Chapter 3

Sebastien

The last of the shades closed over the large store-front window, dimming the front room of my shop into near darkness. Finally, I felt as though I could breathe. Day in and day out, I found myself in the endless cycle of petty tribulations from more tourists and random passersby than I would have liked. That wasn’t why I was here. It was simply a drudgery I had to accept if I wanted to fulfill my true calling.

I was a Boko , a Voodoo priest that practiced both the light and dark side of the ancient magics. While most of those who practiced the ancient arts were too weak to embrace the true power of dark magic, I embraced it. My highest calling was to lure the poor, unfortunate souls of the French Quarter into the dark corners of magic that were necessary to appease the ancestors. And I was good at it. Quite good, in fact. Unfortunately, it was a rare thing to find such a soul these days. It had been months since I had been able to appease the ancestors and feed the magic that burned beneath my skin like sparks waiting to ignite.

Today was not the same, however. As I finished locking up the shop, I could not stop myself from thinking back to the two women who had graced my shop. The first of them, Ms. King, she had been just like any other tourist, but worse. I was used to those like her. I made my money from idiots like her.

But her friend.

Luna Landry. Even thinking her name made my fists clench, so strong was my immediate need for her.

She was different. She was unlike anyone I had ever encountered. I needed to have her. I needed to make her mine.

As soon as she had entered my shop, I felt her presence like the heat of a fire against my skin. The ancestors called to me, beckoning me to claim her soul. They clamored at me, demanding I feed the ancient magic with the power of a truly lost soul’s essence. Bending a soul such as hers, breaking it to my will, was the ultimate source of magical energy.

Over and over for the entire day, my thoughts had drifted back to her. Her dark eyes, full of sorrow and pain. Her long dark hair, flowing clear down her back in gentle waves that looked thick and lush. I could almost feel their soft tresses in my grasp. Her full, pouty mouth, even when it opened with a sharp, bratting retort. Just as with every other part of her, there was a lushness to her form, curves and softness that begged to be touched, fondled, and tormented. She was a beautiful woman, if not traditionally so, but above all else, it was the tortured depths of her soul that called to me like a siren. Even the ancestors agreed. She needed me. And I would make sure she got everything she needed.

“You know you’re playing with fire, right?” a voice called from beneath me, followed quickly by the flick of a tail against my shins.

“I don’t recall asking your opinion, Toulouse,” I drawled in annoyance.

“I don’t recall you being this excited over a human in a very long time. And let us not forget the past, dear Bash.” The black cat, my familiar of many years now, leapt from the ground beneath my feet, up to the countertops, carefully slithering between the artifacts and faux potions that littered the surface as we made our way to the back of the shop.

“I do not wish to speak of the past. It rarely brings forth anything good.”?

“Do I need to remind you of Carlotta? Do you really want a repeat of that mess?” Toulouse pounced down to the floor at the back of the shop, scurrying between my feet before I shut the door.

“Carlotta was a long time ago, Toulouse. I will not make the same mistakes.”?

“One hundred years is a long time, you’re right. Perhaps it’s been long enough that you’ve forgotten how the ancestors reacted to your choice. You lured that poor woman in, corrupted her, and then failed to control her through a full bonding. How many people did she kill before you had to put her down, Sebastien? Was it twelve or —”

“Carlotta was a mistake!” My voice thundered through the room, bouncing off of the walls with my anger. I did not want to be reminded of my past transgressions. The cat may have been my familiar this last century and a half, but that did not mean I wouldn’t throw him in a stew in retribution for his smarmy vitriol.

Toulouse’s golden eyes narrowed at me as he spoke. “Carlotta may have been a mistake, but let it remind you that you do not have control over humans. You must be careful, Bash.”?

“I know. And that is why I will ensured that I can, in fact, have that control. I can guarantee this will not be another situation like Carlotta.” I carefully picked up the burlap doll that held the key to ensuring that a mistake was impossible. Of course, I hadn’t thrown it in the fire; a bit of simple sleight of hand, and a metallic powder to make the flames flare green, and neither of the girls had been any the wiser. I stared down at the doll imbued with Luna’s blood and stuffed with a mixture of cotton and threads of her raven-dark hair. Taking a deep breath, I whispered the words I had longed to say all day. “ Par le sang et par les os, tu es à moi .”?

“Bash, don’t!” Toulouse warned, but with a flick of my hand, I cast the furry black familiar from the back room and back into the storefront, the door slamming shut and the pins of the lock sounding through nothing more than a bit of magic from my fingertips.

Sitting at the large table that filled the center of the room, I set the precious doll down before me, not wanting to be long from it, but needing my crystal ball to fulfill the urges that swirled deep within me.

With a flourish of my hand over the smooth crystal surface, I whispered the incantation quietly. It wasn’t like the movies; there was no fog and glittering imagery, but within a few moments, a bedroom appeared. Her bedroom.

The room was a pale green, barely discernible in the muted glow of moonlight streaming through the shutters of a large bay window on one wall. I noted this with interest. The bed was large, with a soft blanket and several pillows, giving it a decidedly feminine charm. But Luna was nowhere to be seen. That was strange.

A moment later, light poured into the room as a door opened. Clearly fresh from a shower, Luna appeared, hair wrapped in a towel poised high on her head and another wrapped around her curvy frame, the ends not meeting enough to cover her full form. I could see a hint of soft curves and smooth skin as she walked to the bed, sitting down as she tugged the towel from her hair. The long length tumbled down her back luxuriously. I growled with need as she let the other towel fall away, baring her gorgeous body to me fully. Immediately, my mind filled with all the depraved, terrible things I wanted to do to that body. I would have her weeping my name before I was through.

I watched, entranced, as she lifted a bottle of lotion from her nightstand, proceeding to cover every inch of her skin with it methodically. I waited, watching patiently until she finally put on her pajamas, then pulled back the covers and slid into bed. She was now clad in a cropped tee shirt and a pair of panties that molded to the curves of her cunt so perfectly it hurt. I watched with mounting anticipation and barely suppressed lust as she began to nod off. Thankfully, it was only a short while before she fell into a peaceful slumber.

“Perfection,” I whispered, lifting the doll. With a barely audible spell, magic sparked between my fingertips and the burlap figure. I reveled in the feeling of connection, of control. It was a tenuous control for now, but I was confident that would change soon. She would succumb to my enticement, I was certain.

I let my fingertips barely graze the doll’s legs, from ankle to knee just along the inside. As I gazed into the crystal ball, I was delighted to see Luna squirm in response. Such a receptive subject, already. Corrupting her was going to be even easier than I thought.

Perfect. The connection had been made. I had thought so earlier today, when I ran my fingers along the back of the doll’s neck and watched her shiver in response as she left the shop. This only further proved the doll’s magic to be a success.

Now, to have some fun.

A tickle here, a stroke there. I worked to make Luna uncomfortable. She twitched and trembled, tossing this way and that until she flung back the covers in a moment of exasperation.

Delicious.

My fingertips glided over the sides of the doll, the touch becoming more soft and infinitely more sensual. Her frustrated tossing made way for soft sighs as I slowly aroused her. Brushing over the chest of the doll, imagining the way the heavy curve of her breast would move under my touch, I watched as her own hands began to wander over her stomach. There was little intent in her touch, but I would change that soon enough.

I lifted the doll to my face, whispering just beside the ear, “Touch yourself.”?

I waited with bated breath, curious to know if my suspicions were correct. Was she the soul I had longed for? Would she be able to be so easily controlled? It wasn’t often one could be coerced through speech when working with a voodoo doll, but sure as I had hoped, her thumbs brushed over the underside of her luscious tits, working their way up to her nipples. I watched as she worked them slowly into stiff peaks beneath the thin cotton of her cropped shirt.

Her hands moved of their own accord, my own fingers randomly touching the doll here and there, guiding her movements with the slightest touch. I wondered what dreams played behind those closed lids, wondered what she fantasized about as her hand slipped beneath the band of her panties. I could just barely see the movement of her fingers as she played and toyed with her most intimate parts.

My fingers moved over the doll, finding my way directly between the thighs. Flicks and light touches came one after the next as I added sensation to her play. She was already so receptive to my touch, as if she had been created to be controlled. Every curve of her body undulated convulsively as she scaled the peak of her orgasm, blissfully unaware that it was me who guided her towards that release.

“ Propage ,” I whispered into the doll’s ear, running my hand around the crystal ball’s smooth surface until the picture zoomed in between her thighs. A wet spot appeared through her pretty little pink panties, growing larger as my guidance and her answering arousal pushed her to the edge of orgasm. It was almost as if I could smell her juices as I hungrily watched her move closer and closer to the climax she so desperately sought.

My cock hardened to the point of pain, pressing against the fly of my pants and begging to be released. But I would not assuage my own desires — not yet. Tonight was not about my pleasure. It was about her. It was about setting my hooks in her, beginning the process of drawing her inexorably down into my web of seduction and control.

Her entire body shook as I finally relented, allowing her to cum. I could not tear my gaze from the picture of her pure, unadulterated sexual energy as she abandoned all the careful reservedness she had shown in my shop. With her back arched and her head thrown back, she gripped the blankets with one hand as the other continued frantically rubbing her clit as if it was the only thing in the world that existed.

She screamed in pleasure. No name left her lips, no words at all, in fact. Only sounds, only pleasure. And, ancestors help me, I was addicted to her. My fingers ached to touch, my tongue to taste, my body to possess.

And possess her, I would.