Page 66 of Bewitched By the Djinn
Richard shoots me a look. “You know, Cassie, darling, you’ve gotten yourself tangled up in something real deep this time.”
I snort. “Yeah, no kidding.”
Richard tilts his head, his expression unusually thoughtful. “Magic’s been shifting. I’ve felt it—whispers in the wind, dreams pulling at the edges of reality. You’re not walking blind into this, are you?”
“We’re looking for Helen. The swamp witches told us where to find her.”
Richard hums. “And they charged you for it, didn’t they?” His gaze flicks to Bennet, sharp and measuring. “I’m guessing the price wasn’t cheap.”
Bennet’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t answer.
The swamp thins as we drift on, the boat moving faster and faster, the dark waters expanding around us.
“Mind the bump.”
The boat lurches, like we’ve run over a giant log or wave. I stumble into Bennet, his arms wrapping around me while he braces against the rail.
The swamp and mist have disappeared. We’re on the Mississippi, near Woldenberg Park, right in the thick of the city. The sun beats down overhead. Did we lose time again? It is no longer morning, but midday at least.
“Will you take us toward the Garden District?” It’s just up and around the bend.
“As you wish, darling.”
A few minutes later, we’ve exited the boat and Richard glides away, yelling out, “Call me!” on the breeze with a dramatic wave. His boat vanishes back into whatever strange existence he operates in.
Bennet and I step onto the sidewalk. The Garden District stretches around us, a picture-perfect slice of old New Orleans wealth. Grand mansions sit behind wrought-iron fences, their facades covered in ivy and creeping jasmine. The sidewalks are cracked but clean, shaded by the sprawling arms of ancient oak trees. Their roots bulge up through the concrete in places, making the path uneven.
I pull out my phone and release a breath. It’s no longer dead. My stomach unclenches a little as I dial home. It rings twice before Mimi picks up.
“Cassie! Are you okay?” Her voice is bright, but there’s a thread of worry beneath it.
“I’m fine.” I step around a pile of magnolia leaves. “We, uh—things got a little weird last night. But everything’s fine now.”
“Define weird.”
“We were chased by more ifrit. Have you all been safe there?”
“We’ve been fine.”
“Maybe don’t leave the house unless strictly necessary, just in case. How are the kids? How is Jackie?”
“It’s too soon to tell. She seems better to me, but it could be wishful thinking.”
Please let it be more than wishful thinking.
“Other than that,” Mimi continues, “Kevin made waffles. Jackie burned a waffle. Then she cried about the waffle, so we gave it a funeral in the trash can.”
I let out a breath of a laugh. “Sounds about right.”
Mimi hesitates. “Did you find Helen?”
I glance at Bennet. “Maybe. We’re about to check out a lead in the Garden District. I’ll call you later, okay?”
“Okay. Be safe.”
I hang up right as we reach the address the swamp witches showed us.
The house is exactly what you’d expect in this neighborhood, stately and pristine with history baked into its bones and leaking into the surrounding area. It’s a three-story Greek Revival, complete with towering white columns and an iron-railed balcony on the second floor. The paint is a soft white with dark green shutters, and the wraparound porch is lined with neatly trimmed ferns.
