He said that a physical body means nothing when a spirit possesses the powers that Horace did. Does.
And this means that Lucien’s right.
It’s starting again.
The bell above my door dings, and I glance up, expecting to see my sisters, but it’s not them.
It’s Lucien.
And he looks…angry.
“I locked that,” I say as it occurs to me that Lucien just walked through a locked door.
“You’re not the only one who can unlock a door with the flick of a wrist,” he replies. “What’s going on, Millicent?”
I start to shake my head, to deny that anything’s happened, but Lucien comes around the counter and cages me between his arms.
“Don’t say nothing’s going on. I felt it from across town. Tell me everything.”
I take a deep breath, wishing I could make this sudden headache go away. I’ve been getting them more frequently lately.
Lucien swipes his thumb over my forehead, and within seconds, the ache disappears.
“Stop doing that,” I say softly. “I don’t want you taking on my pain.”
“It’s what I was born to do,” he says simply before leaning in to kiss my forehead. “Tell me.”
I explain the blood smear on the mirror, and seeing Horace standing behind me.
“He didn’t say anything,” I say. “He just stood there. Grinning. Like the creep he is. I don’t understand, Lucien. I cleanse this place regularly. I smudge. I have protection spells. A crystal grid. All of it.”
“But you also have hundreds of energies coming in and out of here every week,” he reminds me. “Hell, I’ve seen the little girl spirits in here for as long as I’ve been coming.”
“Damn,” I whisper. “I was hoping I’d gotten rid of them for a while.”
“You can’t see them?” he asks.
“No, I’ve built up my shields too strong,” I reply. “On purpose. I don’t see the spirits, but I also can’t read the minds of those hundreds of energies coming in and out of here every day. It keeps me sane.”
His eyes narrow on me as if he’s just thought of something.
“What is it?”
“You have your shields in place.”
“Yes, always.”
“But Horace was able to break through and manifest to you.”
I blink slowly, letting that sink in. “Well, shit.”
The bell dings again, and Brielle and Daphne come hurrying inside.
“We got here as soon as we could,” Brielle says and stops short when she sees Lucian. Her eyes drop to his arms, which have encircled me. “Not that it looks like you still need us.”
“Of course, I do,” I reply. I tell them the story I just told Lucien. “We need to cleanse this place.”
“What else do we need to do?” Daphne asks. “How do we get rid of him?”
“I’m afraid that question doesn’t have an easy answer,” Lucien replies. “So, for now, we’re going to weave some powerful spells of protection, lay some new and more powerful stones in the four corners, hang a few witch balls, and smudge the shit out of everything. And then I’m going to call Miss Sophia. It’s time we had a chat.”
We nod in agreement and get to work. We cast a small circle inside the shop to make sacred space for our magic, and I feel the combined strength of us wrapping around the café, keeping anything that wishes us harm out.
Nothing will be able to get in except the good energies we invite in.
After several hours of chanting and smudging, of reading my grandmother’s grimoire to make sure I’m not forgetting anything, we decide to call it a day.
“I want to get home to Sanguine, just to make sure she’s safe.”
Lucien closes his eyes, and I can see that he’s reaching out to check on my familiar.
“She’s fine, but she’s worried about you.”
“I think it’s so cool that you have a familiar again.” Daphne smiles before kissing me on the cheek. “Go relax, Mil. You’ll feel better in the morning.”
Brielle hugs me, and then my sisters are off.
“She’s right,” Lucien says. “And can I just say that for two women who aren’t submerged in the craft like you are, they’re powerful witches in their own right?”
“Oh, they certainly are,” I say with a nod. “And when it’s needed, they don’t hesitate to use their gifts to help me. But the craft isn’t for them. Brielle uses her medium abilities for other things, and Daphne is still somewhat afraid of her Powers. But she’ll learn.”
“They’re an important part of you,” he insists. “And you’ll need them.”
“They won’t let me down,” I say. “And I know this will sound silly, but I’m not ready to be alone tonight.”
“Oh, you were under the impression that I wasn’t coming with you?” Lucien smirks as I lock the door behind us. “Silly witch.”
Chapter Five
"I like hurting little things that can't fight back."
– Mary Bell
“It’s been a wonderful day,” he says, sneering in the face of one of his toys. “She saw me. The look of disgust in her eyes was disrespectful, so she’ll have to be punished, of course. My Millicent always was the most difficult of my girls. But she’ll come around.”
He nods and backs away, laughing when his toy tries to free himself from his bindings.
“The new ones always struggle.” Horace shakes his head with pity. “You’ll learn that struggling is futile. You’ll only hurt yourself, and that will anger me, Lucien. Every drop of your blood is for me. For Millie. And if you spill any, I’ll have to punish Millie more. You don’t want that, do you?”
The toy starts to cry, but he turns away, secretly enjoying the wailing sound of the tall, strong man.
“Now, while I’m in a good mood, I’m going to go find someone new. I had to dump that last body sooner than I thought I would, and I need a replacement.”
He walks into a bedroom that holds the smell of animal feces, and steps into a black dress that shows off his host’s tits well. He smears red lipstick on his pouty lips, fluffs the blond hair covering his flesh suit’s head, and then walks out of the house, headed right for the bar.
He had to stop wearing heels because he just couldn’t get used to walking in them, and it’s easier to move around when his feet are steady under him.
He sits at the bar and orders a whiskey sour. He’s never loved the taste of alcohol, but it’s all part of the image—the role he’s playing.
It doesn’t take long before a man approaches and looks him up and down, and much to his delight, this one fits the bill just perfectly.
“Hello,” the man says. “I’m Chad. What’s your name?”
“Betty,” he replies with a Cheshire Cat grin. “You’re handsome, aren’t you?”
The man blushes and looks away long enough for Horace to slip the belladonna into his drink.
Before long, the man’s eyes turn glassy. The time is perfect to lead him to the playhouse.