Magic and Mayhem: The Voodoo That You Do (Kindle Worlds Novella) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Text copyright ©2017 by the Author.

  This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by Robyn Peterman. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the original Magic and Mayhem remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Robyn Peterman, or their affiliates or licensors.

  For more information on Kindle Worlds: http://www.amazon.com/kindleworlds

  Chapter One

  When the bridesmaids came reeling in with red plastic cups in their hands, I wasn’t a bit surprised that they were already drunk. What did give me a start was that a bridesmaid’s party had found its way to Assjacket, West Virginia at all. Why would anyone come here to celebrate? The way I saw it, there were only three reasons to venture into this fleabitten burg:

  It’s where the prison bus dropped you off.

  The treasure map to a chest of gold bullion has an X right under Clem’s Dairy ‘N’ Feed.

  You’re hiding out from a minor evil entity who wants to eat your soul.

  I threw a black velvet cloth over Mojo in case he decided to get snarky with the girls, checked my hoop earrings and spread out the tarot cards invitingly.

  “Welcome to Divine Jinx,” I said in my spookiest voice.

  “Are you a real gypsy?” breathed a blonde, catching herself as one ankle collapsed. She giggled and the others joined in, plus the occasional hiccup and one muffled belch.

  “Cross my palm with silver and you’ll find out.”

  Another blonde approached me and pulled a wad of moist twenties from her cleavage. It hit me then that they were all blond, in varying degrees, orangely tanned and in tiny, shiny dresses. Whoo! Girls, my sworn enemies. I’d take their money any day.

  “My folks own that big house up on the hill,” she said, snapping her gum. “Make it quick. We’re gonna get tattoos after.”

  “Whoo!” rose the chorus of their tribe.

  Sure, whatever. For five hundred bucks I’d run them through their fortunes like a hooker late with the rent—I didn’t count it, that would be vulgar. I may be an outlaw psychic who keeps a smartass head in a ball, but I am a lady.

  “Rye goes first! She’s the bride! Whoo!”

  “What do I do?” she asked.

  I got her to sit down and pick a card. Page of Coins, good for someone on the brink of a new journey.

  “Rye, is it? Shuffle the cards and ask them a question.”

  “Okay, will Steve—”

  “Not out loud, bitch!” someone shrieked.

  “Shut up! You're the bitch, bitch,” Rye giggled. She squeezed her eyes shut like a child making a birthday wish, the way they all did, and riffled the cards awkwardly.

  I cut the deck and laid out the Celtic cross, intoning in an otherworldly drone, “This covers you, this crosses you. This is beneath you, this is behind you, this is above you ...” I didn’t want to see this chick’s future—the eventually fat husband and the rugrats pitching fits in Walmart, but here it came anyway. The table of cards seemed to shrink, and another view barged in like a thought in a cartoon bubble. It’s like having double vision, and it gives me a monster of a migraine.

  A small man with a big head, teeth like needles and claws on the ends of his leathery red hands.

  I shrieked. I might have peed a little, not gonna lie.

  “Is everything okay?” asked Sarah anxiously.

  “Yes,” I said shakily.

  No.

  Not Mr. Doll, not now. How could this bubblebrain bride-to-be have any connection with the demon who cursed me? It was my own vision getting in the way, or Mojo having his idea of fun. I wish he had a neck so I could strangle him.

  I lay out the staff, chock full of sword arcana, always a good sign if you’re a fan of impending doom. My head was swimming.

  I lay out the final card.

  The Tower. Destruction, terror, upheaval, revelation. There was no way to spin this. Another vision took over and to say it was not great is like saying we’re in for a teeny-tiny apocalypse. This time I heard as well as saw it clearly. Mr. Doll cradling a baby, a drop of drool shining on the tip of one of his pointed teeth.

  “She will do nicely,” he was saying over the baby’s screams. “The jewel in my collection. I’ll see you soon, sweet morsel. My Emissary will make sure of it.”

  I swept the cards into a pile and tapped them on the table. All the blood had drained from my face and in addition to the killer headache, my hands were trembling and there was a very real possibility of throwing up.

  “Welp, that’s it. You and Scott will be very happy. You’ll have two kids. Your health is good, but you recently had a scare.” I threw that in for good measure.

  “Rye thought she was pregnant!” someone blurted out. Oopsy, that part was true.

  “Congratulations, Rye,” I said. “You ladies have a great night.”

  I wanted them out of there, and fast. I wanted a blankie, I wanted my mommy.

  “Whoo! Let’s do shots!” The girls shuffled out, tinkling with giggles, Rye’s platinum head bright in the dark shop. Her doomed head.

  Crap.

  “Uh, Rye?”

  She turned and smiled. Pretty girl. Too bad about the eternal damnation.

  “When’s the wedding?”

  “Next month, on my birthday!”

  “Cool. Coolcoolcool.” So this is what panic feels like. “So, you’re what, 25?”

  Please let her be 25, please let her have passed the threshold.

  “Twenty-four,” she said, chewing her gum cowishly. “Is this gonna be a lecture about how I’m too young to get married?”

  “No, just…will you be in town for a while?”

  “Yeah, the parental units are paying for the big day so I don’t have a choice. That’s why we’re partying here in Asscanoe, West Virginia. I’m gonna get a tattoo of a butterfly on my shoulder. My dress is strapless, so mom. Is going. Tofreakwhen she sees it.”

  “Freak, she will. So freak.” English mine all gone. “Here, take my card. Give me a call if…you need anything.”

  “Whatevs.” She tucked it in her cleavage and blew a bubble. “Can we get Sex on the Beaches at Sweet Willie’s?

  No, but you can get chlamydia from the toilet seat. Sweet Willie’s was a beer-and-whisky bar with the occasional side of knifings. Still, Rye would be safer there than standing in the aisle in her strapless dress and stupid tattoo, about to be snatched by the nasty little fiend who ruined my life.

  Chapter Two

  I pulled the chain and my neon sign, a glowing gold Moon tarot with “Divine Jinx” in red, winked out.

  “Was that who I think it was?”

  I’d forgotten about Mojo. I took the velvet cover off the crystal ball. The face floating inside looked like a man in the process of melting, blurry and indistinct, but Mojo had his own inimitable style. Tonight he was wearing a cheap tiara with PARTY spelled out in glitter.

  “I thought I’d join in on the fun before choking from the smell of spray tan. So, a visit from Mr. Doll. Inconvenient.”

  “You mean horrifying.”
<
br />   “I prefer the gentle blow of understatement rather than the bludgeon of exaggeration you traffic in.”

  I took off the earrings and headscarf, yanked down the flowing skirt and left everything in a puddle on the floor. Stretchy pants and a T-shirt made up my usual outfit, but dressing up brought in more business. And by “more,” I mean next to none. Still, there weren’t a lot of ways to make a living in Asshollow that didn’t involve bait, beer or bear claws. There were a surprising number of donut shops in town.

  “Two brides in one year—that’s weird, right?”

  “It is,” Mojo conceded. “Yet you’ve seen no sign, outside of the visions.”

  “Not yet. He could be sneaky.”

  “Oh, he is assuredly sneaky.”

  I tapped my nails against the tablecloth, my mind whirring. “Her family has money. I know that house she’s talking about, a huge white pile with a crazy gorgeous garden.”

  “Yours was stone, and overgrown with kudzu. But just as big.”

  Yeppers.

  And where did that money come from? I’d spent my years at home in South Louisiana, in an assbite town as small as this one, oblivious, hating school and chasing boys. Now I wondered whether Mr. Doll gifted families with a lifetime of cash in exchange for their daughters. I thought with horror and sadness of parents gazing down at their infant girls, never knowing a deal with the devil had been made for her soul.

  Mojo morphed, replacing the tiara with a shining halo. This did not bode well. “You know what you have to do, Jinx,” he added gently.

  “Spend the next week freaking the fuck out because I’ll turn 25 and Doll is coming for me?”

  “And when would you have time for yoga? This girl’s life is also on the line.”

  Don’t say it, you scrofulous blob of ectoplasm.

  “You have to save her.”

  Chapter Three

  You’d think with my awesome psychic powers I’d know exactly how this curse business came about, but I don’t. The visions are tricky. Sometimes they come in as clear as movie scenes, like the ones I’d had with Rye. But more often they’re more like impressions with names and intentions attached, like suddenly I’ll know stuff without knowing how I know it. If that sounds confusing, imagine being me.

  All I knew was some swamp witch called Serafina negotiated a deal with a minor voodoo entity to hand me over to him before my twenty-fifth birthday, whereupon I’d be no longer alive on Earth per se. Where I was going was a mystery, but odds were it wasn’t Cabo. The visions of Mr. Doll, as he called himself, were horribly clear. He was small and ugly with an oversized head, long teeth like needles that showed both upper and lower sets when he grinned, and red skin as shiny as patent leather. I was to be a “bride” to this demon for a year, then cast down into a fiery pit of hell, discarded like most first wives, while Mr. Doll took his next victim. So two brides in one year, as I’d pointed out to Mojo, was very curious indeed.

  Mr. Doll had said Rye was the “jewel” in his collection. Multiple mates? Maybe the same witch who had sold me out arranged Rye’s fate. But she was a few states away. Ugh nothing made sense. The fact remained that I had to worm out of this, or Rye had virtually no chance. And I, dammit, had a conscience. A stupid, stupid conscience.

  I got in the aging heap I call a car and rolled down the window with the pliers I keep in the glove compartment. The family money is in a trust, if you’re wondering, which I’m to receive on my twenty-fifth birthday, so in other words never. I’ve spent a few aimless years traveling from town to village to forsaken holler trying to ply my trade and keep one step ahead of my fate. Anyway, I’m broke most of the time, hence the heap and the stretchy pants, which areperfectly serviceable. Three pairs of those puppies get me through a whole week.

  The gas station was mid-Assclown between me and the mansion on a hill. I had just pulled the nozzle out of the pump when some idiot began shouting at me. A local good ol’ boy, no doubt, with something to say about my ass in the yoga pants.

  “That’s diesel.”

  He had rolled up beside me and put his hand over mine, still on the nozzle. This was no redneck. This was a…is “god in human form” too much? Tall, bursting with muscles in a black T-shirt and black jeans, with a wild mane of dark hair. But it was the eyes that got me, strange black eyes with flecks of gold. I would have killed bunnies for cheekbones like his. Well, startled bunnies maybe.

  “Wh-what?” I stammered. My flirt-gun was not set on stun.

  “The gas, it’s diesel and it will kill your car.” His voice was kind of rumbly and smooth like a low purr. I felt it in my chest and parts south.

  “You’re Jinx Delacourt, right? From the psychic shop.”

  “Yes.” I tried to put the nozzle back but it wouldn’t go in, and then I was thinking of things going in other things and being too big and then I was sweating and my mouth had gone dry.

  “Draven Broussard.” He smiled. It was like the sun coming out. “Maybe I’ll come around sometime.”

  “Sure.” I cleared my throat. “For a reading?”

  “For whatever you’re offering.”

  He strode away toward a vintage red Cadillac, giving me a wink before he climbed in behind the wheel.

  *****

  It is a truth universally acknowledged that most houses that have circular driveways don’t need them. Same goes for pillars. Rye’s family home needed both. The thing was huge, is what I’m saying.

  Rye answered the door herself. It was mid-morning so of course she was wearing an off-the-shoulder top, booty shorts and spiked gold sandals. She didn’t look that surprised to see me, but I chalked that up to the mimosa in her hand.

  “Oh, hi Jinx. Oh!” She laughed and covered her mouth with a pink-taloned hand. “I just said hijinks.”

  “It’s okay, I get that a lot.”

  “Come on in. You can be a witness.”

  If there had been a crime, the girl was wearing it. She led me across the white carpet, around the white leather couches, through a maze of glass-topped coffee tables, between two porcelain panthers and, just as I was ready to weep from the new-money vulgarity on display, into a wood-paneled den filled with comfortable oxblood chairs. Two men sat on either side of a mahogany desk.

  “This is Steve,” she said, almost shyly.

  Steve was very much a Steve. College-looking bro, hair, eyes and all the usual stuff in a UVA T-shirt.

  “And Cole Something. He’s our family lawyer.”

  The other man looked up and his eyes widened. That was flattering, considering he was maybe early thirties, floppy dark-blond hair, nice blue eyes, nice smile, nice all over. Two delicious boys within the space of an hour. This time I remembered to smile and bat the old eyelashes when he rose to shake my hand. Nice cool grip. A broke-ass girl could do worse than snag a lawyer.

  “We’re working out the details of the prenuptial agreement,” said Cole. “We just need signatures and I can get this notarized.”

  I signed the papers presumably protecting Rye from the frat boy making off with her money and asked if I could speak with her privately. She took me into a dining room so dazzling I had to squint. The only thing not blinding white was the pitcher of mimosas on the table.

  “Yasmina! Another glass!” Rye turned to me apologetically. “She’s slow.”

  “You have a maid? Why couldn’t she sign for you?”

  Rye waved her hand. “Oh, she’s Mexican or whatever. They don’t count.”

  Ay-yi-yi, this girl. For a moment I wondered if she was even worth saving.

  “Hang on, I’m Instgramming this.” She held out her phone and pouted, getting a shot of herself duck-lipped and me gaping like a grouper.

  “Ok, shoot.”

  “Look, Rye. There’s something you should know before your bir—before the wedding.”

  She paled. “Is it Steve and that bitch Courtney? I knew it!”

  Who was Steve again? Oh right, the fiancé. “No, not Steve. It’s you. Well, more
me, really. You know how I pretend to be psychic?”

  Yasmina bustled in with a fresh pitcher and a clean glass. Rye poured out two mimosas and slid one toward me. Why the hell not? It was almost 11 a.m. “Yeah, that was fun.”

  “The truth is, I’m a real psychic. I see things, they come true. I can look into people’s pasts. I can’t always control the visions but I’m telling you they’re real. I know how crazy this sounds—”

  “That’s dope,” she said calmly. “So Steve isn’t banging Courtney? Amber is a lying beeyotch. I’ll put the purple zap on her. I’m gonna tear her eyelashes off.”

  Yikes. “So you believe me?”

  She shrugged. “There’s a lotta weird in this world.”

  That was easy. Now to Round Two, in which I ruin a girl’s life.

  “What I saw was that you’re in great danger. We both are. You’re going to have to work with me if you want to stay safe.”

  “Oemgee! What kind of danger? What do I do?”

  A damn good question. The running-to-scare-Rye part I had figured out. The doing-something-about-it, not so much. I needed more information, which meant talking to the last remaining member of my family, which was going to suck moose balls. And since Mr. Doll was from a sort of cadet branch of voodoo, I’d need to find the swamp witch who summoned him and, well, tear her eyelashes off.

  “It’s kind of a curse,” I told Rye.

  “Ew.”

  She was taking it awfully well. I thanked the numbing properties of booze, raising my glass to my lips. To booze!

  “It seems a demon is after you, and on your birthday-slash-wedding day, there’s a possibility that you might be, like, sorta dragged into hell. Fun bonus fact: I’m scheduled for the same fate. So we have that in common.”

  “Shit. Okay, I need thinking food. Yasmina! Chips and guac! And sour cream. No, nachos with guac and sour cream and cheese.”

  “How can you eat like that and stay so thin?” I asked, not bothering to hide my jealousy the same way I hadn’t bothered to hide my fat arms. I should lift weights more often, but it was boring and my arms got tired.