Page 23 of Bewitched By the Djinn (The Bewitching Hour #8)

Chapter

Seventeen

Banging drags me out of a deep sleep. I haven’t slept a full night like that in years . With the exception of the night before last. I’m going to pretend like Bennet didn’t have anything to do with either of those amazing slumbers even though he is the only common denominator.

I shift to stretch, but I’m held back. I’m wrapped up in cozy heat. I settle back down. Stretching can happen later.

Warmth tickles my nose along with spice and sugar.

I open my eyes and am confronted with the strong column of Bennet’s throat.

I’m half on top of him, my face wedged into his neck. His arm is wrapped around me, holding me in place, our legs entwined.

The room is gray with hints of dawn creeping through the windows.

Dawn . The portal. We have to get out of here before the portal shuts.

Wait. What woke me? Was there knocking?

I stir, attempting to untangle my limbs from Bennet’s.

Before I progress more than an inch, he rolls in my direction, holding me tighter, flipping our positions so now his head is in the crook of my neck.

He breathes in deeply, contented noises rumbling in his chest. The bristles of his jaw brush against the delicate skin of my neck and collar. He’s rubbing his face on me like a cat.

A wave of jumbled emotions crashes over me: satisfaction, possessiveness, and arousal.

Are his shields down? Are mine? I search inside for the bond between us, lifting my shields a crack.

Words filter through the emotions, rising into my awareness like buoys in the water.

Mine . Comfy . Mmmm . He breathes deeply. Delicious .

I guess he thinks I smell okay. Good to know. But how is it that I can hear his thoughts? Is the bond getting stronger, even though we’ve clamped down our mental defenses? Are his clamped down at all?

Whenever I lift my shields in his presence, the bond is there, his emotions are there, flaring brighter than the sun... Has he even bothered to lock his mind away from mine?

The knocking returns, a staccato of thumps.

Bennet snuffles and wakes. I rebuild my defenses, locking out his thoughts as he rises to consciousness and blinks his eyes open.

He gazes at me sleepily, a smile lifting his lips. “Good morning.”

An awake and alert Bennet is handsome. A sleepy, rumpled Bennet with messy hair is devastating.

I don’t have time to contemplate any of it. Whoever is at the door is about to break it down.

Bennet’s eyes snap to awareness. “Stay here.” In one smooth movement, he rolls away from me and slips under the net, stalking on quiet feet to the door.

I sit up.

Dammit, his protectiveness is way too hot.

The hammering at the door abruptly ceases.

He lifts the curtain to peer through the narrow front window, then frowns and swings the door wide open, sticking his head out. “No one is here.” He turns to face me.

I make an attempt to contain my sleep-mussed hair, sliding my palms over the tangle around my head. “I think that was our wake-up call. We have to get back to the portal by dawn, before it shuts and we’re stuck here another night.”

Although part of me wishes we could stay here, sequestered together, away from the real world and real responsibilities.

What would it be like spend the night with Bennet and not have to rush out of bed the next day?

He squints outside into the slowly brightening gloom. “Looks like we’d better hurry.”

Quickly, we take turns using the restroom and getting our shoes on.

We exit the cabin, jog down the rickety porch steps, and head back in the direction we came from the night before, circling around the giant cypress. The bark is whole, unblemished, no cavernous hole at the bottom.

Okey dokey then.

We keep moving down the path.

Mist curls over the swamp’s surface, thick and ghostly in the early morning light.

The lanterns that led us through the night are gone, leaving only the gnarled trees and dark water stretching endlessly in every direction.

My shoes sink into the damp earth. We approach the area where we entered the swamp through the portal.

At least I think we’re close? It’s all the same.

I glance behind us. The cabin is out of sight. Were we supposed to go in a different direction?

The splash of water against wood catches my attention.

A shadow emerges from the mist to our left.

A voice calls out, smooth, smug, and entirely too familiar. “Well, well. Look what the gators dragged in.”

I suppress a groan. “Richard?”

The figure comes into focus, standing at the bow of a rickety flatboat like some kind of swamp-bound river god.

One hand on his hip, the other lazily resting on a pole, Richard is dressed like he’s ready for a high-society brunch, despite the mud-slicked hellscape around us.

His suit is lime green, bright enough to be blinding, with lace along the sleeves rolled up just so, rings glinting on his fingers, and a golden scarf tied dramatically around his throat.

Richard’s gaze flicks between us, then he grins. “I’m so glad you survived. I was worried there for a minute, with the lightning cloud and whatnot. That creature was absolutely teeming with magic. A bit dark for my tastes, but I could have made an exception.”

I prop a hand on my waist. “How did you know we would be here? Why are you here?”

“I’m your ride, of course. I knew as soon as I saw you and your handsome man here that I would be needed. This one’s on the house, sweetie.”

He knew we would be here? “Why didn’t you tell us about the swamp witches?” We could have bypassed the whole vamp experience.

Richard presses a hand to his chest. “I didn’t know you were looking for the swamp witches. You said you were looking for the vamp.”

“But you knew where that would lead, and that we would be here today.”

“Well, yeah. I had an inkling you would be my favorite damsel in distress.” His attention drifts over to Bennet. “And I see you’re still distressing yourself with tall, gold, and broody.”

Bennet stiffens beside me. “Did you know where my sister was?”

“Yes.”

I lift my hands. “Richard! This whole time?”

His eyes widen, the picture of innocence. “You never asked me about his sister.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose.

“Well, are you two needing a ride back to town or are you going to stand there being cranky and performing histrionics? Come, come. Hop aboard before something with too many teeth decides you’re breakfast.” He waves a hand at us.

I want to punch him, but I step onto the boat, gripping the wooden railing as it rocks under my weight.

Bennet hesitates for a second before stepping in behind me.

Tension radiates off of him, but Richard just smirks and pushes a button on the pole in his hand.

The boat rumbles beneath us and then pushes through the mist, away from the shore.

The silence of the swamp presses in around us, broken only by the soft splash of the oar cutting through the water and the low hum of the magical motor. Mist clings to the surface, curling and shifting like it’s alive.

Richard shoots me a look. “You know, Cassie, darling, you’ve gotten yourself tangled up in something real deep this time.”

I snort. “Yeah, no kidding.”

Richard tilts his head, his expression unusually thoughtful. “Magic’s been shifting. I’ve felt it—whispers in the wind, dreams pulling at the edges of reality. You’re not walking blind into this, are you?”

“We’re looking for Helen. The swamp witches told us where to find her.”

Richard hums. “And they charged you for it, didn’t they?” His gaze flicks to Bennet, sharp and measuring. “I’m guessing the price wasn’t cheap.”

Bennet’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t answer.

The swamp thins as we drift on, the boat moving faster and faster, the dark waters expanding around us.

“Mind the bump.”

The boat lurches, like we’ve run over a giant log or wave. I stumble into Bennet, his arms wrapping around me while he braces against the rail.

The swamp and mist have disappeared. We’re on the Mississippi, near Woldenberg Park, right in the thick of the city. The sun beats down overhead. Did we lose time again? It is no longer morning, but midday at least.

“Will you take us toward the Garden District?” It’s just up and around the bend.

“As you wish, darling.”

A few minutes later, we’ve exited the boat and Richard glides away, yelling out, “Call me!” on the breeze with a dramatic wave. His boat vanishes back into whatever strange existence he operates in.

Bennet and I step onto the sidewalk. The Garden District stretches around us, a picture-perfect slice of old New Orleans wealth.

Grand mansions sit behind wrought-iron fences, their facades covered in ivy and creeping jasmine.

The sidewalks are cracked but clean, shaded by the sprawling arms of ancient oak trees.

Their roots bulge up through the concrete in places, making the path uneven.

I pull out my phone and release a breath. It’s no longer dead. My stomach unclenches a little as I dial home. It rings twice before Mimi picks up.

“Cassie! Are you okay?” Her voice is bright, but there’s a thread of worry beneath it.

“I’m fine.” I step around a pile of magnolia leaves. “We, uh—things got a little weird last night. But everything’s fine now.”

“Define weird.”

“We were chased by more ifrit. Have you all been safe there?”

“We’ve been fine.”

“Maybe don’t leave the house unless strictly necessary, just in case. How are the kids? How is Jackie?”

“It’s too soon to tell. She seems better to me, but it could be wishful thinking.”

Please let it be more than wishful thinking.

“Other than that,” Mimi continues, “Kevin made waffles. Jackie burned a waffle. Then she cried about the waffle, so we gave it a funeral in the trash can.”

I let out a breath of a laugh. “Sounds about right.”

Mimi hesitates. “Did you find Helen?”

I glance at Bennet. “Maybe. We’re about to check out a lead in the Garden District. I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Okay. Be safe.”