Easy Magic (Boudreaux #5)

“It’s good to see you make a friend,” Miss Sophia says, but Lena just watches me, speculation in her eyes.

“We’re two businesswomen trying to make a go of it in the Quarter,” I reply with a shrug. Lena isn’t a jealous woman, but she’s a very protective one when it comes to me. And it works both ways. You’re not raised by known psychics and witches and not get bullied growing up. “You’ll have to join us for lunch next time.”

“I’d like that,” Lena says. “Speaking of lunches, the principal asked me out on a date today.”

Miss Sophia and I look at each other, then at Lena. “What did you say?” I ask.

“No, of course,” she says and frowns. “I’m a teacher at his school. Of course I’m not going to date him.”

“Was he inappropriate with you?” Miss Sophia asks.

“No, he just asked, and I declined.”

“I know someone you might want to date,” I say, Charly’s brother Beau immediately coming to mind. “He’s a Boudreaux.”

“I’m not interested in dating.”

“You went on a date on Saturday,” I remind her in exasperation. Lena dates more than anyone else I know.

“Yes, and that one date made me realize that I’m done with it.” She takes a sip of sweet tea and shrugs her petite shoulders again. Lena’s thin, just like her grandmother.

“He’s not ready for you,” Sophia says to Lena, who just rolls her eyes and looks at me with desperate eyes. Help.

“You don’t have to date if you don’t want to,” I say reasonably. “What was it about Mr. Saturday Night that turned you off of the male species as a whole?”

“Nothing in particular. He was nice enough, but I’m tired of meeting men who are just nice enough. Nothing ever comes of it, and frankly, it’s beginning to feel like a waste of good lipstick and shaved legs.”

“Well, if you change your mind, Beau Boudreaux seems like a nice guy.” I keep my eyes trained on my dinner.

“You touched him?” Miss Sophia asks casually.

“I shook his hand.”

There’s a moment of silence, but I stay quiet, eating my dinner.

“Oh, come on, Mal.” Lena drops her spoon in her bowl. “And?”

“And what?”

“You’re so damn stubborn. You feel things, even when you don’t want to.”

Which is why I avoid touching people.

“Wishing you didn’t have your gifts doesn’t make them go away,” Miss Sophia reminds me gently.

“I know, and I stopped avoiding them long ago.” I purse my lips. “I see the dead. Not all the time, but enough. It doesn’t scare me. And yes, I’m an empath, so I get feelings about people when I touch them.”

“And what feeling did you get about Beau?” Lena asks, leaning in like I’m about to tell her state secrets.

“Not much,” I admit, still perplexed at the lack of emotion I was able to pick up from him. “But I know he’s smart. Not a lot of grey area with him, so similar to you in that respect. And I didn’t have to touch him to know that he’s a bit uptight and has a stick up his ass a lot of the time.”

“Oh, yes, please let me date him,” Lena says dryly.

“But I didn’t feel anything when I touched him.” My voice is soft, as it still takes me by surprise when I think of it.

“Nothing?” Lena demands, her eyes wide, as she raises her spoon to take a bite.

I do the same, thinking back on it. “There was no wave of emotion or memories. It was just…calm.”

“Interesting,” Lena says, a frown between her eyebrows. “That’s unusual.”

You have no idea.

“Beau isn’t for Lena,” Miss Sophia says confidently and sits back in her chair, finished with her dinner.

“If you’re so sure about who is for me, why don’t you clue me in?” Lena demands.

“Because neither of you is ready,” Miss Sophia replies. “You’ll figure it out eventually.”

Lena sighs deeply. “Maybe Beau is going to be important in your life because he’s meant for you.”

I stare at Lena, blinking slowly, then tuck my hair behind my ear and shake my head. “No. He’s not for me.”

Miss Sophia doesn’t say anything at all. She just sips her sweet tea and watches me with that knowing gaze that’s always driven me nuts. Because behind those shrewd eyes is a woman who sees more than anyone I know. Too much, sometimes.

“He’s not.”

“Okay.” She smiles and Lena lets out a loud laugh.

“I have to meet him.”

“You want me to set you up after all?”

“No.” She shakes her head. “So I can see the man who’s going to give you a run for your money.”

“How did we get here?” I stare at the two women I love more than anything, completely frustrated. “I already said he’s not for me.”

“If you say so,” Lena says, but Miss Sophia is still silent, just watching me with those knowing blue eyes, smiling softly.

“Do you have any idea how frustrating it is to have a witch in the family?” I demand, staring at Miss Sophia, who just smiles wider, still sipping her tea.

“I know many things,” she replies, then breaks out into a belly laugh when Lena and I just glare at her. “I’m turning it off now, girls.”

Miss Sophia’s psychic abilities are strong, much stronger than mine, but her gift is in magic. She and Lena make it look like an art form.

The three of us are members of a very exclusive club. One that most people don’t understand. Instead, when they learn what we are, they come at us with two things.

Fear.

Hate.

So we’re quiet, keep to ourselves, and live our lives.

***

I get home around nine from dinner with Miss Sophia and Lena. It’s been a long day. The shop was busy today, and I’m thankful. I’m making a good living at selling essential oils, herbs, lotions, and soaps. My style is whimsical and fun, perfect for tourists wandering through the French Quarter and locals alike. For so long I was just treading water, barely able to make enough to pay the bills, and have enough left over to pay myself as well.

But this past year has been fruitful, and not only can I do all those things, but I’ve hired a part-time helper as well so I can take a day or two off here and there.

I have dinner with Lena and Miss Sophia as often as our schedules allow, and one weekend a month we go to my grandmother’s house in the Bayou to relax and craft. I wasn’t able to join them for a while, but now that Shelly is working for me, I’ve been going again, and I love it.

I enjoy feeling close to Grandmamma. I don’t see her. Ever. Sometimes, as I’m waking from a dream, I can just barely hear her voice, but I haven’t seen her since the day she died.

And it frustrates me. Makes me sad.

I miss her.

I shake my head and shrug off the blue mood, shuffling through my mail. Nothing catches my interest so I toss the envelopes on the kitchen table and kick out of my boots, my jeans, and wander to the fridge to pour a glass of white wine.

I opened it last night.

It’ll be gone by tomorrow night.