Page 30 of Bewitched By the Djinn
I wave him off. “It’s not important. This way. We’re nearly there.”
He studies me for a moment before falling into step beside me. “Who is this person who can track magic? Are they a mortal?”
We take another turn, the street narrowing. The neon buzz of a beer sign flickers from a bar nearby, and the scent of incense drifts from a shop selling tarot cards and crystals.
“Not entirely,” I say.
Bennet glances at me, suspicious. “What kind of being are they?”
I stop in front of a black and white sign hanging above a heavy wooden door. Words in an elegant script stand out starkly against the dark background.
Boutique du Vampyre.
His brows furrow. “Vampyre?”
I grin. “Welcome to New Orleans.”
The small store is cluttered with shelves and displays, leaving only a few narrow aisles to navigate. A pair of twenty-something blondes, dressed in black and dripping with silver jewelry, browse the selection: books on witchcraft, black and purple candles, decorative coffins meant to be hung on walls, bat earrings, vervain necklaces, and clothing—mostly black, with excessive amounts of lace and leather.
I ignore the merchandise and head straight for the bearded guy behind the counter. He wears thick, black-framed glassesand a studded choker, his nose buried in a book titledInitiation into Witchcraft.
“Hi there. I need to know where the vamp is this week.” I keep my voice low.
Bennet steps up beside me, his attention drawn to a grotesque blue demon head sculpture mounted on the wall behind the clerk.
Without removing his eyes from his book, the clerk plucks a card from a stack on the counter and slides it toward me. “Fritzel’s. Courtyard in the back. Tell him Dracula sent you.”
“No, I’m not looking for the tourist attraction.” I lower my voice further. “I need to find the white vamp.”
His eyes finally lift to mine, sharp with recognition. Then, without missing a beat, he calls toward the back of the store. “Richard!”
“Shit,” I mutter.
A door in the rear swings open so fast it smacks against the wall. “Well, well, well. Cassandra, my darling.” Richard emerges, grinning like the devil he is. He points at me, twirling a ring-laden finger in the air, his nose wrinkling in mock dismay. “That’s an interesting choice for a visit to your favorite auntie. Laundry day?”
“Auntie?” Bennet murmurs.
I shake my head. “Friend of the family.”
Richard is short—no taller than Kevin—but what he lacks in stature, he makes up for in presence. His shock of white hair barely crests the shelving unit next to him, but his bright blue suit more than compensates, shimmering under the dim lighting. The black silk shirt beneath it is open just enough to reveal an opulent gold chain. With the dramatic blue eyeshadow dusted across his lids and the swipe of his glossy red lipstick, he’s like a flamboyant, wizardy Papa Smurf. In one hand, he clutchesa glossy cane topped with a gleaming gold handle, which he taps against the floor as he approaches.
His face is unlined, his nose a little too large for his features but somehow suiting him. I don’t know how old he is. Mimi swears he hasn’t changed a bit since she met him, over forty years ago.
“Hi, Richard.” I pointedly ignore the jab about my outfit.
“Cassandra, my dear, it’s been ages.” His voice is high and lilting. He taps toward me, his heeled shoes clicking against the floor, and leans forward, kissing me on both cheeks. “You never come to see me anymore.”
“I saw you last month.”
Richard waves a dismissive hand. “That was ages ago and it was for work and not play. Come, come.” He spins on a heel, heading back through the dark doorway he emerged from. “Bring your friend.”
I jerk my head at Bennet to follow. “Brace yourself,” I warn him as we step toward the gaping blackness where Richard disappeared.
“For what?”
“Literally anything.”
Richard is powerful and strange, and every time I meet with him, I’m left with more questions than answers. He’s a master illusionist—his magic can make you see whatever he wants you to see. But that’s not all. He’s been around a long time and picked up spells from all over, particularly from New Orleans’s deep well of magic. Mom used to tell me stories about how he studied under voodoo queens, how he could change the way people perceived reality itself. Mimi met him years ago at a Mardi Gras ball, one of those exclusive affairs where people form “krewes” and carry on like royalty for a night. They got put on the same float and ended up sharing a flask of magical booze.
