Évrard D'Aboville has been the lethal left hand of King Sabien Arceneaux for centuries. Using his deadly skills, he's indiscriminately killed and maimed at his master's behest. He had never once been disobedient. That is until he was asked to kill a...
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Izmir Lefeuvre- The Witch
How long had it been following me I whisper to myself? The creature stood at the end of the aisle, watching, waiting and perfectly patient. Eyes as black as the devil's waistcoat moved with agonizingly slow scrutiny over me, as if he was measuring me for a coffin.
He stood only feet from me, but I couldn't sense him. All I could feel was emptiness. Panic rose in my chest, constricting my throat. How long had he been hiding himself? How long had he been following me? How much did he know? He must be ready to make his move otherwise there'd be no reason for him to reveal himself. I thought of the handgun I carried in my purse. Little good that would do against something like him.
I should have known better; I should have been more careful. Admittedly, for the past few weeks I'd been catching glimpses of a tall dark man. It was nothing that threw my innate sixth sense into overdrive. Yes, I was frightened on occasion, but I never took it to mean anything more than post-traumatic stress after my first run in with that thing.
How could this have happened? My mind continued to twist itself into knots trying to make sense of it. I only came to the Dirty Cauldron to pick up a few things to help me protect myself. At thirty-two I should be teaching fucking Hoodoo at Hogwarts by now.
My mother, Inès Lefeuvre, was a bit of a dabbler herself but certainly no Merlin. She gave her best shot at encouraging me to learn. But after hearing from my grandma, Rosalie Mon Louis, what happened to the witches who practiced magic, I decided I didn't want to learn and that I'd never need to.
But necessity makes for strange bedfellows. I found myself ringing up my grams all the way in Haiti for advice. My parents returned to New York only a week after the incident. This I was happy about. I didn't want to frighten my mother with this. My father doesn't know about any of it. He's a mortal. The gift only passes to women in my family.
It was hard enough asking my grams questions without letting on that I'd nearly been killed by a Nightwalker. And lying to a witch like Rosalie never came easy. She had her ways of knowing. But she gave in when I told her I was thinking about trying a few things. Grams offered a few tips and tricks. I even learned how to mask my scent.
