Shifting Fates Read online

  Shifting Fates

  Crescent City Witch #1

  Meredith Clarke

  Copyright © 2021 by Meredith Clarke

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  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

  Shifting Trust Releases on 2/22!

  About Meredith Clarke

  One

  “Come on, everyone! I know you want to snap some pictures, but we have to keep up with the flow of traffic. We wouldn’t want any of you to get lost in the middle of the night!”

  I stuck my fingers in my mouth and whistled to get the attention of my latest tour group. I swear, I hated spring break. While most girls in their twenties were traveling with friends and drinking until dawn, I had bills to pay. So I gave guided ghost tours of the French Quarter in my hometown of New Orleans now that I had a degree that was practically worthless.

  I mean, why hadn’t anyone told me that I needed a master’s in communications to do anything with a communications degree?

  I walked over and patted the shoulders of a couple of girls that didn’t seem to want to keep up with me. As I spouted off ghost stories and wove together tails of treachery and abominations, I stayed at the back of the group instead of heading to the front, like usual. It never ceased to amaze me how many idiotic, drunk college kids would wander off during a tour like this and almost get themselves killed.

  Like they wanted to be part of the rich ghostly history of this place.

  “Tell us about the serial killer!” someone shouted.

  When the girls finally caught up with the rest of the group, I eased my way back to the front. “I heard someone has a hard-on for serial killers! Who’s ready for a story?”

  The crowd cheered and clapped and whistled, and for a brief moment it felt as if I were doing something important. You know, before reality dawned on me and reminded me that I was a simple tour guide who was lucky to make just above minimum wage.

  I really need a new job.

  Still, picking myself up from the quagmire of my own life was a win in and of itself. After a social worker ripped me from my drug-addled parents when I was only an infant, I got tossed into a foster care system that didn’t give a shit about me. I bounced around from home to home, constantly being passed over for adoption because, and I quote, ‘she’s too destructive in her anxiety; it’ll never work.’

  Sure, my first few families were great. The Colsons, for example. They took me in when I was only an infant and raised me until I was ready for kindergarten. Then, the system pulled me after a tremendous fight resulted in a broken window behind my head.

  And to this day, I still had no idea how the hell the window broke.

  Nevertheless, I bounced around just about every year after that. Attending new schools, making new friends only to lose them, and eventually curling in on myself. After my third middle school in as many years, I stopped trying to hang onto relationships. I stopped trying to make cherished memories. I learned how to survive on my own without the help of my foster parents, and it served me well for a while.

  Until Roger and Emily.

  Emily was fantastic. I still remembered her from head to toe. She looked as if someone had plucked her straight out of a 1950s magazine, with her polka-dotted dresses, bedazzled aprons, home-cooked meals, and ruby-red lipstick. I admired the way she took care of herself. The way her fashion sense seemed to lend a natural air of confidence to her that I never acquired. Despite my shaky hands and unsteady fingers, she taught me everything I needed to know about basic makeup, and cooking, and sewing.

  Roger, however, was hell on earth.

  “Serial killer! Serial killer! Serial killer!”

  The chanting pulled me from the recesses of my mind, and I raised my hand to settle the masses. If a serial killer story was what they wanted, then I’d give it to them. Especially so close to autumn. But I saw two drunk girls wandering off down a fucking alleyway, and I groaned.

  “I’m only responsible for you if you stay with the group, you know!” I exclaimed.

  A few of the college guys in the group broke down laughing while one of them darted down the alley to wrangle the girls. I could tell they were all friends, and the concept was almost foreign to me. I’d been on my own ever since I was sixteen years old, and from then on, I’d only relied on myself for things I needed.

  Yeah, you caught that right. I ran away from Emily and Roger when I was only sixteen. Why, you ask?

  Because Roger tried to rape me, that’s why.

  Don’t feel bad, though. I never do. He only tried once before I beat the brakes off that drunk little asshole and didn’t once look back. That fucker thought he could sneak into my room, pin me down, and have his way with me when Emily refused him sex, but my knee against his groin painted a very different picture.

  And after throwing a few of my things into a bag I pulled out from under my bed, I leapt out the main-story window and decided to forge my own path forward.

  My panic attacks get out of control sometimes, though.

  My eyes searched for the girls and the guy that disappeared down the alleyway after them. But they didn’t emerge. I felt my heart leap into my throat as I thought about all of the things that man could be doing to them, and I shoved my way through the crowd. Some of the boys cursed at me, and the girls scoffed before they went back to filing their nails. And as I tore down the alley, I felt my hands starting to tremble.

  Please be okay. Please be okay. Please be okay.

  “Hey! We’re waiting for you guys over here!” I yelled.

  I heard a boy grunting, and tears rushed my eyes. I felt the world around me slowly caving in. It grew hard to breathe as I ran toward the darkened corner of the alley, trying to figure out what the fuck these three were up to. I opened dumpsters and peered inside. With every bullet of sweat that leaked down the nape of my neck, I worried that he was taking advantage of them.

  The way Roger attempted to take advantage of me.

  “Hey!” I shrieked.

  The boy stopped grunting and one of the girls gasped. I followed the trail of sounds until I peered around the corner to find a sight I really should have expected from three drunken college kids. The guy was balls deep in the blonde girl, and the redhead sitting on the ground with her legs spread was masturbating to the entire scene.

  And the glassiness of their eyes told me just how intoxicated they really were.

  “Get back to the group or I’ll have you arrested,” I warned.

  That was all it took for the kids to scramble to their feet, pull their clothes back on, and rush back out to the tour group.

  “I don’t get paid enough for this,” I grumbled.

  I shook my head as the three kids rushed around me, and not one of them attempted eye contact. I glanced around quickly to make sure no one else was around before I heard a buzzing sound off to
my left. My eyes were the first to locate the source before I turned toward it. And when I saw the lone street lamp flickering and humming, my anger mounted against my anxiety to create the perfect cacophony raging through my system.

  “Would you just shut up?” I growled.

  The cracking of the glass made me jump, but it was the fizzling of the bulb that rooted me to my place. It wasn’t the first time in my life I had wished for something to happen and it simply… manifested. In fact, it had happened more times than I cared to count, and it made me feel crazy sometimes.

  Medicine. Your medicine is in your pocket.

  I shoved my hand into my jeans as I turned my back to the lamp post. I pulled out the small pill bottle, wrenched the top open, and popped two of them back. I crunched down into them and swallowed, grimacing at the disgusting, bitter taste. But crushing them up first helped get the medicine for my anxiety into my system quicker, and I needed to settle down before someone got hurt.

  Because that happened sometimes, too.

  Sometimes, I simply wished hurt upon someone and they’d just… double over. Or vomit on themselves. Or randomly start bleeding from their nose.

  All things I had experienced when I lived on the streets.

  I swallowed the medication down and jogged my way back to the tour group. I led them into a bar, where I got them each a massive glass of water, then we continued on our way. I was ready to get this stupid thing over with, anyway. It was my second to last tour of the evening, and all I wanted was to go back to my little studio apartment right off the Quarter and heat up my leftover Chinese.

  For once, I just wanted my life to be simple.

  Normal.

  Average, and every day.

  “Does everyone feel better? Or do we need to get some food, too?” I asked.

  Balls Deep scoffed. “What a buzzkill.”

  Miss Masturbation rolled her eyes. “Whatever, I don’t care.”

  “What kind of food?”

  My eyes searched for the voice that asked the question, but the confusion that washed across everyone’s face was apparent. It was obvious to me that the group I had with me was comprised of good friends, so to see them so confused as to who was speaking piqued my interest.

  “Sorry, what was that?” I asked.

  Then, a striking man stepped to the forefront. “I said, what kind of food? If it’s good food, I might be interested in getting some.”

  I didn’t recognize him, so I threw my guard up. “You don’t seem drunk, so no food until after the tour is over.”

  He grinned, and it made his bright blue eyes twinkle. “What if I’m just hungry, then?”

  I snickered. “Should’ve eaten before the tour, then. We’ve got another half hour, everyone ready to get a move on?”

  As the sea of slowly sobering heads nodded, my eyes stayed locked with the random man that had appeared in my group. I didn’t remember him from the start of the tour, but the way his grin imprinted itself into my mind made me not care. His blond hair swept lazily across his forehead, giving it a windswept sort of look despite the fact that there wasn’t a cloud in the New Orleans sky. His white t-shirt clung tightly to his pecs, forcing my eyes downward to take in the tight, dark-wash jeans he donned for the evening.

  I cleared my throat and turned my back to keep from staring as I pointed toward a random building.

  “See that building over there, everyone?” I asked.

  “Yeah? So what?” a girl asked.

  I peeked over my shoulder. “That’s where the infamous Main Street Strangler resided. They say he literally sat out on his porch in the evenings and preyed on his victims from above, clocking them as they bounced from bar to bar.”

  One of the girls’ eyes widened. “Wait, for real?”

  Balls Deep scoffed. “I ain’t heard of that shit…”

  I shrugged. “Doesn’t matter if you haven’t heard of it. He’s New Orleans’ most infamous killer. After they arrested and convicted him, the Main Street Strangler led the police on a wild goose chase as they tried to find the bodies of the man’s victims. And to this day, they still haven't unearthed a single one of his supposed seventy-seven victims.”

  “Seventy-seven!?” one of the guys choked out.

  I smirked. “Though, there are some that believe that number is higher.”

  Mr. Bright Eyes chuckled. “How high?”

  My eyes met his and a shiver ran through me. “As high as two hundred.”

  Of course, I was making up all of this off the top of my head. No one signed up for this tour to get some sort of rich history of New Orleans. They signed up for the damn tour to be scared out of their minds by the end of it. And with the way the college kids huddled closer together, it told me I was hitting the mark exactly as I needed it to be. But the fact that Mr. Bright Eyes didn’t cuddle up with them told me he really was alone in this big old pack of ours.

  And the thought made me wonder if he had plans in a couple of hours.

  Maybe the rest of this tour won’t be so bad after all.

  Two

  “And this bar is where the Main Street Strangler is said to have approached his first victim, Laney Delaware.”

  I heard the college kids snapping pictures as a warmth appeared at my side.

  “Any questions?” I asked.

  Mr. Bright Eyes peeked down at me. “I have one, actually.”

  I grinned. “Then all you need to do is ask.”

  He smirked. “How does a man go from meeting girls in a bar to getting them into his apartment and strangling them without anyone hearing or seeing a thing?”

  I shrugged. “Sex, I guess.”

  “Ah, so that kinky shit.”

  My shoulders clenched as his voice washed over me like a flood. “Everyone has their thing. I try not to judge.”

  He chuckled. “And what would your thing be?”

  My eyes quickly darted away from his, and I moved to the head of the group. I wasn’t sure why this stranger felt so familiar, but I needed to put some distance between us. I felt him continuing to smirk and stare at the back of my head as we walked down the block before crossing the street. And as the absent-minded college kids cowered together during my fantastical ghost stories, the guy simply kept staring.

  And smiling.

  And joking.

  And staring some more.

  “Do they have any clues as to what he did with the bodies?” Mr. Bright Eyes asked.

  I turned toward the group and shrugged. “That’s where the rumors come in. Some say he was a cannibal and ate them. Others believe he dismembered them and burned their bodies, though that would be tough without a fireplace of any sort.”

  His eyes swept down my body. “What do you believe?”

  Balls Deep piped up. “Yeah, what do you believe?”

  All eyes locked on me as they waited for my answer, but my focus was on Mr. Bright Eyes. There was something about his eyes that seemed almost… familiar. And while that sounded like a crock of shit, I knew what I felt.

  Who are you?

  “Well?” Mr. Bright Eyes asked.

  I cleared my throat. “I personally believe he ate them and carved their bones into decorations for his place.”

  He blinked. “That’s a pretty interesting argument. Care to elaborate on why you feel that way?”

  The college kids all nodded with vigorous intent, and I let my mind run away with me. “Well, for starters, you can’t actually get into the apartment. It’s been locked down ever since the man was arrested, and if someone wants to gain access to it they have to submit a formal proposal to the FBI documenting why they want access.”

  He winked. “The FBI, huh?”

  I nodded. “Yep. After the man was arrested, it’s said that when the police started combing through his stuff, they all walked out of the apartment and quit on the spot.”

  Miss Masturbation’s eyes widened. “Wait, they quit? Why?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. None of them w
ill talk about it. Most of the men are dead now, but the few that are still living—to this day—still won’t talk about whatever it was that happened. Some people believe they encountered ghosts. Others believe they started running their tests and found so many heinous things that they couldn’t bear to continue.”

  Mr. Bright Eyes nodded slowly. “Maybe we should submit a proposal, then. Do a bit of testing for ourselves.”

  I giggled. “Or, maybe we just keep the past in the past and try to learn from our mistakes.”

  “A girl with a head on her shoulders. I like that.”

  I blushed at his words before I turned around and wrapped the group back to our starting point. By the end of the tour, the college kids were so frantic to scramble somewhere well-lit that they almost forgot to tip me.

  Almost.

  I watched them shove money into a jar I held in my grasp before they rushed past me, murmuring and whispering about the Main Street Strangler and his ghost. I shook my head as Mr. Bright Eyes approached me, sliding his faded leather wallet out from his back pocket. My head tilted back, taking in the sheer size of him as he slid a fifty out of his wallet and placed it into my mason jar.

  I tried not to look absolutely stunned as his smirk spread to a grin.

  “Any chance I can purchase a bit of your time tonight?”

  I couldn’t help but smile. “That depends. When were you thinking?”

  He shrugged. “How about now?”

  My heart sank. “I can’t for at least another hour. I’ve got one more tour, and then I need to do the logs before I can clock out.”

  He leaned down to my ear and whispered, “Then I guess I’ll have to wait on my prize.”