Serendipity: A Bayou Magic Novel
Serendipity
A Bayou Magic Novel
Kristen Proby
Ampersand Publishing, Inc.
Contents
Title Page
Acknowledgments
Letter from the Author
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue
Hallows End
Memento Mori by Rayvn Salvador
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Also by Kristen Proby:
About the Author
Serendipity
A Bayou Magic Novel
By
Kristen Proby
SERENDIPITY
A Bayou Magic Novel
Kristen Proby
Copyright © 2021 by Kristen Proby
Memento Mori Copyright © 2021 by Ravyn Salvador
All Rights Reserved. This book may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. All characters and storylines are the property of the author and your support and respect are appreciated. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Cover Design: By Hang Le
Published by Ampersand Publishing, Inc.
Ebook ISBN: 978-1-63350-080-8
Acknowledgments
There are some people that I need to thank, now that this series is all wrapped up.
A huge thank you goes out to Chelle Olson, who is not only my wonderful editor but also my friend. Thank you for helping me with all of the witchy things included in these three stories. More than that, you have my gratitude for loving these three sisters as much as I do.
To Jillian Stein, for all of the brainstorming, and for giving me Horace’s name—no one could have come up with a creepier name for a serial killer. I love you.
The biggest thanks of all goes out to the readers who have come along with me on this new journey. For giving it a try and loving it enough to share it with your friends. The enthusiasm for my sister witches has been overwhelming. I think it’s safe to say that this won’t be the last time I write something in this genre.
Letter from the Author
Dear Reader,
Writing the Bayou Magic trilogy has been the thrill of my career so far. I’ve loved dabbling in the magic and dipping my toes into the thriller aspect of each story. I never thought that I’d combine a serial killer and witches into one series, but here we are.
And it’s been absolutely amazing for me.
I know that these books are darker than what you have come to expect from me. While the romance is here, and there are plenty of moments to swoon, there is also a dark force afoot.
He is a serial killer, you know.
But there is also friendship and family, and a quest many lifetimes in the making. I hope you enjoy this last installment in the Bayou Magic series.
Now, go ahead and find a cozy spot, be sure to keep the lights on, and let me tell you a story…
xo,
Kristen
For Nora Roberts
Thank you for being my hero.
Prologue
Daphne
Why won’t Mama let me share a bedroom with my sisters? I’m scared. Of this house and all the things alive inside of it. I’m only nine, but I don’t remember a time when I wasn’t scared. When it gets dark outside, and Mama makes us go to bed, it’s like the house comes to life—and tortures us.
Brielle sees the ghosts. They’re shadows to her, and they follow her around, tormenting her. Millie feels the spirits and can see some of them, too. It happens all the time for them, not just at night. But it’s worse in the dark—so much worse.
I can see the past when I touch things, feel how a person felt when they held whatever I am. I can see the spirits too, but only when I’m in direct contact with things. I try to be careful not to touch stuff, but it’s impossible. I have to sit. I need to walk on floors and open doors. Eat. Play.
Brielle says there are other people like us, those who might be able to help us, but Mama won’t let us talk about it. She beats us if she hears us whispering about it.
I wince when I turn over in bed. My arm still hurts from where Mama shook me this morning. I didn’t want to use the bowl she put in front of me because Daddy used to use it, and all I see is anger. Meanness. Hate.
I tried to tell her, but she just hurt me.
My bed hurts me, too. The springs are coming through the mattress even though I put a blanket down to try and make it softer. Brielle’s bed is better. And, sometimes, I sneak into her room so I can sleep with her.
I know he’s in here with me. He thinks it’s funny to watch me sleep, to make me scared. He did it when he was alive, too. I try to keep my eyes closed, to ignore him, but it’s hard.
I crack them open and let out a yelp before I slam my hand over my mouth to stop the sound.
His face is inches from mine. His eyes shine in the dark, and his teeth are dirty and crooked. He’s big and hairy and horrible.
Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.
I fling the dirty blankets back and run for the door, easing it open and praying that Mama doesn’t hear me. And then I hurry as fast as I can down the hall into Brielle’s room.
“Come on,” she whispers and holds up her blankets for me. I slip in next to her and cling to her, shivering. “What happened?”
“He was in my face,” I whisper back and bury my nose in her neck. “He was smiling in that horrible way he does. It scares me.”
“I know.” She rubs my back. She’s only fourteen, but she’s an adult in all the ways that matter. She takes care of Millie and me. Someday, when she’s eighteen, she’s going to take us out of here so we never have to come back.
I wish that was today.
I wish it with all my heart.
“Millie’s coming,” Brielle whispers.
“How do you know?”
“I just do.”
The door opens again, and Millie hurries to the bed, joining us under the covers.
“Daddy?” I ask her.
“Why won’t he leave?” she whimpers. “Why won’t he just leave?”
“Because he’s mean,” Brielle replies softly. “Now, stay quiet. We don’t want Mama to find us in here together, remember?”
We go quiet, huddled together in the bed, listening to the house around us—all of its creaks and moans. Footsteps.
A door shuts down the hall.
“That’s not Mama,” Millie says and buries her face in my hair. “Not Daddy, either.”
“Who is it?” I ask her.
“I don’t know. Never seen this one before.”
I chew on my lip. “Why are there more? So many more.”
“I don’t know,” Brielle says. “Maybe Daddy’s bringing them here from the other side.”
My eyes fill with tears as we hear the footsteps growing closer.
“Make it stop.”
<
br /> * * *
“I’m Jackson Pruitt.”
This boy, lean with dark hair and eyes, stands taller than me by at least half a foot. He has big hands. Men usually scare me. I don’t trust them.
But Jackson’s eyes are kind, and when I take the hand he offers to shake, I feel…warm.
“Daphne,” I reply softly. “Daphne Landry.”
“Millie’s younger sister,” he says with a smile, and I nod.
Since Brielle moved us out of Mama’s house, it’s safe to talk about our gifts. Millie found an actual coven to be a part of. Like, she’s a real witch! That’s still crazy to me. And she said that we’re all invited to come and meet the people she knows. Millie says they’re really nice.
And so far, she’s been right.
“Yeah, Millie’s my sister,” I reply. I hate that I’m so shy. I wish I could talk to people easily like Brielle can, but I always feel awkward.
“Is this your first time here?” he asks. We’re at Miss Sophia’s house for a Halloween party.
No, that’s not right. An All Hallow’s Eve party. It’s Samhain. What the witches call their new year. And there are supposedly all sorts of fantastical things about the night.
I nod and bite my lip. “I guess I’m kind of nervous.”
“Oh, you don’t have to be nervous,” he assures and leads me over to a table where a black cauldron sits, full of smoking liquid. “Want a drink?”
“What is that?”
He laughs and ladles some. “It’s punch. It’s just fun to put it in here like it’s a magical brew or something.”
“Oh, okay.”
I take a sip and blink in surprise. It’s fruity and delicious.
“I know we just met and everything,” Jackson says and wipes the palm of his hand on his jeans. “And you might run away when I say this, but I think you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen in my life.”
Wow. No one’s ever said that to me before.
“Gonna run?”
“No.” I smile and then laugh a little. I’m still nervous, but if he thinks I’m pretty, I guess I can relax a bit. “Thanks for saying that. You’re handsome, too.”
And when he touches me, it’s as if I’ve known him for a long time.
“I’m going to marry you someday,” he says with so much confidence, it makes me laugh in surprise.
“I’m only seventeen,” I remind him.
“I said someday.” He nudges me with his shoulder. “I’m a patient guy. And I’m only eighteen myself, so we have lots of time.”
* * *
I don’t know how I’m going to tell him. How does a person cut the one they love the most so deep? This will leave a scar forever.
The only man who’s ever loved me. The first man I’ve given my love and trust to.
I may be young and not yet old enough to order a drink on Bourbon Street. I may still have a lot to learn about my gifts and how I walk through life with the hand Fate dealt me. But I know without a single doubt in my mind that Jackson Pruitt is meant for me. He’s my soulmate—the other half of my heart.
And what I have to tell him will hurt him. It could change what we have between us forever.
“I’d rather cut my eyes out,” I mutter with a sigh. I pace the living room of the apartment I share with my two older sisters in the French Quarter, waiting for Jack to come and get me for our date.
I haven’t told anyone what I saw.
That’s not new to me. I see so much, all the time, that I keep most of it to myself. Talking about the things I see usually only scares people.
Not Brielle and Millie, of course. We’ve spoken about our gifts among the three of us our entire lives. But others—classmates and co-workers—would only be scared if I talked about the horrible things I see. It’s hard enough to make friends as it is.
But when I met Jack, I just knew. Something moved in me, through me, as soon as I looked into his brown eyes. Some recognition. I knew that not only would he change my life, but he’d also be my life.
He knocks on the door. I hurry to open it and am swept up in his arms, his mouth on mine as he shuts the door behind us.
“I missed you,” he murmurs against my lips.
His brown eyes are hot as he looks at me, but I see they still carry sadness in them.
“Same here. Jack, we have to talk.”
“About dinner? Because I’m starving.”
“No, not that.” I smile. Jack’s always hungry. I guess that goes with the territory of being so young. “We need to talk about your dad.”
All humor flees from his face, and his brows draw together. “No, we don’t.”
“We really do,” I insist and reach for his hand. Unfortunately, I regret the touch because I can feel his emotions.
Grief. Irritation. Weariness.
Jack’s the only one I can read this way. Usually, only objects tell me stories, not people.
“Let’s sit down.”
Jack’s dad died two weeks ago. That’s bad enough all by itself, but Jack also lost his mother after a long battle with cancer four weeks before that.
My love has known more heartache in the last year than any one person should.
“I saw something,” I begin and take a deep breath. I always expect him to smirk or turn away from me, but he never does.
He loves me—gifts and all.
It doesn’t hurt that he also has powers and was raised with the craft.
I feel my lips tremble, but I press them together as he takes my hands in his.
“Are you okay, Daph?”
I shake my head. “No. I’m not. And you won’t be either after I tell you this.”
His eyes narrow. “What happened? Did someone hurt you? Did you touch something? Damn it, Daph, you know to keep your shields up.”
“It’s not that,” I hurry to assure him. “Do you remember last week, when we were at your house, and I sat in your dad’s chair?”
“Sure.”
I bite my lip. Everything in me screams not to tell him. This could change everything. I don’t know how I know that, I just do.
“Well, you asked me if I saw anything, and I said no. But that was a lie, Jack. I was so surprised, so taken aback, that I couldn’t say anything then. But I have to tell you.”
He narrows his eyes. “Okay, tell me.”
“Your dad didn’t die of natural causes like the medical examiner said.”
“They did an autopsy, Daph.”
“I know.” I swallow again. “Jack, your dad killed himself. In that chair. He was thinking about how much he missed your mom and how he knew you’d be okay because you have Oliver and the rest of the coven—and me, of course. He just wanted to be with her.”
“No.” Jack shakes his head and stands from the couch, pacing away from me. “You saw it wrong.”
I feel the tears start, just as I feel the chasm between us beginning to grow.
“I didn’t see it wrong.”
And, worst of all, it’s my fault.
“I would have known,” he insists, his voice hard. “You know that. I see shit, Daph, whether I want to or not. If he was going to die, I would have known.”
“Maybe not. Maybe you’re too close to him. Maybe he worked a spell and blocked you so you wouldn’t stop him.”
“This is bullshit.” Jack’s chin trembles, and I want to rush to him and wrap my arms around him.
But I know I’m not welcome.
“I’m so sorry, Jackson. So, so sorry.”
“It’s a lie. It’s a hateful lie. Why would you say this to me, Daphne? If you want to end it, just say so. You don’t have to run me off like this. Put this kind of bullshit in my head.”
I shake my head in denial. “I wouldn’t do that to you. I love you too much. This is killing me, Jack.”
“Love?” He laughs—a humorless, horrible sound. “This isn’t love. It’s cruel.”
I can’t look at him. I can’t watch the change unfolding right in front of my
eyes.
I turn my back to him and cross my arms over my chest, suddenly feeling so cold, it’s like I’ll never be warm again.
“I promise you, it’s not a lie. And I’m not trying to hurt you. You have the right to know what really happened.”
“I want no part of this.” His voice is low and ragged as he breathes hard with anger and grief. “I can’t do this, Daphne.”
I glance into the mirror across the room and watch as Jack gives me one last look, our eyes meeting in the reflective glass for a moment. And then he turns and walks away.
The door closes, and his footsteps fade down the steps.
I hang my head in my hands and let the tears come. Goddess, it hurts. It feels like my heart will never mend.
When I brush the tears away and look up again, I catch my reflection in the mirror—and stop cold.
I have no eyes.
Chapter One
Jackson
“What’s on your plate today?”
I glance over as Oliver joins me on his screened-in porch, a steaming mug of coffee in his hand. He sits in the cushioned seat next to me and takes a sip.
“I have to go see Daphne today.”
He’s quiet for a moment as he watches butterflies and bumblebees flitting around his garden. Oliver is the closest thing to a father I’ve had since my parents died. He’s my godfather. He was my dad’s best friend and has been a part of my life since the day I was born.