A Wishing Moon (4 page)

“
Is she ill?” Evangeline reached under the counter for her purse.

“
No, but she said you would all be going to Texas for a few weeks, at least. She asked for a leave of absence for you.”

“
Will I have a job when I get back?” Evangeline had no doubt Cherline had at least three other girls anxious to step into her shoes. Regardless, she did not want to burn any bridges or hurt Cherline’s feelings.

“
Of course,” Cherline knew the other girls might be adequate tour guides, but they would not have the intimate knowledge of the topic Evangeline possessed. That firsthand knowledge, as the television commercial professed, was priceless. “Nanette seemed to be upset. I hope nothing is wrong.” Cherline walked Evangeline to the door of the shop.

“
I’m sure we can handle the trouble, whatever it may be—but thanks.” Evangeline hurried to her car, which she kept in a public garage a few blocks away. An uneasy feeling flooded her body. What had she done? Two weeks ago she had begun a seven day ritual using small seeds called Job’s tears. She had prayed over them, asking to be allowed to move to Austin. Nanette had been adamantly against her leaving New Orleans for any longer than just a few days. Evangeline was all Nanette had left of her beloved daughter Aimee.

For seven days, she had carried the seeds in a red flannel bag next to her heart. At the end of the week, she’d taken them down to the bridge and thrown them over her left shoulder into the Mississippi. She stood there and recited the 23
^rd
Psalm and then walked away without looking back. This would be the seventh night since the culmination of the ritual and now the answer had come. She was heading to Texas for more than a few days, but at what cost?

* * * *

Arabella had taken care of Rachel as best she could. She made meticulous notes of all the information she’d managed to garner from her readings. Rachel wanted her to come over to her house and see if she could pick anything else up, but Arabella had insisted she have the police investigate first. If the house and yard was truly a crime scene, she surely did not want to be the one who contaminated or obliterated crucial evidence. Rachel had said she understood and had gone home alone—lonely and scared. There wasn’t too many more hours before the police would consider the situation more seriously and come onto the property to see what they could find. After they had done what they could, then Arabella would be glad to go over and help out in any way Rachel would let her. She knew from experience, however, not many on the police force welcomed the type of help she could provide—so the longer she could stay in the background the better.

Knowing she had done all she could, Arabella turned her attention to more pleasant things. The day had been eaten up by Rachel Townsend’s sadness and the rest of the time had been spent in Austin buying the supplies she would need for her cooking and baking. Last minute gifts were purchased and Arabella had also gone by the University Co-op to pick up some T-shirts and a backpack that sported the Longhorn emblem for her cousin Evangeline. Angelique, Nanette’s companion, would be coming, as well as Arabella’s mother Elizabeth.

Arabella’s father, Thomas Landry, had been gone for over five years now—the victim of an offshore oil rig accident. Not a day passed that she did not recall her dad’s kind face and his loving smile. Elizabeth’s and her families’ powers had not scared Thomas. He had been confident enough in his own strength to view their unique abilities as something to cherish and protect instead of fear and avoid. Not all men were like her Thomas, Arabella knew this from experience. She missed her father.

Arabella’s mother, Elizabeth, was still young, vital, and extremely attractive. Happily settled in Galveston, Texas, she spent every spare moment cleaning up and rebuilding her beautiful home, which Hurricane Ike had devastated. Storms had dealt harsh blows to their families, Ike had taken Elizabeth’s home, but Katrina had taken Arabella’s grandfather Alcee and Evangeline’s mother Aimee. The tragedy had been over five years ago, but the pain was still fresh enough to bring her grandmother to her knees.

She had seen a great flood in the scrying waters on Winter Solstice of 2003 but after almost a year past with nothing bad happening, Nanette had let her guard down. Then Katrina came. Surprisingly, the great hurricane passed without completely devastating New Orleans, but then the levees had failed and the floods rose quickly with deadly results. All that year, Nanette had kept Alcee and Aimee away from Ponchatrain and away from the river, but the black waters had flowed down their own street and caught them by surprise.

Fighting back unpleasant memories, Arabella turned her mind to the sweet prospect of reuniting with her dream lover. When it came time to go to bed, Arabella got ready for sleep as if she were preparing for a date, or more truthfully, a romantic interlude. She had bathed in scented water and pampered her body with lotions and creams. Pulling every trick she could think of out of her magical bag of tricks, she had constructed a dream pillow of purple cotton and stuffed the small square with lavender and mugwort. Mugwort, known as the witch’s herb, filled not only the dream pillow, but she also used the herb to make smudge sticks and walked about her bedroom letting the smoke fill every nook and cranny. Two bundles of lavender hung from the bedposts and she enjoyed a cup of tea made from the same two herbs. Angelique had taught her that if you don’t usually dream, mugwort will help you dream. If you can’t remember your dreams, the herb will allow you to recall more details than you normally would. People who usually remember their dreams can also use mugwort to dream consciously, in other words, to be able to control your actions while dreaming. The latter was Arabella’s intent; she wanted her dream to be as real as possible.

Despite all the work she’d put into her dreamtime, sleep took forever to come. The events of the day had been unsettling. The disappearance of Kathy McLemore and her daughter had put a damper on Arabella’s spirits and the whole atmosphere of her usually happy home.

Arabella lay restlessly, trying everything she could think of to hurry the onset of sleep. The more anxious she became, however, the more elusive slumber proved to be. Finally, she gave in, turned on the light and reached for a book. Maybe she could read herself into her dream lover’s arms. After a few pages of a mystery, drowsiness began to set in. Arabella laid the book down and turned over on her side to face the sketchpad propped on her nightstand. The light of the moon shone on his beautiful face. Her eyelids became heavier and heavier, slowly she willed herself back to the dream state in which she’d encountered her intriguing companion.

A strong wind began to blow and the cry of a hawk floated on the air current. The brisk breeze picked her hip length, dark hair up and caused the black curtain to whip around her face. She looked around to try and recognize where she was standing. A sense of familiarity dawned on her. She recognized this hill, a dome actually. Arabella stood on the top of a pink granite mountain near her home called Enchanted Rock. She’d not been there in years, but when she attended high school this had been a favorite place to hike and picnic.

A noise startled her, and just as she started to turn, warm hands slid around her waist from the back. They slipped underneath the silk nightie and moved over her breasts, cupping them gently. Recognition flooded her body as did a total welcoming.

“
Hello, beautiful. I’m so glad you came.” Still holding her securely, he eased her back against him. His hands began a slow dance over her swollen, sensitive breasts. Her nipples hardened and became diamond points of sensitivity. His fingers circled, massaged, lifted and teased the grateful mounds of flesh. Weakness flooded her lower regions and she felt as if his hands on her body were the only thing tethering her to the earth.

She raised her arms over her head and found his face, moving her fingers over his features as if memorizing them by touch. She tried to shift in his arms so they were face to face, but he kept her anchored where she stood. He continued to make love to her breasts with his hands, a steady circling, rubbing rhythm that ended every few moments at the end of her nipples, slowly distending them before beginning the sensual ritual all over again.

“
That feels so good,” she panted. Her world condensed, until the manipulation of her breasts and nipples became the focus of her universe. An intense heat began building and adding to her torment, his lips and tongue began kissing the curve of her throat and shoulders. A tightening began in her vagina and even though he never touched her there, her slit began to dew in delightful anticipation. Never before had she known so much joy could be gained from touch alone. When the shivers began, his hands finally moved lower and slid beneath her silken panties to find the hot waiting folds, which vibrated ecstatically to his lightest touch. Her hips jerked uncontrollably as she rode his hand, tiny mewls of passion escaping from her lips.

Flushed with release, Arabella relaxed completely into his big, hard body. With a slight pressure, he turned her around and captured her lips with his. As she touched his waist, attempting to gain access to his manhood, his hands grasped hers intertwining their fingers.

“
Not enough time,” he whispered. A vacuum of pressure seemed to pull him backward. “Find me.” These final words were spoken as the wind picked up once more and the night enclosed them in nothingness.

When day broke Arabella found dampness on her pillow. She had cried during the night, after he had gone. Her greatest regret was the fact she did not have any more information now than she had yesterday. Guilt tormented her, if she could have just kept her head about her and talked to him she could have asked questions. But his touch had been so intoxicating, she hadn’t been able to keep her mind on anything but how he was making her feel. The only clue she could remember was the location—Enchanted Rock. What significance the pink granite mountain had, she did not know.

Despite the disappointment in her failure to garner his name or anything else about him, she felt absolutely wonderful. Her reaction to this man went beyond anything she had ever considered herself capable of feeling. At his slightest caress, she had been primed for passion. Arabella couldn’t comprehend what an actual physical encounter with him would be like, but she had hopes of one day finding out.

She went through her morning regime on automatic, considering what step to take next. Could it be her destiny to find him? Were her nighttime visions a precursor to a future meeting? Did he have any knowledge of her or were they just destined to meet in their dreams? Arabella pondered all of these questions in her heart and prayed the answers would bring her the happiness she’d been denied so long.

* * * *

After Evangeline had arrived at Nanette’s elegant old home on Constance Street in the Lower Garden District of New Orleans, carefully controlled chaos had been the order of the day. Angelique had insisted time be taken to adequately pack everything she thought would be needed for the trip.

Her grandmother had allowed Angelique to have her way, but the older woman had done her part to pack items she felt the younger two would overlook. She gathered her spell books, plenty of broken glass, nails, a case of canning jars and a five-gallon bucket of red brick dust. These things would be necessary for the protection ritual she intended to perform upon her arrival.

Not knowing how long they would be gone, there was no question the cats had to be readied for the trip. A young boy brought the two large, black cats to their house one night. His parents would not allow him to keep them and he knew the Beauregaurde house would be a safe haven for the felines. Both of the cats were boys and Evangeline had named them ’Two-Bits’ and ‘Slim Pickins’ after two rappers she admired. Although Bits was heavier than Pickins’, Pickins’ was certainly not slim. While they were beloved, the cats could not be classified as familiars. However, when a spell or ritual was being carried out the toms were usually close by, so who could say whether they lent power to the workings or not.

They loaded the black Jaguar sedan quickly and gassed up before leaving New Orleans. Angelique had driven out of the Crescent City about midnight and had headed west on Interstate 10. She hadn’t stayed on the interstate, but cut up north through the middle of the state and crossed the Sabine River as the sun came up.

Evangeline took over the driving for the last five hours as they headed through the pine forests of East Texas. Nanette had dozed for several hours and Evangeline had rested for a little while, but Angelique remained alert. She constantly watched everything they passed—seeing things no one else could see.

Angelique had a gift. She knew all gifts had their reasons, but this gift carried with it a great burden. Angelique could see and speak to the spirits of the dead—and the dead were everywhere. New Orleans seemed awash in the dead. The Katrina dead were the most active in New Orleans at the present. Mercifully, Alcee and Aimee had never made an appearance. The hurricane’s victims who lingered behind were angry over what had happened to them and what had happened to their city.