“I don’t want to pressure you,” Serena told her, “but if it helps, Pierre’s been around this block before and can take you away to safety if things go south.”

  “For sure. And I can bring Céleste, too. She’s an old pro,” Pierre confirmed, studying Elenora. He drew her into his arms for a fatherly hug and told her, “I’m proud of you no matter what you decide.”

  Serena glanced at her watch.

  Elenora’s gut twisted into a tighter knot. Deep inside, she felt guilt and a strong pull to stay home with her newborn. If she went, this would be the first time she’d leave Aubrey, and the intervention presented risks much different from what she was accustomed to.

  Working with the police, she was no stranger to the notion that any intervention could turn sour. Danger was a part of everyday life, both for her and Tom. They had signed up for this. But this case was far from a typical intervention. This one had elements of unnatural instability and something straight from hell thrown into the mix. Who knew where that could lead? Who knew what kind of devastating effect their actions could have as they tackled a murderous spirit? A demon?

  But even worse, who knew what kind of devastation it could bring if they failed and it came back for her? If their actions fell short because Elenora’s special skills and strengths were not there to tip the balance in their favor?

  If their intervention failed because she stayed home?

  They couldn’t fail.

  She couldn’t allow another close call with evil like she had in the nursery.

  The best and only way to protect her daughter might be for her to take part in this crazy mission despite the risks. She had to do this for Aubrey’s sake.

  Guilt would have to wait.

  Elenora, Serena, Pierre, and Alex followed Rolland to his kitchen for him to make a pot of tea. They had some time to kill before their reinforcement arrived.

  The room at the back of the house was eclectic. A Wi-Fi-enabled electric pressure cooker tucked in a corner of the worn wood countertop mingled with a huge stove from the 1940s. Some of the décor could have come straight from a museum. The flowery wallpaper was probably original to the house, which must have been built in the second part of the 1800s, and Elenora wondered if the pigments contained arsenic.

  The previous and very brief time she’d been in this house, she hadn’t made it past the front room and didn’t have the opportunity to take a good look amidst the fuzzy chaos of her childbirth. But she was all eyes now. There was something breathtaking about the room despite its lack of unity.

  “I gather you’re a collector,” she said to Rolland.

  “You’re being generous. I’m more of a historical hoarder,” he replied, pouring tea in mugs. “Grab a cup, everyone.”

  “Shall we retire to the drawing room?” Serena asked tongue-in-cheek, reaching for a dainty teacup.

  “Drawing room? That’s what’s been missing in my life,” Alex muttered, fighting an eye roll.

  “For the record, I haven’t called it that in ages.” Rolland led them to his living room at the front of the house, where heavy velvet burgundy drapes framed majestic-looking windows. Here too, the wallpaper was vintage and the furniture from a long-gone era.

  Elenora sat on a fancy armchair, and her gaze swept the vaguely familiar room. This was where she had delivered Aubrey, but it was more than that. She’d also seen bits and pieces of it in a dream.

  This was where Delphine had passed.

  Birth and death.

  Making the connection between the two events gave her an odd but not unpleasant feeling. She simply couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

  Then again, seeing Rolland’s place in person—without being in the throes of childbirth—was a bit of a shock for her, perhaps the origin of her funny feeling. It had been one thing to see parts of it in her mind and a different feel when Alex had given her a virtual tour with his phone. And being here again was something else, too.

  The place was like a time capsule, and Elenora picked up on so many vibes—good and bad—she felt an intensity she had rarely felt before. She feared that if she let her fingers roam around the room, she could get sensory overload.

  “Was this your place when we first met?” Serena was taking in the room with a light frown. “It looks familiar, but I didn’t think you lived in this part of town.”

  “No. Delphine lived here, after she married this man… His name eludes me. A nice guy, that one,” Rolland answered.

  “Léandre…something, was it?”

  “Right. Léandre Leblanc.”

  “Léandre Leblanc, yeah. That’s right. Awfully nice guy. Unfortunate breath. How did you end up in her house?”

  “When she was older and he and her entire family were gone, we…reconnected.”

  “You re-entered the salon society?” One of Serena’s brows shot up in doubt.

  “God, no. I came across her at the Ursulines Hospital. She was terminally ill and wished to spend her last days at home. I helped her make that happen.” Rolland’s voice hitched. “When she passed, she left the house to me. I offered to purchase it from her, but she refused. She had no one else to leave it to and didn’t see the point in taking money to her grave.”

  “But your name is not on the deed to the house, is it? We would have caught that,” Tom asked from Pierre’s cell phone, which was propped up on a small table so he could be present via video conferencing.

  “No. The house is currently under Rolland Deschamps. For practical reasons.”

  “To stay under the radar,” Tom said.

  “Let’s say it proved useful.”

  Elenora searched for the antique tapestry settee on which Delphine had lied down in her dream, and she found it in a corner of the room. Curious, she headed for it. Despite her earlier resolve of keeping her hands to herself to avoid sensory overload, she couldn’t help wondering if touching the settee would trigger the same vision she’d had.

  She kneeled in front of it and laid a hand on the right arm where Delphine’s head had been. A rush of physical pain and a mixture of strong emotions swelled inside of her. She was sucked into the dream she’d had, except now she was experiencing it from a much different perspective. She saw Rolland holding her hand as if she, herself, was the one dying. She was inside Delphine. She was Delphine.

  Rolland’s face was devastated, his gaze on her intense with pain. Elenora was transfixed by his presence, the pain, and the affection and admiration Delphine had for him.

  Someone lifted Elenora’s hand away from the settee, bringing her back to the present.

  “Are you okay?” Alex was crouching next to her, his eyes filled with worry.

  “Yes.” A tear ran down her cheek and she wiped it. She found Rolland staring at her with wild eyes. “She was so grateful you were there for her in the end, taking care of her. She loved you very much,” she told him softly.

  Rolland’s face filled with infinite sadness. It took him a moment to ask in a choked-up voice, “Was she at peace?”

  “I think so.”

  Feeling remnants of the acute pain and emotions from the vision, Elenora touched her sensitive stomach and couldn’t help wincing.

  “Is she still here? Did she not move on?” Rolland asked, panicked, in reaction to her grimacing.

  “I don’t know.”

  “She suffered so much before she passed.”

  Elenora closed her eyes and searched within herself for the answer to reassure Rolland, but she simply didn’t know. She put her hand back on the little couch and strained herself, but she got no more insight.

  She shook her head, disappointed. “I’m sorry, Rolland. I don’t know.”

  “Hold on.” Serena crouched next to Elenora, elbowing Alex out of the way to touch the settee too.

  “You can see spirits?” Elenora asked.

  “No, but I can feel their energy sometimes. Let’s see if we can get something, together.”

  “Okay.”

  Serena put her free hand on top of Elenora’s, connecting herself to her like she had previously. Under the witch’s touch, the room darkened and everyone else vanished. The colors drained in a surreal fashion. Elenora looked around and knew without hearing words that Serena was guiding her, asking her if she saw or felt anything spiritual.

  Delphine’s lifeless body appeared in front of her, lying on the couch. She was transparent, like she’d already started transitioning to an ethereal state. Her eyes were closed and her features at ease. She was hovering a few inches over the plush cushions of the settee.

  Elenora reached a hand toward the old woman, and it slid through her. This time, she felt no pain or powerful emotion. Only relief and light-heartedness.

  The translucent vision of Delphine departed and Elenora told Serena in thoughts that all she felt was light-hearted and the feeling had waned and disappeared, along with the specter. A clear reply from Serena in her mind explained this meant that Delphine had moved on.

  The light came back from the lamps around the room, restoring colors to their muted evening shades, the way they’d been a moment earlier. Rolland appeared on the other side of the settee, his eyes glued to the two women, expectantly.

  “She’s not suffering, Rolland,” Elenora heard herself say to him. “I think she passed away peacefully and moved on.” She turned to Serena for validation and got a proud nod from her.

  “You heard me correctly,” the witch confirmed with a grin.

  It amazed Elenora that she didn’t imagine Serena’s voice in her head and that she saw and felt Delphine’s departure, too. She suddenly felt privileged and honored to be privy to a most intimate and sublime moment, that of a soul leaving this world in a state of serenity.

  Rolland’s reaction to her confirming Delphine’s peaceful passing also made a deep impression on her. If she was being honest with herself, she had to admit this aspect of her new powers was intriguing, thrilling, and oddly satisfying. She could begin to understand Pierre’s enthusiasm and giddiness for these peculiar interventions.

  This was special, and she had a front-row seat.

  “Ele, are you okay?” Tom inquired from the cell phone.

  Her nod got interrupted by a knock at the front door, and two women walked in. One was the spitting image but an older version of Serena, and the other one was tall and willowy, with shoulder-length, curly black hair and a mocha complexion. Both seemed in their late forties.

  Pierre greeted them keenly. “Claire-Lune. Wren. It’s been a while.”

  “It’s been too long, Pierre,” Claire-Lune replied, giving him a hug.

  “Agreed,” Wren said next to her, waiting for her turn.

  Pointing at her doppelgänger with silver-stranded auburn hair, Serena said, “This is obviously my sister Claire-Lune—”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be twins?” Alex interrupted her, suspicious.

  “We are. But I’m comfortable showing my natural age, without a glamor. Unlike some.” Claire-Lune gave her sister a teasing smile.

  “It’s not that simple, and you know it,” Serena scoffed. “Plus, it’s come in handy to play mother-daughter at times.”

  Alex’s frown deepened with their explanations. Pierre patted him on the shoulder. “We’ll explain later. It’s all good.”

  “And this is Wren.” Serena continued her introduction. “We’ve been friends a very long time and through so much. She’s like a sister to us.”

  “Out of curiosity, when you say, ‘a long time,’ how long are we talking about?” Tom asked from the cell phone.

  “Let me guess: they met at the Salem witch trials,” Alex said dryly.

  “We met in—when was that, Wren? Around ’92?” Serena said. Wren wiggled her hand to show it was indeed around then.

  “1992 or 1692?” Alex asked.

  “Try 892,” Wren replied with sass. There was an elegance to her, warring with a glimmer of mischief in her eye.

  Alex’s eyebrows shot up past his hairline, making Serena and Claire-Lune chuckle.

  “They’re messing with you,” Claire-Lune said. “We met around 1992. And thankfully, we were on this side of the border when the trials happened.”

  Alex shook his head, as if he now lived in a constant state of disbelief. “Do you have vampire blood too? Are you immortal?” he asked Wren.

  “No. What you see is what you get. I’m forty-five and owning it.”

  “Good for you.”

  “All right, folks.” Serena clapped her hands. “We better start dealing with Rolland’s pressing matter so he can finally enjoy life again and stop terrorizing everyone else’s.”

  “I don’t know about enjoying life, but not having to worry about killing people anymore is a goal I can strive for,” Rolland said.

  Knowing the drill, Pierre went to the windows to close the drapes and said to Claire-Lune, “I suppose you’ll be putting up a perimeter spell.”

  “Already done.”

  “Of course.” Pierre noticed Alex looking at them, trying to follow. “It’s like a shield around this place to contain whatever’s about to go down,” he explained.

  “So the neighbors don’t call the cops?” Alex caught on. Pierre nodded.

  Serena turned to Wren. “Since we’ll be rattling its cage, could you please focus on maintaining the taser spell on it?”

  “You got it.”

  Serena’s gaze traveled to Elenora, and she said, “Wren’s the one who came up with the spell to subdue the entity. She’s marvelous with spells. We’re in good hands.”

  “Looks like she did a great job.” Alex’s praise surprised everyone.

  “Thanks,” Wren said to him.

  Serena turned to her sister. “Lunie, please focus on keeping Rolland physically stable.”

  “Restraining him and watching for medical foul play?” Claire-Lune said.

  “Yeah.”

  “Medical foul play? That doesn’t sound reassuring.” Rolland paled.

  “We want to be ready for any kind of physical reaction, both knee-jerk and plain jerk.”

  Rolland answered by sucking in a sharp breath.

  Serena went around him, assessing him. She focused her attention on the scars on his face and ran a finger over the biggest one. “This is the most they’ve ever healed?”

  “Yeah. They haven’t budged since 1847, when I got the fucker’s teeth into my gums.”

  On the way to Rolland’s house in Pierre’s SUV, Serena had dared asked Rolland a few questions about his state, and that had led to him explaining his theory about his “parasite” and the teeth in his mouth from a foreigner presumably named Oliver.

  “The beating broke several of my teeth, and I had to replace them,” he’d told them, sandwiched in the back seat between Serena and Alex. “I made myself a pair of dentures, but the tools and technology back then…long story short, the horrible contraption hurt so much and one drunken night—I’m honestly not sure what happened or how it happened—but I ended up shoving some of a dead stranger’s teeth right into my gums. And that’s when the trouble started. The first murder happened on that very night.”

  “That explains so much now,” Elenora said, turning to look at him from the front passenger seat.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The teeth. We tried to make sense of them.”

  “You knew about the teeth?”

  “I’ve seen teeth, yes.”

  “So, you think those teeth were cursed or something?” Pierre asked Rolland while driving.

  “Something along those lines.”

  Rolland had gone on to tell them how he’d tried to get rid of the teeth to stop the evil within him. And when that failed, he’d tried to get rid of himself but had miraculously survived his various attempts.

  “Did you ever try to have the scars corrected?” Serena was now pacing in front of Rolland while interrogating him in the living room.

  “Yes. Over the years, I’ve tried several things and surgeries, including experimental techniques that I’ve performed on myself.”

  The scalpel in my vision…Elenora thought.

  “Did any of your attempts make any progress, even just temporarily?”

  “Yes. A skin graft did a bit, but the next morning, my face had rejected it completely and gone back to this.” He pointed at his scars. “Which didn’t make any sense. I mean, rejection can be expected, but I had made other incisions, and those healed just fine. It’s as if my body refused to have anything done to the scars. And then the same happened with early laser surgery. It took a few hours before reverting, but they came back. It defies all logic.”

  “It sounds like the parasite doesn’t want you to do any healing, physical or emotional. It wants you permanently scarred,” Elenora pointed out.

  “That sounds about right.”

  Serena’s attention went back to Rolland’s face, and she seemed to consider something. “Hold still,” she said before whispering a string of words while gliding her index finger over the biggest scar once again. But this time, the scar healed under her touch, leaving no trace at all but fresh and beautiful skin. A soft, collective gasp echoed in the room.

  “I’ll be damned,” Alex mumbled.

  “Trust me, you don’t want that,” Rolland replied dryly, touching his cheek. His face twitched, and the scar reappeared at the same place, looking the same as before.

  “It’s confirmed. We’re dealing with a nasty little fucker,” Serena declared. She cradled Rolland’s face with her hands. “My poor friend, I can only imagine the torture you’ve been going through all this time… Now, please hold still again and look into my eyes.”

  Rolland did as he was told. Serena’s stare became intense and bore deeply into him. She narrowed her eyes, deepening her focus even more. She muttered more words that were impossible to hear or decipher, until she groaned and took a step back.

  “Too much interference?” Claire-Lune asked.

  “It’s slick. A parasite indeed. I can’t seem to latch onto it. It keeps evading me.”

  The three witches exchanged pondering glances.

  “Perhaps Elenora could help you see it?” Pierre volunteered. All eyes in the room snapped to him.

 

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