136

Zoey

There she was, Bri. That beautiful and alluring spirit shone brighter than I’d ever seen anyone else before. The good spirits led me to her that day as I watched the gaunt, dead-eyed girl walking. I knew who she was, all New Orleans witches did. The spirits spoke, insisted, and I intervened. She stood too far away, a wall of sexy feral male brutes between us and she just turned him to melted butter with her touch and the depth of what I knew was underneath the surface of the scarred person I had come to know. Now she beamed like a beacon of the echoes of who I knew her to be. She shined, no longer the dull empty shell I was familiar with. I was glad for it, relieved. She had found the thing in the deepest part of her that had been hidden by her armored cage of darkness and now had cut through all the bullshit she had been through. It didn’t matter to me what B.S. that was, she never said, but I knew it had to do with the woman who claimed to be in charge of the New Orleans witche