Hoodoo You Want Read online

  From my bag on the seat next to me, I heard a familiar tapping. Literally. I opened the flap, knowing what that meant. Jocko was awake.

  I peered inside at the small ball, where my familiar stretched his small claws and floated on his back in his water. Yet, another bizarre part of my witchiness. Violet’s familiar was a sleek, very proper, black cat. Iris’s was a wise-cracking crow. My mother’s was a lovely white fox, who was loyal and clever. And mine...I stared at the water-filled ball. Mine was a crawfish. A crawfish with a thick Cajun accent, who constantly swore in French. Tres pottymouth.

  “Tabarnak, what time is it?” He stretched and flapped his tail.

  I didn’t know the exact translation of tabarnak, but in the context he always used it, I took it to be the equivalent of holy crap. But raunchier, of course.

  I pulled my phone out from a pocket in my bag and pressed the button to light up the screen. I held it out for him. Even though this was New Orleans, and probably no one would think twice about a woman talking into her purse, I still made it a habit not to chat with him in mixed company. Which he hated.

  He squinted at the phone, then groaned. “Ah, merde. I slept the whole maudit day away.”

  That was nothing new. Ever since I started working at the bar, Jocko had developed a real taste for beer, and he was hungover more days than not.

  That said, he’d sort of gotten saddled with a very dull, almost non-witch. What else did he have to do? I don’t think either of us were thrilled with our arrangement.

  When Jocko had arrived to me, on a pile of fresh crawfish that we’d ordered for a crawfish boil a couple summers ago, my mother had been elated with the chatty creature. Surely, if I had a familiar, crustacean or otherwise, that had to mean my powers were growing. Nope. It just meant that I had to carry around a half-pickled, swearing, bayou-dweller in a water-filled ball.

  I was living the dream.

  “You headed to work?” he asked, some of his words garbled as he bobbed in the water. Bubbles danced around him. I chose to believe that was due to him talking and not caused by other bodily functions.

  I nodded.

  “Dat’s good, because hoo lawd, I need me some hair of the dog.”

  I didn’t think he really needed another drink, like ever, but at least when he was passed out, I didn’t have to deal with him.

  I rolled my eyes and dropped the flap closed. I heard his grumbles at being back in the dark, but I ignored him.

  Soon we reached the Quarter. I transferred to the Rampart Line, where I could get off at the St. Claude stop and walk down Frenchmen Street to where my bar, Secret Door, was located.

  Jocko repeatedly tapped the glass of his ball and griped for the remainder of my ride, but soon I was off the streetcar and walking. The swishing of his water must have lulled him into silence because his complaining stopped. I headed in the direction of the bar, which was on the corner of Frenchmen and Royal. The street was quieter than usual since it was a Sunday night, but it certainly wasn’t dead. There were still plenty of New Orleans revelers, who didn't care whether it was a Sunday night or not.

  As I passed an alley between two restaurants, I heard something that didn’t sound like partiers, however. It sounded like a fight. I stopped walking to listen. There were angry growls and the sound of glass and other things breaking. It was definitely a fight. I looked around, trying to decide what I should do.

  Someone groaned loudly from the shadows. Then I heard the sound of what I was pretty sure was fists against flesh. Crap, this was not good. I looked around again, trying to decide if there was anyone on the street, who might be able to help. At five foot nothing and a hundred pounds, I certainly couldn't. But before I could decide what to do, a large figure barreled out of the alley and straight toward me. Before I could get a good look at the person, I tripped backwards, landing on my butt on the sidewalk.

  “Hey, what the purtain are you doing?” I heard Jocko shout as my bag hit the sidewalk. The flap opened and Jocko rolled out. He shouted and glubbed as he spun head over tail in his water, the glass ball bouncing on the uneven sidewalk. Fortunately, the ball didn’t break as it came to a standstill against the steps of a building a few feet away. I struggled to my feet, hurrying to retrieve him. Jocko might be a pain in my rear, but I didn’t want him hurt.

  I picked up the ball, peering in at him. His eyes rolled as he tried to get his bearings. Then he pressed himself against the glass to glare at me. “What the putain were you doing?” He shook himself, small claws and tail flailing. “Tabarnak.”

  Or maybe I didn’t really care if he was hurt.

  “Listen, you foul-mouthed, little, crab-wannabe,” I muttered at him, breaking my own rule about not being seen in public talking to a ball with a crawfish in it. “I nearly got trampled by some huge dude. I didn’t mean to drop you. Geesh!”

  Jocko stared at me. One of his antennas drooped. “Are you okay?”

  I blinked. I don’t think I’d ever seen concern from him.

  I pursed my lips, then nodded. “Yeah, I’m okay. You?”

  “Dizzy and shaken but I’ve been through worse. Did I tell you about how I survived the hurricane of 2005?”

  Jocko did love to tell his survival stories. I listened, since I felt like I should, considering my familiar had nearly rolled to his death, but only a couple sentences into the story, I heard something. It sounded like a—a mournful howl?

  I held a finger up to my lips to shush the tall tale-telling crawfish. To my surprise, he stopped his story immediately.

  I crept back toward the alley, scooping up my bag. I stopped. I heard a growl again, low and pained. My hair stood on end. Was that a dog? Had that huge guy been abusing an animal?

  I was sucker for dogs. I would have been totally stoked if my familiar had been a cute pug or protective rottweiler. Heck, even a feisty chihuahua would have been better protection than a crawfish. But even knowing a crustacean in a ball was likely no help at all, I took a step into the dark alleyway.

  “Merde, what are you doing?” Jocko swished around in his water.

  I hushed him again. “I heard something.”

  “I heard it too, but that don’t mean we should be going to see what it was. This is a dumb horror flick move, couyan.”

  I knew he’d just called me a fool, and he wasn’t wrong. This was a seriously dumb move, but something urged me to keep going. I crept forward cautiously. For once, Jocko remained quiet. He bobbed in his water, claws, tail and antennas totally motionless. His crazy eyes staring straight ahead of us.

  I squinted, trying to see in the shadowy light. I could make out a couple tall, metal dumpsters and also a tipped-over, metal trash can. Papers, bottles, old food, and other refuse cascaded out of it onto the ground. Then the heap of garbage shifted. I made out a leg, poking from the pile.

  I edged closer, scrunching my face, both to get my eyes to dilate more and also because of the smell. I winced. Holy guacamole, it stunk.

  Again, the trash pile moved and I saw the leg again. But it wasn’t a normal, human leg. It was misshapen, bent at an unusual angle. Maybe it was broken. And it looked...hairy?

  I hesitated again. What was I doing? This was nuts. Then I heard a low whimper. The sound of utter pain prompted me to take another step closer. The injured thing pushed upright, emerging from the trash. I made out huge shoulders and a chest, bulging with muscles. All covered with more hair.

  Its head turned toward me, and my stare was met by a pair of glowing, gold eyes, like big topazes held up to the sun. I also saw an elongated snout where the creature's nose and mouth should have been. Pointed ears sprouted out of its head. Then, it curled back its lips and bared its teeth. Sharp teeth and vicious-looking fangs glinted in the faint light from the street.

  “Putain de merde,” Jocko gasped. “That’s a freakin’ rougarou.”

  Chapter Two

  A rougarou? Louisiana’s version of the werewolf? They never left the bayous—or at least that’s what I’d he
ard. But this creature did look exactly like what I’d heard described. And it had left the bayou. Great, New Orleans had enough magical beings wandering around. Did we really need an influx of rougarous?

  My eyes darted down at the ball clutched in my hand. Jocko was splayed back against the far side of his mobile home. His eyes bulged. He turned to try to crawl up the curved side of the ball toward the cap that was his exit. Rather pathetically, he slid back down the glass into the water. He collapsed onto his back, floating. Apparently, if he couldn’t flee his ball, the next best option was to play dead.

  I looked back to the prone creature, realizing how absolutely ginormous and muscular it was. But other than looking back at me, the creature didn’t move.

  “Hey there,” I called softly. “Good doggy.”

  It lowered its head to peer at me. Then it growled, low and menacingly. Apparently, it didn’t appreciate being called “doggy.”

  “It’s okay, big guy.” From the looks of its bared chest, it seemed pretty obvious that the rougarou was male. “It’s okay.”

  I took a couple more steps forward, surveying him. My gaze landed on his shredded pants, which looked like he had purchased them straight from the Incredible Hulk fashion line. Then I saw the large—like very large—bulge of his crotch.

  Oh yeah, definitely male. I looked away.

  Inside his glass ball, Jocko swished from side to side on top of his water, still playing dead. Without opening his eyes, he hissed out of the side of his mouth, “What are you doing, couyan?”

  I wasn’t about to admit I was checking out a rougarou’s package. That was as about couyan-ish as it got. And honestly what did I think I was going to do for an injured rougarou anyway? If all the lore was true, they were a notoriously unfriendly lot, who hated witches. But of course, I wasn’t really much of a witch.

  “Run. Run dammit! Have you lost your mind, folle?” Jocko muttered from his feigned death state.

  Probably, but something deep inside me told me that I needed to help this guy. This wolf. This wolf-guy.

  I shoved Jocko back in my bag, then walked slowly up to the collapsed rougarou. When I was in arms reach of him, I stopped. And grimaced.

  “Oh crap,” I groaned. “It smells so bad.” The stench was worse than a dead skunk that had been left in the sun.

  I pinched my nostrils closed. It didn’t help.

  The giant rougarou growled.

  “I’m not insulting you.” But I made another disgusted face as I leaned closer to him. Or maybe I was. I thought the stench was coming from the garbage, but I was starting to think it was the rougarou.

  “Dude, have you heard of soap and water?”

  He growled again.

  “Where are you hurt?” I asked, managing not to barf on him. No small feat. That was another witch trait I did have. Most witches had major gag reflexes.

  To my surprise, the rougarou gestured to his side with a huge paw. Long, sharp claws shone in the faint light, but it was the large, gaping wound that ran from his hip to his ribs that caught my attention. Dark blood pooled on the ground around him.

  “Holy crap.” This was not good. I didn’t know anything about rougarous’ healing abilities, but I didn’t think any living creature could survive for long with an injury like that.

  Argh. Why wasn’t Violet here? She might be able to help. Healer witches couldn’t heal rougarous, or at least that was another thing the lore claimed. Something about the fact that rougarous didn’t transition into full wolves, and Healer witches could only heal a Shifter while they were in animal form. From what I was seeing slumped in front of me, that legend seemed to be true. He was definitely a huge half man/half wolf. But Violet might have been able to help him with her traditional medical abilities. I glanced at the wound again. Although I honestly doubted it. That was a viciously deep gash.

  And really gross. I fought the urge to upchuck again.

  Get it together. I couldn’t just leave him. So, I suppressed my need to yak over the smell and the blood and the gaping wound and moved around him to the side that was injured. I swallowed hard, then crouched down beside him. This was pointless. I had no clue how to help.

  Tentatively, and with no small amount of grimacing, I reached out to touch his side, although I wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t as if poking his wound would do anything other than cause him more pain. And let’s face it, that was about all I could do. But as soon as my fingers lightly brushed his furry skin, my hand began to shimmer a brilliant, sparkly rose gold.

  Shocked, I immediately jerked my hand back. Okay, that had never happened. Like ever. If my magic sparked, it was usually a crazy day-glo green.

  I touched him again. Immediately the glittering rose gold swirled around my hand. It twined up my arm and around my chest, twirling and dancing like gorgeous magical vines.

  “Oh, my Goddess,” I gasped.

  From my bag, Jocko called out, “What’s happening? Is he killing you?”

  I couldn’t answer, too amazed by what was happening.

  “He’s chomping on your neck right now, ain’t he?” Jocko shouted, his panic making his Cajun accent thicker. “Hoo lawd!”

  I gaped from myself to the rougarou. My magic circled around him, too.

  “I can’t believe this,” I gasped.

  The rougarou growled as if in agreement.

  I heard the repeated, frantic tapping of Jocko on his glass ball. “Don’t you chew on her neck, you nasty swamp beast. I’m coming, Mally. I’m coming.”

  “I’m okay,” I said, afraid the poor little crustacean was about to crack a claw trying to help me. What did he think he was going to do to save me anyway? Although it was rather sweet that he was willing to try. Then I giggled. Partly at the image of my crawfish, tiny claws flailing, trying to protect me from a giant rougarou. But mainly, my laugh was because I was positively giddy. I was creating magic! I had no idea what my magic was doing but I had freaking magic.

  I laughed again. Then I placed my other hand on the side of the rougarou and more rose gold magic spun and sparkled out of my hands.

  In fact, it began to spread and swirl around the dark alley. I glanced toward the streets where people passed by, but no one even glanced in our direction.

  Maybe I was just hallucinating. My desire for magic abilities had finally driven me insane. Or maybe the injured rougarou had really killed me.

  Then my attention returned to the large wolfman. My amazingly beautiful magic cocooned around his solid, massive body, raising him up in the air. I rose from my crouching position, keeping my hands on him as he floated upward. His golden eyes widened at his sudden position, levitating several feet of the ground.

  “This is unbelievable,” I murmured, grinning from ear to ear.

  “What’s unbelievable?” Jocko shouted. “Is he gnawing your leg? Everyone knows rougarous like thigh meat.”

  The rougarou in question turned his head to look at me, one furry eyebrow raised. His expression was so human that I couldn’t stop myself from laughing wildly. I pressed my hands to my stomach, trying to calm my reaction to the bizarre, hilarity of this whole situation.

  As soon as my hands left him, the rougarou dropped to the ground with a loud thud and an oof from the creature.

  “Oh crap,” I said immediately sober, gaping at him. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to do that.”

  The rougarou remained still for a moment, but when I reached for him again, he jumped up onto his hind legs in one swift movement. I gasped and tilted my head back to gape up at him. He towered over me by a good two feet. Then he slowly bowed over me, his monstrous teeth glinting right in my face. He slowly moved closer.

  Oh no, no, no. This was not good. I just discovered my magic, and I was about to become a rougarou’s appetizer.

  To my surprise, he poked his nose against my hair and drew in a long sniff.

  “Has anyone ever told you that playing with your food is rude?” I managed to say, still expecting him to chomp down on me.

>   He immediately stepped back, agile on his strange, wolf-like legs. His glowing eyes held mine for a moment, then he threw his head back and howled, the eerie, haunting sound echoing deafeningly off the buildings around us.

  Before I could even register what he was going to do next, he jumped up onto the dumpster beside us in one effortless bound. Then he leapt over my head and onto the rooftop of the building behind me. I spun to find him, but he was already gone.

  The event was so fast that it took me several seconds to realize that when he was standing over me, he’d no longer had the deep, open wound in his side.

  I stood there for a moment longer, trying to process what had just happened. Finally, Jocko’s frantic cries snapped me out of my daze. I opened my bag and took him out. He balanced with his claws on the opposite side of the ball, jerking his head back and forth, searching for the rougarou.

  “Where is he? I can take him.”

  I held the ball up to look at him. “He’s gone.”

  Jocko sank back against the side of the ball, slowly sliding under the water with relief.

  I smiled. My familiar might be a potty-mouthed lush, but tonight, he definitely got an A+ for being willing to defend me. I actually didn’t think the little shellfish had it in him.

  “What happened?” he asked as soon as he popped back up out of the water.

  “Well,” I was still having a hard time processing the events myself. “I—umm—healed him and he took off.”

  Jocko gaped at me like I had lost my marbles, then his antennas bent forward in disbelief. “You healed a rougarou? Witches can’t do that.”

  I nodded slowly. “I know. But I did.”

  “Tabarnak,” Jocko murmured.

  Tabarnak indeed.

  Chapter Three

  “Yoo-hoo. Earth to Mally.” Violet said, waving a hand in front of my face “Are you okay? You’ve been acting really weird since you got here.”

  I blinked at her, then down at the uneaten beignet I held. Yikes. I had no idea how long I’d been spacing out. I set the powdered sugar-covered pastry down. I was definitely not myself. Normally, I’d be tearing into my beignets with full gusto. Maybe even on my second order.