VenCo(91)

Well, that was it, the circle was broken. He would bring the enchanted spoon back to the compound and bury it in the desert, in a lockbox, without a marker or another thought. He would put it so far out of mind that it would practically cease to exist in the world at all. It certainly would never be found again.

And while this should have been the end, it didn’t feel so, because he couldn’t stop thinking about her—not Prudence this time, but the new one, Lucky. He wondered if she had been to the café yet. If she knew it was he who took it. What she said, how she felt, what she would do next. He wondered what her fear smelled like, or her disappointment. Was she despairing now? Or was she scheming on what to do next?

“My money’s on a scheme,” he said aloud. “My girl wouldn’t give up that easily. No, she would not go so gently.”

And he smiled. Because thinking of Lucky planning her next move excited him. He felt that excitement as a quickening in his step and the pitch of his whistle. He wanted her to make the next move. He wished for her to show up at Gerard’s, to find him on the street, to jump from an alley and stamp her foot at him. In fact, it was all he wanted in the wide world right now, and Jay was not a man who abstained from want.

He doubled back, and when he got to the bush where he’d thrown the café cutlery, he leaned in and retrieved it. Then he carried it over his shoulder like a mustache-twirling thief, back down the fragrant streets and out onto St. Charles Avenue.



Meena and Wendy sat close together so both of them could be on the screen while they FaceTimed with Lucky. Wendy said, “Find a shop that sells crystals. You need amethyst and tourmaline. Keep them in your pockets at all times. And make sure they’re real, not the fabricated ones.”

“And they do what?” Lucky was alone in the room. Stella had apparently gone out for lunch with her new best friend. But that was okay. She was still mad at her.

“They keep thieves away. He’s stolen something now, something that you were destined to have, so he’s a thief. The crystals will keep him away from you.”

“But I don’t want to keep him away. I want to know where he is. How else can I get the spoon back?”

“Lucky, Wendy and I don’t think it’s a good idea to seek him out. It’s not safe.”

“Safe? What about the spoon? The coven? We’re just going to let him win?”

“We’re trying to keep you alive.”

“What’s the point if I can’t find the seventh?”

“Should I be worried?” Meena leaned in, as if she could touch Lucky through the phone.

“I just mean, what the hell do I have to live for if not this?” Lucky was almost in tears. “This is my life now, you guys, Salem, the spoons . . . magic. We’re losing our apartment. I quit my job. Stella and I don’t have any reason to go home except for a stupid cat.”

“You can stay with us, both of you,” Wendy interjected. “And the publishing house is expecting you next week. But right now, we have to keep you safe.”

Meena nodded. “No one should face that man alone, and we can’t get down there and do the work needed before the deadline passes. Plus, we don’t know the location of the final witch. We don’t even know if she’s in New Orleans.”

“I appreciate what you’re saying. But I want to do this. Me. It’s my decision, and I’m going on, with or without your help.”

The Salem witches looked at each other. Then Meena said, “You’re sure?”

“There is no way I am walking away. I’ll search every street and every house in the city if I have to.” She didn’t even blink. She needed them to see how serious she was.

Meena sighed. “Okay, we’ll call Claudia. See if she has any contacts who can help.”

“Thank you.” Lucky was relieved. They signed off, and she tossed her phone onto the couch beside her. It was one o’clock. She wondered if it was too early to start drinking.

There was a knock at the door. “Coming.” She hauled herself to her feet. She felt older, much older than she had this morning. Stella’s key was on the coffee table. “You lock yourself out?”

She opened the door, but there was no one there. No one in the courtyard. No kids splashing in the pool or adults drinking cans of beer at the metal table set under the biggest palm. She looked down. There, on the welcome mat, was a muslin bag, the loops tied in a knot, with a paper tag hanging from a string. She checked left and right of the doorway before bending down to read the tag:

For Lucky, the unluckiest witch in Louisiana



Something about the words, about the precise and fanciful letters, made her feel like someone was laughing at her. She pulled at the closure and opened the top, the contents clattering as she did.

Inside was a pile of silver.

She carried it inside and dumped out the bag on the easy chair. Out poured mismatched forks, heavy butter knives, and different-sized spoons in a riotous jumble. This had to be the cutlery from Burial Grounds. She sifted through the pile with frantic hands, picking up each spoon and examining it, then tossing it onto the floor when it wasn’t what she was looking for.

She knelt and checked them all again, then shoved her hands down the sides of the chair cushion in case one got stuck there.

“Fuck!” She kicked the empty bag. It fluttered for a moment and landed by the TV stand. “What is this? Some kind of game?”