Cursed by Lizzy Ford Page A

Jax was feared for his willingness to resort to black magic, and Rene was regarded as the protector of those in trouble. Together, there wasn’t anything they couldn’t handle.
    A devout member of the voodoo religion, Jax knew the price for harming another was steep, even if by accident. Every once in a while, someone in his position had no choice, especially if using black magic was the difference between life and death. The rumors about him were worse than the truth, but they helped keep the people of New Orleans safe. He’d pay the price for what he did down the road.
    What was one more drop in the bucket of mistakes he’d made? He was already condemned after all he’d done.
    Serial killer. If they only knew what it was he was trying to do, they wouldn’t give the series of deaths such a name. No, Jax’s intention was much nobler than slaughtering innocents. When the women he performed the zombie rite on died, it was purely accident.
    Jax found himself slowing, unable to shake the image of Adrienne from his thoughts. She looked too much like her sister for him to escape the memories. They’d been flowing hard and fast since yesterday, when he saw Adrienne in the alley. He’d heard she was in town and walked by her father’s apartment building frequently. Curiosity made him wonder how much she looked like Therese.
    If he knew they were almost identical, he would’ve stayed away. He hoped his warning to her kept her away, because he didn’t know if he could trust himself around her.
    Forgotten memories kept popping into his head, aching ones that made his breath catch. The first kiss with Therese, the way her skin smelled after they made love, the brilliant smile she saved just for him.
    He shook his head. She’d been gone for five years, and it was like he’d just seen her, touched her. He couldn’t see Adrienne again. Out of respect for Therese’s memory, he couldn’t let himself be tempted. He’d keep her safe, the way he did her father, the members of his House and voodoo community that frequented this district .
    Jax pushed open the door to the Coffee Loa, a café that moonlighted as the hub of activity for the voodoo priest and priestess heading up House Igbo. Four people sat drinking espresso in the coffee shop.
    The man behind the counter, a slender African man in jeans and a t-shirt, straightened when Jax entered. He waved him towards the back.
    Jax went through one back room into the second, where the member of the House Igbo created his spells and potions to sell. A small amount of voodoo priests and priestesses sold spells and were known as bokors. Although most only sold healing or protective spells, this man was one of the few he know that would sell black magic spells. The scent of mummified animal parts and blood was covered by incense. A shrine to Baron Samedi, the god overseeing death and the dead, was on one side of the room, and Jax dipped his head to the god of death as he entered.
    “You come twice this month,” Togoun Igbo said, heading towards a small refrigerator.
    “I know.”
    “Sit.”
    Jax didn’t object, accustomed to the bokor’s way of doing business. There was no in-and-out, like at a normal store. No, Togoun’s routine was the same every time.
    “You cannot keep asking from a god without giving back,” Togoun reminded him. “If you use black magic to harm another – ”
    “- the penalty is threefold whatever harm I cause,” Jax finished for him. “You’re a bokor . Sell me my spell.”
    “I do as always.” Togoun pulled a small, clay jar from the refrigerator and set it on the table beside Jax. “Take off your mask.”
    Jax removed the skeleton mask he’d worn for five years, since Therese’s death.
    Togoun pursed his lips in disapproval.
    Jax grinned. “Gotcha.” He’d painted the skeleton on his face with Halloween make-up.
    “You cannot hide what these spells are doing to you,” Togoun said. “You are losing your spirit, bit by bit.”
    “I