ANY WAY YOU WANT IT
KATHY LOVE
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com
BRAVA BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp. 850
Third Avenue
New York, NY 10022
Copyright © 2008 by Kathy Love
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
Special book excerpts or customized printings can also be created to fit specific needs. For details, write or phone the office of the Kensington Special Sales Manager: Kensington Publishing Corp., 850 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10022. Attn. Special Sales Department. Phone: 1-800-221-2647.
Brava and the B logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
ISBN: 978-0-758-28330-6
For all my new friends in New Orleans
Contents
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
As always, special thanks to The Tarts.
I love our talks, our plotting and the wine.
Thank you to my dear friend Erin McCarthy.
It’s been quite a year
and all sorts of ridiculous!
Thanks to the friends who are always there to keep me sane.
Julie Cohen, Erin McCarthy (again), Lisa Cochrane,
Arianna Hart, Kristi Ahlers, Jordan Summers, Christy Kelley
and my mom.
A special thanks to Sonny Kane, who helped
bring The Impalers to their wonderful undeaths and
answered all my endless, and often clueless, questions
about music.
And all my love to my family.
Chapter 1
“That is what you are offering the most famous and powerful voodoo priestess in New Orleans?” Maggie glanced at her friend Erika, then back to the cracked, weathered tomb, then to the items cradled in her palm.
“I just scratched Xs into her final resting place, I can’t imagine she’ll mind these.”
“She doesn’t mind the Xs,” Maggie’s other friend, Jo, said, skimming the voodoo book she’d bought at one of the strange little shops along Dumaine Street. “They symbolize your three requests.”
“I get three?” Maggie managed to ask seriously. “Just like with a genie?”
“Genies don’t exist,” Erika stated, as if the very idea was so ludicrous she couldn’t believe Maggie had even mentioned it. So Maggie didn’t bother to point out they apparently believed in the wish-granting powers of a voodoo queen, who’d died sometime over a hundred years ago.
Maggie looked back to the tomb, which was covered in Xs and other symbols designed to communicate with the long-dead woman laid to rest inside. Obviously others believed too, but Maggie couldn’t help feeling it was all a little silly. Still, she had made the Xs. So she wasn’t completely dismissing the idea, was she?
“Erika’s right,” Jo said, glancing up from the book long enough to raise a disdainful brow at the objects in Maggie’s cupped hand. “Marie Laveau expects something better than that. It says she expects items that are personal to the one making the request; an offering that has the giver’s energy attached to it.”
Maggie stared at her usually sensible friend. They were talking about a dead woman, weren’t they? As far as Maggie knew, the dead really didn’t expect much at all, but she decided not to mention that to her suddenly very superstitious friends.
“Well, there’s nothing personal about those,” Erika stated, eyeing Maggie’s choice of offerings with a grimace.
“Well, they’re all I’ve got. Marie can take them or leave them.”
Both of her friends frowned at Maggie’s cavalier attitude. If Maggie wasn’t mistaken, they also appeared a bit nervous, as if they expected Marie to unseal her tomb, march up to them, and start complaining in person. Or maybe worse. What did dead voodoo queens do when they got an gift they didn’t like?
Maggie looked down at the items in her palm. Maybe she should rethink all this. She laughed slightly that she was actually worrying, too—although she had to admit her chuckle sounding a little strained, even to her.
Maggie could understand Erika’s reaction to all this. She was more open to the idea of magic and ghosts and other paranormal phenomena. But Jo? Maggie never would have guessed her sensible friend would buy into this.
“You two are taking this all way too seriously,” Maggie said as she stepped forward to place the offering beside a vase of now wilted, but obviously once beautiful, and probably expensive, flowers.
“I would at least leave the ChapStick,” Erika said, just as Maggie would have placed the offering beside the others.
Maggie glanced back to them. Erika nibbled her bottom lip, eyeing the tomb worriedly. Jo didn’t look up from the book, but did nod in agreement.
Maggie shook her head. “What does Marie Laveau need my ChapStick for? I’m not suffering dry and cracked lips for a dead woman. I’m leaving these,” Maggie said, deciding then and there she wasn’t going along with this any more than she already had. She dropped her gift onto the cracked step of the tomb. “I’m pretty sure Marie will be fine with this.”
Again her friends cocked doubtful eyebrows. Then all three friends stared down at the offering—two sugar-coated pecans—covered with a fine smattering of lint.
“Weren’t you the one who said they were delicious and addictive—the veritable crack of the nut world?” Maggie asked Erika, suddenly feeling the need to defend her decision.
“They are—but not after they’ve been floating around the bottom of your pocketbook.”
“They’re only a little worse for wear.” Maggie realized her own voice sounded noticeably doubtful now. Great, the superstitious duo were getting to her.
“Well, you’ve already