Page 12 of Bewitched By the Djinn (The Bewitching Hour #8)

I jerk my head at Bennet to follow. “Brace yourself,” I warn him as we step toward the gaping blackness where Richard disappeared.

“For what?”

“Literally anything.”

Richard is powerful and strange, and every time I meet with him, I’m left with more questions than answers.

He’s a master illusionist—his magic can make you see whatever he wants you to see.

But that’s not all. He’s been around a long time and picked up spells from all over, particularly from New Orleans’s deep well of magic.

Mom used to tell me stories about how he studied under voodoo queens, how he could change the way people perceived reality itself.

Mimi met him years ago at a Mardi Gras ball, one of those exclusive affairs where people form “krewes” and carry on like royalty for a night.

They got put on the same float and ended up sharing a flask of magical booze.

He has more power than anyone I know... except maybe Bennet, based on what he said of his abilities.

We step through the doorway, and the moment we do, the door slams shut behind us.

Bennet spins around. “Where’s the door?”

I shrug. “Magic.”

Any trace of Boutique du Vampyre is gone.

The space is unrecognizable, transformed into a hobbit’s dream.

One side of the room is curved, warm wood, like the inside of a hollowed-out tree.

A rocking chair with a blue flannel blanket flung over it sits beside a flickering fire, and shelves carved directly into the wood are lined with books.

The opposite wall is entirely glass, revealing a stretch of bayou just beyond it—lush greenery, wet earth, a stagnant waterway snaking through towering trees draped in moss.

The air is thick with the scents of wood and sawdust mixed with the dampness of Louisiana marshlands.

Bennet stares, wide-eyed. “What is this?” He turns in a slow circle, taking it all in. “It’s incredible.”

Richard flutters his fingers. “Oh, this?” He taps forward, cane clicking dully against the packed dirt floor. “Just a bit of glamour.”

I clear my throat. “Listen, we need to know where the vamp will be tonight. It’s important, and we’re kind of in a hurry because I have work later, so?—”

Richard hums, pacing toward Bennet with deliberate slowness. “Tell me, Cassandra, who is your friend?” He rests a hand on Bennet’s bicep, giving it an appreciative squeeze.

“This is Bennet.” I step between them before Richard can get any ideas.

He loves to meddle and get involved in everything, but he’s unreliable and expensive.

He could probably help us find Helen, but I’m not sure we can pay the price.

Just giving us the white vamp’s location should be easy enough without payment.

It’s worth a shot, anyway. “Can you tell us where the vamp will be?”

Richard releases Bennet, stepping back like he wasn’t interested anyway. He saunters toward a plush chaise lounge in the corner and flops onto it dramatically, his cane resting against the arm.

Richard examines his nails, then flicks an invisible speck of dust from his sleeve. “How is the poltergeist situation?”

I wave a hand. “It’s fine, Richard. Now, the vamp?”

He clasps his hands together, expression positively beatific. “I am so pleased my hex bags were useful. You’re welcome, by the way.”

“I already thanked you for that.” And paid you a small fortune.

Richard tsks, shaking his head. “Sarcasm doesn’t become you, my dear. The magic I use is special and powerful, some may even say... evocative.”

What is he talking about? “I know.” I don’t want to know. “I’m not asking you to use magic. I only want one tiny piece of information. Can you help or not?”

Richard exhales dramatically, like I’ve just asked him to donate a kidney without anesthesia. “You are so dreadfully impatient.” He taps his cane against the floor. “Perhaps I should consult the spirits. Or divine the answer through?—”

“No,” I cut in. “No theatrics. No spirit consultations. Please tell me where to find him.”

Richard pouts, then glances at Bennet. “Your friend here is terribly rude.”

Bennet’s mouth gapes open. “Uh.”

Richard gives a delighted little clap. “Oh, I do love the quiet, bewildered ones.”

“Richard.”

“Fine.” He waves a hand. “The vamp will be at Fritzel’s tonight. Courtyard.”

“And?” Is he messing with me?

Richard taps his cane on the floor. “And he won’t be the one in leather pants and fake fangs. That’s merely a diversion.”

“When?”

“Around eight.”

I lift my brows. “Are you sure?”

His head dips. “Yes, because that’s when he gets his break.”

“His break?”

“He’s in the band.” Richard chuckles. “He plays the saxophone. Such a sensuous instrument.”

I resist the urge to strangle him. “Are we done?”

Richard snaps and the swamp vanishes, replaced by a solid red door. “Be gone, then. But do try to have fun, my dear.”

I don’t hesitate. “Great. Thanks, Richard.”

My hand is on the doorknob when he calls out, “Cassandra.”

I pause.

“Keep that man close. You’re going to need him. And Bennet, darling?” Richard’s smirk turns sharp. “You’re welcome.”

Bennet stiffens. “For what?”

Richard winks at him. “You’ll see.”

“Come on.” I haul Bennet through the door with me.