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disastrous. The last time I’d worked a spell on the fly, I’d ended up mentally connected to the very last person I wanted privy to my thoughts—Lailah.
“ Sorry. Just a reminder.” She sat back and closed her eyes. “By the way, reading your mind isn’t a picnic for me either.”
“ Stop talking about it,” I snapped. “If you can’t block me out, just pretend you can’t hear me.”
She mumbled something that sounded like, “If only that were possible.”
I didn’t say anything, demonstrating my point, but in my mind I shouted, See how that works? Try keeping your unwanted comments to yourself next time.
She snorted.
I turned my attention to the candle. “Goddess above, hear my words. When my blood falls, Lailah’s memories will be restored.” I plucked a match from the box and, with a slight nudge of my inner power, I willed it to light.
A small flame appeared without so much as a spark.
Satisfied, I lit the wick. “While this candle burns, let the flame be a symbol of protection. Guide my magic, let it do no harm, seek no harm, or cause any harm.”
The flame brightened, growing tall and strong.
“ Good.” Lailah passed me a sheet of paper with a handwritten incantation. “Now say this and then add a drop of blood to the potion.”
I grabbed the small ceremonial dagger lying next to the bowl and spoke the words. “From the purity of the white witch, let my blood be the sacrifice of stolen memories. Restore what was taken. Fill the void left in the angel Lailah. Let her mind be whole. With these words I pay the price.”
I swiped the dagger across the fleshy pad of my thumb and winced. Blood pooled, oozing from the wound. Grimacing, I tilted my hand and let one lone drop drip into the bowl. My thumb throbbed, and I quickly bandaged it with a tissue. “Did the charm work?”
Lailah groaned, laying her head down. “No. You must have done something wrong.”
“ Um, wrong? I did exactly what you told me to do. Maybe it was your potion.” I scooted forward and stared into the bowl. My blood droplet sat in a small bead on the top of the now-solidified liquid. Resisting the urge to use my finger to mix it, I picked up the bowl, rocking it back and forth until the thin film broke. My blood spread in spidery veins, weaving its way slowly through the liquid.
Darkness swam at the edge of my vision. Damn it all. Not again! I would not pass out. Not this time. Since moving to New Orleans, I’d formed a bad habit of losing consciousness every time I got involved with something mystical.
I sat and held my head in my hands. The blackness faded. But when I focused, I was no longer sitting in Lucien’s kitchen.
Double damn. Here we go again.
Sitting on the floor in the middle of a brightly colored living room, I reached forward, picking up a black candle, thought better of it, and replaced it with a white one. I imagined a lit wick, and the flame burst to life, illuminating a pink rug and red couches.
Ready to finish the spell, I held my arms out. Surprise rippled through me. The hands attached to my arms weren’t mine. In fact, the arms weren’t mine, either.
I mentally groaned.
The short skirt paired with leggings and the belted blouse I wore meant one thing; the body I mentally inhabited was Lailah’s.
Oh, for the love of… A man strode into the room, his eyes a very familiar shade of pale emerald green. When he spoke, I gasped. Though no one heard me, since I only existed in Lailah’s mind.
He sounded exactly like Dan. He had to be Philip Pearson.
Lailah sat, staring at him as if she’d been spelled into submission. And when Philip ordered her to stand, she did.
“ Angel of the Light, lead me to his last location,” Philip said, his voice commanding and cold.
Lailah moved toward the door. When she brushed past him, he touched her lightly on the shoulder and whispered, “I know you’re in there, witch. Stay out of Lailah’s memories. Your magic doesn’t work here.”
My world spun and my stomach