Free Dark Lily: Shadows, Book 4 by Jenna Ryan

breeze fluttered the sycamore leaves, but beyond that, it was all about bayou life—insects buzzing, birds chirping and reptiles patiently waiting for their next meal.
    The sounds soothed Gaby’s mind and her senses. The world felt lush and eerie this deep in the swamp. New Orleans was a million miles away, and California was fast becoming a memory. A pleasant one in many respects, but here was home. Here in this microcosm of wandering spirits, spells and dark voodoo magic.
    She wondered vaguely how Mitchell viewed those things. Then the thought stalled, and she raised her head. Was there smoke in the air? She inhaled and caught the scent again, just a trace. Not the kind of smoke that came from a burning barrel, this was the smell of old wood going up in flames.
    Alert as a cat, Gaby twisted in her seat, searching. “Scent of wood smoke,” she murmured. “Where’s the source?”
    Mitchell frowned. “All I smell are flowers.”
    “That’s my perfume. Something’s burning.”
    He lowered his window, started the Jeep. “Got it. Which way?”
    She spotted the first wisps. “North. Take the twisty road.”
    “What the hell’s the twisty road?”
    “Not the main one,” she said. “It’s a small island, Mitchell. Names aren’t necessary, except in town.”
    “Which also has no name. Point me, Gaby. Nothing looks like a damn road around here.”
    “Head for the gap between the cypress trees. And don’t say your Jeep won’t fit. It will.”
    “Without scraping off the paint?”
    The look she sent him didn’t say anything kind. “It could be someone’s home going up in flames. A little paint is hardly important.”
    “You and my grandfather would not have seen eye to eye on any subject.” Gearing down, he maneuvered through the trees in ruts nearly the height of his tires. “Does this mean your friend Celia’s potion doesn’t work, or do you have more than one pyromaniac on Bokur?”
    Gaby braced a hand on the dash. “Celia’s potions always work. Fred probably screwed up the ingredients. Reading’s not his best skill. Turn left.”
    “Into a river?”
    “It’s a stream, and don’t argue. I think it’s Celia’s shed.”
    Five minutes of serious off-road dips and climbs brought billows of thick gray smoke into sight. And, yes, they were coming from Celia’s shed.
    Mitchell eased the Jeep closer. “How is it possible for anything to burn after last night’s storm?”
    “Shed’s freshly painted. Paint repels water.”
    “Did Celia have anything valuable inside?”
    “No.” Gaby hopped out before he came to a full stop. “But I do.” Spotting a man in the trees, she strode toward him. “Harley Ficket, you damn well better sprout wings. I had an antique secretary, a whack of hardwood flooring and three crates of old books in that shed. If I catch you, I’ll set you on fire.”
    Although he leaped from his perch and bolted, it was nothing more than a game to Harley.
    Gaby ran after him, partly for form and partly to cool her temper, while she tried not to think about the flames devouring her possessions.
    The shed had been fully involved long before she and Mitchell had arrived. There’d be nothing left but ashes by the time she returned. So she ran on and didn’t stop until she felt certain Harley would be wheezing.
    Pearled rays of sunlight began to poke through the canopy of treetops. Down below, the mist held sway. She sensed a presence or two but nothing that chose to manifest. Setting the restless murmurs of past lives aside, Gaby thought back to a kiss that shouldn’t have happened. Not that such a fascinating distraction hadn’t been welcome after everything Mitchell had dumped on her last night. However, it hadn’t been wise.
    She turned a slow circle as she walked, ducking under Spanish moss and making another turn. She could still taste him, still feel what he’d called up inside her. Emotions she’d never entirely tapped into before. Sensations she’d chosen to avoid