In the silence of the backroom of the boutique named Cauldron a deep, carnal, growl rumbled from under Adair’s table.
“Hush now,” Adair said to her Aussie, Mystic, who hated storms. Each time the thunder rolled, Mystic responded with a growl and a huff, then she’d shake her head and rush to where Adair was and lick her palm until Adair gave in and petted her before sending her back to her bed, under Adair’s private card reading table.
Since Finley’s death, her business partner Jade Carrey, a known witch in the Quarter, had kept the shop as it always had been—eccentric. It was full of custom made candles, rows of homegrown herbs, racks of crystals and unique jewelry.
At first Adair had fought to maintain Finley’s share of the Cauldron, a business Finley began on her own. Adair’s goal was to send Jade Carrey on her way, out of the Quarter, out of the state, out of Adair’s life. She didn’t trust her, but then again there were few that Adair trusted. Adair lost her fight.
It was ugly in the beginning between Jade and Adair, more so than usual. After an expensive court battle, Adair was left with her own portion of the shop where she held private readings as well as a percentage of the Boutique’s business, a percentage that barely put a roof over her head.
These days, Jade and Adair had somewhat of an understanding—basically they stopped hexing each other and were civil. Though they both knew the temperament between them could change as easily as the wind.
Adair’s reading area was nothing more than a twelve by ten room. The space, with the black painted walls and low burning candles, felt constricting to Adair. More times than not, no matter how hot it was, when she didn’t have a client, the backdoor was propped open by a howling fan.
All at once Mystic rushed to the threshold of the door and started to viciously bark. Adair didn’t call her off at first, her instinct, like always, was to reach for her holster.
The one she was wearing was attached to her bra dead center of her chest, under her thin top which was tight at the chest and flowed around her hour glass figure, barely reaching her hips and low lying jean shorts. If her shirt was longer her piece would have been at her back, where she liked it, but summer fashion and hardware did not always go hand and hand in Adair’s world.
She didn’t see anything in the courtyard beyond a few cats hunting in the trash bins and the petals of Jasmine the wind was shifting about. Adair couldn’t deny she felt something sinister lurking, though; she’d felt off all night and couldn’t place why.
“You leave the kitties alone,” Adair said to Mystic, who only stifled her bark out of obedience. Mystic kept her protest to a low growl as her caramel brown eyes stared into the night.
Briefly the thought to close the door came to Adair’s mind, but if the door was closed Taylor would assume that Adair had left. Which would in turn mean that Adair would’ve not only wasted her time and sleep waiting on her but would also miss out on her fee—which was doubled because of the late slash early hour. As well as the fact that Taylor was nothing more than a self-centered bitch.
Adair needed the money, she was so close to buying a real bike that she could taste it, and she knew her scooter was on its last breath of life. At this point she walked everywhere, but sometimes a girl just needed to get out, find a solitary place to just be.
For good measure Adair lit a few protection candles, which also had a calming element. Sure that she was protected against what could and could not be seen, she went back to cleansing her cards. Mystic kept her watchful eye on the alley, the approaching storm, not daring to settle no matter how many glances Adair threw her way.
At twenty-five, Adair was sure she had seen and heard it all when it came to the unexplained. As far as she knew she was born in Savannah, Georgia—at least that’s what her birth certificate said. She’d moved to New Orleans when she was eight, after her grandmother, who Adair was certain was insane, died.
Long before the age of eight, Adair had gotten over her grandmother’s endless lies that she wrapped in backwoods southern faith. In her mind her grandmother’s death was the first blessing she had been given—it lead her to Finley.
Adair’s grandmother had told her her father was a devil and the same devil killed her mother. Weekly, sometimes nightly, she’d baptized Adair, she’d say the devil had his grips in her.
Later, Adair understood, after stealing a box with trinkets within it, that her parents did have a great love. There was a timepiece inside, and on it there was an emblem inscribed, a pentagram with a snake lying over a crow and the words. “Immortal passion, my gift to you,” and the letter “V” was inscribed below it.
There was also a ring. Inside the words, “No last ride, we are eternal,” were inscribed and it was signed with the letter “V” again.
Immortal they were, Adair had thought to herself when she was just a child—she was their immortality, a symbol of their love.
One day, after a night of brutal baptisms, when Adair was walking home from school she saw a biker parked on the side of the road. His jacket had the same emblem. The one she was sure her parents had prized. A small tingle of hope burned in her belly as she wondered if her grandmother had lied, if her father could still be alive, unaware of her.
Though the biker was large, gruff, someone who would surely frighten the sanest of souls, in Adair’s eyes he was an angel.
She trembled as she approached him. She didn’t know what she was going to say. But Adair had to know if there was any hope her father was still alive and could save her from the hell she was living in.
In a small voice she told the man that she was Vera Vallet’s daughter, and she thought her father rode with them because she’d seen the emblem at her home in her mother’s effects. She asked him if he remembered her, she told him she needed her dad if he lived still, she needed him desperately.
The man never answered. Instead, he stared with curiosity then offered to walk her home. On that walk, which was two miles deep into the woods, she found herself telling him everything, all the odd things she could do, and how her grandmother punished her for them. She cried and said she didn’t believe her grandmother, not really, and told him if he knew her father, if he was still alive, to send him to her—to send anyone that could save her.
A week later Adair’s grandmother passed away of natural causes. Adair’s life was flipped upside down then. She was moved states away, to live with someone whom her social worker stated was the only living relative eligible to care for her.
Finley was only twenty-two at the time. Adair could still remember how shocked she was that the judge granted her full custody. Finley simply told her the judge had sympathy for them. Finley had no family either, and had spent her late teens moving through foster care, after she lost her mother.
The irony of it all, what made the young girl Adair truly think the Pentacle Sons were men her father rode with, were dark guardian angels, was the fact that Finley was close to the mother chapter of the MC. She was in love with one of the riders in the inner circle.
When Adair confessed to Finley that she had reached out to the Sons for help, Finley put her arm around her and said, ‘Coincidence is led by the heart, you’re home now, where your heart wanted you.’ Then and now Adair didn’t care to question her further, or ask for a clearer explanation. The court documents clearly stated her grandmother died of natural causes, and Finley was her cousin, from her mother’s side of the family. There was no need to dispute it, not when Adair had landed exactly where she wanted, with someone who cherished her.
Finley taught Adair everything she knew, and in some way she saved her from herself. Let her know it was okay to stand out, that she was born to do so. Most importantly Finley taught Adair how to protect herself. Told her that her enlightened senses were a gift, not a sign of evil.
Unequivocally, Finley told Adair she was a witch and power lurked within her blood.
When Finley was alive Adair never put much stock in the idea that she was a witch. In her high school a
lone there were countless people who claimed to be so, not to mention all the people who came into the Cauldron looking for ingredients for their spells and hexes.
After Finley’s death, Adair started to grasp the idea that she was different from the others around her, and most definitely regretted not learning more from Finley, the only witch she truly trusted.
Finely had been gone five years and it still felt like yesterday to Adair. The details of that night and days before were hazy when she tried to recall them. What Adair did remember was she walked away from that night, Finley didn’t.
Healing from the car wreck, from the grief of losing Finley was near impossible. Fighting Jade Carrey for what was Finley’s was a nightmare. One that at times scared the hell out of Adair—not knowing where your next meal was going to come from, if you could afford the roof over your head for one more month was almost more than her stubborn soul could handle at times.
Somehow she always made it though. The money would show up, there would be an extra client needing her services, someone wanting her to make candles, or trinkets. Now and again a friend would need her to pick up a shift behind the bar during the biggest festivals, on the busiest nights—which would in turn feed her for weeks.
The night Finley died she had rented the car they were driving, and was getting her and Adair out of town for a quick vacation—just the two of them leaving the hell of life in their wake. Finley’s life was falling apart around her at the time—her and her longstanding lover, Talley, had a huge fallout days before. Her business partner, Jade, was suing Finley for control of the Cauldron.
When Talley figured out that Finley and Adair were leaving town he took it the wrong way and chased them in a jealous rage—he was the reason they wrecked, or so Adair was told. She didn’t buy the notion. When she struggled to recall that night a chill raced down her spine, the same chill she always felt when she was close to dark magic, the kind of magic Jade Carrey preferred when her back was against the wall.
As far as Adair was concerned Jade was to blame for the tragic death of Finley Vallet. She was sure Jade had somehow hexed both Finley and Talley, the only real parents Adair had ever known.
Rush, Talley’s brother, was there when Adair woke in the hospital. He stayed with her until she was all but healed. Rush made a point to check in on Adair often; he called weekly. Monthly he’d stop by for the hell of it, always made sure Adair’s guns were clean, her locks were working, and she had food in her fridge.
She refused to take the cash he tried to give her out of pride, but he always found a way to leave her better than he found her, even if that only meant filling her pantry with groceries.
Even though Rush belonged to the mother chapter of the Sons, whose home base was at the Beauregard Boneyard, he traveled to others, an ambassador of sorts. Adair could only assume his job was something to be proud of. She was sure that he couldn’t be much older than her, ten years at best, even though he didn’t seemed to act that way.
An overprotective asshole is what Adair had called him more than once.
Even though she had gone with Finley to the Boneyard when she was alive, the day she passed Rush told her no more—that it was dangerous, and the last thing he needed was the guilt of her death on his shoulders, too. He tried to tell her she had only been there once at best. He said that Finley and Talley didn’t want her to have that life, but Adair was sure she remembered differently. Each time she tried to grasp those memories to use as a weapon she would end up with a migraine, one so strong that it made her sick to her stomach.
Apparently Rush thought he should have handled his brother, Talley, when he went insane overnight, differently. The restriction Rush put upon Adair about the Boneyard cut deep inside of her and she could never figure out why. Her assumption was, that there, she had a chance of getting a glimpse into the life her father led. She assumed it made her feel close to a man she never met.
She never gave Rush that excuse, it sounded too weak in her mind and she didn’t entirely believe her reason. They argued about that one solitary rule of his constantly. Enough so that she had ignored every call that came from him over the last month. She had told him she wanted to meet Reveca Beauregard; she wanted Reveca to help expand her skill level. Adair knew she had to come up with stronger spells, better ways to protect herself or eventually Jade would win the silent war they were having.
Rush snapped at her and told her to get a real job, that someone like Reveca didn’t have time for her. To Adair, his words basically meant that he didn’t care about Finley or her, or what Adair was trying to preserve and grow in the memory of her cousin. It didn’t matter that she knew Rush didn’t deal well with anything mystical, particularly the idea of witches. He was an ass that was standing in her way as far as she was concerned.
Rush drew out Adair’s ‘don’t fuck with me attitude.’ Finley had always told her as she grew up, “Sweet and nice will get you in the door, but ‘don’t fuck with me’ will keep you alive.”
For the most part around others Adair was the calm one, you never really knew what she was thinking but the look in her emerald eyes told you that she already had your number, and she had looked deep inside and seen all of your demons—and had them at her beck and call.
In all truth, that is exactly what Adair could do. It was easy for her to see auras of light around people, to gauge their mood. It was simplistic for her to assume their intent; she knew what they were up to. She couldn’t tell you how she knew, but she was rarely wrong. Those gifts made reading cards all the simpler. It made her predictions accurate which had built a client base that kept her and Mystic fed, a roof over their head—money to plan a hostile takeover when it came to the Cauldron.
Her best friend was Mystic, who never left her side. Adair had human friends she trusted since Finley had died, but not many. Thinking about her lack of close connections had her reaching for her cell phone, sending yet another text to her best friend slash roommate Gwinn Ballard.
It had been a good three months since Gwinn had been home. It wasn’t odd for Gwinn or Adair to be absorbed in their own lives to the point where they didn’t see each other much. In fact, that’s what made them such good friends. It didn’t matter how long they’d been apart when they were face to face it was like no time had passed.
Quiet souls have the loudest minds. They need time to listen, watch. Adair doubted that she or Gwinn had ever truly heard silence. It was a gift to have a friend who got that—one you didn’t have to make a point to coddle just to keep the friendship intact.
Adair and Mariam, another close friend and recognized witch, had done everything to track Gwinn; they’d used both spells and the law—even word of mouth. What terrified Adair was that she was sure she sensed Gwinn close, at the very least in the same state—alive and well—but she couldn’t track her. Which made Adair fear that someone powerful was holding her captive, hiding her.
Who that could have been she didn’t know. The spiritual teacher Gwinn was working with, GranDee, had recently been murdered. Adair had reached out to GranDee’s family looking for Gwinn, and they claimed they hadn’t seen her. Adair had her doubts. GranDee’s people were known for their secrets, so was the coven they were known to be apart of: The Dominarum.
Finley never admitted aloud to Adair that she too was a part of that coven, but Adair was sure she was. They were present and accounted for when Finley was laid to rest. However, Adair would be a liar if she stated she didn’t feel rejected by them. If Finley was indeed a part of them, and they knew she was teaching Adair the craft, they should have stepped in, pulled Adair into their flock, but they didn’t.
At times though, when money came in Adair’s most desperate hour, when the tide shifted in the war between her and Jade, she had to wonder if they were helping her from a distance, if they did so with all outcasts.
Just as Adair had sent yet another text to Gwinn, Mystic started to bark again. Adair reached for her piece as she stood from the table.
/> Mystic added a whimper to her growl then stepped back, doing her best to herd Adair further away, too. Right then, Taylor, her client, emerged in the door.
“Heel,” Adair said quietly to Mystic with a smirk. Taylor was still dressed for work. She was a street actor, a living statue, so she was completely silver just then, including her hair, and her outfit—a short skirt that had layers of frills beneath it and a corset top.
“You’re going to look ridiculous when it finally starts to rain,” Adair said with a sly leer.
“As if I don’t currently,” Taylor said with roll of her eyes.
“Who have you pissed off?” Adair asked, nodding for her to move so she could close the door behind her.
“Recently? A bachelor party that thought it would be fucking awesome to hump a living statue.”
Adair let a tired laugh come to her as she sat down.
“Something is not right, though,” Taylor said with grunt as she took her place at the table.
“Why do you say that?” Adair asked, getting her cards ready. She always had to let Taylor vent for a few minutes before she began. At times with her clients Adair felt more like a therapist than a card reader.
“Everything is just—salty,” Taylor said, letting out an exaggerated breath.
“And what karma have you laid out?”
“Don’t start. A girl’s gotta defend her own.”
“By?”
“By taking what she needs or wants. I know Tracy is pissed at me because I fucked her man, but he came on to me and he wouldn’t do that if he was satisfied and we both know she thinks she’s some kind of witch. I found a hex bag in my car on the way to work tonight. My smokes taste like piss, my boss said I only had half the shifts I want next week because apparently I’m a bitch to the drunks—like they can even remember that. And I think I’m getting evicted.”
“From your sister’s apartment who you steal from.”
“I take the money I need for the chores she forces me to do and then she doesn’t pay the rent? What kind of shit is that?” Taylor said, playing the constant victim.