Easy Magic (Boudreaux #5)

“I sure hope this is someone’s beloved pet, and not their beloved family member.”


I’ve kept my shields up since the night of the séance, and I’ve been doing a good job of blocking any unwanted feelings and emotions. But I crack the door, just for a moment, concentrating on the bone.

“It’s a dog,” I reply and slam the door shut again. “Not human.”

His eyes squint as he watches me for a moment. “You okay?”

“Yes.” I nod. “I’m great, actually. And you don’t have to have the county shut down your construction while they investigate those bones.”

“Thank God,” he says and walks to me. “You’re handy to have around.”

“Well, I’m so happy that you think so.” He’s advancing quickly, mischief written all over his handsome face, and I begin to walk backward away from him. “What are you planning to do?”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“You’re not fooling me. You’re going to—”

And before I can say or do anything, he’s smearing his dirty hands down my cheeks and laughing like a kid.

“Got you.”

“This dirt touched a decomposing dog,” I remind him and wipe my cheek on my sleeve.

“Well, that’s not a good way to think of it.”

“Is there a good way to think about dirt being all over my face?” I demand.

“Well, it could be worse. It could be mud.”

“You’re going to pay for this.”

“Oh, sugar, I hope so. I truly hope so.”





Chapter Ten


Mallory

“I think we need to talk about this,” Lena says a few days later as we sit in my living room and eat ice cream, waiting for our favorite show to come on.

“I don’t see what there is to talk about,” I reply and squirt more whipped cream into my bowl. A girl can never have too much whipped cream.

“Seriously?” She lowers her spoon and stares at me like I’ve lost my mind. “I think we need to talk about everything.”

“I think you’re being dramatic,” I reply and wither just a bit under her ice-cold glare. “Right, because you’re never dramatic?”

“I’m not being dramatic about this. My Nana wouldn’t say so either, and I know damn well that if Miss Olivia was alive, she’d think it was a big deal.”

“Well, she’s not alive.” And oh, how that still hurts!

“You’re a stubborn ass,” she says, as if that’s going to hurt my feelings in the least.

Because it doesn’t.

“Look, I’ve been fine since the séance, Lena. Sure, it wiped me out for about twenty-four hours, but I’m fine now. No weird things have been happening.”

“Weird as in a living person breaking into your thoughts the way they did that night? Because that wasn’t normal, Mal. I’ve only ever heard of that happening with your grandmother, and you know it.”

“It’s never happened before.”

“That doesn’t mean it won’t happen again.”

“What do you want me to do?” I stand and pace my living room. “I’ve got everything locked down as tight as I possibly can, and you know that I’ve never been able to lock it down completely. But I’m not seeing anything right now. I haven’t even seen Miss Louisa at the shop, although I think she’s still mad at me from that night at Beau’s.”

“Do you hear yourself? The spirit is mad at you.”

“It happens.” I shrug as if it’s no big deal and keep pacing. “I’m barely picking up on emotions too.”

“You can’t keep it all under lock and key forever. You’ll let your guard down eventually.”

“So what? I let my guard down all the time, Lena. Nothing like that has happened before. You’re the only one who’s freaking out about it.”

“Somebody has to,” she says. “It wasn’t just that the person is living and knew how to get into your head. He, or she because I couldn’t tell what it was, wasn’t friendly. It was…evil, for lack of a better word.”

“I know.” I sigh and sit back down, returning to my ice cream. “But I honestly haven’t sensed anything like it since then. It could have been someone in a neighboring property, or who knows? But I can’t dwell on it. If I sat around and dwelled on all the weird shit that happens in my head, I’d be in a hospital by now.”

“True. Because you are weird. You don’t like chocolate ice cream.”

I laugh. “Yeah, that’s cause for being institutionalized right there.”

Suddenly, my phone rings. I check the number, but I don’t recognize it.

“New York?”

Lena shrugs and I answer.

“Hello?”

“Is this Mallory Adams?”

“Yes.”

“My name is Debbie Williams, and I’m calling because I used to work with your grandmother.”

“I can stop you right there,” I reply, shaking my head.

“Please,” she says, desperation in her voice. “Please just hear me out before you hang up.”

I put the phone on speaker, gesturing for Lena to listen as well.

“Go ahead,” I say.

“I sent you an email a couple of weeks ago, but I didn’t hear back from you, so I thought I’d call to at least speak with you one-on-one.

“I’m a lieutenant with the New York Police Department. I was a detective when I worked with your grandmother. I’m in homicide and missing persons.”

“I remember hearing your name,” I reply. My grandmother admired Detective Williams, and enjoyed working with her. “But I can’t help you.”

“I think you can,” she replies immediately. “There have been a string of young girls going missing, all about a month apart, all thirteen years old. At first, we assumed that they were runaways, but they all have too many similarities to think that it’s anything other than abduction, and by the same person.”

“I’m so sorry,” I reply, holding Lena’s gaze. “I really am. My heart aches for their families. But I’m not gifted like my grandmother was, Lieutenant. It’s not that I don’t want to help you; I don’t have the experience or capabilities to help you. But I do know others who can, and I’m happy to send you their contact information.”

She quiet for a moment, and I think I’ve lost her.

“Ma’am?”

“I heard you,” she says, her voice heavy with disappointment. “I have other resources. If you change your mind, please call me. Thank you for your time.”

She hangs up, and I just sit and stare at Lena for a long moment.

“I don’t want it,” I finally say softly. “I’ve never wanted it, Lena. And I can’t help her the way Grandmamma could.”

“I know,” she replies and covers my hand with hers, squeezing it. “You haven’t nurtured your skills in over a decade. I was shocked that you agreed to the séance last week.”

“I was too,” I murmur. “And look at what it did to me. I don’t want to live my life like that. There are plenty of psychics out there who are qualified to help her. I’m not one of them.”

“Okay.” She nods vigorously. “You’re right. It’s completely your decision, and if you’re not comfortable with it, then you should not do it.”

“Thank you.” A tear slips down my cheek, surprising me.