Free The Babet & Prosper Collection I: One Less Warlock, Magrat's Dagger, A Different Undead, and Bad Juju by Judith Post Page B

smiled at the trees. Their
branches waved, cheering their victory, as they passed.
    “At least I don’t have to call in backup for
forensics this time,” Prosper said. He glanced in the rearview
mirror to see Morgana curled contentedly on his back seat.
    “It all happened so fast, I haven’t had time
to process it.”
    “This one’s going to take a minute, Babs. I
could help you along. Spend the night so you have a shoulder to
lean on, someone to talk to.”
    Babet raised her eyebrows, considering his
offer. “Not a bad idea, and if I remember right, you still owe me a
fancy dinner somewhere.”
    He frowned. “I always pay a debt. Didn’t know
I was behind.”
    “When I helped you solve Emile’s death, you
promised me dinner and dancing.”
    “But you’re the one who wanted to spend the
night at home.” He gave a wicked grin. “We ordered in food, and we
danced, more than once.”
    “Not the same.” But once she thought about
it, who needed the ambience of a restaurant when she had Prosper
for a night?
    He gave a nonchalant shrug. “It’s your call.
But if I remember, you were starting gumbo when I came to ask you
for help. I remember smelling a roux.”
    “Gumbo takes a while,” she said. “How hungry
are you?”
    “Famished. But I can dance while the food
simmers. I usually dance more than once.”
    That decided it for Babet. They’d eat in
again.

 

 
     
A Different Undead
    The Third Babet & Prosper Novella
     
    A Lunch Hour Read
     
    by
    Judith Post
     
    Copyright 2012

 

    To Lauren & Abby at Dystel &
Goderich, for always having the right answers
    To Michael Prete, for my beautiful book
covers
    &
    To Robyn & Heidi for always liking what I
write

Chapter 1
     
    Babet smiled as she cradled the package under
her arm. She’d spent more on the lingerie than she meant to, but if
Prosper reacted the way she hoped he would, the money was well
spent. She turned to mingle with the foot traffic on Magic Avenue.
In summer, finding a place to park was impossible, so she’d walked
here from her bungalow eight blocks away. She’d be hot and sweaty
before she got home, but a cool shower would fix that.
    Her footsteps froze as she gazed ahead.
Someone familiar turned the corner onto Eye of Newt Boulevard.
Really. Whoever thought of that should be shot. But tourists loved
it. Someone bumped into her and tried to push past her. She was
holding up traffic. She stepped closer to the curb, out of the
flow, and looked again. Nope. She hadn’t made a mistake. She’d
recognize that face anywhere. It was in every young witch’s
textbooks.
    Celeste Moonbeam. Such a nice name for such a
dark witch. Long, cornsilk, blond hair and huge, silver-gray
eyes—the image of purity and innocence. She looked remarkably good,
considering she’d been dead for quite some time now. Babet hurried
to the corner to follow her, but Celeste was nowhere in sight.
She’d either ducked into one of the specialty stores or disappeared
down an alley.
    Babet turned on her heel and walked toward
her mom and Hennie’s shop, tucked onto a narrow, side street, away
from the press of tourists. Maybe they’d have answers she didn’t
have. When she stepped inside the store, out of the hot, muggy air,
blasts of coolness greeted her. Aaah. Heaven. Summer in River City
was a stick-fest. Her clothes clung to her. Her dark hair stuck to
her damp cheeks and forehead. Sweat pooled in her cleavage. She
raised an arm—ich—and lowered it again. So much for deodorants.
    “You’re just in time for lunch!” Her mom
rushed past shelves displaying bottled herbs and potions to greet
her. School was out for the summer, and Mom’s young witches had
scattered. She used the time to help Hennie gather and make more
supplies for their shop.
    Hennie looked up from an inventory sheet she
was studying, caught Babet’s expression, and frowned. “Something’s
bothering you. What is it?” Hennie was like an aunt to her and
could always read her moods.
    “I