Page 4 of We Are All Sinners

I pick up one of the photos of my little witch and study her a bit. She isn’t my typical type, curvy with big tits. If anything, she isthe opposite of my type, but I would be lying if I didn’t admit that there is something about her that is familiar.

I’m intrigued.

She is a natural beauty, doesn’t wear much makeup in any of the photos, has tattoos, wild curly brown hair, a nose ring, and apparently small perky tits by the looks of them in this particular picture.

You can tell she just got out of the pool she is standing next to. Little droplets of water still drip down her face and neck. I trail my eyes down wishing that black bikini top wasn’t blocking such perky tits and hard nipples. I smirk as I put the picture in my pocket, deciding to keep this one for my eyes only.

“Apparently, I have a covenant to meet. We’re heading back to our old stomping grounds boys. We leave for NOLA tomorrow!”

“I’ll set everything up with Tasha and Nadia to take care of the restaurant and the club.” Noah replies as he taps away on his phone.

“Let’s find something close to Miss Lablanc that's on the market. I plan to ease my way into her life. See who she really is. We’ll use these next two weeks to get to know my little witch and stir up some trouble in our hometown before we start getting too comfortable with the idea of settling down.”

Prologue 2

Genevieve (Evie)

Iplace white lilies in the black decorative metal vase I had attached to my mama and gran’s family crypt in the cemetery, then kiss my hand and place my fingers over their names.

I sit and tell them about this last week of events, just like I have every Sunday since they each passed.

“Christmas was a bust. I jacked up the bread pudding, but the turkey actually came out great this year. It was just me and Emily again. I had a vision about a guy. Something is coming, but I can’t figure out what, or who he could be. If he means me harm. I just don’t know. All of the images I have been getting are fuzzy right now. I wish you were both here to help me make sense of it all. Someone has been following me. I can feel his eyes on me. I see them constantly. Blue green like the ocean. I know you said that I would know when it was time to open your letter mama, but how in the hell am I just supposed to know?”

I tell them everything, from the new hot neighbors who moved in next door, who Emily and I think must be gay, to hiring Brook Haleigh, the head of our old coven’s daughter, to help run the store.

I find myself asking questions that I know will never receive answers, just as I always do. It's a ritual that brings me a small semblance of solace, despite knowing that they are always with me in spirit and already understand everything. Their urns rest above my mantle, a constant reminder of their presence, and I know that a small portion of their ashes lies in the crypt, though it feels odd since I never consecrated them here.

I always feel them, but when I’m in the cemetery, I swear I can still hear my Gran telling me to harness my gift and use it for good. Sometimes, I catch a fleeting hint of her scent—lavender mingling with patchouli and a whisper of magnolia. It always brings me a pang of longing.

Gran was my anchor, the one who always knew how to lift my spirits no matter the trial. I cherished my mama deeply, but Gran was the one with whom I shared all my secrets, the one who truly understood me. Losing her has left a void that nothing seems to fill.

They know what I have been doing the last two years.

You can’t hide from your ancestors and be a witch. They know everything you do and will make sure you stay on track.

If you don’t, they will make you suffer one way or another. Unless they choose to cast you out, which for most is worse, but we made do without the coven.

When my mama passed away, I stumbled upon some old forgotten items in the attic, buried beneath layers of dust and cobwebs. What I discovered only deepened my sense of confusion and loss. Among the clutter, I found what I believe to be my father’s grimoire. It’s bound in weathered leather, with worn leather strings holding it shut, and marked with the initials M.B.

No one will tell me who my father is, leaving me to piece together fragments of his existence on my own.

In a shadowy corner of the attic, hidden inside an old black trunk, I also found a small purple crystal. It’s odd, fragmented shape suggests it might have once been part of something larger.

The trunk contained various artifacts, many of which I couldn’t decipher. The few items I did manage to explore only brought forth dark, unsettling images that filled me with a deep, gnawing fear. I didn’t dare hold them for long, overwhelmed by the intensity of the small glimpses I was able to get off of them.

I was told that my dad was cast out of our coven before my mama and gran were, being accused of using dark magic for personal gain against another member of the coven.

They decided to go after my mama and gran when they wouldn’t hand him over. I know my mama and gran would never, but it allhappened before I was even born, so all I get told are the lies the head priestess, Beth made up, or the lies my family told me.

I know they are all lies because all the stories differ so much that the truth has to be somewhere in the middle, or it could be out in left field.

Beth will pay for what she did to my family, one way or another! She is the one who went after every single one of my family members and friends, casting them out like trash when they wouldn’t bow down to her wicked ways.

I have been diligently keeping my abilities hidden for as long as I can remember. The idiots have no idea what I am capable of. The ancestors have always been with me, guiding me, telling me to keep them hidden.

They know I can see things but no specifics. They all believe I don’t even practice anymore and that the ancestors shunned me ten years ago like everyone else.

I’m just a loony tune with a master’s degree in Botany who likes to play with plants all day. Which is exactly what I want them to think.

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