The Royal Street Witch by Jenna Walker EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author: Jenna Walker
- Language: English
- Genre: Magical Realism
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
“NEVER BE TOO MAD TO take their money,” Mother would say, stacking bills
of hundreds and fifties along the kitchen table, a hand-rolled cigarette
hanging from the corner of her scarlet lips. “They will enrage you, they will
belittle you. Think themselves superior even when they need you. Take
their money and go.”
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Another text vibrates in my pocket as I make my way down Bourbon
Street, Mother on my mind. Groaning, I check my phone, unsurprised it’s
another frantic text from Nicola.
Amerie couldn’t wait. Hurry. I’ll pay extra.
“Wow.” It’s all I can muster as I stomp down the street because I can
read between the lines. Amerie opened some human’s vein and didn’t have
my cream to heal it. Vampires. The most impulsive creatures on the planet.
It’s astounding how they’ve survived this long.
Take their money and go.
Many a girl will be told on their first trip to the French Quarter, never to
go down Bourbon Street on her own, especially past midnight. But this is
my home, and shady folks tend to stay away from girls with dark lipstick in
velvet hooded cloaks. And because of this, I’ve rarely had to use magic to
protect myself for most of my twenty-five years.
It’s not really the locals I’ve had problems with, it’s the tourists that
expect young women to show their tits in exchange for plastic beads.
Drunken buffoons that think I want to hear about how many ways they can
please me.
The last time I showed an overly aggressive bald man exactly what
pleases me, by pushing him down with a flick of my finger.
“Two hours,” I had whispered as I walked across his back. The spell had
been cast with him sprawled out upon the alcohol-covered street for 120
minutes before he had the strength to get up, the yells in his Brooklyn
accent somehow barely above a whisper.
Sneering at the memory, my feet taking me farther down Bourbon Street
to Comey’s, a no-frills jazz pub where true music enthusiasts sit to drink
and not just listen to music, but to feel music. Stepping inside, my eyes
immediately catch Oksana’s. Running Comey’s is her job, but her true
passion is being the vampire’s gatekeeper. They lurk inside various clubs
and bars throughout the French Quarter, whispering the password to the
upstairs speakeasy into the ears of captivated tourists. It’s Oksana who
allows passage upstairs once the password has been repeated, ushering them
where she’s about to take me.
With the usual grimace on her face, she comes from behind the bar, and
we fall in line with each other. A jazz band goes to town on the tiny stage as
patrons sway in their seats or yell over the music in an attempt at
conversation.
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