Charmed in the Big Easy

Delilah Devlin and Paisley Smith

Femme Noir, Book Two

Under the Rainbow by Paisley Smith

Novice witch MeLeah McKinney is on a mission to retrieve a talisman from the grave of Voodoo Queen Marie Laveau. The relic must be energized via a sex-magick ritual—a tall order since MeLeah has no partner. She decides to gather energy at a live sex show on Bourbon Street. She doesn’t count on help from Celestine Laveau’s ghost, who’s crossed the rainbow bridge to bring ecstasy to the young witch—and serve her own agenda.

Defeating an ancient vampire requires not one talisman, but two…

The Mambo’s Door by Delilah Devlin

Ingrid Kassel isn’t in complete control of her witch powers—especially after drinking a double shot of vampire blood. Attempting to retrieve a candle buried with the Voodoo Queen’s daughter, Ingrid angers the spirit guarding the tomb. She finds herself in a shadowy limbo, where the daughter Marie lives in fear of a demon who also desires the relic. In desperation Marie tricks Ingrid, captures her, seduces her, shows her exquisite pleasure while charging the candle with sex magick…for Marie’s own attempt at freedom from the world of the dead.

Charmed in the Big Easy

Delilah Devlin & Paisley Smith

Under the Rainbow

By Paisley Smith

Chapter One

MeLeah McKinney glanced over her shoulder. Enhanced by powerful vampire blood, her eyesight sharpened, untangling the long shadows. She drew in a deep breath and then blew it out. Now or never. Bursting into a run, she vaulted over the whitewashed brick wall with a strength that surprised her. Narrowly missing the spiked wrought iron fencing around one of the ancient tombs, she landed in a crouch on one of the pathways inside St. Louis Cemetery Number One.

Excitement rippled through her and she had to force herself to remain there in her stooped position, listening, watching. In spite of her temporary blood-induced stamina, raiding a New Orleans cemetery at dusk was a fool’s errand. No one in their right mind came to this part of town alone in the daytime—much less at night.

Just outside the cemetery walls the traffic buzzed by on Basin Street, but inside, an eerie quiet pervaded the enclosure, as if she had just entered a world unto itself.

She eased her heavy backpack higher onto her shoulder and stood. One city block contained the cemetery but the maze of mausoleums gave the space an endless appearance. This graveyard was widely rumored to be one of the most haunted places in America, but MeLeah knew she had more to fear from the living in this area of New Orleans—and more recently, she’d discovered she had plenty to fear from vampires.

Her heart hammered in her chest and she struggled against gripping terror. Despite the blood, everything seemed to be working against her. The dark. The threat of attack from both the living and the undead. Not to mention the sheer fact that grave robbing was a serious crime.

She forced herself to breathe, to stay calm. She blinked, trying to keep the memories at bay. A vampire restrained in a cage. The sound of blood spattering into a brass tub.

Her coven leader, Magda, should have sent someone else. MeLeah was only an initiate. A fledgling witch unaccustomed to and unfamiliar with her own powers.

The drop of vampire blood Magda had encouraged her to consume prior to this mission had heightened her senses. Concentrating, she could hear the heartbeat of a blackbird roosting atop a mausoleum. With focus, her eyesight sharpened, drinking in details her human eyes would have normally missed. Every pebble on the path seemed to gleam. A stone cherub adorning a burial vault appeared to cut its gaze toward her. She cocked an ear and listened for the sounds of anyone alive moving through the labyrinth of tombs.

There were two, but they were in the far corner and she wasn’t going that way. She inhaled and, with her preternatural focus, breathed in the scent of garlic, cheap liquor and cigarettes.

At least they aren’t vampires.

A shiver raced up MeLeah’s spine at the memory of her coven mate, Cassia, bleeding that vampire for a bloodspell. Although MeLeah hadn’t understood why it had been so important to collect blood from a vampire in Elizabeth Bathory’s bloodline, she’d done as Magda had bidden her and had aided in restraining the beautiful brunette so Cassia could bleed her.

In the end, the vampire—Elena—had consented to freely offer the blood. MeLeah shuddered, remembering the erotic sounds that had drifted from the room where Cassia and Elena made love.

MeLeah had been brought up in a strict home where such taboo subjects as sex had never been discussed. Certainly not the fact that two women might be intimate in such ways. Even the thought of it caused a torrid blush to infuse her cheeks. But in spite of her childhood, MeLeah had a rebellious streak that encouraged her to take risks.

That same streak had compelled her to turn her back on her fundamentalist upbringing, dye her mousy hair jet-black, get a pentagram tattoo on her ass, embrace a coven of witches—and take a taste of vampire blood.

Feeling as if she were on a drug engineered to make one all-powerful, she trekked down the path, squinting in the darkness for the tomb that belonged to the Voodoo Queen, Marie Laveau.

Magda had instructed MeLeah to enter the mausoleum and retrieve a talisman. Robbing the grave would be the least difficult of MeLeah’s tasks, however. Once she had the talisman in hand, she was to energize it by wearing it while performing a sex magick ritual.

MeLeah sighed.

Without a partner, sex magick would be next to impossible. While New Orleans had its share of more than willing participants, MeLeah couldn’t shake her uncertainty. Her strict home life hadn’t presented her with too many opportunities to explore sex. Sure, she’d had a couple of boyfriends with whom she’d fooled around but she’d never, ever done anything akin to the kind of wild monkey mating required for the rite.

She stopped at a crossway between several vaults and looked back and forth. Here, in the dead center of the cemetery, it would be easy to get turned around. The mausoleums were tall enough that she couldn’t possibly see over them. Rife with the fetid stench of river silt and the lingering redolence of death, the air stilled around her.

Shadows stretched, reaching like living things through the crumbling arteries between the tombs. MeLeah tried to listen, to intuitively feel her way to the grave she sought.

Nothing. All she felt was the dank, muggy humidity. The song of night insects rose like a deafening dirge in the cloying darkness. Her own heartbeat became the rhythm to twilight’s music.

What am I doing here? I’ll never find that grave in time.

A little whisper crept from behind a vault. “This way.”

MeLeah’s head snapped around in the direction of the voice. “Who’s there?” she asked softly but urgently.

Her reply was a soft giggle. A child’s laugh.

MeLeah scanned the darkness, her gaze fixing on a wealth of ringlets the color of the moon. A little girl curled her finger at MeLeah. “This way,” she said with a smile.

MeLeah stared as recognition seeped in. She was looking at a ghost.

“I know the grave you seek,” the child said, her mouth not moving in exact precision with the sound of her words. “Come.”

She turned and skipped between two mausoleums. MeLeah had to force her feet to move. She’d seen stranger things than a ghost the night when Magda had sent her and her fellow coven initiate, Ingrid, to follow Cassia and the vampire Elena.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“She only told us to follow them and report back,” Ingrid said. “This way!”

MeLeah followed her, keeping a wary eye out for thugs as they skirted between the dank brick walls. Her heart beat in time with the dull thud of the bass coming from inside. The sickly sweet stench of garbage and stagnant water hung thick in the oppressive night air. MeLeah suppressed a shriek when a rat dashed out from behind a row of trash bins and darted over the toe of one of her black boots. “That was a rat. A rat.” She grimaced.

Ingrid was unfazed as she twisted the grimy doorknob and pulled open the back door to the Jean Lafitte Absinthe House.

MeLeah eyed the back hallway with dread and tailed Ingrid into the bar.

“Tell me again why we had to come in the back way.” She couldn’t tamp down the rising panic in her voice, knowing that at any minute someone would appear to order them out of the employees only entrance—most likely someone bearing a cleaver.

“That vampire is no dumbass,” Ingrid snapped. “She probably smelled us behind her and didn’t eat us out of respect for Cassia.”

“That’s comforting.”

The music suddenly came to a grinding halt. When they reached the end of the hallway, MeLeah gaped as smoke billowed in the front door of the bar. An almost deafening silence was broken by a crystalline, seductive voice tinged with an Eastern European accent.

“Hello, little darlings.”

Ingrid stopped suddenly. Over her shoulder, MeLeah gaped at the gorgeous woman standing on the threshold. She carried an air of sophistication that rendered her timeless. Dressed in a scarlet satin gown, she looked more like a Hollywood star of old than someone who frequented Bourbon Street bars. Her rich brown hair was piled in ringlets high on her head. The only thing missing was a tiara. When she smiled, two gleaming, very pointed fangs stood out in stark contrast to the woman’s vixen-red lips.

Everyone and everything inside the bar stopped as if frozen in time. Pouring drinks were arrested in midair. A waiter’s toppling tray was suspended in the moment, his expression of shock and dismay fixed on his face. Patrons’ expressions had stilled as if the scene were a portrait instead of real life. This was powerful magic.

The only people who remained animated were Cassia, Elena and the two women with them. All of them had shot to their feet, crouching, ready to do battle. A blonde vampire with pigtails guarded another who sported short black hair.

“What’s happening?” MeLeah asked.

Ingrid shushed her. “Don’t move. It’s some sort of spell.”

“Then why isn’t it working on us?”

Ingrid shot her an impatient glance. “Because we’re witches.”

“Did you really think you could escape me?” the woman asked as she strode purposefully through the crowd. She cupped the vampire Elena’s face. “You’re looking peaked, dear.”

“Fuck off, Elizabeth,” Elena told her.

Elizabeth let out a pealing laugh and turned her attention to the other blonde. Her gaze flicked to the vampire’s dark-haired companion, then back.

“Narcissa, what an adorable little plaything you’ve made.” Elizabeth reached for the butch girl but Narcissa let out a menacing feline hiss that only made Elizabeth laugh harder.

“What do you want with us?” Elena demanded.

“All in good time, my little pretties,” Elizabeth chided in an imitation of the Wicked Witch of the West that sent an icy chill down MeLeah’s spine. “All in good time.”

Another sulfurous puff of smoke billowed, seemingly out of nowhere, and suddenly the vampire Grande Dame and the other four were gone. Like a creaky carousel, the bar returned to normal. The dishes crashed. The music wound back up. Liquor gurgled into glasses.

Ingrid whirled, her eyes wide. “We’ve got to let Magda know immediately.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“This way,” the little ghost said impatiently, dragging MeLeah out of her reverie.

But no matter how she tried to focus on what she was about to do, she couldn’t shake the fact that had brought her to this place. Magda had been truly frightened when she’d learned that the Blood Countess, Elizabeth Bathory, was alive—or rather undead—and walking the streets of the Big Easy.

A witch with Cassia’s power could be lethal in the hands of Bathory. And that was why it was so important for MeLeah to retrieve the talisman. Ingrid had also been sent on her own mission to procure an item for Magda’s spell.

MeLeah picked her way over the concrete slab of a grave and found herself in another corridor of the cemetery. The little ghost had squatted to pick up a string of Mardi Gras beads from in front of a vault. The mausoleum itself had been repeatedly marked with three X’s. Coins lay scattered around the ground. Figurines of a bride and groom encircled by something white—was it coconut?—sat at one corner of the tomb.

“Are you here to make a wish?” the ghost asked innocently.

MeLeah looked into the child’s wide eyes. “I suppose I am.”

“You must take this piece of brick and make the mark on the wall. Place your hand over the mark, close your eyes and knock three times. Then you make your wish and if Madame Laveau is in a generous mood, she will grant it,” the ghost said as she toed a bit of red brick with her button boot.

“Thank you,” MeLeah told her as she stooped to retrieve the brick.

What if it doesn’t work? Suppose Madame Laveau is not in a “generous mood”?

MeLeah drew in a deep breath and called on the Goddess as she etched three small X’s onto the side of the vault. She cast the brick aside and flattened her palm over the marks before closing her eyes. A tremor coursed through her as she rapped three times on the hard plaster-covered brick. “I wish to gain admittance to your daughter Celestine’s tomb. I need to borrow the jeweled talisman belonging to her.”

Opening her eyes, MeLeah stepped back. The tomb remained as it had been, a deathly silent sentinel in the midst of the cemetery.

“I suppose Madame Laveau isn’t feeling generous tonight,” MeLeah said, turning to where she’d last seen the little ghost. But the child had disappeared as if she’d never been there in the first place.

Without warning, the sound of stone grating on stone echoed off the weathered tomb walls—and the middle panel of Marie Laveau’s vault inched open.

A rush of squalid air blasted out. MeLeah winced. The crevice was only big enough to insert her hand so she slid her backpack off her shoulder and fumbled inside for her cell phone. She switched on the flashlight app and when she aimed it inside the narrow crack, her eyes focused on a stone shelf littered with dust-covered contents. A rusty outline indicated that a coffin had once lain there. In its place, only tattered cloth bags remained.

A tremor shook MeLeah’s spine. She’d read that to save space in these vaults, often the bones were moved to bags. Did one of the bags contain the talisman she sought?

“Accio talisman.” She jokingly muttered the summoning spell from Harry Potter. Nothing happened. “Well, it was worth a try.” Too bad it wasn’t as easy as it looked in the movies.

That meant she’d have to reach inside and remove each bag. Doubt struck and she debated calling Magda and asking just how badly she needed that talisman. MeLeah knew she’d just have to steel herself to do it. The Voodoo Queen had expended an incredible amount of energy to offer it to her. Backing down now was out of the question.

Aiming the phone’s light into the space with her left hand, she reached in with her right, turning completely sideways and groping blindly until her fingers felt the dusty bag.

Inside, she touched something long and hard. Bone? She gulped down her fear and forced herself to feel for anything that might be a jewel. Nothing.

She floundered for the next bag, catching the edge with her fingertips to draw it closer. Something quick and light scampered across her wrist.

Biting back a scream, she snatched her hand back and peered into the crevice just in time to see a mouse shooting toward the corner.

“It’s just a little mouse,” she told herself, wiping the back of her hand on her black shorts to erase the feeling of the creature’s feet on her skin. “You can do this.” She nodded and plunged her hand back into the opening, this time reaching with purpose for the bag.

She caught the corner of it with the tips of her fingers and clawed until she’d dragged it close enough to pull it toward the opening. Shining the light and searching for the mouth of the bag wasn’t easy but she finally found it, lifted one side and aimed the cell phone’s beam inside. At first, she saw nothing but dust and crumbling bones. She nearly screamed when she saw a skull looking back at her, but underneath the decayed human remains, something gleamed.

A chain!

Biting her bottom lip, MeLeah slipped her finger underneath the skull and pulled at what she assumed must be the talisman. She’d withdrawn nearly two feet of silver chain before the fetish itself popped loose from the tangle of decrepit bones.

As soon as it passed through the opening, the vault door slammed shut.

MeLeah gasped, realizing how close she’d come to losing her hand. But she had what she’d come for. The talisman. She looked down at the object in her palm. It was white, carved from something hard and cool that MeLeah could not identify, and it was shaped like the petals of an orchid or a rounded fleur-de-lis.

“Whatchoo got dere, bébé?”

MeLeah whirled, coming face-to-face with the two men she’d heard earlier. Sizing them up, she shoved the talisman and chain into her shorts pocket. One was short, decidedly Cajun from the sound of his accent. The other was a tall, sculpted black guy wearing a crimson do-rag. His muscled arms were accentuated by the cut of his dark tank top.

“I don’t have any money. Look, guys, I’m not looking for trouble,” she said warily.

“It may not be money we want, biotch,” the tall one said. He leaned his head slightly back when he spoke. A distant streetlight gleamed off his gold front tooth.

The Cajun chuckled.

Trying not to show her fear, MeLeah reached for her backpack. She hefted it onto both shoulders just in case she had to run, then started walking. Adrenaline laced with vampire blood coursed through her veins. She’d propelled herself over the cemetery wall easily enough. But was the blood still strong enough to aid her in outrunning a couple of thugs?

Footsteps resounded behind her on the path.

“Hey now, where you goin’, bébé?”

“Yeah, don’t run off.”

The Cajun snatched her wrist and dragged her back against his chest. MeLeah tensed when she felt the cold steel of a blade at her throat. There was no point in trying to reason with them. She summoned all the power she could, willing the vampire blood in her system to give her strength.

With lightning speed, she ran her booted foot down the Cajun’s shin. Wrenching free, she spun and kicked, hitting her intended target—his balls. He went down with a guttural groan.

The black guy started after her but she turned and bolted toward the wall, her feet flying with supernatural speed over the debris-littered pathway and the corners of graves and monuments. When she neared the wall, her feet carried her up the side of a vault and she jumped, soaring endlessly through the air and landing like a jungle cat safely on the other side of the wall.

She didn’t hesitate to see if the black dude followed. Instead, she launched to her feet and raced back to her car.

Her hands shook violently as she searched the pockets of her backpack for her keys. Finally, she found them, hit the unlock button and slid into the safety of her car. Seconds later, she was on Basin Street, headed back toward the French Quarter.

Her heart rate returned to normal once she was back in the bumper-to-bumper tourist traffic. But even though she realized she was safe for the moment, she knew the hard part had just begun.

How on earth was she going to perform a sex magick ritual without a partner? A car up ahead pulled out of a parking space. “Thank you, Goddess,” she cried as she whipped into the vacant spot.

As she switched off the ignition, she glanced up at the neon sign hanging over Bourbon Street. Big Easy’s Infamous Love Acts.

Chapter Two

MeLeah had never been hired on the spot before. But when she’d presented herself to the manager of the French Quarter’s most notorious live sex show, he’d taken one look at the bag of sex toys she’d brought along, told her he’d take her application after her performance and sent her toward the dressing rooms.

The dressing room was little more than a unisex bathroom. Men, women and transsexuals alike shared the cramped space. Tubes of lipstick, mascara and even bottles of various lubricants lay scattered on a shelf that served as a dressing table.

MeLeah sized herself up in the mirror. Dressed in shorts and with her black hair pulled back into a severe ponytail, she didn’t exactly fit the bill of a live-sex-show performer. Since she was doing this solo, she needed the energy an audience would provide. She just hoped she didn’t get booed off the stage.

Instinct told her to get the hell away from this place. No one had her information or her name. She should just go home and try to raise the energy on her own…

Guilt pricked her. Magda and the coven were counting on her. Ingrid was somewhere doing her part to energize an object.

MeLeah squeezed her eyes shut for a minute then opened them to look at her reflection. Hard. The world seemed to shift and she staggered as if she’d lost her balance. Her face appeared to rapidly move closer, as if the mirror had deepened. An easy smile stretched across her reflected self’s lips. Her chin lifted and she inhaled sharply, feeling the breath reach through every aspect of her being, awakening her.

Emboldening her.

Suddenly, the idea of plunging the giant dildo she’d just purchased into her pussy while hundreds of deviant tourists gawked seemed like the best idea she’d ever had. Her clit pulsed at the thought of spreading her legs for them, revealing all her secrets—of finding release while they watched.

Some part of MeLeah knew the vampire blood compelled her to behave so boldly but that reckless side of her anticipated riding this high and letting it take her to a place she feared going on her own.

She unbuttoned her shorts and pushed them down her legs. Her panties weren’t the sexiest things in the world. Black cotton bikinis with a Hello Kitty Lil’ Devil on the front. She took the tails of her black shirt and tied it up under her bra to bare her back and stomach. Then she dragged the ponytail holder out of her hair and shook the dyed locks loose so that they formed wild waves around her pale face. There. Now she at least looked somewhat as if she belonged here.

Her hands shook as she unboxed and washed the thick, silicone dildo and long, slender vibrator she’d bought. After rinsing off the talisman, she slipped it over her head to wear it like a necklace even though the pendant hung lower than her bellybutton.

Stepping back, she took one last look at herself in the smoky mirror. Although the will to try was there and she looked the part of a sex-show performer, inside she knew better. She was about as inexperienced as they came, uncertain of herself, of her body, of how to enjoy this.

She shook her head. Magda had sent the wrong person for this job.

“You’re on, sister,” a tall tranny said, sashaying past her in the corridor to the stage.

She’d told the manager her stage name was Miss Scarlett. “One of twenty-two this week, but who gives a shit?” the manager had said, writing it down.

And now MeLeah heard her name being announced by the DJ. “Ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together for our premiere solo act, never before seen on the stage, all the way from Hotlanta, Mizzz Scarrrrlet!”

Music pumped. Erotic, heart-pounding music. The vampire blood amped up in response and MeLeah felt as if another person had just invaded her body as she sauntered up the steps and onto the stage. Confidence surged. Her insides tingled in anticipation.

“Where’s your fuck buddy, sweetheart?” one heckler yelled.

“You need me to come up there and stick a dick to you, girl?” another chimed in.

MeLeah ignored them. She was here to raise the energy in the room to untold heights, to absorb it and reignite the talisman’s power. To do that, she had to entertain.

Everybody was looking.

Everybody was waiting.

MeLeah tossed her toys onto the center-stage bed and let the music seep in as she danced her way to a brass pole.

“Show us them titties!”

She winked at the guy who’d hollered that.

“Maybe she don’t like men,” a woman catcalled. In her Budweiser tank and cutoff shorts, she looked rode hard and put up wet.

A raucous laugh rose, competing with the thumping music. MeLeah seized the pole and let her weight propel her gracefully around it. When she faced the audience again, she plunged her free hand under the devil kitty’s face and rubbed her clit as she performed a dance that would put a seasoned stripper to shame. The combination of being watched and playing with herself sent a wave of heat rippling up her spine.

She heard a growl and realized it had torn from her own throat. Her hand worked faster as she planted her back against the pole and rode it up and down to boisterous encouragement from the crowd.

They watched her. All of them. And MeLeah gloried in it. Never had she felt so seductive and sexy. She withdrew her finger and brought it to her lips, tasting her own slick wetness.

“That’s what I’m talkin’ about!”

A female voice rose above the crowd. “Whoo, baby! I got a pussy you can eat!”

The talisman swung, the pendant sweeping the bare flesh of her abdomen as she danced. It was time for more. She teased her panties down to the tops of her thighs, just baring the neatly trimmed thatch of dark hair there. Turning, she widened her stance, gripped the pole with both hands and slid down until her ass was slightly higher than her head. She gave her bottom a tantalizing shake and reached between her legs to probe her sensitized folds again, all to the hoots of the crowd.

Just knowing they all watched caused the energy to swirl around her, heightening her senses, carrying her further than even the vampire blood.

The mixture of exhibitionism and the sensation of her finger slipping in and out of her wet pussy intoxicated her. She wanted to strip down, to show them everything, to bare herself while she succumbed to orgasm. Wild lust consumed her as she stood and wriggled the rest of the way out of her panties. The crowd cheered, moving in unison like a swelling, ebbing wave. Again the world shifted and MeLeah grasped the pole as everything went off-kilter for a second.

Renewed courage flooded her as she untied the knot at the bottom of her shirt and unfastened the remaining buttons. She shrugged the fabric off and let it fall to the stage. Her bra joined it seconds later and MeLeah ran her hands over her nude body, loving the supple feel of her soft skin, the hungry looks from men and women alike in the crowd.

She cupped her breasts then squeezed her nipples, pinching and tugging them. Desire unfurled and snapped within her. The pendant swayed in time with her movements and she mentally directed the crowd’s energy into it.

“Fuck that big fake cock!” a man commanded.

MeLeah climbed onto the bed, lying back and raising her legs so the crowd had a stellar view of her crotch. Not that she needed it now, but she slathered lubricant on the dildo and then nudged the head of it through her folds. It felt sinfully good. High on the room’s energy, she teased herself with the wicked promise of invasion as she dipped the bulbous crown in and out of her cunt.

The talisman seemed to vibrate on her belly, sending sweet shivers through her. Good. It was working.

She plunged the dildo in all the way to its faux balls. A sigh escaped her lips as her channel adjusted to the delicious stretch, to the sensation of being filled to the brink.

I could fuck you better, ma chérie.

MeLeah’s eyes snapped open. The whisper had been right in her ear but there was no one that close.

You do not know how to use the pendant. Permit me to show you.

MeLeah’s shoulders rose off the bed. Who’d said that? And who the fuck knew about the pendant?

A soft laugh filled the space around her and MeLeah looked as a glittery mist formed between her thighs. Her eyes grew wide as she watched in awe while the haze took shape.

An earth-shattering rumble tore through the veil between this world and the next, moving the earth beneath MeLeah. Everything shifted in her line of vision.

And then, there she was.

Long, lithe and lean, a café-au-lait-skinned goddess stared back at her with luminous, almond-shaped brown eyes. Shiny black waves of hair cascaded over her shoulders, concealing her bare breasts. Her skin glistened as, with feline grace, she moved closer, her fingers raking across the tuft of curls at the apex of her thighs.

MeLeah blinked but the image only intensified.

The crowd roared, apparently thinking they were being treated to a special effect.

“Who are you?” MeLeah whispered, her voice disappearing into the vortex of thumping music.

A smile brightened the woman’s full lips. She took the dildo from MeLeah’s hand and put it aside. “I am Celestine.”

Celestine Laveau?

MeLeah trembled at the very solid, very real feel of this…ghost. A thousand thoughts at once rampaged through her skull. Was Celestine angry with her for plundering her grave? This couldn’t be happening! What had she meant by saying MeLeah didn’t know how to use the talisman? Fuck, this woman was gorgeous. And naked. Holy shit. MeLeah hadn’t been prepared for the sight of another woman’s body to sexually excite her like this.

But oh Goddess, it did. MeLeah’s hands ached to smooth over that creamy skin.

Celestine planted one knee on the bed and leaned over MeLeah. Closer and closer until their lips touched. Breast raked breast. Tongue touched tongue. MeLeah trembled even as her body responded with a will of its own. She arched upward, wanting more of her phantom lover. Her lips opened as Celestine’s kiss gently deepened. The pressure was so soft, so pliant. MeLeah had never kissed a woman before and the experience stunned her with its quiet seduction. The ghost’s mouth tasted of cinnamon and exotic fruit, a taste that obliged MeLeah to explore, to lose control. She threaded her fingers into the ghost’s hair, anchoring her head as she took her fill of the provocative kiss.

Fingers trailed down MeLeah’s body and delved between her legs. Her thighs fell open wider and wider still. She could hardly believe her wanton reaction to this phantom’s touch.

She kissed her, afraid to let go of Celestine’s mouth, afraid that acknowledging the presence of the audience would break the spell. Celestine’s fingers burrowed through MeLeah’s needy flesh and one slid inside, the sensation of skin on skin intensifying the vibration of nerve endings already awakened by the dildo.

MeLeah rocked her hips as the finger explored deep, titillating the spot inside her that made her body shake with uncontrollable passion. Celestine knew just how to touch her. Just what to do. MeLeah moaned her pleasure.

“I will show you how to rouse the talisman but you must agree to do everything I say,” Celestine whispered against her lips. Her accent was decidedly Old World, a milk-chocolate-sweet mixture of French and antebellum South.

MeLeah stared. What did “everything” entail? She swallowed thickly.

“You need the talisman to defeat the Blood Countess, n’est-ce pas?” Celestine asked.

MeLeah nodded.

Celestine pressed a quick kiss to her lips. “Then you have no choice but to do as I say.”

“But—”

“You may stop anytime you wish,” Celestine murmured against MeLeah’s ear. “But know that the talisman will be of no use to you or to your root workers.”

MeLeah searched Celestine’s fathomless brown eyes. “I can stop anytime?”

“If that is what you desire.” Celestine’s sly smile indicated that MeLeah might not want to stop. Ever.

MeLeah drew in a deep breath. God, that finger felt amazingly good in her pussy. She writhed, delighting in the little lightning bolts sparking from deep inside her. “All right.”

Celestine stood, dragging MeLeah to her feet beside her. MeLeah realized they were about the same height and build, although Celestine’s breasts were dramatically fuller. And oh so pretty. Dark areolas puckered around taut, dusky-pink nipples. Her palms itched to touch them but uncertainty prevailed and MeLeah stood still.

Celestine smiled softly. “You may touch me.” She threaded her fingers with MeLeah’s and lifted her hands.

A collective hush fell over the crowd as MeLeah cupped the two heavy breasts. The hardened nipples pressed against her palms. The weight of them in her hands felt so utterly feminine and sensuous that MeLeah forgot to breathe. She brushed her fingers across velvety-smooth skin, in awe of the beauty of this woman—this ghost.

“How can you feel so real?” MeLeah asked softly so no one heard except Celestine.

“The energy.” She moved closer, working her breasts more fully into MeLeah’s hands. “Your energy.”

A tendril of pleasure spread through MeLeah at Celestine’s last statement. But Celestine had something else in mind. “As I told you, you do not know how to use the talisman. You must wear it.” She moved the chain down MeLeah’s arms, slipping each limb loose before tightening the necklace like a belt around MeLeah’s waist.

Celestine lifted the pendant, which became magically pliant in her hands, soft, as if it were molded from malleable wax. “We have to involve them for it to work,” she murmured before turning to the crowd. “Where should I put this?”

“In her pussy!” a woman yelled.

“Shit, stick it up her ass!” A man added his opinion, to the laughter and nodding heads of all.

Celestine let out a low laugh. “There will be time for everything. I think madame is correct. La minet.” She turned to MeLeah. “The pussy.”

MeLeah’s lips parted as Celestine dropped to her knees. “Spread your legs.” Her gaze lifted to MeLeah’s, the sight taking her breath away as she inched her boots apart on the stage floor.

Celestine knew how to put on a show. She leaned in and pressed a sweet kiss to the top of MeLeah’s hairline. Then she worked her way downward, letting her tongue tease into the slit to flick MeLeah’s clit back and forth.

MeLeah nearly swooned.

A man’s voice emerged over the music. “Tell her how it feels.”

“Good,” MeLeah said. “Soft. Warm. Wet.”

Celestine’s lips stretched into a smile as her tongue reached farther back, snaking through the folds so that the tip teased the hungry opening. The pendant eased between MeLeah’s legs, reminding her that Celestine intended to invade her cunt with it right here in front of God and everybody.

MeLeah’s lashes fluttered as the tip of the pendant was pushed inside her. The vibrations from it intoxicated her, driving her at breakneck speed toward another plane of existence.

Afraid to move, MeLeah shook. Celestine’s fingers teased the tops of her thighs and the responsive flesh between.

“That is how you wear the talisman, ma chérie.”

MeLeah thought she would pass out from pure pleasure. She tore her gaze from Celestine’s and glanced down at the chain dipping between her legs, pressing into the trimmed curls and disappearing into the moist folds. Every breath sent crazy sensations stampeding through her body. The talisman seemed to pulse rhythmically inside her as if it had a life of its own.

Celestine stepped behind her and turned her to face the audience. “They are all watching you,” she whispered, raking MeLeah’s hair aside to kiss the curve of her neck.

MeLeah couldn’t help it. She had to close her eyes. The crowd had become a distraction from this insidious pleasure threatening to carry her away. Celestine’s small hands slid over MeLeah’s breasts. Her nipples gathered. They’d never been so sensitive before, but when insistent fingers plucked and pinched and tugged them, MeLeah feared she might come too quickly. A part of her wanted to extend this for as long as she could. It was too good.

Kisses peppered her neck and the slope of her shoulder. One of the hands moved downward and one fingertip found the swollen ridge of her clit. MeLeah gasped at the sudden jolt of arousal the ghost’s touch inspired. Her knees threatened to buckle.

“Understand what I must do to you.” Celestine’s wicked promise fanned MeLeah’s ear. “I must bring you to the edge over and over, but you cannot achieve bliss until the talisman is fully saturated with energy.”

A surprisingly strong hand clamped around the back of her neck and MeLeah stumbled as she was forcibly turned and propelled toward the bed.

“Bend over,” Celestine ordered.

Trembling, MeLeah bent.

“Spread your legs.”

She inched her feet apart but feared the magnificent talisman would lose its grip inside her and come out.

“It is snugly inside. Feet apart!”

The crowd roared.

MeLeah’s heart seemed to pound in her throat as she spread her legs until her inner thighs burned from the strain. Something in the air had changed and she suspected this was why Celestine had told her she had no choice but to do as she was told. A rush of fire and ice coursed through MeLeah. She’d never been involved in any sort of domination or submission but the dark promise of it made her shake with anticipation. Her blood felt electric as Celestine’s palms smoothed over her bottom, parting her cheeks so the voyeurs could see the talisman embedded to the hilt in her pussy.

“Does anyone have a belt I may borrow?” Celestine’s coquettish voice purred.

MeLeah heard several belts whooshing through their loops. She started to straighten but a firm hand pushed her back down.

“That one will do nicely. Merci beaucoup.”

A jolt shot through MeLeah when the tip of something warm and leathery teased up and down each inner thigh. Celestine was going to spank her and waiting for it to happen was the most intense sensation MeLeah had ever experienced.

Celestine leaned over her and pinched a nipple between her thumb and forefinger. “To heighten the pleasure, there must first be pain.”

MeLeah heard her words but—sweet mercy—the tug on her nipple was causing her channel to clench around the talisman like crazy. The possibilities made her overripe with need.

“If you cannot accept it, you may ask me to cease,” Celestine said. “But your coven will suffer more than any suffering you might know here tonight.”

MeLeah nodded. Sexual submission was something she had always fantasized about but she’d just never had the right partner—until now.

Bracing herself, she glanced at Celestine, then back at the gaping audience.

“Spank her ass!” someone called from the side.

Celestine let out a mischievous laugh that made MeLeah even more nervous. To what had she consented? The naked phantom took a step backward, anchoring the buckle end of the belt in one hand and holding the other a little more than halfway up. She laid three sharp, quick smacks across MeLeah’s bottom.

Shocked, MeLeah cried out. Her ass felt as if it were on fire. She couldn’t take this, especially not while people were watching.

“Goddess help me,” she muttered, digging her short nails into the mattress.

Celestine dropped one end of the belt and began kneading the wounded flesh of MeLeah’s bottom. The stark contrast of pleasure to the stinging pain threatened to undo her. Just as promised, the conflicting comfort heightened the sensation to the extreme. Her knees trembled and her pussy squeezed the talisman several times in rapid succession.

The massaging hand left and again the belt fell in three abrupt blows. MeLeah felt as if she were sinking into some abyss from which she could not escape. She didn’t want to escape.

This time, Celestine dropped to her knees and kissed each welt, laving them with the tip of her tongue and cooling them with her breath. If only she’d lick her way to—

“Oh!” MeLeah cried as fingers tightened around her legs just above the knees and Celestine’s face snuggled into the crease of her ass. Every muscle in MeLeah’s body grew taut. She spread her legs impossibly wider, pushing her pussy back and up and toward the inquisitive tongue exploring there. She ground her hips, needing desperately to come.

Please, oh please…

“Yes,” she whispered as sweet waves trickled deep inside her. Almost there. Don’t fucking stop. Almost…

Her consciousness spiraled with the force of a maelstrom toward that one spot. The muscles in the backs of her thighs trembled. Her toes began to curl.

Then harsh disappointment descended on her like a bird of prey when Celestine drew away.

“No!” MeLeah half sobbed but Celestine let out a devilish laugh.

“There is so much more to come, ma petite,” she said, and she plucked the talisman right out of MeLeah’s pussy.

MeLeah had never ached for the loss of something so much in her life. She wanted to cry and to beg and, even as she considered doing both, she physically felt the energy ratcheting higher and higher.

“Do not move,” Celestine commanded softly.

Seconds later, MeLeah felt the generously lubricated tip of the talisman nudging against her nether opening. She tensed. There was no possible way she could stand here and submit to having that…that thing put into her asshole with all these people watching.

“Celestine…”

“Unless you are ready to stop, do not speak,” Celestine ordered.

MeLeah squeezed her eyes shut, awaiting pain. She’d never had anything bigger than a finger in there before. Celestine rubbed the talisman around and around the tight orifice, the sensation doing everything to change MeLeah’s mind. Nerve endings she’d never been aware of before awoke and demanded attention. Her rim seemed to crave invasion.

A push—and the tip entered.

MeLeah held her breath but there was still no pain. Only sublime pleasure.

The talisman slid smoothly in as far as it could go.

“You see, ma petite? It feels good, n’est-ce pas?”

All MeLeah could manage was a nod. Her ass throbbed around the talisman, which now vibrated with barely contained energy. The pleasure was too intense. Too much. MeLeah feared she couldn’t take any more. She felt as if she were about to burst into a million glittering stars. She prayed for Celestine to eat her pussy again, knowing that if the phantom’s tongue touched her there once more, she’d come.

But it was not to be.

Celestine’s fingers trailed from her bottom up her spine and threaded into the hair at her nape. MeLeah cried out when Celestine tugged, lifting her head up and back.

“Get on your knees, ma belle,” Celestine said.

MeLeah shook. She couldn’t possibly move with this thing shoved up her bottom. But already her feet were shuffling. Instinctively, she knew what Celestine wanted her to do. MeLeah faced her ghost lover and sank, her gaze dropping from the beautiful, full lips down to Celestine’s heavy breasts and lower still, to the dark patch of hair at the apex of her creamed-coffee thighs.

The crowd roared encouragements but all MeLeah could hear was an inner voice that told her if she did this, her life would be forever altered. She didn’t know how she’d come to that realization but it struck her like a spark and she knew if she kindled it, that spark would flicker to life.

She inhaled, breathing in the fragrance of something spicy—of sweet pussy.

“Taste me,” Celestine cooed.

The music faded. The crowd noise disappeared. MeLeah leaned in, aware of every tingling nerve in her body, aware of the humming plug seated deep in her ass. Her mouth watered at the thought of exploring the soft, feminine folds. Somehow, she knew this act would be shirking the last vestige of her rigid upbringing. It would set her free.

Finally free…

The vampire blood in her system simmered as Celestine stepped closer and closer until the coarse curls tickled MeLeah’s nose. Something savage suffused her and she gripped Celestine’s slender hips, anchoring her as she buried her face in the dark, musky pussy.

MeLeah’s tongue darted through the succulent flesh, tasting a heady blend of salt and sex. Of lust.

Fingers speared into her hair. Celestine’s thighs opened, revealing more of the savory treat within. MeLeah growled, wanting better access, wanting to lay her lover bare, spread her thighs and feast on her pussy. She plucked at the swollen clitoris, sucking it so tightly between her lips that she felt a tremor pass through Celestine’s thighs.

MeLeah couldn’t get enough. Now that she found herself kneeling on a stage in front of hundreds of strangers, licking a woman from stem to stern, she wondered why she had ever feared letting go.

Her world rumbled around her with the now familiar earthquake shift. The magick was working.

Chapter Three

Mais oui.

The magick was working.

Celestine rocked her hips in time with the music, grinding against the mouth nuzzling her sex.

“Mon Dieu,” she muttered, reconsidering her initial reason for offering to help this fledgling witch.

Vampire blood.

The witches had it but they had no inkling of its true power.

Sexual energy coiled higher and higher, drawing her spirit more firmly into this physical body. Celestine could feel a heart beating in her chest, feel the blood thrumming through her veins. She hadn’t felt this alive in over a hundred years. A moan rumbled in her chest as she absorbed all the sensations life had to offer. She was so close…

And yet, she knew this experience was fleeting. Once the spell was broken, she would fade. Her flesh and blood would evaporate and she would find herself on the other side of the rainbow once more—a ghost in the spirit world.

Unless…

Her gaze focused on the beautiful woman whose tongue burrowed through her folds. The sight enhanced her pleasure and chased away all reason. Celestine struggled to remember why she was here. She craved life. She loved the feeling of being in a body, of experiencing pleasure and even pain.

Trembling thumbs tugged at Celestine’s thighs, trying to part them for better access. The chain around the girl’s waist tinkled as she moved. She writhed up and down as if she could work herself into orgasm and when she reached down to slide her hand between her own legs, Celestine gave MeLeah’s hair a sharp tug.

“Mais non, ma petite. You may not find release. Yet.” This, Celestine had missed most of all.

MeLeah whimpered.

Still holding the girl’s hair, Celestine drank in the sight of the audience. Even with human eyes, she could see the dilated pupils, the pulsating and vibrant auras. She drew in the heightened energy, willing it into the talisman and delighting in the shimmy of MeLeah’s body as she, too, sensed the power.

“I want you to fuck me with that,” Celestine said, gesturing with her head toward the dildo. She sat on the edge of the bed and, spreading her legs wide, lay back. Her mouth went dry and her pulse accelerated in sweet anticipation. Knowing that this sexy witch was about to sate her desire filled her with a sense of wonder she had forgotten in the world between earth and the rainbow realm.

This was why souls inhabited bodies. This. In the spirit world, there was no pain, no feeling, no intensity of the emotions that could be experienced when souls connected corporeally. The joy of love, of creating life, coupled with the dark despair of heartache and even death lured souls to take this wild ride.

Celestine’s life had been one of servitude. Her powers had been abused by the wealthy who could afford her charms, even by her mother. Oh, to live again and not be the pawn of others! To know what it was to love and be loved in the arms of another who understood the sublimity of exchanging energy. The give and take and the push and pull of the force responsible for driving the entire universe.

Someone like MeLeah…

MeLeah stood and coated the dildo with some sort of slippery substance. Celestine tugged her own nipples as the thick head of the lifelike toy furrowed through her folds and breached her opening. She gasped, lifting one knee to prop her foot on the bed as the thing filled her. Inch by wicked inch, it slid in then out before easing in again. The crown nudged the sensitive inner tissue, reminding Celestine again of the stark, dismal reality that this corporeal existence was only temporary.

Unexpectedly, her gaze connected with MeLeah’s and Celestine looked deep, finding an almost childlike wonder incongruous with the shocking explicitness of having sex in front of a live audience. Genuine interest lurked in the midnight-blue depths.

Whether MeLeah knew it or not, this was more than just a sex-magick ritual for her.

Celestine closed her eyes, trying to focus on the physical sensations between her legs. Instead images rushed through her brain—the story of MeLeah’s life. She too had been denied the right to be herself.

Celestine saw everything clearly. MeLeah had been subjected to judgment. She’d been molded into someone she was not, told she wasn’t good enough, pretty enough, smart enough. Threatened with fire and brimstone, she’d been forced down a path that had transformed her into an uncertain rebel.

The black hair, the piercings, the tattoo were all part of the mask that hid MeLeah’s vulnerability. The knowledge swept through Celestine, rattling her to the core, leaving her panting with need to know this woman outside the ritual—away from the blood.

Celestine wanted to protect her, to hold her dear, to soothe away past hurts and dried tears, to let her know she was accepted absolutely, appreciated for her uniqueness and praised for the inner power she wielded. Celestine’s own dark history vied for prominence in her thoughts. The memories flashed like heat lightning on a July night in the bayou. Being forced against her will to perform spells for the rich and powerful, being used by men, being hated and feared. Her life had ended at the hands of an enraged husband before it had even begun.

And now she had a chance at a new one.

More images filled her head, this time of a future. Holding hands with MeLeah. Walking in the sunlight. Awakening to the sight of MeLeah’s raven hair reaching across the white cotton of a pillowslip.

Mais non!

Her eyes snapped open and she quickly absorbed the dingy black ceiling and the rowdy crowd. She couldn’t imagine a life with MeLeah because there was no life. She, Celestine, was dead.

And unless she took the vampire blood for herself, she would remain dead.

She breathed in and even that act threatened to send her reeling into a panic. If she took the blood she needed, MeLeah and her coven would be at the mercy of the vampire they sought to defeat. Guilt pricked Celestine.

Soft fingers caressed her cheek. A thumb swept across her bottom lip.

“Stay with me,” MeLeah whispered. “Let me make you come.”

Celestine’s breath hitched as MeLeah bent over her to kiss her. Soft lips brushed Celestine’s, then drew away. She stared, frustrated with need.

“S’il te plait… Please.”

Still working the dildo, MeLeah lowered herself, pressing her mouth to Celestine’s, kissing her in deep, blazing strokes. Celestine opened to admit the inquisitive tongue sweeping across her lips like warm satin. She wound her arms around her lover’s narrow back, feeling the muscles tensing and releasing as she moved in time with the thrusting dildo.

She ached to lose herself in this moment because if it was to be her last experience in a human body, she wanted it to be perfect.

Desire to bring her lover to orgasm rose hard in Celestine but she fought it. Prolonging the pleasure was the only way to fully imbue the talisman with power—and the only way to extend her time alive. A surge of wetness eased the entry of the dildo. Fire lapped at her center and raced through her every nerve. MeLeah’s fragrance filled her. It was sweet and spicy like apples and sandalwood.

Time seemed to stop. In this frozen moment, Celestine felt alive, liberated from the restraints of her own time, free to experience the pleasures of the flesh that had so often been denied her during her own lifetime.

If only…

The dildo slipped out, bringing Celestine out of her reverie.

MeLeah kissed her way downward, stopping to suckle each breast, raking her teeth lightly against each taut nipple.

“Mon Dieu,” Celestine muttered, writhing underneath the sweet, torturous kisses.

The hot mouth ventured lower, raising the energy even higher. MeLeah eased off the mattress and positioned herself between Celestine’s thighs.

Celestine couldn’t drag her gaze away from the erotic sight of MeLeah’s mouth pressed against her mound. MeLeah’s lashes fluttered and their gazes locked and held, tightening the invisible drawstring of desire connecting Celestine’s pussy to every other nerve ending in her body. A shimmer passed through her. She wanted to keep her eyes open, to watch the beautiful woman devouring her. She rose to the insistent mouth, rocking in time with the music while the flicking tongue did the wickedest things imaginable to her.

She wanted this moment to last forever.

The mouth closed on her clitoris and Celestine gasped as jolts of mind-blowing pleasure tore through her body. Her insides fluttered like a wild bird trying to escape. Her heart pounded and the blood rushed in throbbing bursts in her ears. A finger joined the tongue in an even more exquisite assault on her senses. Celestine clawed at the mattress as the finger plumbed her depths and the tongue tantalized her clit. Desperate moans emanated from her throat.

The music thudded in her chest, thick, heavy beats that mimicked the finger fucking her channel. A second finger dipped to tease the delicate flesh between her two openings. The pleasure was too much, too fast. Celestine had wanted to savor this but…

“Oh!” she cried as uncontrollable bliss rolled through her like a hurricane wave. She scrabbled for a foothold, trying desperately to lift her bottom closer. The need to grind but at the same time pull away threatened to launch her into madness.

MeLeah laved her until the last spasm eddied and tailed away, leaving Celestine shattered and pulsing with life. She blinked in a haze of sexual intoxication. Something she had to do… Something…

What was it?

Her head swam. Her body still vibrated with ecstasy.

“My turn.” MeLeah’s voice snapped her back to the present. “I can’t wait any longer. Fucking make me come.”

Celestine watched in awe as MeLeah’s lithe body moved over her. The chain tinkled like tiny bells as MeLeah straddled her hips. The witch was utterly beautiful, with desire sparkling like sapphires in her eyes. Pert breasts trembled with her deep breaths, the nipples puckered and hard, begging to be suckled.

Celestine reached for them, dragging a sigh of pleasure from MeLeah’s lips when she firmly tugged each taut tip.

MeLeah’s hand enclosed hers and she guided it downward until Celestine’s fingers burrowed into the warm dampness between the witch’s legs.

“Touch me,” MeLeah said, her voice but a breath that Celestine would not have heard over the music had she not been intently watching her lover’s lips. “Touch me. Make me come.”

Celestine flattened her fingertips against the ripe bud of MeLeah’s clitoris and rubbed in a determined circular motion.

Bracing her palms on the mattress, MeLeah bucked urgently against Celestine’s touch. “That’s right. Touch my pussy. Make me come. Oh Goddess…” MeLeah murmured.

But making her orgasm like this wasn’t enough for Celestine. With a strength that surprised even herself, she flipped MeLeah onto her back and moved over her, burying her face in the witch’s sweet, sweet pussy.

Celestine couldn’t get enough. She couldn’t get close enough or plumb the depths of inner tissue far enough. MeLeah speared her fingers into Celestine’s hair, anchoring her head—as if Celestine gave any thought to leaving the heaven of this woman’s femininity. Something snapped inside her brain, flooding Celestine with the knowledge that this was no longer about activating the talisman’s power.

This was a magickal act of pleasure between two women that transcended the bonds of life and death, that would forever link their souls.

If only it didn’t have to end.

Celestine drove a finger into wetness, feeling the talisman vibrating through the soft, gripping tissue. The inner muscles squeezed and released. Liquid flowed like nectar and Celestine lapped it up. While she teased the sweet spot inside MeLeah’s pussy, Celestine’s tongue flicked through the velvety folds, moving upward to devil the aroused clit.

“Now, please, now!” MeLeah cried, her voice filled with pleading.

Celestine slid two fingers into her pussy and thrust them in and out. Plaintive moans came from MeLeah. She writhed in suspended ecstasy and Celestine knew she both fought and welcomed the pleasure to come.

Her body grew rigid. Her channel clenched around Celestine’s fingers, milking them. The talisman pulsated with energy and Celestine tried to concentrate on channeling more power from the crowd’s excitement into the charm.

A palpable wave crashed over the entire bar, swirling like a vortex. Celestine’s eyes opened just in time to see the haze of purple-and-blue light funneling into MeLeah. Celestine’s own body took on an iridescent hue. A flash like lightning illuminated the bar, causing a collective gasp among its patrons.

Celestine knew it was the magick working. She continuing fingering MeLeah and drawing hard on her clit until the witch lay limp on the mattress.

As Celestine gently removed the talisman, she moved up to press a feathery kiss to her lover’s lips. “We should hurry, ma petite. We must clean the talisman and get it to your priestess before the magick fades.”

MeLeah stared dazedly up at her. She swept a strand of Celestine’s hair behind her ear. It was such a casual thing to do but the tender act caused something to twist in Celestine’s heart.

Without warning, MeLeah cupped Celestine’s face and dragged her down for a passion-filled kiss that had Celestine aching to make love again. After MeLeah released her, Celestine gazed at her face. Her cheeks were flushed pink and her eyes shone with glowing insight. A conspiratorial smile crept across her face.

“Can you come with me?”

“But of course,” Celestine said, her throat constricting at the reminder that she couldn’t maintain her corporeal form much longer—of the task ahead that would spell MeLeah’s doom.

MeLeah’s smile broadened. “You’re going to need some clothes.”

Celestine stood and held out her hands to MeLeah, who joined her. Now oblivious to the crowd, they embraced, holding each other for what seemed an eternity before collecting their things and scampering naked to the dressing room.

“Y’all were awesome,” said a girl with a strong Texas twang, giving them a thumbs-up as she passed by on her way to the stage.

MeLeah and Celestine both giggled as they disappeared into the bathroom to change.

MeLeah switched on the faucet and held the talisman under the running water. “Are you sure it won’t remove the magick?”

“I am positive.” Celestine glanced at the glowing talisman. “Trust me.” But those two words send a shard of guilt slicing through her gut.

There was no time to dwell on it. She didn’t have much time left under the rainbow. She eyed a pair of dungarees and girl-sized pointed-toe boots stashed in the corner and shot MeLeah a questioning look.

MeLeah grinned. “Cowgirl up and let’s get this thing back to Magda.”

Chapter Four

When MeLeah burst through the door with Celestine in tow, Magda’s kohl-lined eyes widened dramatically.

“Magda, Celestine Laveau.” MeLeah introduced them hastily as she presented the freshly washed talisman wrapped in a paper towel to the priestess.

Magda eyed Celestine with suspicion, setting off alarm bells in MeLeah’s head. Her priestess should be grateful. She should be amazed to see a spirit in such a solid state. Instead, she turned coldly to MeLeah.

“I assume, then, that you got the talisman and performed the ritual?” Magda asked.

MeLeah nodded and handed the talisman over. Magda unfolded the paper towel to reveal the iridescent talisman. It vibrated audibly in her hands.

“I have heard of its power but this is amazing.” Her gaze flicked from the talisman to MeLeah, then to Celestine.

“It contains powerful magick,” Celestine murmured.

“Will the spell work?” MeLeah asked. Instinctively, she laced her fingers with Celestine’s. They were eerily cold. And one glance confirmed what MeLeah had suspected. Celestine was beginning to fade.

“I have only to dip the talisman in the blood. But the spell will not be complete until the talisman is returned to the…the grave.” She shot Celestine an apologetic look. “And until Ingrid arrives with the candle.”

Celestine drew in an audible breath. MeLeah sensed the ghost’s tension. She searched her lover’s eyes. Something was wrong. Magda and Celestine both knew something about this spell that MeLeah did not.

Magda’s intense stare locked with Celestine’s again. “The vampire we seek to subdue is not merely a vampire. She is demon-possessed.”

MeLeah gasped.

“Do you know what that means, not only to we witches but to the world?” Magda asked, still fixed on Celestine.

Celestine shuffled her feet guiltily.

“Because Cassia chose not to kill the vampire Elena, there is not enough blood for the spell you seek,” Magda told Celestine.

Celestine’s chin lifted and her dark eyes grew flinty.

MeLeah’s lips parted with realization. “What’s going on?”

“Your ghost lover wishes to—”

“No,” Celestine blurted. “I will tell her.”

“Very well,” Magda said, casting an apologetic look at MeLeah. “I will dip the talisman in the blood.” She began to walk away but stopped and turned when she got to the door. “I do thank you for your assistance,” Magda said with a polite nod.

“I don’t understand,” MeLeah said.

Celestine’s eyes rimmed with tears. Already, her physical body was losing substance. The vividness of her eyes and hair had dulled. “I wanted the blood for myself.”

“But…why?”

“Vampire blood is a powerful thing. It offers immortality. If I were to consume it…”

“I see,” MeLeah said, realization flooding her. She felt like a stupid fool. Celestine had used her to get to the blood.

“I did not know the vampire your coven seeks to defeat is demon-possessed. Because of that, I cannot prevent your priestess from working her spell.” Celestine cast her gaze to the floor. “Rather, I would not.”

“You…used me?”

Celestine’s eyes widened. She seized MeLeah’s hands. “No. It was never like that.”

MeLeah snatched her hands away, at once aching for her lover’s soft touch. She was suddenly trembling. The last couple of hours rattled through her thoughts—images of lust-filled kisses and passionate caresses—leaving her sick and confused.

The glittering look in Celestine’s eyes softened. “I admit I agreed to help you so that I might use the vampire blood to…to live again. I want life more than anything in heaven or on earth.” She tucked a strand of MeLeah’s hair behind her ear.

The tender gesture caused MeLeah’s throat to constrict.

“But the thought of endangering you…” Celestine bit her bottom lip. “I could never do anything that would cause you harm.”

MeLeah stared. She wanted to believe her. She wanted it desperately. Squeezing her eyes shut, she wondered why she couldn’t have it all. Celestine in a body and safety from the demon vampire who’d taken Cassia.

Magda returned with the blood-soaked talisman wrapped in a cloth. But instead of handing it to MeLeah, she offered it to Celestine.

Celestine folded her hands around it.

Then, to MeLeah, Magda said, “You must return the talisman—and the spirit—to the grave. Quickly.”

MeLeah nodded. More than anything, she wanted to run and hide, to bury her head under the covers and cry. She felt used but, more than that, she didn’t want to lose Celestine after what they’d just shared. Maybe it was better they left on uncertain terms. Maybe then, MeLeah could forget the enigmatic spirit who, for a few hours, had ironically made her feel alive.

Heartsore, she started toward the door, listening to the sound of Celestine’s borrowed boots clomping on the tile behind her.

* * * * *

The ride back to St. Louis Cemetery Number One was filled with strained silence. Celestine’s corporeal body continued to fade with each passing second and when MeLeah pulled into the parking area, she was shocked to see just how close she was to losing Celestine forever.

“Maman will open the tomb for you when you arrive,” Celestine whispered.

“I— Thank you,” MeLeah told her. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Merci…thank you,” Celestine echoed. She brushed her wispy fingers across MeLeah’s cheek.

MeLeah closed her eyes and turned her face more fully into the breathy softness of Celestine’s palm. “I wish you were real. I wish we could get to know each other away from graveyards and magick and vampires.”

“Me too,” Celestine said, and MeLeah felt a soft kiss sweep across her lips.

When she opened her eyes, Celestine was gone and all that remained were the borrowed clothes and the talisman. MeLeah’s breath caught. She fought the darkness threatening to spiral her down with it. A sob choked her throat but the vibration of the talisman reminded her she would have to grieve later.

She snatched it, got out of the car and ran toward the wall, intent on vaulting over it again. The muscles in her thighs bunched and she jumped—but only left the ground by a mere foot and slammed into the wall.

She winced at the throbbing pain. Every muscle in her body ached. At least she hadn’t dropped the talisman.

The talisman!

She looked down at the bundle in her hands. Vampire blood had soaked through the cloth Magda had wrapped it in. Blood also stained her fingers. She brought one to her lips and darted her tongue out for one more empowering drop.

At once, her body quaked. The earth seemed to move under her feet. Strength and confidence sang through her entire being. She stepped back from the wall and launched up and over, skipping off the roof of a vault before landing on the pebbled path below.

Her eyesight sharpened. Her hearing zeroed in on every sound. This time, she sprinted at inhuman speed to the tomb of the Voodoo Queen.

But all the blood-inspired confidence melted away when she arrived at the tomb and saw the three X’s she’d made only hours ago. She placed a trembling palm over them again and closed her eyes. Celestine’s beautiful face rose in her thoughts.

If only…

The middle tomb panel suddenly began to grate open. MeLeah gasped and jumped backward. Unmoving, she watched as the heavy stone panel opened only far enough to admit the talisman. She took a deep breath to steel herself. She would have to return the talisman to the bag that bore Celestine’s crumbling bones.

Another sob broke as she reached inside and retrieved the dusty bag. Swallowing thickly, she gently placed the blood-coated talisman back inside. She bit back a cry as the backs of her fingers raked bone.

“Thank you,” she whispered as she started to put the bag back in the tomb…

Without warning, the bag began to move as if someone had dropped a wildcat into it.

Crazy blue light shone through the burlap and, stunned, MeLeah dropped it onto the path. She stared. This was only an illusion induced by the blood. It couldn’t be real.

She blinked as the light brightened and detonated like an explosion before her eyes. Glitter flashed behind her eyelids and when her vision adjusted to the darkness once more, she made out what looked like a fragile, naked woman shaking on the cemetery path.

The woman did not look like the ethereal, glowing phantom Celestine had been but rather a very mortal creature whose skin looked chilled in the predawn dew.

Celestine’s fingers groped the pebbles on the walkway. She flattened her palms over her chest, then her own face. Her eyes were wide and wild.

Doubt that this was real surged through MeLeah. It was only an opportunity to say goodbye. Nothing more.

Celestine’s astonished gaze shot to MeLeah’s and she smiled. She reached up and MeLeah grasped her fingers tightly.

“A-are you r-real?” MeLeah croaked.

Celestine nodded vigorously. “It must have been the blood. Oh, MeLeah…”

MeLeah threw herself at Celestine and embraced her and ran her hands over her body. MeLeah’s tears streamed as she held her closer. The need to fuse Celestine into one flesh with her rose hard.

“You’re cold,” MeLeah sobbed. “You’re here. Oh Goddess, I can touch you and you’re real.”

Joy spilled into tears and MeLeah let them fall, let them soak into Celestine’s soft, dark hair and shoulder. She wanted to jump up and down. She wanted to dance, to make love right here in the cemetery. She couldn’t think. Her heart felt as if it would beat its way out of her chest.

She caught Celestine’s face in her hands and kissed her. Thoroughly and passionately. MeLeah laughed for sheer joy and kissed the angel in her arms again.

It didn’t matter how this had happened. Only that it had.

MeLeah vaguely remembered another issue was at stake but the first sparks that flew when she touched Celestine had chased all coherent thought from her mind. The world could have crumbled around them for all MeLeah cared. She was with Celestine.

MeLeah was unable to contain her joy as she wriggled out of her shirt and covered Celestine with it. But another, darker emotion welled inside her. It was a predatory need to protect and shield Celestine—to kill anything or anyone who dared to harm her. MeLeah’s mind reached for the reason this fierce need had overcome her and stopped short when she remembered the taste she’d taken of vampire blood.

“Elizabeth Bathory…” MeLeah said, sorely reminded of the reason she’d been sent to find the Voodoo Queen’s daughter.

“Not to worry, ma petite,” Celestine told her, a little smile playing at one corner of her voluptuous lips. “After we defeat the Blood Countess’ demon, we will both be free.”

She turned toward the tomb as the stone panel began to close. “Look, the magick is already transforming the crypt, tearing open the veil between this world and theirs.”

MeLeah gasped at the sight of the tomb sparkling as if it had been sprinkled with fairy dust. It gleamed for several seconds, then the light faded, leaving them in virtual darkness once more.

MeLeah turned to her lover and searched her eyes. Apprehension gnawed at her. “Now it’s all up to Ingrid. If she doesn’t succeed, I don’t know what will become of us.”

The Mambo’s Door

By Delilah Devlin

Dedication

Thanks go to S.K. Whiteside, my NOLA expert on the ground.

It’s nice to have friends in all the right places.

Chapter One

A drunk on the sidewalk bumped past Ingrid Kassel.

Instinctively, she turned her head and issued a hiss, baring teeth. Not that she had fangs to back up the warning, but her temper simmered at a slow, angry boil and her reactions weren’t entirely her own. A single taste of blood had ignited a hunger for more, it seemed, and the loss of control pissed her off.

If this was what it felt like to be a vampire, it was a damn good thing she was a witch.

Ever since Magda, the coven’s priestess, had given her Elena Csintalan’s blood to drink to lend her strength for her quest, Ingrid had fought to retain a sense of self.

The moment the viscous fluid had slid down her throat the ground had swayed, shifting under her feet. Magda had urged her to drink more—more than she’d given MeLeah—her vivid eyes glinting with excitement.

With a dizzy shake of her head, Ingrid’s sight had changed—shadowy corners resolving into stark relief. Her sense of smell had refined so that now she could still detect the sour odor of cheap whiskey emanating from the skin of the drunk even though he’d shuffled around the corner. A feeling of invulnerability, of superhero strength, burned through her blood, hardening her muscles. She felt ready to test her newfound but temporary powers on the first person who looked at her crosswise.

And that just wasn’t her. Or if it was, she’d been really good at being a quiet, dutiful girl for so long that she’d convinced herself she wasn’t a grumpy badass.

Ingrid checked her watch and cursed. She was late. She’d stopped by her one-room apartment to dress in a long-sleeved black tee, dark jeans and running shoes. She’d clipped her blonde hair into a messy bun and stuck a black ball cap on her head to cover it.

All so she could blend in to the darkness. As if she were dressing up for a second-story job. Like Tom Cruise ready to zip down a wire.

Then she’d decided to pick up some supplies. The trip to the convenience store had taken longer than it should have because every drunk in the city had been in line to buy hooch for the night.

MeLeah was likely already heading back to Magda with her charged relic. If Ingrid didn’t hurry, the magickal energy from MeLeah’s talisman would dissipate and the spell wouldn’t work. Why they couldn’t have accomplished their tasks together was a mystery, but there was a lot she didn’t understand about the murky underworld she’d entered a year ago.

Most of the time, she simply banked her irritation with things she didn’t comprehend and saved her questions, reminding herself that she was still a fledgling witch and the others expected her to learn the craft in measured layers.

However, even without the vampire booster shot she’d drunk, she wasn’t a patient person. Even though Magda and the other women who mentored her constantly hovered when she played with magick, she’d practiced in secret, honing her skills. They didn’t have a clue what she could do.

Which made the fact that Magda had assigned her this mission even more mystifying.

“Bring me the mambo’s candle,” Magda had said, hands cupping Ingrid’s face so that their gazes locked for a long, terrifying moment.

Staring into Magda’s dark eyes, Ingrid had relived the moment when the Blood Countess had swept into The Absinthe House and whisked away four women—three vampires and Cassia, her coven sister.

Then more pictures clicked through her mind like an old-fashioned movie reel, of more of her sisters chained inside a dark, dungeon-like room with their eyes glowing, faces lax, while the Hell Bitch, Elizabeth Bathory, painted her skin with the blood of another victim. Of Bourbon Street in chaos while Bathory’s army of vampires tore through the district on a bloody rampage.

Why Magda had decided to show her those visions was another mystery she might never fathom. However, it had impressed upon her the importance of her task. The fate of the city rested on her and MeLeah’s shoulders.

Ingrid shook off the chill that crept down her spine. St. Louis Cemetery Number One loomed just ahead. Time to get serious.

She slung the plastic grocery bag over one shoulder and ran along the whitewashed brick wall to the iron gate, which she scurried up hand-over-hand before swinging over the top of the iron rail at the entrance to the graveyard.

Power still surging through her veins, she nearly laughed when she landed. She crouched and gave a quick glance behind her to see if anyone had noticed, but those walking along Basin Street this late at night hadn’t seen the blur of her figure running beside the wall, much less her creepy, spiderlike feat.

Her heart thrummed, strong inside her chest. Her body felt powerful, her breaths came steadily, even though she’d had to rush. For the first time, she envied vampires.

Until she smacked her lips and once again tasted the metallic flavor of the blood she’d choked down.

Dumping out the contents of the bag, she raked through it until she found the box of colored chalk. She opened the package, discarding all but the purple piece, then knelt on the sidewalk and drew a crude purple heart with curlicues extending from the bottom point, a triangle beneath it, and bars across the top, middle and bottom that ended in crosses. Then she tossed away the chalk, closed her eyes, envisioning her goal, and prayed to the loa of the cemetery.

“Ma’man Brigit, goddess of this cemetery, please guide me to Marie Laveau’s crypt.”

She opened her eyes, stuffed the things she still needed into the bag and lunged to her feet, running straight ahead, not waiting for an answer because she was well acquainted with this particular divinity. Ma’man Brigit admired confidence in a woman. Even more, her pride would be stroked that she’d been asked, rather than her husband, Baron Samedi, loa of the dead. And Ma’man didn’t like humans fumbling around her realm. Something Ingrid had learned in her secret studies of Voodoo, or Vodou, as practitioners called it.

Moonlight filtered down, striking the long rows of pale, aboveground crypts, illuminating their whitewashed and marble exteriors, some more than others.

“Thank you, Goddess,” Ingrid whispered as she dashed toward the brightest row. She turned and one mottled stucco crypt sat awash in moonlight, tall candles huddled against its base, coins sparkling on the ground, glittery Mardi Gras beads draped on sharp edges—all left by worshippers seeking advice or a special wish.

X marks marred the three-panel marble front of the crypt, a groundskeeper’s bane for sure, but she was about to add more. She knelt and dumped her sack atop the Glapion family marker—the supposed resting place of Marie Laveau and her daughters—picked up a candle scented with dragon’s blood, lit it and placed it in front of the door. Then she selected a red marker and drew three X’s on the crypt.

“Beautiful Madame Laveau, please open your door. I seek a talisman, one you entrusted to your daughter, Marie. Please grant my wish.”

She waited. Nothing happened. Sighing, she tried to think of something more “witchy”—and didn’t everything sound more magickal in Latin?

“Lanua aperta!”

Again, she paused. Then, irritated because nothing was happening, she leaned over the jumbled mess of coins, beads and candles and shoved at one of the stone panels. “Dammit, I asked nicely.”

A throaty chuckle sounded behind her. Ingrid scrambled around, still on her knees, to behold the full-bodied figure of a woman dressed in long robes, her shape nearly transparent but glowing, shimmering at the edges like the aurora borealis.

“Your curse ensures the mambo’s privacy, gal.”

Ingrid felt the voice rather than heard it, as though it emanated from inside her head instead of from the wispy lips of the apparition.

“Ma’man Brigit?” Ingrid asked. Although the loa had answered her prayers before, this was the first time Ingrid seen her.

The woman nodded then drew closer, bending so her face was inches from Ingrid’s. “Hmmm… The night creature’s blood is mo’ hindrance here than help, I think, li’l witch. It makes you proud.”

Ingrid swallowed an instinctive bitchy vampire retort, then offered, “I need your help, Ma’man.”

“So direct. So rude.” The loa tsked. “This be my realm you entered, my help you be seekin’. What you bring fo’ me?”

Ingrid shrugged, at a loss. She hadn’t known she was expected to bring tribute. “Gratitude?”

Lush, pouting lips stretched into a smile. “So impatient, you be,” she said in her velvety, melodic voice. “And yet your quest awaits.”

Unable to summon an ounce of patience, Ingrid blurted, “What do you want from me?”

“Yo’ promise.”

Ingrid blew out a deep breath. “All right. Anything. Name it.”

The loa gave Ingrid a hard stare. “The thing you seek, it resides with the mambo’s daughter, little Marie?”

Ingrid didn’t blink. Why didn’t the spirit already know? Wasn’t she rubbing around inside her head? “I’m to retrieve a candle for a rite.”

Another nod, this one curter. Ingrid worried she’d again annoyed the death loa with her urgency.

Ma’man Brigit narrowed her eyes. “Seek only her. Touch only her.”

Ingrid shuddered. “I want a candle. I don’t intend to rifle through bones.”

Ma’man shook her head. “Heed my warnin’. I’m a guardian of death. What’s mine, I keep.”

Ingrid didn’t think she’d have any problem honoring that promise. “Of course.” She tilted her head toward the crypt. “The door?”

The loa’s lips thinned. Her dark, hollow eyes slitted. “Repeat yo’ spell. Now.”

Ingrid cleared her throat. “It’s not a spell so much. I haven’t had time to pretty it up.”

The loa rolled her eyes. “Don’t need no fancy spell. Say what you wish.”

“I wish to retrieve the mambo’s candle. Please open the door.”

Behind her, Ingrid heard the creak and slip of something moving. When she turned back to the tomb, the bottom panel had disappeared. Again she dug into the sack. Even her vamped-up eyesight couldn’t see into the blackness looming in the square the size of a large doggie door.

She flipped a switch and shone the flashlight inside. Rather than a narrow shelf just large enough to hold a casket, as she had expected given the size of panel, she gazed into a single large room. The air around her crackled. The fine hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Stitched burlap sacks, body-sized sacks, lay upon the floor. “Eww!”

“The one you seek’s in the back,” came the disembodied voice inside her head.

“Of course it is,” Ingrid muttered. She stuck the small flashlight between her teeth, gripped the sides of the opening and pulled herself inside, careful not to crawl on the lumpy sacks. She stood inside the tomb, which somehow seemed larger than it had looked from the outside.

A throaty chuckle sounded, this time with a hollow ring, no doubt due to the acoustics of the tomb. But when she glanced back, her heart stopped. The marble panel was in place again. Her exit was blocked.

Her flashlight blinked out.

“Fuck! Ma’man!” she cried, pounding on the marble, but it didn’t budge. “Great. Just fucking great,” she shouted.

She turned and slid to her butt on the hard floor. She’d have to wait out the night inside a crypt with body bags and who knew what else crawling inside it. She rubbed her arms and face, sure worms and spiders were even now encroaching.

“Dammit!”

Surely someone would come looking for her when she failed to return. However, that possibility worried her even more. Magda would have her ass for failing. New Orleans would be the starting point of a huge paranormal disaster—and all because she, an apprentice witch, hadn’t shown a spirit the proper respect.

She breathed the stale air, quieting her heartbeat, then took stock of her situation. She might be trapped but she could at least locate the candle.

Then the musty smells surrounding her—of decay and dust—made her wonder just how airtight the little tomb was. Double fuck.

Her mind raced with all the possibilities. She could suffocate. Get sick from mold. Starve, if Ma’man hadn’t shown her the correct tomb in the first place and no one found her. She’d trusted the loa to guide her here—had that been a mistake?

A stirring of fresh air brushed her cheek. Hope flared. Perhaps there was a crack in the tomb. Maybe she could find something to widen the opening. She pushed up from the floor and followed the breeze, nudging a toe to find the bags, then stepping deeper into the tomb and reaching out a hand to feel for the far wall.

Instead, she bumped against something that gave a dull wooden thud. She smoothed her hands over the surface, tracing the edges of what felt like a large door, and her hand brushed a protuberance—a doorknob! She turned it and pushed open the door, letting dull twilight stream into the tomb.

Ingrid didn’t care how unlikely it all seemed—she quickly stepped through before glancing back into the darkness of the crypt.

The cemetery was gone except for the Glapion tomb. All around it was a gloomy forest, bedecked in trailing Spanish moss, with a spongy floor of fallen leaves and damp earth and a beaten-down path that trailed deeper into the dense undergrowth. Beyond the clearing where she stood, she caught glimpses of a dark, murky bayou to either side of the path.

Well, the Powers That Be had spoken. She didn’t quite know what awaited her, but one thing was certain—she’d asked for a door to open, and one had.

Chapter Two

Marie sat on the rickety wooden porch that stretched the length of the cabin on stilts, watching the path atop the narrow bern as she did most days. The bayou was quiet, something that calmed her mind and heart after a night of terrors. She wished she could sleep, to dream of another time, another place. To relive the past and pretend she still had time to change her destiny.

But those who lived in this realm never slept. And daydreams took on lives of their own. So she watched, her eyes unblinking, gazing down the narrow path leading deeper into the dark waters.

For a moment she thought maybe she had drifted into a dream, because the figure striding boldly down the path wasn’t familiar, didn’t belong. It wasn’t Baron Samedi with his top hat perched jauntily on his head, ready to deliver another warning with a smile and his dead eyes.

No, it was a woman, a pretty one, dressed like a man, wearing dark trousers and a shirt that hugged her small breasts. A hat covered her hair, but blonde strands hung beside her face—her very red, sweaty face.

The woman strode toward her porch, not stopping until she stood at the base of her steps. “You Marie?” she asked, tilting back her head.

Marie sat very still, clutching the arms of her rocking chair. A new voice. A new face. A pretty woman. Was this one of the baron’s many tests? She unglued her tongue from where it was stuck to the top of her dry mouth. “Oui. I am. Who asks?”

The woman’s crystal-blue eyes sparkled with life. Her furrowed brows bespoke impatience. “Ingrid Kassel,” she said, her voice brisk. “You have something I need.”

“And you have something I need, chérie,” Marie said, a smile tugging at her mouth. Something she hadn’t done in a long time, but the look of irritation on the woman’s face told her this wasn’t some dead-eyed phantom sent by the loa of this limbo land.

Ingrid, Marie repeated silently. Not a pretty name. It was as rigid as the woman’s militant posture. Still, the blonde was real, warm, breathing—and so attractive that long-dormant desires stirred inside Marie.

Who was she? What was she doing here? The woman’s pale face and wheat-colored hair betrayed Nordic origins. Why had she not been consigned to their realm, to frigid Hel? Had she somehow angered the baron on her journey to death? Or had she committed some great crime against him? Best to be careful.

“What do you seek?”

“A talisman. A candle your mother gave you.”

Marie startled. “Well, you can’t have it. The candle’s powerful magick. It’s best it stays with me.” The candle was her only weapon, her only hope. This woman would have to pry it from her cold, dead fingers.

Oh yes—she was already dead.

Marie’s interest in the woman was piqued. Her ennui lifted. She rarely had visitors. And to have someone asking about the candle… She wondered again if the baron was trying to get her prize. If so, he was destined to be disappointed. Again.

She grinned at pretty Ingrid’s reddening face.

“I’ve come a long way to find you.”

“Then you must be tired,” Marie drawled. “Why not rest on my porch?”

Ingrid blew an exasperated breath. “Marie Laveau. That’s you, right? The second one?”

What did the girl know? Did she know that “little Marie” had borrowed her mother’s fame, even impersonated her to increase her reputation and the heft of her purse? All without any true calling. Not like her mother had possessed.

“I’m the daughter,” she said with a nod.

The woman climbed three steps. “You performed good works, for the benefit of the people of New Orleans. You’d be doing that again—if you gave me the candle.”

Oh, Marie had performed all right. She’d given grand displays before thousands, using magicians’ tricks to fool the masses. She’d made impotent love potions, performed exorcisms on the mad. For money.

“What great calamity has sent you to this realm, chérie?”

“A vampire, Elizabeth Bathory, the Blood Countess herself, is in New Orleans. And she’s using witches, turning them into her minions to increase her powers. We think she intends a bloodbath. To turn the city into her personal hunting ground.”

“I’ve never heard of her. And she’s only a vampire, not a god. She has weaknesses the livin’ can exploit.”

“She’s using magick. There’s no telling what she can do now. We must stop her.”

“We?” Marie said, raising a brow.

“My coven sisters and myself.”

“You seem to be forgettin’ somethin’, gal.”

Ingrid’s sudden exhale billowed her cheeks. “What’s that? Do you need tribute too?”

Marie swept aside her question. “You’re dead. How can you hope to deliver any talisman to your sisters when you’re trapped here?”

“But I’m not dead. I entreated Ma’man Brigit to open your tomb so I could find the candle. This is where she led me.”

Marie held still while Ingrid’s words churned inside her mind. “You’re livin’? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“I swear it’s true.” Ingrid climbed another step and held out her hand. “You can touch me if you don’t believe it.”

Marie ignored the pale hand. “You can touch me too. It tells me nothin’.”

Ingrid dropped her hand and rubbed it against the side of her trousers. “You have powers. Use them to discern whether I’m telling you the truth.”

It was on the tip of Marie’s tongue to tell her she didn’t possess any powers or supernatural talents. She wasn’t her mother.

However, the woman standing in front of her did. Perhaps this was her chance to charge the candle and use it for her own purpose.

“You’re a rude woman,” Marie said, hardening her face. “You demand somethin’ from me, somethin’ precious, and yet you offer me nothin’ in return.”

“I don’t have anything to give you.” Ingrid’s mouth clamped shut, then opened again with a quick inward breath. “Oh, except a flashlight that doesn’t work,” she said, drawing something out of her back pocket.

Marie had no idea what a flashlight was. She gave a dismissive wave toward the cylindrical item the pale woman clutched. “I been alone in this small house for a long time. I have few guests.” Unless you counted the undead things that surrounded her tiny cabin in the darkness. “I can make you tea. You can rest.” She let her gaze slip down the lithe body of the young woman. “Perhaps we can negotiate a price.”

Ingrid’s eyebrows shot skyward. “I don’t have time for this.”

Marie snorted. “Time has no meanin’ here. You have all the time you need.”

The blonde’s head shook. “I don’t understand.”

Marie glanced across the clearing toward the darkening bayou. “Darkness comes. When the light fades, you must be inside this house or you’ll die of a certainty.”

Ingrid darted a nervous glance behind her. “What happens when it gets dark?”

“Do you know where you’ve come?” Marie asked softly, using the voice that had enticed thousands into believing she was magickal.

“Not really.”

“This be neither heaven nor hell.”

“Purgatory?”

“A place of atonement. A place where one learns lessons and where one is judged before movin’ on to her destination.”

Ingrid’s eyes softened in concern. “You’ve been here a long time.”

“There be no long or short time here. Did you not hear me, gal? Time here is measured by light and darkness, just as it is in the land of the livin’. But it has no meanin’. If I meet my maman in some far-off day, she won’t know I lived decades after her death. I died a much older woman than what you see now.”

The softness faded, replaced again with an impatient scowl. “I really don’t have time for this. If it’s going to be dark soon, I need that candle now.”

The sounds of insects—flies and crickets—began to rise. Rustling in the darkest parts of the forest changed to large crashes. Gentle lapping waves became agitated splashes.

Ingrid looked behind her. “What was that?”

“Night has come. Come inside now!”

“The tomb I came through isn’t far.”

“You won’t make it. Come inside, gal.”

Night fell in an instant, like a curtain suddenly lowering. Marie shoved off her chair, waved a hand in front of her to find the woman and gripped her arm to pull her up the stoop and through the doorway just as the first of the creatures screeched from the forest’s edge.

Ingrid fell inside, tumbling to her knees. The sounds of a door slamming and something solid sliding against it came from behind her.

Then footsteps hurried away. “Where are you?” she called out. “What the fuck was that?”

Light blazed through another doorway, soft footsteps scraped across the rough-hewn floor. Marie came to her, holding aloft a glass lantern. She hovered as Ingrid pushed off the floor and slowly stood. She glanced back at the door to find that a large plank had been fitted into slots to lock it.

And now pounding sounded, dull thuds that rammed against the wood, shaking it. Whatever was on the other side couldn’t be good, judging by the accompanying sounds of inhuman howls and hisses.

Marie touched her arm. “Come with me. It’s quieter in my bedroom.”

With a final glance at the shuddering door, Ingrid followed Marie and the glowing light into a bedroom. Moss padded the walls, moss that was still green and apparently alive. But the frightening sounds were diminished, so distant that Ingrid relaxed.

Once inside the room, Marie bolted the door, set the lantern on a rugged bedside table then turned to Ingrid. Dark eyes trailed over Ingrid’s frame. “How shall we spend this night?”

By the look on Marie’s face, Ingrid knew exactly what the dark-haired woman hoped.

Not that Ingrid wasn’t tempted. Marie was beautiful—tall with lush curves, creamy, coffee-colored skin and ink-black hair.

The last remnants of Elena’s blood still seared Ingrid’s veins. The delicious, musky scent of the woman standing in front of her permeated the cabin, wafting in the air with her graceful movements.

How she’d love to slick her tongue along damp folds, nibble at the heat pounding against the base of the mambo’s pretty throat.

Ingrid’s lip curled in self-disgust. “I’m such a fuckup.”

Marie tilted her head. “You risked much to come here.”

Even her soft, melodic voice, flavored with French and a Southern lilt, appealed. Like sweet syrup.

“I wasn’t really given a choice. Or time to think. So much has happened. We kidnapped a vampire and, from there, everything went to shit.”

“Your language…” Marie chided, shaking her head.

“Sorry, I tend to cuss when I’m…anxious.” Ingrid’s shoulders slumped.

“You should relax. You’re tense.”

“I…can’t. I’m a little wired from drinking vampire blood.”

Marie grew still. Her heart fluttered in her chest.

“Why would you do that? It’s dangerous.” Her own mother had used night creatures’ blood when preparing for dark magick rites. Was this woman a powerful witch?

“My priestess insisted I would need it. For extra strength. And I move faster.”

“It makes you stronger. But how else is it makin’ you feel?”

Ingrid’s nostrils flared. Her pale cheeks pinkened. “I’ve had the strangest urge to bite you.”

Marie allowed a small smile. Things happened for a reason. A witch infected with a vampire’s blood. A candle in need of anointing…

“My mama’s lust was uncontrollable when she drank their blood.”

Ingrid closed her eyes and swallowed hard. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” Marie asked, feigning innocence. She could see the other woman’s reaction to her soft tones.

Ingrid shivered. Her breath caught. “As though you wouldn’t mind being bitten.” Her eyes opened. Her direct stare captured Marie’s.

Marie lifted a hand and pulled the ribbon at the neck of her simple frock, slowly, deliberately. The candle needed the darkest magick, the deepest arousal. She let the shift slide off her shoulders and pool around her feet.

Ingrid took a step forward, her hands lifting, but then she shook her head and dropped them. “This isn’t why I’m here.”

“Of course it is. You seek a candle—a black arts candle. One anointed with my mama’s blood. We must charge it and awaken its magick. Night surrounds us. The dark waters have risen. The creatures’ll tear you to bits if you try to leave. Don’t you think that maybe you’re meant to be here, to do this with me?” Marie lifted her hands to cup her breasts, offering them to the woman who stood so still. “It’s been a long time. Would you deny me? Deny your own fate?”

Ingrid gave up fighting the attraction she’d felt since the first moment she’d spied the woman sitting on the porch. Marie’s skin was a pretty café au lait, her hair was long and a lustrous, inky black. Her eyes were brown, but with golden lights that reflected the lantern’s glow. Naked, her body was a tomboy’s dream—lush, full curves above and below a trim waist. Marie’s scent ratcheted up Ingrid’s arousal—a pungent mix of herbs and patchouli that drifted over to her with the mambo’s every movement.

The invitation was there. In the half-lidded stare, the pout of her lips, the ruching of her lovely areolas.

Even the slight sway of the cabin on its stilts, the sound of water flooding slowly beneath it, as though the house were a boat drifting on a lazy sea, added an extra layer to the lush invitation. One she wasn’t going to refuse. She had nowhere to go for a few hours anyway. Why not taste the mambo’s passion?

Urgent heat raced through her body, spiking her nipples, swelling her folds. Ingrid slid off her ball cap, released her hair from its clip and shook her head to let it tumble around her shoulders. She scraped her tee from her waistband and pulled it over her head. Then there were hands helping her, pulling down the cups of her bra to bare her breasts.

Ingrid laughed and tossed away her shirt, then unsnapped the bra and let it fall away. She unbuckled her belt, toed off her sneakers and stood while Marie dipped to shove her jeans down her legs.

When she was nude, the two women walked hand in hand to the bed and lay down facing each other.

Marie rubbed Ingrid’s nipple. “It’s been so long. C’est bien.”

“I thought time had no meaning here.”

“Even before. I took male lovers with deep pockets. So much easier to manipulate. My mouth on their cocks enslaved them.”

“I’ll bet.” Ingrid bit her lower lip.

“I’ll bet you’d like my mouth here, wouldn’t you, gal?” Marie asked, thumbing a turgid tip.

Ingrid smoothed a hand over the deep curve of Marie’s waist. “Maybe a kiss of introduction first?”

Marie’s mouth stretched. “Come closer, li’l witch.”

Ingrid inched over until their breasts mashed together, warm skin to warm skin, jutting points scraping. In the glow of the oil lamp their skin was burnished a lovely pale gold and deeper amber.

Marie’s eyes glittered, then she closed them, leaning closer to press her lips against Ingrid’s. Ingrid opened, sighing as the other woman’s tongue stroked her bottom lip then slid inside.

A niggling thought slipped into her mind, that she was making love with a dead woman. One she’d just met and whose kiss set her nerve endings tingling and her belly cramping with desire. How much of it was this place? How much the vampire blood that gave her this desperate hunger?

None of that mattered, not the deeper the kiss went. Questing hands smoothed over breasts, over lean flanks, between trembling thighs.

Ingrid thrust her tongue into Maria’s mouth, growled and rolled over her, spreading her legs across her hips and bearing down to rub against Marie’s wiry bush.

Marie’s hands grasped her buttocks and massaged them, encouraging her to keep rubbing.

Her clit throbbed, growing engorged. She paused, lifted just enough to slide a hand between their bodies and fork her fingers into the top of Marie’s folds to bare the other woman’s clit. They rubbed together again, their mouths sliding over chins, across cheeks.

Ingrid sucked Marie’s bottom lip between hers and bit it, drawing blood, but the mambo didn’t seem to mind, grunting but hardening her grip on Ingrid’s ass.

The women rocked and rocked, hardened clits bumping, rubbing, until a wave of euphoric bliss washed over Ingrid, leaving her boneless and gasping. She fell against Marie, who soothed her with firm glides of her hot hands while Ingrid’s heartbeats slowed.

Ingrid lifted her head and pushed back her hair. “I’m sorry. I left you behind.”

Marie’s full mouth curved. “There was joy in watchin’ you find your pleasure.”

Ingrid laid her head on Marie’s shoulder. “Sorry. I’m a little tired, I guess.”

Marie shifted, easing Ingrid from her body so that they lay side by side. She pushed Ingrid’s hair behind her ear.

“Sleep. I’ll wake you soon.”

Ingrid heard her, felt the sway of the cabin, gentle as a mother’s arms, and slept.

Marie scooted off the bed, her mind racing. At the moment of Ingrid’s climax, she’d felt a spark of electricity buzz through her, just like the thrill of her mother’s touch whenever she’d infused her with magick for a spectacle. She slid to the floor and knelt beside the bed, reaching beneath it for the small wooden chest. She opened the lid, dug into the straw and pulled out the candle wrapped in a piece of muslin. She’d been buried with the relic and it had come with her when she’d passed into limbo.

She pushed aside the muslin to bare the black candle, never used before, seven round knobs from tip to base, melted together into a single wand. She gripped it and closed her eyes. The wax warmed but didn’t feel alive. It wouldn’t charge in her grasp.

The magick lay inside the witch, as did Marie’s hope for freedom from this frightening place.

Marie dug deeper beneath her bed, pulling out a roll of thick twine she’d used to tie between the slats of her bed to hold her feather mattress. She cut lengths of the thin rope, keeping an eye on Ingrid, who slept a dreamless sleep, the sleep of the living.

Her mouth curled in a snarl, so envious was she of Ingrid’s innocence. Marie had learned the hard way that there was no rest for her. Not here.

As she continued her preparations, she tamped down the unpleasant guilt that caused her belly to roil. What she was doing was wrong, she knew it, but desperation kept her moving.

She leaned over the sleeping woman, then carefully tied loops to the spokes of the headboard and around each pale wrist. Then she crept around the room, gathering more candles, some incense, which she lit before coming back to sit on the side of the bed, waiting for Ingrid to waken.

Chapter Three

Ingrid felt the bed dip beside her. She breathed deeply, taking in the pleasant scents surrounding her—incense and scented candles, the musky odor of sex. She blinked, her eyes adjusting to the candlelit room. “‘S’nice,” she murmured. She began to smile, but when she moved her arms to reach for Marie, she found something coarse and itchy cinched around her wrists.

“Marie?”

The mambo’s smile was crooked. Regret shone in soft, dark eyes. “Forgive me for trickin’ you. But this, I must do.”

“What must you do?”

Marie picked up a black, knobbed candle, then held the wick over the lantern burning on the bedside table.

Ingrid shook the bed with a violent jerk. “No! You can’t use that!”

“There are seven knobs,” Marie said, her voice uninflected. “Each with its own magick. Perhaps there’ll be a few remainin’ for you to use once I’m free.”

“Free? What are you talking about?”

Marie leveled an even stare on Ingrid. “I’m talkin’ ’bout me. Leavin’ this place. Movin’ on to what’s next. Or even returnin’.”

“But…” Ma’man Brigit’s warning echoed in her mind. “You can’t go back.”

Marie didn’t respond and instead waved the air above the candle, sending drifts of smoke around them. Then she set the candle on a dish to burn beside the bed.

Ingrid pulled at the ties but they cinched tighter around her wrists.

“Don’t fight,” Marie said, her husky tones sounding forced. “You’ll only harm yourself. Let me pleasure you.”

Good lord, she’d been an idiot, letting Marie’s doe eyes and sultry voice ensnare her.

“You bitch! You tricked me. Why would I let you do anything?”

“Because your only choices are to fight or to relent. Either way, I’ll have what I wish.”

Ingrid thought hard. There had to be a way to save her mission. “Why burn the candle? Charging it doesn’t require a flame.”

Marie shrugged a naked shoulder. “To soften the wax. Like I said, I wish to pleasure you.”

Ingrid stared, not understanding—until Marie picked up the candle and climbed onto the mattress. She slid a knee over Ingrid’s hips, her generous bosom swaying as she settled. With her free hand, she flicked Ingrid’s left nipple.

Ingrid shook her head. “Don’t waste the magick, Marie. Think! There has to be another way to get what you want.”

“This be the only thing I have from my old life,” Marie said, her expression softening, turning sad. “There was a reason it was left with me.”

Perhaps she only wished it was so.

“Have you thought that maybe it was just for safekeeping? So that someone like me could one day retrieve it?”

Marie pinched a beaded tip and pulled it.

Ingrid tried to resist but the stinging fired her blood. As did the hot drip of wax Marie let fall from the candle.

Ingrid hissed between her teeth. “That burned.”

“And yet your woman’s furrow warms, doesn’t it? I can smell your arousal, li’l witch.”

Ingrid looked away from Marie’s knowing smile. Another burning drop of wax landed on her nipple. Marie smoothed it over the areola, then leaned close to blow against it, letting it cool and harden around the tip, encasing it. She switched the candle to the other hand and tweaked the bare nipple hard before encasing it, too, in melted wax.

Ingrid squirmed, bucking her hips beneath Marie. She was furious—with Marie, but especially with her own traitorous body, because even while she struggled, the burning tips of her breasts grew more engorged, sending warmth to her belly, to her core.

Marie laughed and leaned to one side, slipping a knee between Ingrid’s thighs. “I didn’t tie your feet. You kin fight me, but you’ll only waste more of the candle. Let me have what I wish. The rest’ll be yours.”

Ingrid considered, for a moment, kicking away the candle, but with her luck she’d only manage to set the cabin on fire. She sank her head against the pillow, resigned to letting the mambo have her way. It didn’t escape her that her surrender was awfully convenient and self-serving. Already her breaths shortened, her sex swelled.

Marie hummed. The tune was lazy, with an edge of spiritual. Her husky voice wove around Ingrid’s stretched-taut nerves, changing the tension from one of resistance to something more darkly sensual.

Molten drops splattered against her abdomen, filled the well of her bellybutton.

Ingrid gasped and squirmed, not to escape but from excitement so intense that her blood burned hotter than the wax dripping onto her skin.

“Lift your knees—give me your pretty quim.”

Marie’s dark eyes mesmerized, enticing Ingrid to do exactly what she asked. She lifted her knees, planting her feet as wide apart as she could and tilting her sex upward to take the next molten splash of wax right atop her clit.

Ingrid cried out and dug her head into the soft mattress, overwhelmed by the painful pleasure.

Marie laughed and smoothed the wax with a fingertip, spreading it, then dripping more wax to keep her clit hot, layer after layer.

Then she sat back, blew out the candle. She waved it in the air, cooling it, then cupped the end in her hand. “Perfect,” she purred.

Five knobs remained. Ingrid prayed it would be enough. For the spell. For what Marie did next.

Marie slid the candle up inside Ingrid’s hungry pussy.

Her thighs quivered and she closed them, tensing her belly to try to curl herself upward. The twine cinched tighter. The hot wax candle sank deeper until Marie’s fingers followed it inside. Then she bent low, licked the crease on one side between thigh and outer labia, pulled the fleshy outer lip between her teeth and suctioned on it before letting it slip free. Then she licked and nibbled the other side, all the while gripping the end of the candle and pushing it deep, in and out.

When Marie licked her way to her clit, Ingrid’s head thrashed. The candle was still warm and her inner walls were convulsing around it, kneading the softened wax, caressing it with rhythmic ripples up and down her channel.

That’s when she felt it—a tiny spark of electricity that arced through her cunt.

“Yes, li’l witch. That’s it. More,” murmured Marie, her mouth lifting then settling again against Ingrid’s sex.

She licked at the edges of the wax cloaking Ingrid’s clit, then placed her mouth around it, warming it again, moving it in circular swirls until she bit and removed it. When her teeth touched Ingrid’s clit directly, Ingrid grew rigid, her belly and thighs taut and trembling. The spiraling convulsions grew stronger, harder, and the candle inside her heated up again, feeling as though it were alive, fire flaring and trembling inside her.

Her orgasm was a painful thing, bursting outward from her womb, shivering deliciously across her skin, through her limbs.

Marie groaned and sucked on Ingrid’s clit, torturing the tip with flicks of her tongue, mouthing it, biting it—drawing out Ingrid’s climax until she flew outside herself.

Now she watched them from the ceiling, the dark goddess with her thick dark curls bent between the blonde’s legs, her head moving in drugging circles, swirling and swirling.

The woman on the bed—herself, she knew—stared above her, mouth agape, passion darkening her blue eyes. Her mouth widened and a deep, guttural wail rocketed around the room, pulling Ingrid back with a snap.

She lay on the bed, her body shaking from head to toe.

Marie sat back on her haunches, the candle lying across her palm, smeared with whitish streaks of Ingrid’s cum.

The candle was charged. Anointed with a witch’s arousal. Marie hadn’t finished.

Ingrid shook her head, tears filling her eyes. She’d failed. Given in to the dark beauty, not because she couldn’t fight her but because she hadn’t wanted to.

She wanted to save her. Keep her. “Burn it,” she whispered.

Marie’s eyes moistened. “I won’t take it all, not if I don’t have to.”

“What do you need me to do?”

“You’ve already done it. I couldn’t charge it myself. I have no magick. No skill. I’m a fraud, Ingrid. It’s why I’m here. I’ve waited and waited for someone like you to find me.”

Ingrid blew out a deep breath. “I’m a fledgling, barely trained.”

“There was magick in our joinin’. Didn’t you feel it?”

“Yes, I thought it was you.”

“It was us. Sometimes it’s like that. My mother could infuse me with power but I couldn’t sustain it. When she died, I resorted to usin’ tricks to fool people into believin’ I’d inherited her gifts. I never felt the magick again. Not until you.”

“Untie me.”

Marie swallowed, doubt creeping into her soft, proud eyes. But she nodded and quickly cut the bonds.

Ingrid sat up and rubbed her wrists. “Do you know a spell?”

Marie settled on the mattress in front of her, legs crossed. “Not really.”

“A spirit once told me to simply say what I wished.”

Marie smiled and her dark eyes warmed, reflecting the glow of the lantern. “Then I know exactly what to say.”

Ingrid didn’t know how it was supposed to be used and, she suspected, neither did Marie, but she reached for the hand holding the candle, wrapped Marie’s fingers around it, then enclosed the other woman’s balled fist with her own, only the topmost knob with its burned wick exposed.

The cabin creaked, rocking more forcefully, as though the water surrounding them grew choppier. The sound of wind whistling through the rough planks grew louder. Distant shrieks from the creatures Marie had mentioned heightened.

“He knows,” Marie said, glancing around the room. “We’d best hurry ’fore he comes to stop us.”

“He? Are you talking about Baron Samedi?”

“Yes. He rules this realm. He’s been after this candle since I arrived.”

“How have you kept it from him?”

“He can only have it if I offer it.”

Ingrid swallowed hard, fear spiking. “The creatures…”

“Are meant to intimidate me.”

Ingrid leaned her forehead against Marie’s. “How have you held out?” she whispered.

Marie’s large eyes filled with tears. She leaned away and sniffed. “I found the cabin my first day here. Abandoned. Waitin’ for me, I thought. I learned what I had to do to make myself safe. There are tools which I used as weapons the first night the creatures came.”

“What exactly are they?”

“Mindless fiends. The dead who’re under his spell.”

“Zombies?”

She smiled. “Even my mother could only control a zombie for so long before the spell waned. But these things, they’re relentless. They come with the night, wade through the waters, climb the porch and pound and pound until I’m nearly mad.”

Ingrid gazed at the walls. “The moss…”

“Muffles the sounds. Makes it possible for me to clear my mind while I wait.”

“Not to sleep?”

Marie gave a sharp shake of her head. “I never sleep. To sleep is to fall into his trap. In dreams, I never run fast enough. They catch me, devour me, inch by inch, until I awaken. Even then, I can still feel their teeth savagin’ my flesh.” Marie’s lips trembled. “No, I don’t sleep.”

Ingrid reached out her free hand to stroke Marie’s arm. “It sounds hideous.”

“He’s told me time and again that I can be saved. That he’ll trade this realm for another if only I’ll give him what he wants.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“It was my mother’s,” Marie said, shrugging as though she didn’t quite know the answer. “It was infused with her sex magick—after she drank the night creatures’ blood. When she made it, just before her death, she said I’d know when it was time to use it.”

Marie closed her eyes then opened them, lifting her gaze to the ceiling as tears trickled down her cheeks. “I’ve doubted myself so many times, thought I was maybe too stubborn, too proud—not until you arrived did I know what I must do.” She blinked then locked gazes with Ingrid again.

Ingrid released a deep breath then drew in another. The cabin rocked hard, nearly spilling her over. “Let’s do it now. Say what you want, Marie.”

“What of your wants, li’l witch?”

Ingrid’s lips twitched. “I want you to stop calling me that.”

One brow arched. “Then what should I say?”

“Call me Ingrid, or lover…” She shrugged. “Friend…”

Despite the noises, the shudders that felt as though the cabin would be ripped from its stilts, they both grew calm, stared deeply into each other’s eyes.

The wick sparked and crackled, a flame grew, burning straight despite the breeze whistling through the slats.

“I wish,” Marie began, then paused to lick her lips. “I wish to be with you. To walk from here with you. To spend what time I have, wherever…with you.”

“Let it be so,” Ingrid whispered.

The candle warmed, knobs softening, reshaping in their joined hands. It burned, but Marie never faltered. Neither did Ingrid, who curled her lips into a snarl as she felt her hand catch fire.

Then, just as suddenly as the flame had flared bright, it flickered out. Their fists remained unblistered, still joined.

Suddenly the room was doused in darkness except for the dying flutters of the lantern.

A door slammed in the distance. Feet stomped toward the bedroom door.

Ingrid didn’t dare look away from Marie’s wide stare. They held tight to the candle hardening in their grasps.

A crash sounded. The bedroom door splintered, exploding inward.

“Well, well,” came a deep voice, at once dry, rasping and crackling with anger. “Ma’man has been busy. She sends me presents, then fails to deliver ’em into my hands.”

Ingrid couldn’t help it—she tore her glance from Marie’s to stare up at the figment striding toward the bed.

He was tall, so slender he looked nearly skeletal, with skin stretched so tightly over prominent cheeks that she saw only shadow in the hollows beneath. His eyes were black and flat, the pupils narrow slits. It was the top hat, a crazy affectation, that identified him as Baron Samedi, loa of the dead.

“I’m not a present,” she said, lifting her chin and wondering where she found the courage to defy him. Maybe it was the last trace of vampire blood, maybe it was the trembling of Marie’s fist beneath hers. Whichever the cause, anger burst hot inside her.

“Not a present. Also not dead,” the loa said, leaning down to sniff the air around her. “How delicious.”

Ingrid narrowed her eyes. “Also not a meal. Your wife gave me access to this realm.”

“Do you think that protects you?” His thin mouth stretched wide. Large white teeth gleamed in the near darkness.

“I think she’s jealous of the time you’ve spent with Marie.”

His smile disappeared, replaced by a sneer. “My wife must learn her place. If she wishes to lure me to her side, she shouldn’t place such lovely temptations within mah reach.”

His hand rose and his thin, spindly fingers reached for Ingrid’s hair.

She jerked back. “You are not to touch me.”

His head canted. “Do you dare think you can command me?”

“I think that we have something you want.”

Marie coughed, but Ingrid refused to look her way.

“You’d barter with the mambo’s candle?” the baron drawled.

She hadn’t thought that far ahead, but his assumption held a glimmer of hope. “A trade. Two knobs and we’re returned to the crypt.”

He grunted. “All of it, and I let you leave. You alone.”

She shook her head. “The candle is charged—with her mama’s blood, with her sex magick and ours. Maybe I should use it now.”

His expression turned from irritation to reluctant admiration. Then his eyelids dipped. “And then you’ll have nothin’ left to take with you. Do you forget why you’re here?”

“Of course not, it’s why I can spare only part of the candle. It’s more than you will ever get from her,” Ingrid said, jerking her chin toward Marie, who sat with her head bowed before the loa.

Ingrid squeezed Marie’s hand, forcing her to meet her gaze. She widened her eyes at the other woman in silent warning.

Marie straightened her shoulders and gave her a subtle nod. “You’ll never have my mother’s candle. Not a single piece.”

The loa straightened. His gaze went from Marie to Ingrid. His horrible eyes narrowed to frightening slits. “Done.”

He agreed so quickly that Ingrid worried she’d done something wrong.

“We leave now,” he said, smiling.

“But it’s dark,” Marie gasped.

Ingrid dug her nails into Marie’s skin. “So long as we walk with him, we’ll be fine. Isn’t that right, Baron?”

The baron continued to smile. “Must keep up,” he said, his voice lilting strangely.

Ingrid shivered. “Let’s dress.”

The women dressed one at a time, the other clutching the candle securely in her hand. When they’d finished, Ingrid indicated for the baron to precede them out of the door, then swiped the lantern from the bedside table.

“Clutch my coat,” he said, turning his head to look over his shoulder. “Don’t let go—no matter what.”

Ingrid hesitated, remembering the warning from his wife. “Marie, you hold his coat. I’ll hold your hand.”

The baron sighed. “Did she tell you?

“Tell me what?”

“That with one touch, yo’ mine?”

Ingrid had never been so glad that for once, she’d followed instructions.

The baron strode toward the front door of the cabin. When he opened it and stepped through, Marie whimpered but didn’t let go of the tail of his long frock coat.

Ingrid’s eyes widened.

Even in the dim light from the sputtering lamp, she could see the gray-faced figures standing on the porch. Their heads swung her way, mouths agape, jagged teeth gleaming in the darkness.

Hands reached, but they swept past them, climbing down the rickety steps and into the black swamp below.

Chapter Four

Ingrid lost both shoes in the muck then her toes sank into slime. She tried not to think about what was in the waist-high water and held firm to Marie’s cold hand.

The zombielike creatures followed so closely she could hear their ugly grunts as they waded behind. With every step she feared she or Marie would slip and let go. Marie would survive, after a fashion, reborn to live the nightmare again.

She’d be dead. A ripe, fresh dinner for the ghoulish creatures. Her sisters would never know what had become of her.

Not that they were uppermost in her mind. Not now. She worried about what would happen when they reached the crypt. Whether the baron would try to trick them and whether Marie would really be allowed to cross. Ma’man had said she didn’t let go of what was hers.

At last the lantern sputtered out. They were plunged into pitch darkness. What had been horrific before was magnified, because her imagination filled the darkness with every horror she’d ever envisioned from movies and fairytales. When something slithered beneath her feet she cried out.

The baron laughed, his raspy, creaking voice just another layer of horror. The vampire blood she’d ingested was waning, losing its influence over her emotions. She no longer felt bold or brave. Once again she was just a fledgling witch, in over her head—no extra power or strength to rely on.

“Is it much farther, do you think?” Marie whispered.

“I’m not sure. Without landmarks…”

They trudged along, feet slurping in the mud, trying to ignore the host trailing them. Then the water receded. They stepped onto dry land.

“Must keep up,” the baron sang ahead.

Ingrid gritted her teeth, wanting to tell him his voice grated on every last one of her nerves, but then that was probably his intention.

Marie’s hand tightened. A warning? Or was she trying to reassure her? She didn’t know what to think of Marie. The woman had tricked her, used her hyped-up lust to entrap her. Perhaps Marie was only hoping to use her to free herself. Not that Ingrid could really blame her.

At this point she’d promise her left big toe to make it back to New Orleans.

Gradually she became aware that the sounds of insects had died away. The feet stomping behind them had slowed. A dim twilight showed through the dense brush and moss-bedecked trees.

“We made it,” Marie said softly.

“Don’t go thinking this is over,” Ingrid grumbled. “Hold on to him.”

Then they were in the clearing, with the mottled crypt looking smaller, shorter than she’d remembered. The wooden door at the back of the tomb was closed.

The baron halted and turned, pulling Marie’s arm with him. “You can let go now,” he murmured. “My pets are sleepin’.”

Marie’s fingers slowly unclenched. Her other hand remained firmly inside Ingrid’s.

Ingrid was fine with that. She wasn’t letting her go. Not until the bargain was complete.

The baron flashed them a toothy smile and tapped on the door. “No one home,” he rasped.

“Funny,” Ingrid mumbled.

“Ma’man would laugh,” he said, eyeing them both then shrugging. He held out his hand. “My payment.”

“Not until we’re on the other side.”

“I can’t go with you,” the baron said, his voice roughening with disapproval. “You have to enter it all by yourself—after you gimme my due.”

Ingrid feigned courage, lifting her chin. “I’ll toss you your piece of the candle once we’re through.”

He loomed over her, his tall body bending so his face hovered just above hers. “Why should I trust you’ll keep yo’ bargain?”

She raised a brow. “Do you really think I’m crazy enough to trick you?”

His chuckle began low and edgy, then built into a full belly laugh. He bent and slapped his knees, chortles echoing in the wilderness. “I like you, li’l witch.”

“I wish you all would stop calling me that.”

The baron’s laughter trailed off and he sighed. He tapped the door again and it swung slowly open.

“I’ll keep my promise, because Ma’man’d be angry with me for leadin’ y’all on this way. Besides, we too have a part in this battle you wage.”

Ingrid cocked her head to the side in silent question.

The baron lifted both shoulders. “There’s an order to things. As natural as livin’ and dyin’. Your Blood Countess isn’t…natural,” he said, shuddering. ”The harm she brings’d change things. I don’t like change. You’re free to go.” Again he held out his hand, his flat eyes gleaming.

Marie turned her head and gave Ingrid a nod. “He’s never lied to me.”

The baron bent over Marie, his dark eyes scanning her face. “I shall miss you, baby mambo. But beware. Some laws can’t be changed, no matter how much you wish.”

Ingrid’s stomach tightened into a knot. She’d known he’d given in too easily. There was something he wasn’t telling them. “She wished to come with me.”

“And so she shall,” he said, grinning.

“Give him his piece of the candle,” Marie said quietly, tugging her hand from inside Ingrid’s. She gave Ingrid the candle.

Ingrid held both ends and snapped it, thankful the wick broke in the middle as well. Then she held out his piece.

When his hand reached for it, she drew back sharply. “Flatten your palm.”

He snorted but did as she asked, and she dropped his portion of the candle into his palm without touching him. Turning on his heel, he began to walk away.

“What?” she shouted after him. “No thank-you? Are you even going to tell us why you needed it?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, gal, but I’m workin’ on a love spell. Ma’man neglects her duty. Thinks she doesn’t need me.” He tipped his hat and walked away, fading into the trees from one moment to the next.

The women turned back to the crypt.

“We should probably get going,” Ingrid said, but she didn’t move.

“Ça ne me plaît pas. Somethin’ doesn’t feel right,” Marie said, her voice sounding stilted, distant.

“What wasn’t he telling us? Do you know?”

Marie shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. “I’m afraid.”

“So am I. Let’s give it a try.” Ingrid stepped through the door, into the inky darkness, then held out her hand for Marie.

Marie reached out and stepped inside. Ingrid walked to the far side of the crypt. The doggie door stood open, moonlight beckoned. “You go first,” she said, stepping to the side.

Marie bent but her head banged against something solid—and invisible. She pulled back, her eyes wide and frightened. “I can’t cross it.”

Ingrid’s stomach sank to her toes. “He promised,” she whispered, shaking her head. “But what exactly did he say?”

“A trade,” she said dully. “Two knobs and we are returned to the crypt. But he also said that some laws can’t be changed. No matter how much we wish.” A tear tumbled down one soft cheek.

“Let’s go back. I have to think.” Ingrid stepped over the body bags, and out of the door into the clearing, then glanced around. She saw a thick branch and went to retrieve it.

With Marie watching her, questions in her eyes, Ingrid wedged the branch in the door. “We don’t have to leave this very second.”

“We aren’t leaving, chérie.” Marie sighed, relief evident in her small, crimped smile. “I’m glad we have a little more time. It’s selfish, I know.”

Ingrid’s throat burned with unshed tears. “It’s not selfish.”

“I wish we’d met another time,” she said, her voice so sad Ingrid’s chest tightened.

“I’m happy I got the chance to know you,” Ingrid said, her tone gruff. She stepped closer, tipped Marie’s chin toward hers and kissed her mouth.

When they ended the kiss they remained close, gazing into one another’s eyes. Ingrid slid her fingers through the thick hair at the back of Marie’s nape and cradled her head. Then she moved close enough that their breasts plumped together—a comforting sensation rather than a sexual one.

“It’s not fair,” she whispered harshly.

And it wasn’t close enough. She pulled the ribbon at the neck of Marie’s frock, loosening the fabric, then trailed kisses along her prominent collarbone and down to the tops of her soft breasts.

“You should go. The door…” Marie said, her voice a soft moan.

“Will wait. I can’t.”

Together they peeled away their clothing, knowing it might be the last time, until they both stood nude. They knelt on the spongy earth.

Ingrid pressed her hand against the center of Marie’s chest, urging her to lie flat, then crawled between her legs, cupped her buttocks and bent over her pussy. “I’ll dream about this for a long, long time.”

She snaked her tongue between the mambo’s folds and groaned as flavors, spicy and salty, filled her mouth. Knowing they didn’t have all the time in the world in this realm to love each other, Ingrid burrowed in, sinking her tongue into Marie’s cunt, feathering the pretty, thin inner lips with light caresses, then sinking again and again until Marie’s belly began to float up and down.

She forked her fingers at the top of Marie’s folds, exposed the hard nubbin and latched her lips around it, drawing hard while she thrust three fingers inside her pussy, swirling them, drawing down her moist excitement.

Marie’s hips rocked, jerking upward, enticing Ingrid to thrust deeper. Ingrid pulled free, pressed her fingers tightly together and folded her thumb into her palm, then pushed inside again, wriggling her hand inward while Marie bounced her bottom on the ground.

Soft, breathy sobs accompanied each jerk of her hips, tearing at Ingrid’s heart. Anger swept through her—at the baron, at fate. The one woman—no, the one person she was meant for—would be denied her.

It’s not fucking fair!

She pressed her fist deeper, suckled harder, anger and elation blending when she heard Marie’s tight scream and felt the gentle convulsions clasping tightly around her hand. As Marie’s movements waned, Ingrid pulled free, kissed her lover’s mound, licked the cream glistening on her lips, then laid her head atop her belly until they both stopped shaking.

Marie’s fingers combed her hair, trailed over her cheek then tipped up her chin. Her eyes were wet. “It’s time, lover. You must go.”

Ingrid scooted up Marie’s body to share one last kiss. When their mouths parted, she tucked her face into the corner of her neck. “I love you.”

“And I love you,” Marie whispered, her voice shaking.

“I wish…” But she shook her head, unable to give voice to the thought because she knew she’d start crying and she wanted to be strong.

I wish I could bind you to me, bring you with me.

The moment she finished the thought, searing heat flushed through her veins. Her gums tingled. Her eyeteeth slid down.

Unable to fight instinct, she sank them into Marie’s soft, warm neck.

Marie cried out. Blood spilled into Ingrid’s mouth. Marie clutched her shoulders, not to shove her away, but to embrace her.

When she’d drunk deeply, she pulled away, watching as the wound she’d made faded and disappeared. Only smudges of dried blood remained on Marie’s neck.

Marie’s wide eyes met hers. “What just happened?”

“I wished that we could be together.” She swallowed hard. “Do you think this is the answer?”

“Your teeth!”

Ingrid ran her tongue across the two sharp fangs. “Let’s go with it.” She raised her wrist to her mouth, sliced it with her fangs then held it to Marie’s mouth. “It tastes like shit, but drink, baby. Drink as much as you can.”

Marie latched on to her wrist, her gaze locking with Ingrid’s, and suctioned blood from her open vein. Her brown eyes widened and she drew harder, pulling, leaving Ingrid lightheaded.

At last Marie licked her skin, sealing the wound. When she let her head drop to the ground there was blood smeared on her mouth.

“Let’s see if it worked,” Ingrid said, grabbing her hand and rising.

They dressed in seconds, then returned to the door and sped through the tomb to the far side. Ingrid crawled through the door first then reached inside for Marie.

Marie hesitated for a moment, then firmed her lips, grabbed for Ingrid’s hand, gripped the edge of the opening and forced her way through, dropping to the ground beside Ingrid.

The pair sat, backs against the crypt, and dragged in deep, ragged breaths.

“You still have the candle?” Marie asked.

Ingrid dug into her jeans pocket and pulled out the three knobs they had left. “We have to move fast. Time has meaning here.”

Marie’s smile was blinding, white teeth gleaming in the moonlight. Her head fell back and she laughed, hands pressed against her belly.

Ingrid watched her, grinning, knowing exactly how she felt. Freedom sang inside her heart. A heart they now shared. She stood and offered her hand.

Marie grasped it and let Ingrid drag her up to stand, wiping tears of joy from her cheeks with her free hand. “I can’t believe this. How did you know?”

“I didn’t. I made my wish then followed my gut. I’m guessing that neither the baron nor Ma’man rule the undead.”

“Mon Dieu! That’s what we are now?”

Ingrid shrugged. “I have the fangs. They took a while to drop.”

Marie grunted. “I feel…”

“Invincible?”

Marie nodded. “Like I could conquer the world.” She held her arms wide and turned in a circle, her thin frock clinging to her womanly curves.

“Don’t let it go to your head. We aren’t gods.”

Marie’s smile was wide, carefree. Beautiful. Her arms dropped. “You’re right. We have a nasty vampire to defeat.”

Ingrid arched a brow. “We, huh?”

Marie’s proud face sobered. “Wherever you go… That’s the bargain you made.”

“Saying I’m stuck with you now?”

“For as long as we both shall live.”

Ingrid held still. “Sounds like a promise.”

Marie cupped her cheeks then leaned close to give her a quick kiss. “Forever, mon amour.”

Ingrid turned her head to press a kiss against Marie’s palm. “Let’s start with just tonight.” She backed up a step and turned. “Catch me,” she said, then ran down the sidewalk, through the rows of silent tombs.

Laughter trailed behind her, but so did the sound of bare feet slapping. They’d have to head to Magda’s first, but afterward…

Ingrid ran for the brick wall, crouched then sailed over it to land on the sidewalk.

Marie landed beside her, still grinning, not the slightest bit winded. “I didn’t know I could do that.”

A car honked in the distance, and Marie’s head jerked toward the sound, eyes rounding.

Ingrid giggled. “Oh, this is going to be so much fun.”

About the Authors

Delilah Devlin dated a Samoan, a Venezuelan, a Turk, a Cuban and was engaged to a Greek before marrying her Irishman. She’s lived in Saudi Arabia, Germany and Ireland, but calls Texas home for now. Ever a risk taker, she lived in the Saudi Peninsula during the Gulf War, thwarted an attempted abduction by white slave traders, and survived her children’s juvenile delinquency.

Creating alter egos for herself in the pages of her books enables her to live new adventures. Since discovering the sinful pleasure of erotica, she writes to satisfy her need for variety—it keeps her from running away with the Indian working in the cubicle beside her!

In addition to writing erotica, she enjoys creating romantic comedies and suspense novels.

Paisley Smith is a full-time freelance writer and can usually be found in front of her computer either writing, chatting, promoting or plotting.

A true southern belle, Paisley enjoys all things feminine, such as the perfect shade of lipstick, a pair of killer heels and a sexy, confident woman.

Sneak a peek at Paisley’s site to see what she’s up to.

The authors welcome comments from readers. You can find their websites and email addresses on their author bio pages at www.ellorascave.com.

Tell Us What You Think

We appreciate hearing reader opinions about our books. You can email us at Comments@EllorasCave.com.

Also by Delilah Devlin & Paisley Smith

Bitten in the Big Easy

Also by Delilah Devlin

1-800-DOM-help: Begging for It

Altered States: Unleashing the Tiger

Arctic Dragon

Bad, Bad Girlfriend

Desire: Garden of Desire

Desire: Prisoner of Desire

Desire: Slave of Desire

Ellora’s Cavemen: Jewels of the Nile I anthology

Ellora’s Cavemen: Legendary Tails III anthology

Ellora’s Cavemen: Seasons of Seduction I anthology

Ellora’s Cavemen: Tales from the Temple III anthology

Frannie ‘n’ the Private Dick

Fun With Dick and Jayne

Handy Men

Jacq’s Warlord with Myla Jackson

Jane’s Wild Weekend

Lion in the Shadows

Lockdown

My Immortal Knight: A Long Howl Good Night

My Immortal Knight: All Hallows Heartbreaker

My Immortal Knight: All Knight Long

My Immortal Knight: First Knight

My Immortal Knight: Knight of My Dreams

My Immortal Knight: Love Bites

My Immortal Knight: My Sweet Succubus

My Immortal Knight: Relentless

My Immortal Knight: Silver Bullet

My Immortal Knight: Uncovering Navarro

Raw Silk

Ride a Cowboy

Silent Knight

Sin’s Gift

The Pleasure Bot

Warlord’s Destiny

Witch’s Choice

Print books by Delilah Devlin

A Hot Man is the Best Revenge anthology

Altered States anthology

Desire: Pirate’s Desire anthology

Dial B for Bondage anthology

Ellora’s Cavemen: Jewels of the Nile I anthology

Ellora’s Cavemen: Legendary Tails III anthology

Ellora’s Cavemen: Seasons of Seduction I anthology

Ellora’s Cavemen: Tales from the Temple III anthology

Fated Mates anthology

Feral Fixation anthology

Jacq’s Warlord with Myla Jackson

My Immortal Knight: Endless Knight anthology

My Immortal Knight: Silver Shadow anthology

My Immortal Knight: Twice Bitten

Red Stilettos anthology

Royal Bondage anthology

Running Wild anthology

Un, Deux, Trois, Menage! anthology

Veiled Alliance anthology

White Hot Holidays Volume 3 anthology

Also by Paisley Smith

Beyond Curious

Birthday Girl

First Taste

Nurse Lovette

Soft Swap

Ellora’s Cave Publishing

www.ellorascave.com

Charmed in the Big Easy

ISBN 9781419936739

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Charmed in the Big Easy Copyright © 2012 Delilah Devlin & Paisley Smith

Edited by Kelli Collins & Rebecca Hill

Cover design by Syneca

Photography: MaxFX abd Ed Metz

Electronic book publication June 2012

The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.

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