Bourbon Street and check out the hotties having a good time.
Stuffing his keys back into his pocket, he rounded toward the party four streets over and the prospect of an easy lay with a drunken co-ed. But as he turned, his feet stuttered. Some old woman, dressed in a long skirt and a loose shirt, stood a half a dozen feet in front of him.
“Benjamin Walker.” Her voice sliced the space between them.
He frowned. “Yeah.”
She twisted her hands together, twining and untwining her fingers. A string of incoherent sounds flew from her mouth.
He narrowed his eyes. “You okay?”
Heat lightning flashed in the distance.
“I curse you, Benjamin Walker.” She pointed a shaky hand at him and muttered a few more unintelligible words. “I curse you to roam the world, watching those around you find true love while you continue in your self-absorbed existence.”
He glanced around, searching for his co-workers. “All right guys,” he called out with a disconcerted chuckle. “Good joke on the new guy. Now, call the old biddy off.”
No one stepped from the shadows to end the prank.
The woman waved her arms. “You give people tattoos, give them the illusion their life will change. I curse you, Benjamin Walker, for breaking a young girl’s heart. May the ink you use on others mark the truth on your very soul.” She lifted her face and hands toward the sky.
A fork of lightning cut the darkness overhead, and a sudden breeze blustered through the parking lot. Long strands of hair danced around the old lady’s head, her clothing whipping against her thin frame. When the wind wrapped around Ben, tearing at his shirt and pants, clawing at his hair, he jolted at the unexpected frigidness. Icy tendrils seemed to pierce his skin and invade his body, squeezing his lungs, crushing his heart.
A moment later, the pressure vanished. Released, he sucked in a greedy breath. What the fuck?
Raising his head, he glared at the old woman as anger crashed through him. “This is about Calista?” he roared.
She lifted her chin. “Yes.”
He strode toward her, closing the distance in three steps. “That freaky bitch put you up to confronting me, told you to wave your arms and say some mumbo-jumbo to get even with me?”
“No.” She gave him a menacing look, her eyes the same golden hue as Calista’s. “The curse was all me. And now, it is done.” She pivoted and walked away, her movements surprisingly agile considering her rickety appearance.
Ben stared after her as she disappeared around the corner of the tattoo shop.
“Hey,” he yelled and jogged to catch up. But as he rounded the building, he found only an empty sidewalk. The old lady had vanished. “Damn.”
He rubbed his hand across his chest, trying to erase the twinge of cold, which was no longer there. The pain he’d experienced still fresh, he pressed his palm to his sternum. Yeah, his heart was still beating. He glanced up and down the unusually quiet street, his nerves on edge. The whole thing had been seriously freaky, beyond real.
The frivolity from Bourbon Street danced on the air, beckoning him to partake. Instead, he stalked back to his car, no longer in the partying mood. Jamming his hand in his pocket, he drew out his keys, popped the fob, and opened the door. He twisted to peer over his shoulder in the direction the woman had gone.
“Curse?” He shook his head and settled into the driver’s seat, closing the car door behind him. Starting the engine, he looked out the window. “Bullshit.”
Chapter Two
Calista balanced the takeout bag of Red Beans and Rice in one arm, her mail, purse, and law school books in the other. Keys held between her teeth, she climbed the back porch steps. Halfway up, the heel on her shoe broke. She struggled to keep her balance but lost, and screamed as she tumbled down the four steps, landing face first in a mud puddle next to the stairs.
“Damn it.” Her ankle and knee throbbed in pain. She slapped the wet soil