiny spaces.”
“This is true. But it’s not like this place is overflowing with products.” The shop is small, and the only reason there is an aisle is because the shop owner shoved a rack down the center of the store.
James stops and I bump into him.
“Oops. Sorry,” I mumble. He touches my arm to tell me all is okay.
He picks up a bottle and reads the back label. I shift across the aisle and begin investigating all the options available. I move past the teas
