Christmas Brew (Witches of New Orleans #2)

1. What Now?

CHAPTER 1

What Now?

“ R ose, you know you don’t have to work here, right?” Simon says, staring at my coffee-stained apron. “You own this place, for God’s sake.”

“Thank you, Captain Obvious. I don’t know what I’d do without your words of wisdom.”

He scoffs. “I realize hearing common sense from a sixteen-year-old is rare, however, it seems that you don’t think of these things on your own.”

Twirling the damp towel in my hands, I pop him on the thigh.

“Ouch! That’s harassment.” He laughs, holding his leg dramatically.

“Go home, Simon. I’ve got this.”

“Damn, you’re bossy. But you don’t have to tell me twice.”

I watch as the favorite of my three employees leaves the coffee shop. The shop I purchased a few months back after receiving more money than I ever imagined having from an aunt I never knew existed.

Absentmindedly, I rub her crystal that’s hung around my neck since finding it hidden high in a hollow tree in the middle of the swamp behind her house—behind my house. It still doesn’t feel real. Two months ago, I was a broke college student, weeks away from being kicked out of her apartment. Today, I own a coffee shop, my tuition is paid in full, and I own a house in the bayous of New Orleans. It’s amazing how quickly life takes you for a new ride.

It doesn’t take long to clean up the morning mess. With Simon and I both working, we were able to stay on top of the orders, which makes it much easier to clean up. He’s right. I don’t have to work here, but I enjoy it. I’ll never admit that to another living soul.

Locking the door behind me, I head toward my favorite store in the French Quarter. Annabelle’s Tarot is open and full of tourists. Christmas in the Quarter is beautiful, at least it is now. The city has spent the past few years updating the decorations by lighting each tree and lamp post throughout the area, all in the name of “making our city more than a place to get drunk.” I laugh at the statement our illustrious mayor made last year in an attempt to draw in more wholesome tourism. No matter how it’s painted, New Orleans will always be New Orleans—the Big Easy. Honestly, something is working. The crowds this holiday season are as busy as summer, and there are definitely more families than our usual tourists.

“Welcome to our Christmas Open House,” Annabelle greets me without looking up from the register. “If you have any questions, feel free to ask.” Most of the crowd filling the store are carrying several bags from businesses all around the Quarter. From the looks of Annabelle’s hair, she’s had a busy day of holiday shoppers.

She looks up from her register, realizing it’s me. “Rose!” Stepping from behind the register, she moves in front of me and wraps her short arms around me, pulling me tightly to her oversized chest. “It’s good to see a familiar face. How is the spell work coming along?” she whispers for my ears only.

I laugh awkwardly. “It’s coming.” Along with the house and money, Aunt Margaret left me a long legacy of witches and a magical power that I’m struggling to learn how to control.

“Good.” She winks. “You know I’m here if you need anything.”

“I do. Thank you.” I don’t even know enough to know what to ask.

A woman, wearing a bright red sweater moves to our side. Plastered on the front of the sweater is a witch with a Santa hat and beard, along with the words, I smell children…and cookies. I appreciate the pun but resist the urge to roll my eyes. “Excuse me.” She holds a synthetic chicken foot toward Annabelle. “I would like to perform an unbinding spell for my ex-boyfriend and me. Is this what I need?”

Annabelle’s eyes grow several sizes. “No, ma’am. Let me show you our candles and twine.” She ushers the woman away, who’s muttering something about WitchTok as they move toward the candle section.

I spend the next few minutes running my hands across the merchandise. This store was special to me even before I knew I was a witch. Being in here relaxed me and strangely brought comfort. It still does.

Catching Annabelle’s eye, I wave goodbye as she tries to convince her customer that what she sees on social media isn’t always the best way to perform a spell. From the look on her face, she’s close to giving up the effort.

Back on the street, the sidewalks are busy, surrounding me with smells and energy from people in all walks of life. December in New Orleans is like September everywhere else. The temperatures are in the high 60s, yet the high humidity stays in place, slapping me in the face with moisture. Tourists from the North don’t seem to mind or notice. Even through the city's best efforts, most come down here to party, making the weather the least of their worries.

Working my way through the crowd, I spot my bright red Mustang GT, another inherited item from my aunt, in the only parking lot with available spaces this morning. The engine roars to life as I click the button on my remote. The sound is music to my ears. Going from an ancient Volvo to a sports car has healed my inner race car driver.

I climb inside before realizing there’s a white rose on my windshield. “Not today, kidnappers. Your girl wasn’t born yesterday.” Flipping the wipers on, the rose launches into the empty parking space next to me, leaving a trail of petals in its wake. “You’ve got to be more clever than…”

The Mustang jolts sideways as something barrels into the side of it. “What the hell? Not the ’stang.” Looking for the asshat that just hit me, it doesn’t take long to realize there are no other cars nearby. I reach for the handle, ready to reprimand whoever’s out there, when a burning sensation draws my attention away from my car and to my neck. I grab the crystal amulet, handed down by Aunt Margaret, and realize it’s the source of the pain.

Pulling as hard as possible, I pull the black cord holding the amulet around my neck, hoping to break it. Instead of releasing, the cord pulls tighter, holding the amulet closer to my skin. As quickly as it began, the heat disappears.

“Hello?” an older woman greets me through the front glass. “You alright in there?” Her words are muffled through the closed windows.

I take a few breaths before trying to answer. Whatever happened has passed, and the crystal feels cool to the touch. Hell, I probably imagined the whole thing. I roll my window down, smiling to hide my confusion. “I’m good. Thank you.”

“You sure? That car was shakin’ all over the place.”

She’s wearing a heavy winter coat, way too hot for the temperature. Her hair is matted and dirty, and her gaunt face is bruised in several places. “There was a roach in my car.” I laugh awkwardly with my lie.

The woman laughs with me. “Back in my day, we used to smoke ‘em, not dance with ‘em.”

“Yeah, okay. Thank you for that.” I start rolling the window up when a thought hits me. “Did you see anyone else? Someone that may have hit my car?”

“I seen somethin’, but I see things all the time. Doctor says it’s the medicine. ”

“What did you see?” My voice is no louder than a whisper.

Her face turns serious. “You really want to know?”

“I do.”

She looks around, nervously searching the empty parking lot. “It’s gone now.”

“What was it? ”

The woman laughs. “It was one of them sneaky bastards.”

I stare, not sure how to respond. “Sneaky bastard?”

“Hell, I don’t know what they’re called. I just know they’re annoyin’ as hell. That one slammed into your car and disappeared.”

“Thank you.” I hand the woman the handful of cash tips I received this morning serving coffee.

“Do I look like I need your money?” She crosses her arms in front of her chest.

“No, I apologize if I offended you. I was paying for your information.”

“Hmph,” she grunts, counting through the bills. “My information is usually worth more than this.”

Reaching into my purse, I grab the only cash that’s inside, handing it to her. “You’re right. Thank you…”

“Bessie. My name is Bessie.” She counts the cash in her hand. “Thank you, girl. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“You weren’t rude,” I lie, slipping my seat belt over my lap. “Ms. Bessie?”

“Mhm?” she mumbles, still counting.

“Do you see other things besides these sneaky bastards ?”

“I see more than I want to.” She shoves the cash deep inside her bra. “I gotta go.” The woman is gone in the blink of an eye.

I sit in the parking lot a few minutes more, not sure what to think of our conversation. Did Bessie see something I can’t, or is her doctor correct, and the medicine gives her hallucinations?

Driving the few miles out of the Quarter, I head out of the city and toward my new-to-me home on the bayou. The energy of home hits me before the spires come into sight. I work my way down the long drive toward the perfectly manicured lawn and yard. I don’t know where Drake, the handyman and friend I inherited with the house, is working, but from the looks of the freshly trimmed bushes and grass, today is a yard day.

The rumble of the Mustang echoes off the metal walls of the garage on the side of the property. Finally, in the safety of my solace, I jump out, searching for any damage to the car. Other than a few scratches, there are no large dents. No paint chips. No nothing. If I didn’t know better, I’d think whatever happened was my imagination.

“Hey, Rose,” Drake greets me by the sunroom door. He’s shirtless and, even in the cooler temperatures, covered in sweat.

“Hey.” I scrunch my forehead. “Why are you so sweaty?

Drake looks at his arms. “It was hot.”

I huff a laugh. “Whatever, Drakester. It’s not that hot. You look like you just ran a marathon.”

“How was work?”

“It was good. Are you hungry?” I don’t tell him about Ms. Bessie or whatever she saw. Part of me feels like it was the ramblings of an old lady, while the other part isn’t sure what to tell.

“I could eat. Thanks, Rose.”

“Don’t get used to it.” I smile after repeating the same words I’ve said daily for the past month and a half. Truthfully, I don’t mind fixing food for Drake. He’s been a great help around here, and being a witch himself, he’s been able to help me try and figure out my abilities. I’m a work in progress.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he answers his usual response, returning the smile. “I’ll be by the dock. Holler when it’s ready.”

Inside the kitchen, I pull on the only spell I’ve mastered—instant manifestation. “Thank you for the ingredients to make hot ham and cheese sandwiches.” I turn, finding the exact items needed to make our lunch.

Performing her usual duty, my black-and-white companion, Hecate, jumps to the counter with a soft meow. I love the four-legged fur ball, but she has a magical way of judging everything I do. Even without words, she’s my worst critic.

“Hey, girl. How’s your morning been?” She sneezes loudly in response. “That good, huh?” Hecate moves straight to my hand, sniffing it like a dog. “What are you doing?” I pull my hand away as she latches her jaws around me, keeping it in place.

“It’s going to be hard to fix lunch with my hand in your mouth. You want to tell me what’s going on?” She backs up on the counter, pulling me along with her until running out of counter space. She turns, leaping onto the heavy table in the middle of the room, and moves straight to a large book sitting in the center, my family grimoire.

Her meow is aggressive as she paws at the thick cover. “I’m sorry, girl. I don’t speak cat.” Pulling the cover open for her, her tiny paw touches the corner of the pages, turning page after page until reaching the one she wants. She stops on a blank page, staring at the emptiness like it should make sense to me.

“Hecate, I don’t know what you’re trying to tell me.” If cats could sigh, I’d swear she does. “Maybe we should search for a spell to make you speak. Or, I know, maybe some of those buttons that animals are using to talk. They push the button to say the words they want.”

The black-and-white cat jumps down with a loud sound, clearly annoyed with her owner. “You’re not the first nor will you be the last I disappoint!” I call after her as she makes her escape into the living area.

I’m pulling the sandwiches from the oven when a loud peck on the glass echoes through the kitchen, making me jump. “Dammit, Odin. You’ve got to stop doing that.” I manage to hold onto the glass baking dish, setting it on the stovetop. The moment I open the back door, he flies inside with a loud caw.

“Hello to you, too.” I follow him to the kitchen table. “To what do I owe the honor of your visit?” Odin was my great-aunt’s familiar. He found his way back from the spirit world just in time to help find the amulet and fight JJ, otherwise known as Jonathan Oswald, the lawyer from hell. I absentmindedly rub the amulet hanging around my neck at the memory, remembering his desire to own the crystal .

Odin moves toward the grimoire, pecking at the pages then cawing loudly. “Do you and Hecate communicate telepathically somehow?” I scoff at the large raven. Moving toward the ancestral book, I realize he’s turned the page from a blank page to one with a spell.

“Invisibility,” I read aloud. “You want me to do this spell? Why?”

The back door opens, and Drake walks through. Instead of being covered in sweat like before, his face and hands are covered in mud, and his clothes are soaking wet. “You good?” I ask my filthy friend.

“Yeah.” He laughs. “I fell into the swamp.”

I can’t hold in my laughter. “You fell?”

“In my defense, I was just standing there, looking at the water, when it felt like something pushed me from behind.” Odin caws loudly in response. “I know, bud.” Drake turns toward me. “Do you mind if I take a quick shower before lunch?”

“Of course not. In fact, I think it’s a great idea.” On cue, the glass dish holding our lunch falls to the tile floor, shattering on impact. “What the hell?” Across the room, the small bookshelf, holding mostly cookbooks along with a few spell books, shakes, knocking some of the contents to the floor.

“Rose? What’s going on?” Odin caws at Drake’s words, pointing to the page he opened the grimoire to moments earlier.

“A series of unfortunate events?”

Drake moves to the grimoire, reading the open page. “Shit. ”

I move to his side, reading over his shoulder. “What’s an imp ?”

“Imps are mischievous little bastards that have no business being in this house.” He speaks the last part loudly.

“What…how…why would an imp be in this house? Are the protection spells not working?”

“They’re working. I’m guessing just not against imps. Did anything strange happen this morning? Maybe one followed you home.”

“So, now there’s an imp distribution system?”

Drake laughs. “No, they usually only hang around witches or people with magic.”

My mind goes back to the parking lot and Ms. Bessie. “Something did happen.” I relay the information about the Mustang feeling like it was hit and Bessie’s words. “Do you think an imp could’ve been what I felt in the parking lot?”

He shrugs. “Any imps I’ve ever read about are close in size to Hecate. I don’t think one would be able to move an entire car.” He holds his finger to his lips, and I nod in response. “In fact, imps are nothing more than ugly little creatures searching out companionship in any way they know how. Most of the time, it’s just annoying a human or an occasional witch. If you ask me, they’re just lower-level creatures without any friends.”

Just as Drake finishes his words, glass jars holding dried herbs and spices fly off the cabinet where they’ve been held safely for years.

“Show yourself,” Drake demands. “You’re here for a reason. Make it known.” Across the room, another loud crash echoes off the walls.

Odin caws, and Hecate runs into the room just as the energy shifts. What felt comfortable and familiar moments earlier is now full of charged energy. The hairs on my arm stand at attention, anticipating what’s about to happen.

“Be ready,” Drake warns, moving to my side.

“For what?” Odin lands on my shoulder, spreading his wings behind my head and making himself larger than life, while Hecate stands at my legs, her hair standing on end.

In the middle of the kitchen, a swirling ball of white light forms. The light grows from the size of a penny to the diameter of a ball. I have no idea what’s happening, but I refuse to pull my eyes away from the spectacle.

With a soft pop, the light disappears, and a small man stands in its place. He’s wearing the smallest three-piece suit I’ve ever seen. His pure white hair is perfectly styled, and other than an oversized nose, his features look human. Hecate hisses, moving away from my legs.

“Drake? What…?”

“Name’s Zeke,” the tiny man answers, straightening his coat.

I clear my throat. “Zeke, why are you in my house?”

“I’m here to help.” He smiles, showing a toothy grin.

Hecate jumps, heading straight toward the tiny man. Zeke leaps into the air, landing on the countertop, holding one of the cooking knives protectively in front of him. I don’t know how he grabbed it that quickly.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he warns. “But I will protect myself. ”

Hecate follows him to the countertop, moving dangerously close to the knife-wielding threat. “Hecate. Leave him.” She turns, hissing in my direction.

“Answer the question,” Drake warns. “Why are you in the house?”

Zeke answers without taking his eyes off the cat. “I told you I was here to help.”

“I don’t need your help,” I retort.

Hecate resumes her stalking toward the tiny man. “Call her off!” he demands. “Dammit, I hate cats.”

I move closer to the battling duo. “I’m going to ask one more time. Why are you here?”

My cat lunges toward the man, swiping a claw at his body. “Margaret sent me!” he yells.