CHAPTER 1
Emmeline
New Orleans
A dazzling city where evil was just a game played in the darkness, as enchanting as it was disturbing. Witches and goblins, ghosts and ghouls. Vampires who controlled the night. All providing a vibrant and eclectic cluster of spirits. All nestled in the same location.
For me, the intoxicating city was a playground, a wealth of spiritual affirmation. A learning ground for black magic, a skill handed down by my grandmother. Yet my gift was generations old, played out often in the form of gris-gris.
I’d been called a witch, a voodoo princess, even a succubus. I had to admit that I’d found the classification of my abilities and my passionate verve annoying in the beginning. Now I adored the sentiments and barbs tossed my way.
There were those who feared me, partially for what they assumed were my voodoo abilities. Most didn’t understand my true power. It wasn’t shoving sharp sticks into homemade dolls. I’d grown out of that phase of my abilities as a mere child.
The true fear of God experienced unilaterally by men was when discovering my surname.
Prince.
Those new to New Orleans might think royalty of some kind. You could certainly place my family and our entire history in that category. We went back generations, our heritage Cajun French. The real reason men were suddenly shy or disappeared after meeting me was based on their knowledge of what my family was capable of.
In their minds, namely my brothers.
Alexander, Sinclair, Montgomery, and Jaxon.
All four were very intelligent, highly trained in weaponry and explosives, savvy businessmen given our family’s wealth was in the billions, and they were all extremely handsome. Their words, not mine. They were also extraordinarily dangerous, Alexander the Don of a mafia regime, the syndicate powerful and ruthless.
Some would call them bloodthirsty, even though the women who’d captured their hearts had tempered them significantly.
Given their protectiveness of me, what few suitors I’d had in my life had all but disappeared within days if not hours of learning of their existence. That had certainly put a dent in my sex life.
Enough so, I’d threatened my brothers recently to leave me the hell alone and stop having their goons follow me.
Alexander had just smiled, issuing a single word.
No.
I understood the need for protection. After all, my father had been murdered enjoying lunch with a man considered a family enemy. Alexander had been framed for murder of the firstborn son of a rival syndicate. Montgomery had almost bled out on a darkened street, forced to sequester and heal in Vermont where he’d been hunted by some badass Russians. All four brothers had been shot at, chased, lied to, and betrayed. I understood their intense concern for my safety. We lived in a dangerous world.
But why did I need little more than Neanderthals following me around like lap dogs?
Besides, few people truly understood what I was capable of. And my extreme power wasn’t all about tossing a few spells their way. Yes, I did enjoy creating a simple gris-gris when someone pissed me off. Making the recipient unable to speak or suddenly find themselves covered in hives was really kid’s play.
Little did they know underneath my Prada sweaters and dresses was a highly skilled assassin herself. My father had been extremely chauvinistic, but he’d ensured his only daughter knew how to shoot guns and use knives of various sizes. Which was why he’d gifted me a Beretta and a Japanese dagger he’d commissioned from an artist and friend of his in Tokyo.
That had been my sweet sixteenth birthday present.
Along with a sports car from my brothers.
Yes, I’d grown up in the lap of luxury, but I didn’t consider myself spoiled. I’d fought for everything I’d earned and my place in a world where men generally ruled.
“Mmm… You know how to pick the places, girlfriend.” My best friend’s haughty comment was followed by a laugh. Kylie was my height, which meant she could keep up with my long strides as we walked down the cobblestone street toward our destination.
She studied the signage that was just ahead while tourists and locals crowded the streets. We were days from Halloween, obviously my favorite time of year. In New Orleans, Halloween was when the spirits truly enjoyed time spent with the living.
“Not my choice, but I do appreciate the nod to the morbidity of the dating ritual.” The Witch’s Brew was attached to the Haunted Sanctuary, the store a favorite of both locals and tourists, especially given the ability to purchase cutesy little voodoo dolls. The bar itself was festive, but certainly not what I’d call a five-star joint.
That was fine for my purposes tonight. I glanced over my shoulder, scanning the crowd.
After the horrible morning I’d had, I needed a drink. I hated to admit that I did, but it was true. My mind could barely process the information, but I’d promised myself I wouldn’t cry and hadn’t.