When I’d gotten out? I’d been pushed. But I didn’t say that. Instead I only nodded. “I’m fine. Just tripped on the door or…something.”
“Seemed to me like someone helped you trip.” She went back to cleaning and I looked at her again, unsure.
Had she seen everything? Had she heard the driver’s words? I almost asked, but instead thought better of it.
“I’m new here,” I said instead. “I actually came out to explore the city. Any recommendations?” My mouth curved into a nervously friendly smile, and I looked her over curiously while my hands twisted themselves in the fabric of my shirt. I wanted to ask if she’d seen what had just happened, but something gave me pause. What if that only led to more trouble?
“Depends on what you’re looking for. This is the human side of the quarter, though you’re pretty close to the line.” She gestured to her right. “A few more streets over and you’ll be in the old quarter. If you’ve come looking for the preternatural fuss, it’s all over there.”
I didn’t want to give her any concrete information, especially while I was still distracted. “Thank you!” But I supposed the preternatural side of the quarter was as good as any to explore.
While I walked, I went over the encounter in my head again until I’d convinced myself of what had actually happened; a creepy guy, possibly another witch or voodoo practitioner, had wanted to scare someone. It wasn’t hard to tell if someone was a witch, should you care to look, and obviously that was his thing. That or it was a fun trick to scare and delight the human tourists.
Not that voodoo priests were known to be tricksters. But everyone was different. It was definitely possible.
It was difficult to convince myself, but I worked very hard to do so.I didn’t want to know how he had any knowledge of my fortune, nor who he’d invited me to come see. The name Maman Brigitte was a glaring clue, but as preternaturals had become more popular, pretending to be people from legends or history books had become increasingly common.
I’d met six people promising to be descendants of Merlin himself, whom I doubted was even real, so why should I be surprised at a woman styling herself as the Loa queen?
That rationalization made the whole thing easier to brush from my mind, and when I looked up at the buildings around me, admiring the many hanging plants and street bands that played, I was able to actually focus instead of worry.
Anticipation rose in my stomach. No more stupid omens. No more stupid fortunes. The vampire’s threat of death still whispered at the edges of my mind, but I couldn’t just live my life like a shut-in while she hopefully just went away.
Chapter 9
My night adventure lasted well into the darkness, up two streets, down an alley, and around the back of a voodoo shop.
After a moment’s thought I ducked into the shop. It was exactly as I’d pictured it would be, with shrunken heads hung like wind chimes decorating the shop at eye level and bits of antique furniture scattered around. Fragrant candles made my eyes water, and in one particularly creaky rocking chair an old woman sat stroking a gris-gris made of what looked like feathers and a bird’s foot.
I knew very little about voodoo myself, being a witch, but it didn’t hurt to be curious.
“Are you lost?” A very dark skinned man boasting a heavy Creole accent leaned across a counter, grinning.
“No. I’m just curious,” I shrugged.
“Curiosity killed the cat, you know,” the man pointed out.
“And satisfaction brought her back,” I retorted.
The old woman barked a laugh suddenly, making me jump. “Be that as it may…” She rose shakily from her chair, laying the gris-gris beside her. “I would think you’d be a lot happier visiting that woman’s shop across the street. Le Renard Qui Rit, she’s named it.”
“Though if you’re suddenly lookin’ to switch your life around…” The man plucked a sachet from the counter and held it out to me. “You need only ask, cher.”
“I’m not,” I assured, not approaching him or the sachet. “Across the street, you said?”
The old woman lurched across the shop between us, glancing at me with disinterest before disappearing behind a beaded curtain.
“I’d go now,” the man advised. “Before my mother comes back with all manner of little magics she thinks you need.”
Taking his advice, I left the shop and strode directly across the street to where a sign hung over an open doorway, stenciled letters reading the shop’s naming and featuring a laughing fox face underneath it.
A sign promised talismans, charms, potions, and ingredients made in-shop, and the smell of herbs drifted towards me on the light breeze.
Shops around New Orleans were open far later than I had expected them to be. But then again, this was the preternatural side of the quarter, and we preternaturals were known for being more active at night anyway.
The inside of the shop was traditional, though ornate. Products were separated onto a multitude of displays, and a small bookcase sat against one wall. Branches wrapped in faery lights hung suspended from the ceiling, providing most of the light and giving the small shop an atmospheric, moody feel.
Now the scent of herbs was stronger, as was the smell of old paper and magic.
Witches couldn’t normally scent magic, and while I was far from a bloodhound, I could still smell the spicy-scent of power in the air when I visited the home of another witch or where they worked their magic.
Obviously whoever owned the shop really did make their charms here, otherwise I doubted I would have been able to smell any power at all.
“I wondered if you’d ever make your way here, sister.”
The voice made me jump and I turned slightly, eyes finding the figure of a woman leaning against the counter against the
