The Babet & Prosper Collection I: One Less Warlock, Magrat's Dagger, A Different Undead, and Bad Juju (4 page)

Babet tried to sort through her jumbled
emotions. Was she sorry she’d learned the truth about her father?
Not really. She’d rather know than not know. Did her mother ever
plan on telling her? She highly doubted it.

Prosper waited until she gave a careless
smile. “See? You’re still you. And I’ve tasted some of your best
kisses, and you didn’t drain one drop of me.”

True. Her succubus genes hadn’t made her
hungry to feed on the living. She squared her shoulders, rallied to
match his tone. “Really? I thought you expended quite a bit of
energy on my behalf.”

He laughed. “If I remember right, it was
mutual. And now I find myself in your debt again. You’ve helped us
close this case. I’ve met Nadine. Emile should have left her and
Evangeline alone. They didn’t seek him out. Nadine even warned him
off.”

Babet pushed herself to her feet. She felt a
little shaky inside. She wasn’t sure how threatened she felt by
voodoo, but it sure made her uneasy. So did having a succubus for a
father. She didn’t know how powerful Evangeline was or would
become, but then, she didn’t know her own powers either.

Prosper stood and rounded the corner of his
desk. “I owe you a favor. I always keep a debt of honor.”

He was changing the subject, trying to
lighten things up. Not a bad idea. She raised an eyebrow. “How big
of a favor?”

“I was thinking dinner, dancing, maybe
more.”

The man was almost as impressive in his human
form as when he shifted. She’d seen him as a bear once—big and
ferocious, with dark brown fur and chocolate brown eyes. Big claws,
big teeth. She wouldn’t want to fight him. But as a
detective….well, all that brain and brawn proved awfully fun in
bed. He even made a pretty good dinner partner.

“I get to choose the restaurant,” she
said.

His famous grin showed. “Make it expensive.
Then you’ll feel more beholding to me.”

“Beholding? I’m the one who helped you.”

They bickered on their way out of the
station. Bickering, for them, was foreplay. Babet licked her lips.
They’d stop at Lillith’s on their way to her house. Then show
Morgana her new home. They might even make it out to eat. They’d
drink. Maybe even dance. Either way, she couldn’t wait till they
reached dessert. She needed a distraction, and Prosper was just the
man to provide one. With the bedroom door locked, so that no snake
could enter, her final treat would come in a four-poster with the
ceiling fan on. And it helped burn calories.

The Second Babet and Prosper Novella

A Lunch Hour Read

by

Judith Post

To my daughter, Holly, for bugging me to
write cozy mysteries again…

With a paranormal twist

Babet was stirring a roux when the wards
buzzed for her house. Not a warning, more like a greeting. Morgana
sinewed across the kitchen floor’s oak planks. The familiar’s head
gave a happy bob. The boa looked forward to seeing whoever passed
the black, wrought iron fence that separated Babet’s tiny front
yard from the busy sidewalks of River City. Each cozy bungalow on
this square bumped walls with its neighbors, making the back
courtyards inaccessible from the street. Babet rejoiced in the
added privacy.

She turned off the heat under the Dutch oven.
The roux was a deep, coffee color—she’d finish her gumbo later—then
opened the front door before Prosper could knock. Morgana wrapped
her thick coils around Prosper’s ankle and rode on his leg as he
passed through the narrow foyer to Babet’s living room. He carried
a narrow, wooden box in his hands, his expression fearsome.

Usually, Babet’s heart gave a happy, little
skip when she saw the Were detective, but not today. This visit was
all business, no pleasure, she could tell.

Prosper eased his tall, muscled form onto one
of her leather sofas and carefully placed the box on the coffee
table between them. Carved symbols covered its lid and sides. “I
need your help.”

“No hello?” Babet sat on the sofa across from
him. She should have been turned off by his foul mood, but when
Prosper bristled, he was a sight to behold. Damn, the bear Were was
hot. No one would mistake him for a teddy, though he could be
cuddly.

He grimaced. “I’ve had one shit of a day. You
heard about the fire?”

“Should I have? I had clients all morning,
then got in a domestic mood—started cooking.”

His dark brow rose. “What kind of
clients?”

“The kind who buy potions, want me to read my
crystal ball or set a spell for them.”

“You’re not going to tell me any more than
that?”

“The kind who hire a witch,” she said.

“Which tells me nothing.”

Babet looked at the box. “Did you bring me a
present or did you just come here to show me your stuff?”

“You wish.” He smirked, his mood improving. A
little sparring always did wonders for Prosper’s geniality. He
frowned at the box. “This is all that’s left. Everything else
burned.”

Babet narrowed her eyes, studying the
intricate symbols. Leaning closer, she saw that each represented a
spell. “Tell me more.”

Prosper’s lips quirked at the corner.
“Finally have your interest. Yaya Tallow’s house went up in flames
with her in it. Everything’s lost except this. It was sitting in
the ashes, unharmed.”

“With all those protective spells, I’d be
surprised if anything could harm it.”

He gave her a meaningful glance. “I assumed
Yaya Tallow’s house was warded against almost everything too.”

It would be, Babet knew. Yaya’s wards would
have warned her the minute the fire started. She’d have put it out
with a wind or water spell. Something was off. “Was Yaya
asleep?”

“We called in our department’s witch, and she
smelled a petrify spell.”

Babet stared. “Someone froze Yaya in place
and then set fire to her house?”

“Made for a horrible corpse. Fire shrinks
people, contorts them. And the scream and pain on her face were
pretty grim.”

“She wasn’t ashes?”

“Someone made sure she was the last thing to
burn, but Yaya wasn’t the only corpse we turned up. There was
another witch buried in her back garden. Mortals wouldn’t find it,
but I could smell it the minute I crossed her yard.”

Babet ran her hands up and down her arms,
rubbing away shivers. Gruesome images lurked behind her eyelids.
“Not too many people would go up against her, only older
witches.”

“Reminds me of Emile.” Prosper saw the look
on her face and shrugged. “A witch didn’t kill him. Maybe Yaya made
the wrong kind of enemies too.”

She shook her head. “Voodoo priestesses don’t
use petrify spells.” Her gaze returned to the box. “And this didn’t
burn.”

“We think that’s what the killer was after.
Someone spent a lot of time, brushing away ashes, to find that box.
Why he didn’t take off with it is beyond us.”

“He couldn’t.” Babet pointed to a symbol on
the lid. “The box will only allow certain people to touch it.”

“And Yaya was one of them?” Everyone knew
that Yaya practiced dark magic. Prosper scooted the box farther
away from him.

“No, Yaya would have been banned. The box
might have been in her house, but she couldn’t touch it, couldn’t
open it. No black magic could get past the spells.”

“So why did she have it?”

Babet sat back, taking a moment to think.
“Have you identified the second body, the one buried in the
garden?”

“Cassandra Lunstra, she owned a small tourist
shop on Magic Avenue.”

Babet nodded. She knew Cassandra. A sweet
girl, not very powerful. She sold magic charms, Tarot cards, and
crystals. Beginner’s stuff. “Do you know how she died?”

“Someone blasted her. There was a hole in her
chest.”

Babet gave another nod. “I’d guess Yaya hired
her to deliver the box.”

“Then why kill her?”

Babet sighed. “Do I look like an oracle? I
don’t have all the answers. Maybe they had a falling-out.”

Prosper leaned forward to study the long,
wooden rectangle. “What do you think the thing holds?”

“Only one way to find out.” Babet touched one
symbol at a time, chanting a counterspell for each. As she said the
chants, each symbol faded. The box was covered with them. It took a
long time, but finally only four symbols remained, one at each
corner.

Prosper frowned at them. “Why won’t those go
away?”

“They were sealed with blood.”

“You mean, like sacrifices?”

“No, the witch who performed the spell used
her own. It’s white magic.”

Prosper pushed himself to his feet in one
lithe motion. Weres were graceful and powerful. Babet loved
watching him move. “Cassandra hadn’t been dead long, hadn’t
decomposed. Her body was covered in cuts.”

“Stupid girl, they must have tried using her
blood to open the box. That’s why some symbols were more faded than
others. But once she joined forces with Yaya, her magic was
tainted. She’d be of no more use to Yaya.” She went to the kitchen,
returned with a paring knife, and stabbed the thick pad of her
thumb. Drops of blood beaded, and she wiped them over a symbol. It
sparkled for a moment, then became a pale shadow of itself. She
repeated the process on the other three with the same results.

When every symbol was latent, Babet glanced
at Prosper. He looked worried. “Should we open it?”

Before he could answer, Morgana slithered
onto the coffee table and flicked her tongue along the wood,
scenting it. She coiled over the box and absorbed its energy, then
bobbed her head, satisfied no evil magic was near. Not exactly
foolproof, but a good sign.

Prosper tensed. “Okay, do it.”

Babet felt like Pandora. Would she release
all sorts of sins into the world when she lifted the lid? But
Morgana had approved the box’s contents. Babet repeated the words
that rimmed the lid, and the box yawned open.

Magic pulsed in the air.

Prosper took a quick breath. He stepped
closer to look inside. So did Babet. A mummified hand and wrist lay
on black velvet, gripping a gleaming dagger. Gems were embedded in
its handle. The blade looked sharper than anything she’d ever seen
and more deadly. It was crisscrossed in symbols.

Morgana slithered to the end of the coffee
table. Prosper gripped Babet’s arm, a warning. “Don’t touch it
until we know more.”

Babet chewed on her bottom lip, trying to
remember. “The ancient ones whisper a legend, something about a
battle and a dagger. I’ve only heard bits and pieces. My mother
might know. I’ll call her and Hennie.”

Prosper hesitated. Usually, he jumped at the
chance for more information. “Are you sure?”

She raised an eyebrow in surprise. “What? You
want this to be a secret?”

“Someone wanted that box enough to kill Yaya.
That same someone probably knows I found it and took it. It’s safe
at the station. Hopefully. But whoever keeps the box is in danger.
Maybe we should have your mom meet us there. Or meet me. I’ll let
you know if I find out anything.”

“Right. You can’t cut me out of the
investigation after I helped you.” Babet rose and started toward
her cell phone, lying on the kitchen counter.

Prosper still hung back reluctantly. “How are
you and your mother getting along?”

The crux of his concern. Bless him, he’d
listened to Babet’s rants when she found out her father was a
succubus and her mother never informed her of the fact. She and Mom
still hadn’t dealt with the issue. It was a touchy subject between
them.

“Will your mother come if you ask her about
this?”

“If she doesn’t, Hennie will. Hen’s like an
aunt to me.” The white-haired witch was her mother’s closest friend
and business partner. They shared the apartment above their
shop.

Babet punched her mother’s number and waited.
Mom picked up on the third ring. “If you’re still mad at me….”

“Not mad, but I’d like an explanation, some
answers. That’s not why I’m calling, though.” Babet hurried to
explain about Yaya, Cassandra, and the box.

“And Prosper’s with you now?” her mother
asked.

“Yes.”

“I don’t want that box in your house. Wrap it
in white silk, seal the fabric’s edges with the fat of a tallow
candle, and meet Hennie and me on the river bank near Settlers’
Park.”

“I don’t like it there. It has bad vibes. Can
we meet someplace else?”

“No. And hurry.”

Prosper drove. The park was south of River
City, halfway to the voodoo women’s community. Morgana curled on
the backseat of the sedan. Babet rode shotgun with the box balanced
on her lap. The road hugged the river banks, and she counted a half
dozen alligators sunning on the shores as they went. On the far
side of the road, birch and red maple loomed skyward, mixed with
parsley hawthorns and dogwood. When they reached the park, Babet
spotted her mother’s car in one of the lots. Prosper pulled in next
to it.