Spicy Little Curses (Scared Sexy Collection) by J.T. Geissinger

Author:J.T. Geissinger [Geissinger, J.T.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Amazon Original Stories
Published: 2025-09-23T00:00:00+00:00

As it turned out, the boutique had Dax’s size. Either that or he’d mugged a giant in the lobby and stolen his shoes, shirt, and jacket. In any case, he reappeared fully clothed, and we quickly ate breakfast.

Then we spent the day searching for Celeste Leclair.

Dax led me through the winding backstreets of the Quarter, knocking on doors, talking to people who barely opened them, slipping cash into palms for hushed conversations. It became clear that Celeste wasn’t just elusive. She was practically a ghost.

“She moves around a lot,” he explained as we left yet another dead-end lead.

Still unsettled by my dreams, I muttered, “Great. So we’re looking for an unfindable woman to tell us how to escape an unstoppable curse. Love that for us.”

But fate threw us a bone at the next place we stopped. It was a voodoo shop, tucked between buildings in a quiet section of the Quarter. No neon signs, no gaudy displays to lure tourists, just a weathered wood door with a single gris-gris bag nailed above it, stuffed full of feathers, herbs, and iron nails that stuck out the sides.

The old man who greeted us inside the dimly lit interior had skin lined with years of secrets and dark eyes sharp enough to strip a lie bare before it passed your lips. He took one look at me and froze. His eyes widened, as if he knew something about me.

Something bad.

This town was really starting to get on my nerves.

Wordlessly, Dax handed the man a small bundle wrapped in red cloth. He took it, nodded, then bent close to Dax and murmured words only he could hear.

Ten seconds later, we were back outside on the sidewalk with the shop door closing behind us.

“What was that all about?” I said, looking at Dax askance.

“You can’t just demand information from a man like Doctor John. Houngans require respect.”

I guessed houngan was the formal title for a spiritual leader in his tradition. “So you bribed him?”

“I made an offering,” Dax corrected, shaking his head in amusement at my ignorance.

“And what did he say to you?”

“He told me where we might find Celeste Leclair.” He slanted a strange look down at me. “He also said that a sleeping lion is still a lion, and I should take care not to step on its tail or risk waking it up.”

I thought about that riddle for a moment. “So Celeste could be dangerous.”

“He wasn’t talking about her,” Dax responded quietly. “He was talking about you.”

Remembering the way the houngan had looked at me, I felt a shiver run down my spine. But it wasn’t fear. It was closer to anticipation.

As if my body recognized something my brain had yet to understand.

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