Spells: A Bayou Magic Novel, стр. 43
I look over at the man my baby sister still loves. He doesn’t seem to be shocked by what just happened in the least.
“I don’t need the spell,” he says.
“You’ll get one all the same,” I reply, my voice leaving no room for argument. “Your magic is stronger with ours rather than alone.”
“My magic is lost to me,” he replies.
“All the more reason for the spell, then.”
Chapter Nineteen
“They bothered me, so I decided to kill them.”
--Della Sorenson
He’s quite pleased with tonight’s search. It was time for a new toy. At first, no one in the bar interested him. Most were too fat or didn’t wear glasses. But just when he was about to call it a night, the perfect specimen walked through the door.
Already a little drunk, this toy was having a good time with his friends. In town for a bachelor party, he’d said.
Slipping the belladonna into the toy’s beer hadn’t been a problem at all. And suggesting that they leave the bar together was met with lusty delight.
For both of them.
Of course, for different reasons, but it’s always easier to take the toy when they’re willing, especially now that Horace is in this new, weaker body. If the toy can walk under his own power, all the better.
This one is strong. More muscles than he usually looks for, but the right height, with brown hair, and even wearing the right glasses. Yes, he’s absolutely perfect.
“We’re going to have so much fun,” he assures the toy as he unlocks the door of his new playhouse and leads him inside. “Just back here.”
“You know, I’m not feeling so good.”
Horace grins as he watches the toy press his hand to his head in confusion.
“Come on now, Lucien, you just need to rest.” Horace leads the toy to his playroom and helps him lie down on the mattress he has on the floor, across from the other toys’ beds.
This one is going to be special.
The toy passes out in just the knick of time, and Horace smiles gleefully.
Yes, everything is going just as planned. He’s feeling more and more like himself, stronger every day—certainly, more confident.
Suddenly, pain sears through him, sending him to his knees. He holds his head and tries to cast a healing spell, but the pain is too incessant to concentrate on the words.
He rests his forehead against the floor, and suddenly, images of the six race through his mind. Together. Holding hands.
They’re together, is his only thought as the pain racks his body from head to toe.
It’s too soon. It’s too fucking soon.
Suddenly, the pain leaves as quickly as it came, and Horace is able to sit back on his haunches and take a deep breath.
The new toy moans.
As Horace turns his head to look at him, the toy swings his leg out and kicks Horace in the chest, sending him back on his ass.
Horace reaches for his workbench, and as the still-disoriented toy writhes on the floor, trying to get to his feet, Horace retrieves a knife, grabs the toy by the hair, and slices his throat, from ear to ear.
“Damn it,” Horace growls. “This isn’t how it was supposed to be, Lucien.”
He hurries to grab a bucket and tucks it under the toy’s neck, trying to catch every drop of blood.
“I had such fun things in store for you. And now you’ve ruined it.”
They’ve all ruined it.
As the body bleeds out into the bucket, Horace stomps to the bathroom and stares at himself in the mirror.
“You’re so fucking weak. Just a woman. I knew better than to take a fucking woman. You can’t be trusted, just like the rest. And now, you’re going to ruin everything because you’re not strong enough.”
His lip curls as he snarls at his own reflection.
“I took you because you were always strong. Always so sure and ready for a fight. And now look at you. Well, you won’t get away with this. You’ll need to be punished for your weakness, just like my girls need to be punished for theirs.”
Chapter Twenty Lucien
I’ve just finished stripping the last molecule of blood off the bloodstone collected from the body Millie found in front of her shop, and the test result is in.
The blood is from the same person as the others.
All four stones are lined up on my table, side by side. They’re roughly the same size. Green in color—jasper—with veins of red hematite running through the smooth surface.
Hence why they’re called bloodstones.
I sent samples off from each one for DNA testing, but those results still aren’t in. So, while I know the blood came from the same person, I won’t be able to say who that person is until those results come back.
And even then, unless the owner of the DNA is in the system for some reason, we may not be able to figure it out.
It’s fucking frustrating as Hades.
I strip off my latex gloves and toss them into the trash, then pace my lab. Why the bloodstones? These are new. I don’t remember Horace using them in any previous lifetime.
What is the significance? I know that for Wiccans, a bloodstone can be used for protection, courage, and even as an aphrodisiac.
The thought of that son of a bitch leaving a stone as an aphrodisiac for any of the sisters makes me sick.
But the protection idea might not be far off.
Without thinking, I reach out and pick up one of the stones. It’s cool beneath my fingers. Smooth. And suddenly, I feel sick to my stomach. Nausea rolls over me in waves so badly, I have to set the stone down and run for the trashcan, barely making it in time to heave my guts out.
When I’m able to catch my breath, I rinse out my mouth and eye the stones.
I choose another stone to pick up, and almost immediately