“Are you lost?” she asks in a thick creole accent.
“No. I was looking for you.”
“For me?”
“For magic users,” I amend so she doesn’t think I’ve come here specifically for her.
A man, sitting on a large stone, flicks a lighter and puffs on the cigarette hanging from his lips. “We’re not just magic users.”
“I know. I need a potion. A powerful one that can make me sleep on demand.”
The first woman scoffs. “We don’t use our magic to help insomniacs or for parlor tricks.”
“That’s not what I’m asking. Someone I… I care about has been kidnapped. I can’t find him on my own, but when I sleep, I feel connected to him. But sleep isn’t something I can just do whenever I want.”
Another woman stands, walking slowly towards me. She’s covered in intricate tattoos, reminding me of Rune’s for amoment, but hers don’t glow. At least, they’re not glowing right now.
“Why do you seek us? There are millions of magic users who could help.”
“I need it quickly and I remembered this place. I’m willing to pay your price.”
Everyone chuckles except the original women who spoke to me, who says, “Are you sure about that?”
I nod. “It’s important.”
Another person is suddenly before me, pressing their finger to the center of my chest. Their eyes glow an eerie yellow tinged with orange around the irises, and I couldn’t begin to guess their gender or origin. Their lips part, revealing long fangs, and I recall the story Cassius told us about witches and vampires attacking each other and their abilities bleeding into each other. Only here in New Orleans.
“You have your own magic,” the person says.
“No. I’m a gargoyle.”
“I know that, but there is some. It’s weak but it’s there.”
“I… I think it’s from my lost friend.”
The person nods. “We’ll help you. Our fee is a favor.”
“A favor?”
“You promise that if the day comes when we need your assistance, you will provide it.”
“What would you need me for?”
“Who knows. Deal or no deal?”
I start to agree, but the words won’t leave my tongue. “I would, but I can’t commit. I’m already under contract with a demon. I work for him.”
The person tilts their head. “What is the demon’s name?”
“His official name is…” What, am I crazy? I can’t give that out. “Auri. We call him Auri.” There’s no way I’m giving black magic users his official name.
The person nods. “We’ll discuss it with Auri, then. A gargoyle can always be useful, as power struggles frequently break out in the city, and those damn Ninth Ward witches are growing in power.”
“Hey,” another witch complains, “not all of us are bad.”
“Not all of you are good, either,” the person says. They snap their fingers. “Make the potion, Lacy.”
“It only needs to cause sleep. Nothing else.”
