By Adrian Phoenix
FIRST IN a brand new sequence! “There could be instances, woman, whilst your whole magic ain’t going to be adequate, instances whilst it is going to appear to dry up like dust below the noonday solar, or perhaps make issues worse. . . .” Kallie Rivi?re, a fiery Cajun hoodoo apprentice with a expertise for hassle, reveals herself smack-dab in the course of a kind of instances her mentor warned her approximately whilst she visits New Orleans to wait the Hecatean Alliance’s annual carnival: her hard-bodied conjurer hookup finally ends up useless in her blood-drenched mattress. And he was once killed by way of whatever that Kallie could by no means dream of touching—the darkest of darkish juju, soul-eating juju—a black airborne dirt and dust hex which could were intended to kill her. Now Kallie has to take advantage of each piece of hoodoo wisdom and bayou-bred mojo she possesses to transparent her personal identify and locate the killer—even as that darkish sorcerer hunts Kallie and her acquaintances. yet Kallie’s look for the reality quickly leads her in a course she by no means anticipated—back domestic to Bayou Cypr?s Noir, and to Gabrielle LaRue, Kallie’s aunt, protector, and hoodoo mentor . . . who's taking a look progressively more like she simply can be the person who wishes Kallie useless.
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Belladonna glanced over to see the pixie lift her head and sit back as the nomad's eyes fluttered open, dried blood flaking from his lashes. His heavy-lidded gaze fixed on Kallie. "I am fighting, woman," he whispered. " The dark-haired swamp beauty in her red undies---filled out well enough to stop his heart again---quit pounding against Layne's chest and opened her eyes. Just mere pinpricks, her pupils, as though she'd been staring into the sun, her violet eyes gleaming with light and heat---a heat Layne felt inside of him with each renewed pulse of his heart.
Yo' mama wasn't herself, honey-girl. You were de moon at night for her, de sun during the day. " "Maybe it shouldn't-a. " Nothing anyone could say would stitch together a grief-torn heart. Only time eroded the rough edges and smoothed them away, like a river over rocks. But also like a river, time deepened the crevices carved within by violent loss. By betrayal. " Kallie shut the memory down. Over and done with a helluva long time ago. "No, I ain't calling murder a mess, Layne Valin," Kallie said, uncurling her fingers from her palms.
He slumps down in his chair, a bottle of Abita still in his hand. Kallie stands in her bedroom doorway, frozen---just like now. Mama turns and faces her, aims the gun carefully between her shaking hands. Her hands shake, but her face is still, resigned. "Sorry, baby. " Mama pulls the trigger again. Kallie touched trembling and blood-sticky fingers to the scar on her left temple. Traced the lightning stroke of the bullet's path, just as her gaze traced the contours of Gage's face. Pain and shock had widened his hemorrhaging eyes, had twisted his fingers into the sheets.