With Black Dahlia just across the street from my business, and Bayou Botanicals, Mallory’s shop, just a block down, we always enjoy putting our heads together to organize a fantastic French Quarter Halloween party. We’re always the talk of the town.
“We’ll have our standard tents set up for vendors,” I say, picturing it all in my head. “And, of course, Brew will be open for cauldrons of hot chocolate.”
“You should serve blood,” Dahlia adds, earning weird looks from both Mallory and myself. “In the cauldrons.”
“Uh…ew,” Mallory says.
“Yeah, that’s disgusting.”
“And when the trick or treaters come through,” Dahlia continues, “we should give every other kid an eyeball.”
“What the heck is wrong with you?” Mallory asks, but Dahlia just laughs and shakes her head.
“You guys, it’s Halloween. They make candy eyeballs, and I’m quite certain you could add something to the punch or hot chocolate to make it look like blood. Come on, get in the holiday spirit here.”
“I don’t want to force any kid to seek out therapy,” I say, shaking my head. “So I’ll pass on that. Now, we’ll need at least thirty Jack-o-lanterns to line the sidewalk. I already spoke to the city, and we’ve been given permission to block the street to vehicle traffic. Dahlia, are you going to make black rose bouquets for the vendor tables again this year?”
“Yes, ma’am,” she confirms. “I already have an extra ten dozen on order. I also bought little plastic skulls to add to the bouquets.”
“Oh, I love that,” Mallory says. “You know, every city should have a coven of witches plan their Halloween parties.”
“No kidding,” I say with a laugh. “I can’t believe Halloween is only a few weeks away.”
“And thank goodness we didn’t plan for this festival on Halloween this year,” Mallory agrees. “Because we have the full blue hunter’s moon on All Hallows’ Eve. The energy for our Samhain ritual is going to be off the charts.”
“I’m so glad you decided to start practicing with us more,” 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
