Free Wicked Game by Bethan Tear

silver smoke lingering in the fragrant hush, making her feel slightly nauseous.
                  It was like an old fashioned collection of curiosities, before museums had existed, with bookcases crammed full of mouldy books, cabinets boasting all manner of intriguing and obscure objects that she would have stopped to examine had she not been so dedicated to her cause. The breeze fluttered a black bead curtain hanging in a doorway, and a moment later it was parted by the hands of the woman that walked through it, her hair wrapped in a tight, high bun, the brown streaked with grey though her face showed little sign of ageing. She was dressed in a long, flowing magenta skirt and a hand woven shirt, a multitude of gold chains varying in length hanging from her neck and huge loop earrings dangling from her ears, reminding Hazelle very much of a gypsy.               Gypsy or not, she didn't look pleased to see Hazelle.
                  “What can I do for you?” she asked, her voice clipped and with a hint of the creole accent Hazelle recognised from her high-school trip to New Orleans.
                  She was not as filled with hope by the woman as she thought she would have been, but she had no other option, no-one else to confide in.
                  “I'd like to discuss a spell,” she began gently, unsure of the proper way to broach such an unusual and unsettling subject.
                  “Marguerite? Who is that?” a voice croaked from beyond the beaded veil.
                  “Nothing mama, just a customer,” Marguerite said loudly before she took a step towards Hazelle, lowering her voice, “Ask your question and leave.”
                  Hazelle was more than a little discouraged by this woman's bluntness. From the unforgiving expression on her face it was if she had genuine dislike for Hazelle, a stranger, someone she couldn't have known existed before today when she'd walked through the door for the first time.
                  “Say someone...not me...a friend,” Hazelle corrected herself quickly, the lie stinging her tongue, “Say they found a spell book and in it was a ritual to summon a demon for...for fornication. For pleasure. And say she had thought about casting that spell...”
                  “Then I would say your... friend ...is very foolish,” Marguerite said coldly, her pale eyes narrowing with suspicion, not the least bit deceived, “Demons are not to be meddled with. They are violent, cruel, uncompromising creatures. They have no mercy, no morals, nothing redeemable or human about them. I would tell your friend not to summon the demon.”
                  Hazelle took a deep breath, feeling guilty, “What if she already did?”
                  Marguerite's face showed no surprise, no anger, no emotion at all. She simply walked behind the counter where the old fashioned cash register sat, reached down and withdrew a pack of tattered cards, the colours faded, the corners dog-eared. She placed them on the counter face down and then ran a hand across them lightly, spreading them in a semicircle. 
                  “The tarot cards are ancient, powerful divination tools for seers such as my mother,” Marguerite spoke quietly, stroking one of the cards with a long finger, “But to me they are useless. Worthless. I do not posses the sight, nor have I ever claimed to but I don't need tarot cards or a crystal ball to see that you are in danger...terrible, unspeakable, mortal danger.”
                  She spoke each word slowly and deliberately, confirming everything that Hazelle had already believed in her heart and been too afraid to admit. Kaden was no good, as charming as he was, as captivating as he was, his beauty was unholy, his heart black as midnight sin, void of human emotion, filled with the devil's dark desire. This woman