The magic in the air was thick enough to choke on.
It clung to the streets of New Orleans like fog, woven between the shouts of street performers and the laughter of tourists drunk on hurricane cocktails. Beads hung from wrought-iron balconies like offerings. Music pulsed like a heartbeat beneath Rowan Thorne’s feet. And yet, she felt hollow.
It was Mardi Gras. And Rowan hated it.
Not because she wasn’t festive — she could be — but because Mardi Gras blurred the lines between illusion and reality in ways even witches struggled to handle. All the glamour, the masks, the chaos… it dulled the senses. It blurred the warnings.
And tonight, something was coming.
She could feel it in her bones.
Or maybe she was just tired. Her magic had been off for weeks — spells short-circuiting, potion i
