Chapter 1

Luna

Have you ever smelled something so pungent, so foul, that it seems to cling to the inside of your nose, no matter how hard you try to get rid of it? That’s exactly how I felt, walking down Frenchman Street in the French Quarter of New Orleans alongside my best friend, Kayla.

“You look like a coke addict, rubbing your nose like that,” she scoffed. We linked our arms as we strolled, and she tugged at me playfully.

“I do not. I just can’t get rid of that smell.” My hand hovered mere centimeters from my nose as I caught myself doing exactly what she accused me of.

“What smell?” she asked, as if I hadn’t mentioned it a dozen times over the last few days.

“That damn perfume. It’s disgusting, and I can’t get it out of my nose. It’s like walking through a horse stall full of manure and not realizing the shit is clinging to your shoe until hours later. You can smell it constantly, but you can’t get rid of it.”?

“You’re comparing perfume to the smell of horse shit? Seriously, Luna. Don’t you think you’re being just a teensy bit dramatic?”?

“I’m not being dramatic, Kay. The smell was on his shirt, and it wasn’t the first time. I swear to you, the son of a bitch is cheating on me.” Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, a mixture of anger, betrayal, worry, and about a million other emotions flooding my body and settling like a rock in the pit of my stomach. “I swear he’s going to pay if I ever find solid proof.”

“Okay, okay. Stop.” Kayla turned to me, pulling me over just inside a small alley off the sidewalk. Her hands on my shoulders, she narrowed her blue eyes at me, looking down from her tall stature. “Let’s just be logical about this. Has Josh been late? Has he canceled plans on you at the last minute recently?”?

“Well, no, but—”

“No buts. Did you find anything in his bedroom the last time you were there? Anything that would belong to a woman and wasn’t yours?”

“How would I know that?”

“Wait. You didn’t go through his stuff?” I shook my head, and she rolled her eyes. For a moment, I thought she would literally shake me. “Next, you’re going to tell me you didn’t even go through his phone while he was sleeping!”?

“Oh my God, Kayla. Of course I didn’t!” I gasped at her cavalier suggestion of such a violation of trust.

“Why the hell not?!”?

“Well, first, it’s a massive breach of privacy. That’s such an intimate thing, and I would never do something like that. Plus, how could I? It’s not like I know his password.”?

“You don’t know his password?” The corner of her lips turned up in what I could only imagine was condescending patronization.

“Of course not! He doesn’t know mine either. That’s private.”?

“Luna, I swear…” she trailed off, wrapping her arm around my shoulder as she steered us back out onto the busy sidewalk. “One of these days, I’ll get it through that pretty little head of yours that any actual relationship should have these things. You should have each other’s passwords. And you have every right to go through his phone. It’s your right as a girlfriend. Everyone knows that. You just said you needed proof!”?

I shook my head at her utter absurdity.

That was Kayla, though. We had been friends since junior high, though to this day I did not know why. One day, I was simply minding my own business, being the wallflower I had always been, and suddenly she was there, talking to me. She was Miss Popular, with her model-esque looks; tall, thin, and with perfect curves. Combine that with her vivacious attitude — let’s just say that I was stunned that she had wanted to become my friend in my na?ve tween adolescence, and was still stunned ten years later.

That being said, Kayla had a certain view of how relationships worked, and it was a skewed one at the best of times. Not that I would ever tell her such a thing. She lived her life the way she wanted, and it didn’t interfere with our friendship. I was who I was, and Kayla was, well, Kayla.

“We will have to agree to disagree on that part, Kay. There’s no way I’m going to snoop through his house or his phone. It would feel wrong, even if he is a no-good fucking cheater. I won’t stoop to his level.” We passed shop after shop in the French Quarter, taking in the sights. Although we had lived in New Orleans our entire lives, it never grew old, coming down here to get away for a bit. It was like stepping into another world. We often came here when something in our lives was going wrong.

“Well, you need to do something. You can’t keep living with this kind of anxiety, Luna. It makes you all… I dunno, twitchy and stuff.”?

I couldn’t contradict her. I was so jittery I was sure I looked a fool, walking along, twitching and rubbing my nose. She was right — I did look like a strung-out coke addict. Dammit.

“Ooh, perfect!” she exclaimed with a squeal, jerking me to the edge of the sidewalk and out onto the bustling street like death by motor vehicle was nothing to be concerned over. We dashed across the street in a rush, headed towards God only knew what. I had long ago learned it was best not to question Kayla when she had her sights set on something, especially where shopping was concerned.

I spied a niche clothing boutique only a few doors down, but shook my head in confusion when she tugged me sharply into a shop before we were even close to it. My eyes barely had time to read the words written in faded gold letters before Kayla pulled me inside.

le Désir Mystique

“This is exactly what you need, Luna,” she whispered as we entered the shop. The perfume that had somehow permeated my nose for the entire day quickly disappeared, overpowered by the scent of patchouli, and something pungent that stung my nostrils. The shop was dimly lit, and every nook, cranny, and surface teemed with bits and bobbles. Artifacts that could only be associated with the occult.

“Kay, what are we doing here?” I whispered harshly.

“Finding out the truth, obviously.”?

“This is an occult shop.”?

“Exactly. So you can ask for the truth about whether or not Josh is cheating on you. Plain and simple.”?

“Kay, you’ve got to be kidding,” I seethed, clinging to her arm as she perused the shelves, waiting for the owner to appear. The hairs on the back of my neck stood to attention, as though someone were right behind me. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw him.

My breath caught.

I didn’t know what I was expecting — hell; I wasn’t sure how to even feel about what I was seeing. The man was older, perhaps in his forties. Maybe younger. He appeared somehow almost ageless. Dressed in coattails of burgundy and black with a thick brocade, he seemed to have stepped into this place from another world, or at the very least, another time.

I didn’t know whether to let my jaw drop in awe or to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

“Salutations, and welcome to le Désir Mystique. How may I be of service to you both?” His thick, French Cajun accent, combined with the formality of his greeting, was quite the act. One I struggled to take seriously as I squashed the giggle forming at my lips.

“We’d like to have a reading done.” My eyes swiveled to Kayla as she spoke to the eccentric man. She could not be serious.

“Kay, I’m not going to sit here and have a psychic tell me a load of crap while he takes my money.”?

“Of course you aren’t, dear. He’ll be taking my money. And besides, it’s not crap. It’ll give you the answer you are looking for. Something real, instead of your anxiety-riddled delusions over a mystery perfume that honestly, I don’t think actually exists. But this way you will know once and for all.”?

“Wait a second. So my smelling perfume on Josh’s clothing is absurd, but listening to a psychic — that’s valid and realistic? You’ve lost it, Kayla King. Absolutely lost it.”?

The man walked towards us, although the word walking failed to adequately describe the way he nearly glided across the floor in a flourish of fluttering coat tails and nearly imperceptible movement. It truly appeared that he floated on air until he stood before us both. Kayla remained unfazed; probably because she was almost as tall as he was. My petite frame, however, felt even more tiny in the man’s looming, almost oppressive presence.

“It seems to me that one of you may not be a believer in the dark and powerful arts.” Holding his hands before him, his long spindly fingers formed a steeple, behind which he only barely hid a sinister smirk. It was creepy, and somehow, I could not look away.

“That’s correct!” Kayla agreed cheerfully, her arm pulling my own up and down as she bounced with excitement. “See, Luna? I told you he was the real deal,” she whispered under her breath, though not quietly enough for the man of mystery to not hear her. Forgoing any verbal answer in an attempt to preserve the last vestiges of my dignity, I plastered on a fake smile and nodded half-heartedly.

“The occult arts are not something to be trifled with, ma chère .” Though he spoke to both of us, his words seemed to be meant for only me. My eyes lifted, finding his dark tawny skin giving way to surprisingly green eyes. Not something one would see every day. It gave him even more of an air of magic and mystery.

“I don’t know about all that. I’ve seen my share of psychic babble in my day,” I scoffed derisively under my breath, my mind immediately flashing back to my youth, watching my mother rack up our phone bill to the point of disconnection every month, spending so much money on calls to Madame Moira.

His presence loomed over me, greater than any I had ever felt, surprising me for a man of his lanky frame. “Take care with your words, ma chère . The ancestors do not take kindly to being called such things. I am not some phony psychic with a number in the yellow pages. This shop is no place for counterfeit con artists such as…” he trailed off, tapping one long finger against his chin as if contemplating his words, “Shall we say, Madame Moira?”

My stoic skepticism cracked the tiniest bit at the mention of a name he should not know, but I shook it off.

“I am simply a non-believer. I mean no offense, sir.” Quickly, I tried to rectify any offense I may have caused him. My eyes remained locked on his, though I just barely caught the flicker of a smirk playing at the corner of his lips at my formality.

“Perhaps, then, you would allow me to change that perception.” Those long fingers wrapped around my hand, holding me captive as he tugged me forward. “Will you allow me?”?

And, for a reason I could not name, I nodded. After all, who could it hurt?