By Adrian Phoenix

“An eye for a watch is rarely enough.” Kallie Rivière, a Cajun hoodoo apprentice with an inclination for difficulty, discovered the that means of these ominous phrases while hoodoo bogeyman surgeon Heron particular her kinfolk for revenge. Now, whereas looking for her still-missing bayou pirate cousin, Kallie unearths out the tough approach that somebody is undoing strong gris gris, because of this operating magic has develop into as unpredictable as rolling a handful of cube. The wards woven to guard the Gulf coast are unraveling, leaving New Orleans and the encircling bayous weak simply as an unnatural storm—the deadliest in a century—is born. because the typhoon powers towards the center of all she loves, Kallie desperately searches for the reason for the annoying randomness, purely to profit a deeply unsettling fact: the perpetrator might be herself. to guard her friends and family, together with the horny nomad Layne Vallin, Kallie steps into the jaws of risk . . . and unearths a loup garou designed to thieve her heart—literally.

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That felt more than a little karmic. ” Gabrielle had yanked off Kerry’s ski mask and his short brown hair stuck up in sweat-gelled spikes all around his head. He looked scared and younger than the twenty-five or so Kallie pegged him at. He nodded. “Deal,” he agreed. Cash shook his head in disgust. “They ain’t gonna let us go, asswipe. ” “Dat’s it,” Divinity declared. “My patience be at an end with you, boy. ” Dipping a hand into a pocket of her Gypsy-style skirt, she pulled out a small blue glass bottle.

Mostly. She is, after all, a very good dog. The shadow woman, threadbare body shafted through with sunlight and edged with wagging tails of thick, black night, stands in the driveway just beyond the porch, her gaze on a low pile of fresh-turned dirt. And beyond the pile of dirt, Cielo sees a Get-in-the-Truck parked beside the empty den. Daddy’s Get-in-the-Truck. Cielo’s blood sings, her heart leaps, and, despite the bad energy crackling around the shadow woman, she races across the yard, aimed for the Get-in-the-Truck.

I ain’t the stupid one here. At least I know that hoodoos handle juju and potions and medicines and mambos are like voodoo priestesses—all about the religion and the loas and shit. ” Kallie offered Kerry a sweet-as-pecan-pie smile and held up the deck of cards. ” “I don’t think the loa are gonna care much for that, you messing with their gris-gris,” Belladonna said, her voice a soft, velvety purr—a sound as ominous as shotgun shells being chambered. ” Kerry’s entire body twitched. His gaze squirrel-skittered around the room, darting from ceiling to dark corners as though he expected the spirits to drop on him like a weighted net or a nest of tree-dwelling snakes, and finally coming to rest on Divinity’s herb- and root-cluttered table.

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