Girl's Guide to Voodoo Bounty Hunting 2: Shifty Business Read online

  Girl’s Guide to Voodoo Bounty Hunting

  Book 2: Shifty Business

  By Eden Crowne

  Copyright 2021 by Eden Crowne. All rights reserved

  Cover designed by MiblArt

  Visit Eden Crowne at: http://www.edencrowne.com

  Other Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Romance novels by Eden Crowne:

  Girl’s Guide to Voodoo Bounty Hunting:

  The Fast and the Furriest

  Shifty Business

  Royal Pain (Coming in November!)

  Avenging Angel Series:

  Fall From Grace

  Perilous Grace

  Deadly Grace

  Royal Grace (coming soon)

  Dust to Dust Series:

  Fangs for your Memories

  Witch You Were Here

  Ghost of a Chance

  Fear Club Series:

  Cruel and Unusual Magic

  Fear Club

  Fear Club 2: The Summoning

  Table of Contents

  Girl’s Guide to Voodoo Bounty Hunting

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Preview: Girl’s Guide to Voodoo Bounty Hunting 3

  CHAPTER ONE

  Nessa hit the brakes on her scooter, grinding to a stop on the unpaved driveway in a spray of gravel. Pim meowed in protest at being thrown against the metal bars of the basket. She braced herself with both feet before flipping open the lock on the lid.

  The Victorian mansion at the end of the road looked like the Psycho house on the Universal Studios backlot tour. To complete the image, a young woman sat on the porch steps with a cigarette dangling from her lips, a bottle of beer in one hand, a double-gauge shotgun resting across her lap.

  The girl was long-legged and lanky, inky black skin, her hair in an old-school Afro. Nessa immediately thought of her boss, Roman Barracuda, with his Cool and the Gang seventies-celebration style. She wore cut-offs, a faded pearl button red plaid cowboy shirt, and lace-up leather work boots.

  A row of stitches made a frown line over her left eyebrow, bruises on her cheek were turning yellow. Her lower lip was split with a nasty scab right in the middle.

  “Did you bring the bottle?” she asked around the cigarette.

  Nessa swallowed, her throat dry, watching the shotgun.

  “The bottle,” the girl repeated. “Did you bring it?”

  Shifting her backpack around to the front, Nessa reached in. She pulled out a clear glass bottle about eight inches tall with a narrow top and a cork stopper. A braided leather cord was looped around the neck, long enough to make a handle.

  She held it up.

  The young woman gave a quick nod. “Hold onto it for now.”

  Pim hopped out of the basket onto the loose gravel. Her Familiar was under an invisibility curse. Unless he transformed into his werecat alter ego, only Nessa and a few other magic users could see him. Now including Mr. Barracuda. Since he was also a Voodoo king, maybe it was to be expected. Pim’s invisibility was her secret weapon.

  “Who’s your friend?” the girl asked, shifting the shotgun slightly.

  ‘What?’ Nessa thought in alarm.

  "You can see him?”

  She gave a quick toss of her head. “No. The gravel shifted in front of the scooter. Figured you weren’t alone.”

  Nessa frowned at her Familiar.

  The cat bobbed his head and hung his tail in apology stepping silently to the side, not a stone shifting.

  “He’s Pim. Pim’s Cup Whisker’s Rampant. My Familiar. Please don’t shoot him. Or me.” The last part just sort of tumbled out. She hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

  The girl smiled then winced as it stretched her torn lip. “This isn’t for you.” She patted the gunstock.

  Nessa and Pim had been sent by her boss to get an out-of-state Skip. A Skip was someone who had not shown up for their court date which meant the Bail Bonds office would lose its investment.

  They had only recently joined this brave new world of Bounty Hunters. And not by choice. Nessa’s deadbeat dad skipped out on his Infernal bond with Barracuda leaving nineteen-year-old Nessa as collateral. Nessa was an Air Elemental. A witch of rare ability despite her youth. Barracuda decided she was just the person he needed to collect on the supernatural felons of Infernal Bonds.

  She and Pim were supposed to pick up Darryl Deschamps Fauvier. Darryl had missed his Infernal Court date in Colorado a few weeks before.

  Infernal Courts for supernaturals worked a lot like judicial courts for humans. Barracuda Bail Bonds operated much the same as any other bail bond office except its client list included assorted supernaturals and magic users.

  Barracuda’s main recovery agents, i.e., bounty hunters, were twin sisters Pansie and Rose Marie LaRue. Extraordinarily large red-headed warriors who looked human but most certainly were not. They were currently out of town tracking down some other fugitive from justice. Barracuda had sent Nessa and Pim in their place.

  When the real-world police picked Fauvier up in Pasadena on a local assault charge, his prints came up in the system and pinged Barracuda on the Dark Net. The man had run from an Infernal Court date in Colorado. Once he was out of state, her boss explained, it was open season after ten days on Infernal felons no matter who put up the bond.

  “Easy job,” Barracuda had said, handing her the paperwork. “There is someone on-site already, she’ll bag him for you. Then take him to the Infernal Court in Redondo Beach.”

  “On my scooter?”

  Nessa’s lack of four-wheeled transportation was a source of friction with Barracuda. She couldn’t afford a car. Most of her money, what little she could make, went to tuition at Santa Monica City College or into savings for Long Beach State. She and Pim got around greater L.A. on her bright orange second-hand Suzuki.

  “It will be fine. Here.” He’d given her the bottle. “You’ll need this.”

  Looking around the front yard, if you could call a stand of acacia bordering a wide patch of dried grass a yard, Nessa didn’t see anyone who might be the runaway Darryl.

  “Barracuda said you’d have our Skip.”

  “And I will.” She took a long pull on the beer, then gave Nessa a toothy smile. “Very soon.”

  There was something ominous in the way she said it. Nessa’s hair rose on the back of her neck. Pim felt it too. He ran back to the scooter, jumped on the seat, and turned a couple of tight nervous circles. Pim wanted them to leave.

  Should they go? Nessa was barely one week into the job of Bounty Hunter. The rules of the game were still a mystery. One thing was crystal clear. If she wanted to get paid, she needed to bring in Darryl. School fees at Santa Monica City College were due in a month. No Skip, no pay.

  The girl dropped the cigarette on the porch steps, stubbing it out with her work boot. “Put the scooter around the back. Stay on the porch until I tell you otherwise. Keep the bottle ready.”

  Not sure what else
to do, Nessa followed her instructions. She carefully stepped around the girl and the large gun on her return. Pim didn’t need steps. He jumped up through the porch railing. His fur was bristling.

  “Do you want to talk?” She made a motion toward her backpack. The Speak and Spell was zipped inside.

  Pim shook his head.

  Cat’s vocal cords – even magical cats – are not made for human speech. Pim had six claws on his front paws, the extra one working almost as an opposable thumb. Although he could scrawl words with a pen, typing was faster and easier. The problem was his paws were too awkwardly shaped for most keyboards.

  Pim had been her grandmother's Familiar before coming to Nessa. Grandma’ Hattie had hit on the Speak and Spell with its chunky keyboard back in the day. Since then, they’d modified the electronic toy until it had as much computing power as a tablet computer. Nessa always carried the little red machine in her backpack.

  Nessa sat in a frayed rattan patio chair to wait for she wasn't sure what. Pim jumped in her lap. The chair creaked under their weight. She put her hand through the looped string of the bottle so she wouldn’t it drop it.

  It had taken her and Pim almost two hours to travel across the city from the Bail Bonds office in Compton to Pasadena. She couldn’t take the scooter on the freeway. The little machine’s top speed was only forty-five miles an hour. Once they’d reached the hills it had been the map-app and many wrong turns before finding the house on an unmarked dirt road. She still wasn’t sure how she was going to get this Darryl guy all the way to the Infernal Court in Redondo Beach on the back of her scooter.

  “The bastard did this to me,” the girl said, startling Nessa. “In case you're wondering. Sucker punched me. I hit my head falling. Knocked me clean out. Probably a good thing. He was high and lost interest after a couple of kicks, I guess. I called the cops, pressed charges. It’s been about a week. He made bail this morning. The asshole made it very clear he’s coming for me.”

  Vagabonding around the country with Deadbeat Dad chasing one magical scam after the other, Nessa had seen her share of abusive men. Judging from the girl’s tone, Darryl was not going to get any free kicks in this time.

  Nessa and Pim sat quietly waiting. Nessa was good at waiting. A childhood spent aiding and abetting her dad had taught her patience. Locust buzzed in the scraggly trees dotting the hillside. It was late afternoon and still hot. Pasadena and the hills were much hotter than the South Bay cities by the ocean where Nessa currently lived.

  They heard the truck long before they saw it, roaring up the rough road.

  The girl set her beer bottle on the step, the rifle still resting in her arms. She looked totally relaxed. Nessa couldn’t say the same about herself. Her insides clenched tightly. She wished she’d asked to use the bathroom.

  A red pickup sped dangerously along the road, weaving from side to side.

  'Drunk or high?' Nessa wondered.

  The driver managed to execute a masterful drift turn in the gravel of the driveway, coming to a stop a few yards from where the girl stood.

  A man jumped out, yelling before his feet hit the ground. “Desiree! You stupid bitch.”

  He was a white man, medium-sized with lots of muscle bulging out of a tight white tee-shirt. Thick neck and dirty blond curly hair. That was about all Nessa could take in before he turned to the bed of the truck, still yelling.

  The expletives were strung together thick and fast. The basic message between the swear words being, I am going burn your god damn house to the ground with your screaming body in it.

  Nice.

  They must have been dating. Lust made people do stupid things. That’s why Nessa didn’t date. Boys were a danger she could not indulge in. Not with a Fallen Angel on her tail.

  Darryl pulled out a pair of red metal two-gallon canisters. “You think you can call the cops on me? Me?” He was spitting with anger.

  Setting the canisters on the ground, he yanked a knife from a sheath across his chest. It was almost a foot long with a serrated edge.

  Nessa scooted back in her chair, holding her breath. Pim jumped onto the porch rail, pacing, a growl rumbling in his chest. He began the rippling body movement signaling an imminent shift to werecat mode.

  If necessary, Pim could take this guy. As a cat, he was twenty pounds. After transformation, he weighed close to seventy with the strength to snap a bone in a single bite. He could even break a man’s neck. The werecat had the uncanny ability to unhinge his jaw like the extinct Tasmanian Wolf. It was the creepiest thing to see. Nessa didn’t know if all werecats could do that or not. Pim was the only one she’d ever met. He also had poison sacs on his rear legs which could eject a paralyzing nerve toxin. Werecat Pim was hell on four paws.

  Darryl stalked over, knife up, his face ugly.

  Desiree, that’s what he’d called her, did not seem upset at all. She calmly stood, stepped off the porch, shifted the shotgun, and pumped both barrels into his chest.

  The bullets blasted a bloody hole big enough to put a man’s fist through.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Darryl was dead where he stood. He didn’t even have time to look surprised. His head snapped back, and he fell to the ground, sending up a cloud of dust when he landed.

  Nessa immediately started edging to the side of the porch. She intended to shimmy through the rails, grab her scooter, and get them the hell out of there.

  Desiree reloaded the gun, saying over her shoulder, “You want to collect for Barracuda, you and that bottle need to stay right here.”

  Edging closer to the railing, Nessa said, “I think I’m good.”

  “What? You feel sorry for that son of a bitch? He came here to kill me and burn down my Grandmama’s house.”

  “I get that.” She pointed at the body. “Just don’t want to end up like him.”

  The girl was already on the move. Shel put the gun at half-cock and laid it on the bottom step before dragging a bulky green duffel bag out from under the porch.

  “Don’t be a wuss. Barracuda sent you. I go to church with him. He would have the skin off my back if I touched a hair on your head. I do not mean that figuratively. Bring your damn self and the bottle down here. Oh, and tell your cat to chill.”

  Pim was poised to pounce, already transforming and fully visible. He looked at Nessa to say the word. Werecat Pim was a formidable ally. He was also a little crazy and not always in complete control of his claws and teeth.

  “Wait,” she said making a damping down motion. “Not yet.”

  Pim gave a low-voiced growl, not liking the situation. He obeyed her anyway, shrugging back into invisibility.

  With a skip and a jump, Desiree reached the dead man, dropped the duffel bag, then moved to the bed of the pickup.

  This was not the first dead body Nessa had seen. And not the worst.

  “Come on,” the girl shouted over her shoulder. “Time’s short!”

  “For what?” Nessa shouted back. “That man is in the past tense.”

  “Not in Voodoo he isn’t!”

  Making a wide circle around the body, Nessa squeaked in surprise when a large dog popped up from the bed of the truck.

  The girl was fussing with a leash tied to the rack over the truck’s back window. Getting it free, she ran back to the duffel. The large dog, as in massively large, jumped to the ground and galloped behind, wagging its fluffy tail.

  “This is Chuck,” the girl waved a hand at the dog. “Chuck this is, um, I don’t know.”

  “Nessa. I’m Nessa. And my invisible cat is Pim. Pim likes dogs, so please be nice,” she added as Pim happily trotted over to sniff the newcomer. Not that Pim was in any danger. He could handle just about anything on four legs or two.

  The dog thrust his nose in the air, then close to the ground. He could smell Pim even if he couldn’t see the cat. Chuck’s tail wagged harder as Pim put his nose up to the dog’s muzzle. They sniffed each other and Pim rubbed against Chuck’s front legs, claiming him.

 
Pim meowed cheerfully. Happy to make a new friend.

  Desiree twisted off the gas caps, speedily emptying the containers over the body. Chuck meanwhile trotted over, lifted a leg, and peed on dead Darryl.

  The girl laughed out loud. “Good boy, Chuck!”

  Chuck woofed and wagged his tail. Nessa had the feeling he was more than a dog, in the same way Barracuda’s enforcers the LaRue sisters were more than human.

  Desiree got down to magical business. She placed several large red and white squares of material under the head and feet of the dead man. From the duffel, she took out a gallon-sized plastic jug and swiftly made a thick circle of gray ash around the body.

  Pins and needles coursed through Nessa’s fingers and toes. Oh crap. Magic. Not the nice kind, either. The ash had to be corpse powder. Great. This magic circle was not for happy puppy or kitten magic. Nope, nope, nope.

  The circle wasn’t quite complete, she left a small opening in the ash. Meaning the girl had more magic to lay down before sealing it.

  Next out of the bag was a clear plastic bag of old-fashioned metal keys. She placed them outside the ash circle in a neat row.

  Next was a platter holding a hunk of meat, like a roast, covered in plastic wrap.

  Chuck licked his lips.

  “Not for you, big guy!”

  She unwrapped the platter, setting the meat outside the circle in front of the keys. This was followed by a bottle full of some brown liquid. Squinting in the failing light, Nessa thought she saw a pirate guy with a cutlass. Rum, maybe?

  Opening the bottle, she poured a generous measure into a glass. The glass joined the meat platter and keys.

  In front of all the offerings, she placed a rustic cross of branches tied together. Two large pillar candles went on either side of the cross. She lit the candles, then stood back to survey the impromptu altar. Because that’s exactly what the food, drink, and etcetera were. An altar.

  ‘To whom?’ Nessa wondered.

  Or what.

  The whole process had been accomplished in three or four minutes.

  “This girl is not new to magic,” she whispered to Pim.