Daughter of the Thirteen: Bourbon Street Witches Book 1 by Lorraine Kennedy Page A

“Anyone descended from the coven cannot go against the pact to close it. That leaves Laurel and I out … but on the other hand, you and Arlene could do it.”
    Mora’s eyes sparked with understanding. “We could close it … but still. There are enough witches around. Why wouldn’t they just have another witch do it in the same way.”
    “Because … they do not want to give up the riches they received from the pact they made. Laurel and I have nothing to lose by closing it. They do … and believe me, they will try and stop us.”
    “Well what are we waiting for?” Arlene interrupted. “We have ball dresses to get.”
    Laurel still wasn’t too sure about Bridgett’s scheme, but it was better than sitting around and waiting for Marcos.
     
    * * *
     
    His black leather boots were covered in muck, but trudging through the marsh was the only way in. A good portion of the trip could be covered by boat, but there was no way to get a boat through the shallows.
    The Boucher witch wasn’t about to take any chances. Anyone practicing black magic was bound to have more than a few enemies. Melba Boucher certainly had her share of those.
    Fighting his way through the murky water and Spanish moss would have been easier if he could have used his power to aid his progress, but that wasn’t possible.
    Melba was powerful, possibly the most powerful witch to ever live in recent times, next to Marie Laveau. She’d spelled the swamp to neutralize all outside magic, another move to protect herself.
    As soon as he zapped a tree out of his way, she’d know he was coming and counter his power. He needed what power he had to combat the witch, just in case she turned on him.
    After emerging from a thicket of trees, he saw the witch’s cottage about two hundred yards away. The old shanty was built on stilts above the swamp.
    Boucher was there, as was evident by the soft glow of light in the windows. Of course there was never any doubt that she would be. The Swamp Witch hadn’t stepped foot out of the bayou her entire life.
    Now he was only a hundred yards away, but stopped suddenly when he heard the sound of rippling water.
    Little by little, the form of a woman rose from the black water.
    He knew better than to wonder how she’d managed to hide in the shallows. Melba was so in tune with the swamp that some even claimed she could change forms to become one of the swamp creatures.
    With her body covered in mud and her blazing green eyes, she resembled a vengeful spirit.
    Black water dripped from her long hair. It was impossible to tell what color it was beneath the muck.
    “What is your tribute?” He could hear her raspy voice echoing through the trees, though her lips never moved.
    He’d already decided how to handle this, and it wouldn’t be in the way the witch would be expecting. It paid to research your enemies, as well as your allies.
    “I offer you information.”
    Legend had it that something turned Melba Boucher dark, and he knew exactly what that something was.
     

Chapter Thirteen
     
    The four girls gathered in front of the massive mirror that hung on the wall in the parlor. When they stood together, they created a rainbow of sparkling color.
    Each girl looked remarkable in her gown, the color carefully chosen to bring out her natural beauty.
    The ball gowns were easy to get. Mora paid a visit to Magnolia Hall and persuaded Madam Arlington to help.
    Normally Madam Arlington wasn’t so generous, but Mora made her an offer she couldn’t refuse. In exchange for the gowns, she’d agreed to drop some information about Magnolia Hall to the male guests attending the masque. Madam Arlington would never turn down an opportunity of advertising to such affluent gentlemen.
    “Look at us!” Mora exclaimed. “The Witches of Bourbon Street … all dressed up for the ball. We don’t even have to worry about wicked stepmothers, or the clock striking midnight. We are free!”
    Laurel frowned.
    Mora was enjoying this a little