Aveline only smirked and disappeared into her room. I did the same, going to my own room and changing out of my sweatpants and tank into a pair of dark denim shorts and a black t shirt. The shirt itself was plain, save for large words emblazoned across the chest that read Maybe today, Satan.
I knew witches who wouldn’t joke about their craft or their beliefs. It was respectable, but I’d been raised to have a much looser view on things. My mother had taught me how to pay homage to our goddess, and I respected Her in all things magical, but I wasn’t going to walk around with charms drawn on my skin and with a crown of flowers.
It was a good look. Just not for me.
I was much better suited to my weird, possibly sacrilegious shirts and whatever else I could dig out of my closet.
Before leaving my room I changed into a pair of neon blue running shoes, and then met Aveline in the hallway.
She wasn’t kidding about going to work in jeans. She looked much like me, in a t-shirt and shorts, and tossed me a silver key from her hand. “Forgot to give you this. In case you get back before me. But you know. You don’t have to.” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.
“I’m not going to a club tonight. I’m exploring,” I reminded her.
“Whatever.”
Snagging my bag from the table, I strapped it around my waist instead of my thigh, glad I could wear it both ways, and walked with her to the front door so she could lock it instead of me.
If I was in charge of locking up and making sure everything was off, we’d be here all night.
“I’ll be done around three or so,” she told me as we walked to our cars. “Want me to text you?”
“Sure. I’ll probably be up. I’ll make use of the witching hour or something.” She grimaced at my smirk.
“You’re becoming so traditional.”
“You’re the one with all the plants in your house.”
“Whatever.” She stopped to yank her car door open and leaned on it. “Text me if you need anything. And good luck with whatever it is you’re doing.”
“Exploring,” I said again. “That thing we used to do before you got too old for it.”
I hated that she didn’t like to go on ‘night adventures’ anymore like I did unless they were to the nearest club. As teenagers we’d looked up haunted destinations within driving distance and begged, borrowed, or gotten a ride from our aunt Helene to go explore some backwoods cemetery or old, abandoned house.
Then she had gotten older, and declared our adventures were childish. I, for one, still loved looking for places to explore that held a creepy or mystical air to them.
Seemed like I was the only one.
Aveline had pulled out of the driveway by the time my rideshare arrived, and I took an extra second to adjust my glasses and make sure that I had everything.
Including an extra deck from the box at the foot of my bed and a few other assorted odds and ends that rattled around in my bag.
I opened the back passenger door, thrilled to see no one else in the car as I got in and buckled up.
While I had my SUV, I hadn’t wanted to drive tonight. I still didn’t know my way around New Orleans, and I hadn’t wanted to mess with parking tonight either.
The driver, blessedly, said very little and no one else joined me for my ride. I stared out the window, trying to memorize the route for myself so that I could start driving more confidently around the city.
Finally he came to a stop and craned his head back, not looking particularly thrilled or otherwise. “Have a good night,” the dark skinned man said, meeting my eyes for the first time.
“You too.” I opened my own door, one foot on the pavement when he spoke again.
“Hope you can turn that fortune of yours around.”
I froze in place, blue eyes fixed on the sign for a nearby restaurant.
A band played from nearby, my own personal fanfare to get the fuck out, but I still didn’t move.
When I looked back, the man’s eyes had paled out to almost white, though I swore they’d been brown only minutes before. My heart seemed to skip a beat and I curled my hands into the leather of the seat.
“What did you say to me?” I demanded, my body wanting to run but the rest of me needing to know what the hell he knew about my fortune.
“Think ya heard me just fine, cher.” His voice was lower than it had been, with a hint of something different.
“How do you know anything about my fortune?” I should’ve written it off as just being weird, people were weird, after all, but I couldn’t.
Not with the way the dark skinned man looked at me and how his eyes were pale like frost.
“When you want yourself a real fortune, why don’t you come visit us? Maman Brigitte would just love to get a look at you.” He wasn’t answering my questions, and spoke like he was simply holding a friendly conversation.
“Us?” I bristled, fighting the urge to shift or summon the Devil in his car. “I don’t know who you are-“
“Laissez les bons temps rouler, cher.” I didn’t understand what he’d said and before I could ask, an invisible force shoved me out of the car and sent me stumbling onto the sidewalk.
The door slammed and the car peeled out of the spot, the man’s eerie cackle seeming to echo on the street as my stomach clenched in fear.
“What the hell?” I had about a million questions, and absolutely no answers. Instead I was left standing on the sidewalk, flabbergasted, staring down the street where the man’s car had sped away.
“You all right?” a woman stood near where I stumbled and looked at me, cloth in her hand from where she’d been wiping off the window
