This Wicked Game

TWELVE

Resting was out of the question. Claire’s mind was spinning with everything that had happened, her body still amped from the escape she and Xander had made from the house on Dauphine.

She uploaded the photos from her phone to her laptop, scrolling past the group picture and focusing on the letters. She enlarged them until she could make out most of the words, then hit PRINT.

There were three letters, starting with July 31, 1880, and ending with May 25, 1881. She put the French versions aside and turned her attention to the ones Xander had said were translations.

She put them in chronological order and started with the letter marked July 31.

July 31, 1880

Dearest Sorina,

It was with pleasure and surprise that I received your letter. I remember your father well and know he would be pleased that you continue his interest in the craft. I do not know how your country differs from America, but here it seems the new and modern impose at every turn. I’ve always said that progress is well and good, providing we don’t forget the importance of the past.

As for your interest in the darker parts of our art, my answers to your questions must also contain a warning. The craft is a higher calling, though many would vilify it. When used for its intended purpose, it can bring together those destined to love, heal those who are ill, and protect one from rogue spirits and energy.

With that warning, I must assume your questions about black magic are theoretical, and I have never been one to believe in keeping that which we fear in the dark. There, it grows and festers into something dangerous. Better that we should acknowledge all aspects of our craft and teach each generation to respect them in all their diversity.

It is, indeed, possible to curse someone with negative energy, though I advocate only spiritually positive uses of the craft. The recipes for cursing, hexing, and crossing are as old as those used to heal and protect, though passed down less now that reason has gained solid footing for most in the Guild.

As to whether or not I maintain my own crossing spells, it is irrelevant, as I don’t make it a practice to use black magic or to pass on that knowledge to my progeny or apprentices. I most humbly ask you to uphold this same standard, as it is one long held among those in our society.

I hope this letter finds you well and that you and your brother are getting along without your parents. I will light candles for you this evening and chant an abundance spell in your name.

Warmest regards,

Marie Laveau

Claire looked up, blinking and trying to bring herself back from another time and place. It sounded like the girl named Sorina had written to Marie for advice about hexing someone.

That anyone would even attempt to get that kind of information from Claire’s great-great-grandmother was a surprise. It was well known that Marie the First was a devout Catholic and abhorred black magic of any kind.

Even more puzzling, Marie didn’t sound like the superstitious high priestess Claire imagined when she thought about her great-great-grandmother.

Claire stared at the words, trying to get her head around what the letter meant, not only for the situation with Maximilian, but for her own perception of Marie and the craft that defined them both in such different ways.

She finally gave up and lowered her eyes to the second letter.

December 19, 1880

My Dear Sorina,

It is with some distress that I received your last correspondence. I thought the warnings in my previous letter, though mild in the interest of the long-standing friendship between our families, would have deterred you from this path.

I must caution you against further experimentation. Your mother and father would not wish to see you dishonor yourself and the craft in their names. They knew, as we all come to know, that everything has its time. And while their ending may have seemed premature—and certainly it was cruel—they would have said it happened just as God meant for it to happen.

The craft is a force all its own and not to be trifled with. That your desire for revenge has brought you to the brink of the dark arts is testament to your desperation, and it is never wise to travel the paths of the craft with desperation or anger at the forefront of one’s mind. It is far too easy for the darkness within to take over completely, enhancing the strength of a spell so that even its creator can no longer control it. That you have come so close to achieving success with this dubious spell brings me such horror I can hardly sleep, though it is true that I have not been well of late in any regard.

It is with these words that I beg you to cease your experimentation. I, of course, will have no part of it. Please consider this my formal refusal of assistance together with a warning. Should you continue along this path, your membership in the Guild—and sadly, that of your brother’s—will be terminated and we will be unable to offer you assistance of any kind thereafter.

I humbly ask you to honor me, to honor your parents and all that they stood for, by discontinuing these dark experiments with the craft.

They will be your ruin.

Marie Laveau

The words of the letter echoed through Claire’s mind as she finished reading.

Experimentation? What kind of experimentation was Marie talking about? What was this woman, Sorina, doing that would have earned Marie’s disapproval? That would have cost Sorina her membership in the Guild?

And what had happened to Sorina’s parents that would cause her to approach Marie so boldly for a spell to exact revenge?

Claire shook her head and turned to the final letter.

May 25, 1881

Dear Sorina,

It is with regret that I must inform you of your expulsion from the Guild.

I have listened in horror as accounts of your repeated attempts, and recent success, at using the Cold Blood spell have reached New Orleans. It saddens me greatly that my words of warning fell on deaf ears, for I fear you have used the craft to cross from the world of light into one of such utter darkness that it will surely devour you and any in its path.

It was never my intention that my spells and potions be used for ill. I have uncovered keys to the craft’s darkest door only to foil those with a less altruistic view of it, hoping to have some defense should it be used as a means to harm others.

It is a heavy burden to know that my attempts at safeguarding the world from those who would use the craft for evil have instead caused that evil to be unleashed.

I simply cannot suffer it, especially now, as it has become clear that my time in this world is short.

I can only appeal to the all-powerful loas to accept an addendum to the Cold Blood spell. One that will require an ingredient you will never obtain.

It is all I can do, and I can only hope as I prepare to leave this world for the next that you find enough peace in your heart to suspend this wicked game.

Marie Laveau

Claire set the letters down, her great-great-grandmother a palpable presence in the room. Whatever Sorina had done, whatever spell she had conjured, it was enough to scare even Marie.

But there were too many other questions. They twisted and turned through Claire’s mind, one running into the next until her head started to hurt, her mind so full of Marie’s words that she only wanted to make it stop.

She closed her laptop. She would have Sasha and Xander look at the letters tomorrow. Maybe they would read something into Marie’s words that Claire had missed. Something that would connect Marie and the woman named Sorina to Eugenia and Maximilian.

She hoped so, because right now, the only thing they seemed to have in common was fear—Marie’s fear of the woman named Sorina and the ominous sense of danger Claire felt around the man named Maximilian.