Bitch, I know you’re here.”

Vivienne held her breath as Ricardo paced within feet of her hiding spot. She prayed he couldn’t hear her heart beating so it seemed like a locomotive blowing its horn. Pounding so hard in her ears, she could barely hear him in her bedroom.

In the absolute darkness, under her make-do platform bed, Vivienne propped up the footboard, hoping her ex-boyfriend wouldn’t test-kick the bed’s bottom support.

If he did, he’d quickly discover her hidden there.

She hoped it appeared too low to the ground for a body to squeeze under.

So far, so good.

Sirens blared in the distance. Cops.

Hurry, hurry please. She sent up a quick prayer, thankful someone had called them.

Ricardo should have known he couldn’t break down a door without neighbors calling the police. After his voice faded down the exterior hallway, she finally sucked some much-needed oxygen into her lungs.

Ricardo. Ex-boyfriend. Wizard. Jerk.

She never should have hooked up with him.

What was I thinking? Hindsight’s 20/20.

She hunkered down, again barely breathing, listening for him.

Even though he seemed to have left, Vivienne didn’t move.

No. She’d made that mistake once.

She’d almost been caught that time, slipping out of her hiding place only to have Ricardo waiting there for her, arms crossed, a knowing smirk on his face.

Why doesn’t he just leave me the hell alone?

The sounds of sirens shut off in front of the slum apartment building she lived in, and vehicle doors slammed.

Finally, safety was within reach.

She exhaled slowly. Almost there, almost safe. Ricardo wouldn’t stick around once the cops started toward her apartment.

“I will hunt you ‘til the day you die.” His hissed words weren’t much more than a menacing whisper, but scary, nonetheless.

Footsteps stomped away.

Hopefully, he really was leaving—not merely faking. But she couldn’t afford to wait any longer, whether he was bluffing or not.

Police would make their way up soon.

She had to be out before they reached her one-room hole in the wall. She needed to be gone as much as he did. She didn’t need cop trouble.

After pushing out the fake rail of her bed, she scooted out, grabbed her mini getaway backpack from the hook on the wall and her makeshift getaway costume—a shawl and a scarf to cover her hair. If all else failed, hopefully, she could pass as an old woman.

I’ve resorted to this. Me, Vivienne Devereaux, the descendant of witch royalty of New Orleans.

She scoffed at her pathetic predicament—living in the armpit of New York, nearly broke, unable to access any of her savings, and unable to use magic to get away from her powerful wizard ex-boyfriend.

She stopped at the front door—the damned thing now hung on one hinge thanks to the jerk ex—and peeked into the hallway. The neighbors had the same thing in mind it seemed. Heads were sticking out of partially opened doors, tenants were fleeing, nervous the law would put a stop to any illicit activities.

Vivienne, reject of the former ruling coven of New Orleans secured her hair beneath a scarf and pulled the little backpack over the front of her, wearing it like a baby sling. Flinging the shawl over her body and grabbing the cane, she stepped into the hallway, slumping and shuffling toward the elevator, putting on her best “little ol’ lady act.”

Gone was the glory of being a daughter of the powerful. Gone was the life of being Esperance’s daughter. Esperance, greatest empath on the continent. Ever since Vivienne had been a young girl, her dream had been to be as powerful an empath as her mother. That dream crumbled just like the rest of her life had when she was only sixteen.

Vivienne shoved those thoughts away, pointless to reminisce about things that would never be. In front of the elevator, she jabbed the 1 button for the first floor as a few men in NYPD uniforms hurried out, nearly knocking her down.

In the roach-infested lobby downstairs, people griped about how the police never arrived on time, while other residents stared at the blue uniforms going in and out of the door.

Good grief.

What do they think they’re doing? So many cops for one little domestic disturbance?

She wondered if there wasn’t a raid of some sort going on.

Oh, well, not my business. My business is to get the hell out of here as fast as I can.

Vivienne fast-shuffled through the group. A redhead near Vivienne’s age stepped in front of her, headed in the same direction.

“Please hold the door,” Vivienne called out, putting on her best old-woman voice.

The redhead looked over her shoulder and smiled. “Sure. Be careful of the step.” She held out her arm for Vivienne to hold.

Perfect. This way anyone who saw them would assume they were granddaughter and grandmother. Hopefully, that anyone would be Ricardo and his henchmen.

Vivienne reached out a shaking hand, no pretending there; she was scared as hell. She hooked her fingers around the redhead’s arm, careful to touch her sleeve and definitely not her bare flesh.

Touching the redhead’s skin was the last thing Vivienne needed at this moment. The sensory overflow of reading this woman’s life through touch could mess with Vivienne’s mind at a time like this. Hell, it could mess with Vivienne on a good day.

She and the redhead stepped out of the building Vivienne would never call home again, now that her cover was busted—once more.

Would she ever escape Ricardo permanently?

The redhead turned left after they exited the building. “I’m going to the bus stop.”

“I am, too.” She figured she might as well. There was no other place to go, except away.

“Any idea what’s going on now?” The woman pointed behind them, toward their building. “All those police officers…”

“Who knows.” Vivienne discreetly glanced around in her hunched-over position.

Across the street, Ricardo and his flunkies watched the front door. Seemed as though they had overlooked her, probably thought the young redhead next to her was her granddaughter—exactly what she wanted them to think.

Vivienne sent a silent thanks to the powers that be for watching over her.

Close call.

As luck would have it, the city bus arrived a few seconds later. Vivienne took a seat on it, finally able to breathe freely. The young woman took another spot at the front of the bus.

Vivienne wiped sweaty palms on the shawl, ready to get rid of it, but reluctant to do so. What if they showed up again?

Long ago, before she figured out what a dirtbag Ricardo was, the bastard had cast a spell on her so he could track her use of magic. The enchantment he cast on her would send up the equivalent of a flare each time she performed magic. Not that her skills for casting were anything to write home about. She’d left training too early to learn much of anything.

Some witch I turned out to be.

Vivienne sat back and sighed. Her blood pressure and stress slowly ebbed. A shudder rolled through her.

How she wished she could go back in time and undo the moment she’d met Ricardo. To think, she’d believed she’d found love.

Some love, she smirked.

She laid her forehead against the window and closed her eyes. Looking back wouldn’t help her future. She didn’t know if anything could help her. Life was so tiresome. Running, constantly looking over her shoulder, wondering where she would eat and sleep next. And not even completely sure why he pursued her so vehemently. It’s not like he loved her, that she knew for sure, now.

A tear rolled down her cheek. Her fingers whisked it away. She needed to get it together. This sniveling crap would get her nowhere. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she straightened, then immediately slumped, remembering once more that she was supposed to be in disguise. Not that it mattered now. She should be safe.

She reached into her backpack, looking for a tissue. She needed to wipe her runny nose before she became a mess. That was when her fingers encountered something that didn’t belong in the bag.

Paper? Stiff paper?

She pulled it out. An envelope with her name in beautiful flowing script. She stared at it. How did it get there? Her eyes darted to the other riders on the bus. No one looked suspicious or even slightly interested in her. Nor would they have had a chance, she speculated.

Magic. That was the only explanation she could come up with. Someone had used magic to put that in there.

Unless they did it wen I wasn’t home.

But this was her getaway backpack. She always kept it packed with a few necessities in case she had to bolt suddenly. She hardly ever went into it. She’d learned the hard way to have a getaway bag packed. So how did the envelope get in there?

Vivienne slid a finger under the back flap and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. The script was as elegant as the one used for her name on the front.

Miss Devereaux,

You are hereby summoned to Wits & Wiz Attorneys in New Orleans, Louisiana, on the behalf of the estate of Adriana Devereaux, at your earliest convenience.

Regards,

Wits & Wiz Attorneys

What the—

New Orleans?

Earliest convenience?

Yeah, try never.