Chapter 6
Bright and early Monday morning, Orion and I set off for work. Gramps’s announcement still weighs heavy on my mind, but an opening shift should be enough to distract me for a few hours.
You can’t throw a stone anywhere in the French Quarter without hitting a magic, voodoo, or occult shop proclaiming itself to be the best in New Orleans. They’re a dime a dozen in this city, but in my opinion, Zeke’s is the best.
Gramps had the idea to open the shop while he was still working as a lawyer. According to Gran, he’s always had a problem sitting still. His mind is occupied by too many competing ideas for him to focus on only one.
Magic abounds in New Orleans. Along with a plethora of mortals claiming to have some affinity, there are a number of other covens and straggler witches living in the city.
We’ve cornered the market on authentic magical items, so we’re able to cater to those who actually have magic pumping through their veins and any mortal who desires it.
We have the bonus of a perfect location on Royal Street. In the afternoons, this portion of the block is shut down to traffic and the street performers descend, filling the air with upbeat music and a positive vibe.
When we turn the corner, I’m so deep in thought that I run straight into a warm body.
“Oh, I’m sorry!”
A man wearing an orange vest and a hard hat shakes his head. “Watch where you’re going, kid,” he mutters.
I pause to peer at the construction as Orion sighs. “Another one bites the dust.” He continues walking down the street toward the shop, but I stay a moment to let the view sink in.
This used to be a jewelry store, and not some soulless chain. Miss Louise ran this place, and she put her heart and soul into every piece she made. I run my finger over my pearl ring—a birthday gift from Gran and Gramps a few years ago.
Now Miss Louise’s shop is a shell of plaster and sawdust. A sign in the window proclaims that this will be the future home of the Sweet Dreams Bakery.
I grit my teeth and turn to stare at the Dupree Antiques I never will be. But I’m worried he’s going to hurt himself, eventually.
I’m older than him by three minutes. If you believe in birth order, he’s got the younger-sibling routine down.
He’s the baby of the family, and our grandparents always treated him like he needed babying.
He couldn’t keep up with deadlines or assignments to save his life.
Any responsibility he’s ever been given has been wasted.
Gran and Gramps showed him more patience than I ever received, but only because they knew I could be relied on to keep my head on straight.
When I fell short, they knew I could do better.
Orion has never given them a reason to think the same.
“Come on,” I say. “You know you can talk to me about anything—”
“Forget it,” he mutters, sipping from his Red Bull. “We should talk about you instead, Miss Witch Queen.”
I groan. “Please. Let’s not.”
His eyes sparkle. He knows every single one of my weak spots. “Why not? You should’ve seen this coming in those cards of yours.” He nudges my shoulder, but I shift my chair farther away. “It can only be you. I don’t get why you’re so bummed.”
“This is why.” I point my finger at a candle sitting on the counter and visualize the wick bursting into flame. A tiny spark flickers before disappearing in a thin tendril of smoke. “See? My magic is weak as shit.”
“No, it’s not.” Orion snaps his fingers, and the wick ignites in a steady flame. “You just don’t try hard enough.”
I cross my arms. “I’ve been trying my entire life.”
“Yeah,” Orion drawls. “That’s what you say.”
He waves to our first customers as the bell over the door rings. It’s an older white couple who peers at everything very closely. “I think you underestimate yourself.”
“I could say the same about you.”
He frowns. “That’s not true. When it comes to magic, I know what I’m capable of. But you seem to run from it.”
“I’m not running from anything.” Gran and Gramps have always beaten it into our heads that spells must be backed up with intention.
We have to picture the outcome while pulling from the power within.
Most witches use a single word spoken aloud to activate the spell, but some people are either strong enough or practiced enough to cast in silence.
I’m well versed in the intricate workings of magic, but I have trouble with the execution.
“Besides, I wasn’t talking about magic,” I begin, turning the subject back on Orion. “Why can’t you—”
“Excuse me,” the older woman says. “Could we have some help over here?”
“Sure!” Orion takes the opportunity to make a quick exit and disappears with the lady into an aisle.
As I’m about to take my phone from my pocket, someone slaps a poster over the bay window, right over our Help Wanted sign. I spot a flash of blond hair and I’m on my feet in an instant.
Britney Dupree is already hightailing it down the street with an armful of rolled-up posters. Her father’s smug grin stares back at me from the one she smacked onto our window.
Mike Dupree for City Council. As if.
“Hey!” I yell after her. “You can’t leave this here.”
Britney stops and whirls around. I can see her sickly sweet grin from here. She backtracks and places her free hand over her chest.
“I’m sorry, Mikaela! I didn’t even realize what store this was!”
I point up at the sign. “Have you lost your eyesight?”
“Nope, just my ranking.” She laughs and reaches up to take down the poster. “I’m kidding, of course.”
Something tells me she isn’t. Britney Dupree and I have continued our families’ rivalry by attempting to best each other in academic standing all four years of high school. When I won the top spot as valedictorian, it ended our individual feud.
“It’s really cute that your grandpa thinks he has a chance.” Her positive tone is at odds with her rude statement. “He might as well drop out of the race now.”
“Not a chance in hell.”
Britney’s eyes narrow, but her smile never wavers. “Well, so be it.” And with that, she saunters down the street, pinning up more posters as she goes.
I head back inside to my seat behind the counter. When the bell over the door chimes, I tense, expecting to see Britney again, but instead, I look up into the eyes of the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.
Her blond coils accentuate her golden-brown skin. As she walks closer, her vanilla-scented perfume wafts toward me, and the golden flecks in her brown eyes gleam in the sunlight. She has a smile that sends shivers down my spine.
I’ve never seen her around here before, so she must be a tourist. My eyes drift from her face to her shirt, which confirms my observation. She’s wearing a tie-dyed pink New Orleans T-shirt she probably picked up in a souvenir shop somewhere in the Quarter.
When she speaks, her voice is music to my ears. It’s like hearing the notes to my new favorite song. “There was an article online that listed this place as one of the best in the city for a tarot reading. Is that true?”
Even though I fully claim that title, my brain has completely short-circuited.
“I—um—”
Orion appears at my side. “You’ve come to the right place. My sister can give you the most authentic reading of your life. Right, Mikaela?”
He nudges me, shaking me out of my fog. “Oh, yeah. That’s me. I can do that.”
The girl holds out her hand for me to shake. Her skin is soft, and her grip is firm. “Excellent,” she says. “I’m Joelle.”
Even her name is beautiful. “It’s n-nice to meet you, Joelle,” I stammer.
I’m unmoored when she releases my hand. I step forward on shaky legs. “Follow me. I do the readings in the back room.”
As we walk, I internally scold myself. Get it together, Mikaela! She’s just a pretty girl. I’ll read her cards and send her on her way.