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    Witches of New Orleans
    Witches of New Orleans
    Witches of New Orleans
    Ebook84 pages1 hour

    Witches of New Orleans

    By Brigitte Delery

    3.5/5

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    About this ebook

    The five witches of the New Orleans Coven each have an elemental affinity, a commission from the city to keep supernatural events in check, and a lot of perfectly reasonable reasons for being alone. But as each witch meets her perfect match, these enchanting women discover love in the most unexpected places. From quirky French Quarter hat shops and elegant Garden District masquerade balls to the fog-shrouded End of the World, love comes in the form of best friends, occult enemies, and complete strangers. Because when it comes right down to it, the Crescent City casts its own mysterious conjurings on everyone who sets foot on her marshy soil, and even the most extraordinary members of this spell-wielding quintet can’t escape the magic of love.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBryant Street Shorts
    Release dateMay 7, 2020
    ISBN9781094410005

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    3.5/5

    35 ratings1 review

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    • 3/5
      Quick little reads but enjoyable. Easily could have been longer, more developed stories. Some were so short it was hard to call it a story b and not just an idea for a story.

      2 people found this helpful

    Book preview

    Witches of New Orleans - Brigitte Delery

    Part 1: One Wild Windy Night

    Arabella Knopp, air witch of the Nola Coven, one of the most powerful spellcasters in the city of New Orleans and part-time fortune teller, was having trouble keeping her cards together.

    Part of the problem involved the wind itself, which swirled in sharp gusts that kept tumbling everything — including her best tarot deck — off the table and onto the worn cobblestones of Jackson Square. The other part came in the form of the client sitting across the carefully arranged table from her, who kept inadvertently distracting her every time she tried to cast his fortune. Zach, she recalled. He’d given his name when he’d come with his recommendation card and his impossible request to sit at her table in the square.

    I’m sorry, said Zach, just as another gust plucked a card from her hand and sent it twirling away. I keep talking when I should be quiet and going silent when you ask a question. He ran nervous fingers through dark curls that gleamed slightly copper in the last rays of a late-afternoon midwinter sun, then began to fiddle with an unbuttoned cuff on his expensive-looking shirt as though unsure what to do with his hands. I’m awful at this whole ‘getting my fortune told’ thing, aren’t I?

    Arabella tried to ignore the deep timbre of his voice and the blossoming worry that lay behind it. The guy seemed sweet in a vaguely clueless way, and possibly unaware of how charming that made him. He’d even brought her an offering, which wasn’t strictly necessary and something almost everyone overlooked when seeking out the services of a coven member. Better yet, it was chocolate cake from her favorite Bywater bakery. Bonus points for the clueless dude.

    "Apporter du vent," she murmured, concentrating for a moment on the power that always swirled inside her, forming it into a minor incantation. A light breeze shifted to bring the card fluttering back, though she almost missed the catch as it returned to her fingertips. Wind control had become increasingly more difficult lately, and she already knew she’d pay for her efforts with utter exhaustion later. Yet another concern to juggle.

    French? he asked, obviously confused.

    Any language works, she responded absently, trying to hold on to the card while using her other arm to flatten the remainder of the deck against the fluttering tablecloth. I just happen to know that one.

    A quick glance up made her almost lose control over the spell. Eyes the color of a stormy sea met hers, and Arabella suddenly didn’t want to set down the next card. She really didn’t want to tell this tall, attractive, and increasingly desperate stranger that death stalked him today and he’d be dead before dawn. Especially since she’d told him exactly that same fortune three times already.

    Section Break

    Truth be told, Zach Levine felt as though he’d taken news of his impending demise rather well thus far. Of course, he’d already encountered enough omens and portents in the last week to know death was on his heels. From unexpected fortune-cookie pronouncements and mysterious code alterations in his graduate-school computer-science thesis to actual ghostly appearances advising him to settle his affairs, the signs had been anything but subtle. What he needed to know — what brought him to the square tonight — was the where, when, and how. He hoped a real-life professional witch might be able to clue him in on the details.

    Now, sitting across from the witch, Zach kept losing himself in staring at her and stumbling over his words like a kid with a first crush. He’d expected someone older, not a woman in her early twenties, around the same age as himself. More than that, he had expected someone put together, no-nonsense, and efficiently professional. Someone vaguely similar to the law-school students and junior investment bankers that his parents always tried to set him up with, except with expertise in magic instead of law or business. Someone as boring as he generally thought himself to be, no matter how much he tried to figure out how to be otherwise. This woman seemed to be none of those things.

    Her layered vintage ensemble of velvet, lace, and brocade cotton contrasted dramatically with shimmering silver eyeshadow and a streak of bright purple that twisted through wavy brown hair pinned atop her head. She could have stepped out of a Victorian-inspired experimental-theater event or wandered into a late-night walking parade without missing a beat. Whatever he’d expected when his friends recommended consulting a professional witch — one vetted and licensed by the city no less — this wasn’t it. Even her name, Arabella as the folded paper tag on her table proclaimed, seemed fascinatingly unusual. Why hadn’t anyone warned him she’d be so incredibly, unnervingly interesting?

    Zach watched her effortlessly control a breeze while ignoring the strands of hair that had escaped her untidy hairdo and whipped around her face. Chipped glittery nail polish caught his attention as she recaptured the escaped card, and he almost laughed aloud when she lunged forward trying to save the remainder of her cards from increasing gusts that heralded an early-evening storm. Her freckled cheeks flushed red as she hastily tore those bright-green eyes from his and he realized he’d been staring again. Worse, he’d been staring long enough to start admiring her freckles.

    What was wrong with him? He should be thinking about his impending death and how to avoid it, not admiring the freckles dusting the nose and cheeks of a flustered, disorganized, fortune-telling witch. Zach caught himself gazing down at her cleavage, pushed up in a slightly askew burgundy corset as she leaned her entire body forward over her cards, noting the fact that she had freckles there, too. Embarrassed, he jumped up from the rickety folding chair and started to stammer an apology.

    Sorry. This wasn’t a good idea, he began. I’m just making you tell me the same thing over and over, which isn’t fair to you or me. And now I’m being creepy and awkward with the freckles and the staring and the….

    His voice trailed off as she reached up and grabbed his wrist in a surprisingly strong grip.

    Wait, she said, trying to extricate herself from her own chair and the now-tilting table.

    "I

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