He brushed a loose strand of hair back from her face. “I worry about you.”
She smiled. “Don’t. I’m fine.”
“So you always say.” He leaned in until his lips were just inches from hers. “How long do you think they’ll be busy?” he asked, referring to their parents and the rest of the Guild leadership.
“Long enough.”
He kissed her, his mouth conforming perfectly to hers. She never stopped being surprised at the feeling that arose between them. They’d known each other their whole lives and had been dating in secret for over a year, but somehow the rush of desire she felt in his arms hadn’t dimmed even a little.
He reluctantly pulled away, looking into her eyes. “Claire . . .”
She was bracing herself for the question she knew would follow when the sound of shoes crunching on gravel alerted them to someone’s approach. They pulled apart just as Xander’s mother arrived.
“There you are!” Estelle said, her gaze skimming over them. “We’ve been looking all over for you two.”
“I’m sorry,” Claire said. “It’s my fault. I just . . . I needed some air. Xander was nice enough to check on me.”
“I’m sure you’ve had quite a fright.” Despite her words, Estelle didn’t look sympathetic. Her gaze slid to her son. “Thank you for checking on Claire, Alexandre. Let’s escort her back to the house, shall we? Her parents are ready to leave.”
Estelle turned around, heading up the pathway. Claire and Xander followed behind her, careful to keep their distance in her company.
THREE
Claire knew things were bad by how little her parents said on the way home. She tried to get something out of them by asking what the Guild planned to do, but her mother just said that everything was under control and not to worry.
Which was fine with her. Claire had done her part. Maybe they would leave her out of it now.
It was after nine when they got home. Her parents headed straight for the study, where they would no doubt hash out every detail of what had happened at the Toussaints’. Claire was halfway up the stairs to her room when she realized she’d never closed up the shop for the day.
She stood there, her conscience warring with her mental exhaustion, before finally turning around. As much as she didn’t want to count the money and clean up the store, she didn’t want her parents to have to do it either. Their night was probably even worse than hers.
Besides, Claire hadn’t bolted the door before they’d left for the Toussaints,’ and she doubted anyone else had either. The woman who’d ordered the panther’s blood was proof that not everyone who had a key was a friend, and the Kincaids didn’t have a security system like the one at the Toussaints’.
Downstairs, everything was like she left it. The lamps were even still on. She went to the door, pulling the big wooden bar across it. It was the only time they were really off-limits to the voodoo community.
She went to the counter, pulled out the lockbox, and started counting the money. Despite her lack of interest in the craft, she was happy that business was good. Suddenly, it seemed everyone was interested in alternatives to traditional medicine, traditional religion, traditional everything.
And those alternatives included voodoo.
From lighting purple candles for insight to burning herbs for health to wearing gris-gris bags as a talisman against evil, people wanted to believe there was something else in the world, something that couldn’t be explained by science or conventional religion.
Finished counting, Claire turned off the wax, cursing when she realized she would have to start over making the small forms. Sometimes people bought the wax raw and shaped the ritual figures themselves, but the Kincaids also sold them ready-made. Claire hated the way it smelled and the residue it left on her skin, but it was a staple of their business.
She surveyed the store, her eyes traveling over the ochre-colored walls. Everything was more or less the way her mother liked it. Jars and bottles containing various powders, elixirs, oils, and seeds were neatly labeled on grid-like shelves, while the more exotic ingredients, including adder’s-tongue, black hen’s egg, and devil pod, were locked up in a case that ran the length of the counter. Gris-gris bags and bolts of red flannel were stacked at the front of the store, ritual garments neatly folded on the shelves. Bins and barrels held incense, sandalwood, lengths of devil’s string, coffin nails, and the ready-made forms that were called doll babies by real voodoo practitioners—a deceptively innocent name for something said to cause so much damage—and voodoo dolls by everyone else, stared back at her, their expressionless faces eerie in the low light.
The weirdest thing about it was how unweird it was to Claire.
Sighing, she grabbed a broom and started to sweep the tile floors. It was the only job in the store she didn’t mind. It was soothing, moving the broom back and forth, the scent of incense hanging like a ghost in the room. Her mind wandered, landing not on the woman who had ordered the panther blood but on Xander.
She almost couldn’t remember what it was like when they were just friends, back when they only saw each other at Guild functions or at school. The change had been so subtle she hadn’t noticed it at first. He’d stop by when his parents had messages for Claire’s or drop off special orders from the Toussaint stores instead of having a delivery service do it. It had taken her a while to catch on.
Until one day, she did.
He’d caught up to her as she was leaving the store. She’d known it was intentional even though he said he was just passing by, and they’d gone to Marco’s for pizza and talked for three hours. After that, being together had felt inevitable. It wasn’t right or wrong.
It just was.
She pushed the broom under the counter, where powder, herbs, and wax shavings sometimes dropped. She was brushing everything into a pile when a piece of paper caught on the leg of the counter. She tried to use the broom to free it, but it was stuck. She finally bent down and pulled the scrap free.
It was a receipt. At the top was a picture of a computer and the words NEW ORLEANS NETWORKING SERVICES. Underneath it was a name and address:
Eugenia Comaneci
548 Dauphine Street
Claire stared at the name. There were very few clients she didn’t know, and she didn’t know Eugenia Comaneci. Which meant the receipt could only belong to the woman who’d ordered the panther blood.
Claire looked at the slip of paper a few seconds longer before stuffing it into the pocket of her shorts. She would show it to her mom tomorrow. Or maybe to her dad, who probably wouldn’t freak out as much.
She swept the rest of the debris into the dustpan and threw it in the trash. Then she turned off the lamps and headed upstairs.
It was already hot and humid when she left the house the next morning, and she was glad she’d put her hair into a messy bun. She was meeting Sasha for yoga at 2:00 p.m., but had a stop to make first that would take her to another part of the city. Even biking, she’d be drenched by the time she got there.
She slung her messenger bag over her head, letting it fall across her body. It smacked against her leg as she left through the kitchen door and made her way along the side of the house.
Using her Guild key, she unlocked the store and reached for her bike. She was easing it out the door, walking backward, when someone tapped her shoulder. She looked to her left, felt a tap on her right, and looked that way. Still no one. Finally she turned around, coming face-to-face with a grinning Xander.
She punched him playfully in the arm. “Very funny! Jerk!”
He laughed, pulling her toward him with one arm. “I’m sorry. I was just playing with you.” He dropped a quick kiss on her lips. “Where are you going?”