Love Voodoo

By BL Morticia

Can a cocky internet star and a humble Southern boy come together—with a little help from a love potion—in the spookiest city in America? 

Burned out and in need of a vacation, online sensation Cayden is drawn to New Orleans, with its rich history and paranormal lore. A cynic and a pessimist, Cayden nonetheless hopes to experience some of the legendary city's magic. 

Trent grew up on the streets and wouldn't have survived without the kindness of the local community. Now he's embraced his eccentricities in a place that appreciates them. He works at a voodoo shop and guides ghost tours for extra cash, but he also volunteers at the local LGBT youth center, helping lost souls find their way. 

When Cayden and Trent lock eyes across the shop, something happens… and it isn't just Cayden's flirtation or the mutual attraction drawing them together. It's something even a skeptic like Cayden agrees is a little unearthly… and could lead to something extraordinary.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Triad Literary Books
• Release date: Mar 18, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393714279

Book preview

Chapter One

In Los Angeles...

Cayden

Thanks for talking with me today, Cayden. So, tell me more about the internet sensation that no one can get enough of. Your debut album was a hit in several parts of the world. The boy-band reject smiled at me.

Interviews weren’t my favorite thing to do, but with a second album on the way, I had to do some kind of promotion other than the internet hype I had created on my own. However, I’d do it on my own terms. I agreed to chat with this magazine journalist in my home office so I wouldn’t be inconvenienced. Although I wasn’t too keen about allowing people into my private life, I sucked it up so I wouldn’t have to drive through traffic or risk getting found by fans if I left the magazine’s building on the other side of town.

If there was anything that made me happy, it was talking about my music. I smirked and clapped my hands. Well, I’ve always wanted to be a professional musician. Ever since I was a kid—

The interviewer sighed and shook his head. "No, I get that, but tell me more about you. Are you the surly bastard some say you are?"

Hey, I resent that! I snarled.

Well, they say—

I held up my hand. Doesn’t matter. No one knows me or what I’ve been through. I’m only hard on people who’ve given me grief. And believe me there are plenty. So, if you’re gonna insult me, you can use the same door to see your way out. I’m not gonna take this. I don’t have to, I’m....

Yeah, we know. Cayden Wythe, he stated dryly. Look. I know we had a set of approved questions, but I thought it better to take a different approach. Besides, your fandom wants more.

So they do. I answer questions when I can on my Facebook page or on Instagram. Stick to the original questions, or we’re through. I leaned back on the sofa and picked up my stress ball, then squeezed the life out of it.

Dude, that’s not enough. Plus you take days to answer.

Listening to this reporter reminded me why I hated doing interviews. Hey, I’m a busy guy. Isn’t it enough that I’m posting videos on YouTube, giving people access to my life on Instagram and Snapchat?

The interviewer shook his head. Obviously not. Who are you dating these days?

None of your business.

Are you seeing anyone right now?

I exhaled and squeezed the ball harder. "Didn’t. I. Just. Say. None of your business?" Obviously, this interviewer didn’t hear my threat. I wasn’t amused. I’d thought Gen-Pop magazine, an edgier publication, would be more entertaining to deal with instead of the boring old guy mags my dad might read.

All right, fine. Are you gay or straight?

Fluid. One more question about my private life, and this interview is over. I stared daggers at whatever his name was. At this point I didn’t care to remember.

Okay fine. How about a fast five? Favorite color?

Blue.

Favorite food?

Pizza.

Chocolate or vanilla?

"Strawberry. I threw the ball up in the air and caught it. Can’t you come up with more original questions than this? I’ve had better interviews with two-bit webzines."

The interviewer glared at me, slamming down his notebook. "Look, Cayden, you didn’t want to answer the fun questions I asked."

Because they’re too private. Those aren’t the ones I agreed to answer. And since you decided to go off on your own, you can come up with more original questions without encroaching on my personal life. You’re a skilled interviewer from an up-and-coming magazine, aren’t you? What did they teach you in journalism school?

I don’t need this abuse. I’m trying to promote your newest single, and you’re giving me a lot of flak. We can end this right now, he said pointedly.

I threw the ball up again and caught it once more. "That’s fine. You’re the one walking away without a story. And by the way, don’t talk shit when you do your write-up. If you do, I’ll make sure you won’t work at any other major magazine in this town, this country, or the whole freaking continent. You’d have to move overseas, and even then, I’ll be on your ass like white on rice. So don’t cross me!"

What’s-his-face gasped, eyebrows furrowed. You can’t do shit! All you are is a spoiled internet rock star.

I cocked an eyebrow at this wannabe Justin Bieber douche. Finally I got his goat, and I loved every minute of it. "Oh, I’m more than that, my man. Like I said, if you want to try me, go ahead. Write bad things, and I’ll ruin you. My fucking father is a lawyer."

He stood up and stared at me. If his eyes were daggers, I’d be dead. "That’s all right, Cayden. I’d rather interview a musician with a sense of humor, a better attitude, and class! You don’t deserve any time in our magazine. Have a nice day, Mr. Wythe!" With that, he spun around and left, slamming the door behind him.

Pssh. Reason number one hundred why I don’t do interviews! I threw the ball against the wall and it fell helplessly onto the floor. At this point I needed something more to let off some steam.

Just when I was about to check in with my friends, my cell rang with the tone I used for my manager. I already knew what this was about.

Cay.

Cayden! What the hell? I just got a call from the interviewer from Gen-Pop. Why were you so mean to him?

Because he was nosy! He tried to find out who I’m dating. He’s supposed to be talking about my music first.

You could’ve have said ‘no comment’ and kept going.

Well, if his questions were better than my favorite color and flavor of ice cream, I wouldn’t have pitched a fit.

Really? That’s what he asked?

Yeah. Now you tell me, does that deserve a response? I’ve had better interviews with webzines and fucking sixth graders at my old elementary school.

My manager, also known as my dad, Alden the lawyer, laughed. Okay, okay. You know, there’s nothing wrong with telling people you’re gay.

To be clear, I’m fluid, I snarled. I play music, I smile for pictures, and that’s it. I believe I cover my likes, dislikes, and all that trivial shit on my Instagram and Snapchat accounts. He was supposed to ask me about my inspirations for songs. ‘Heart’s Remorse,’ is the deepest shit I’ve written.

You’re right, son.

I harrumphed and twisted my lips. I really hated when he called me that. Just like any other gold digger I’d ever known, Alden decided to show up when I made it big. Not that he was hurting, but hey, why not take the opportunity to mooch off your newly famous offspring? After all, I was the number-one downloaded artist on iTunes and Spotify. I was selling out venues around the globe, raking in thousands on merch sales alone. Besides, I needed someone who knew their shit and wouldn’t try to take every single dime I had. He and his team took care of everything. I only had to play music and make videos every so often.

Cayden?

Yeah, yeah. Okay, fine, maybe I could’ve told him that much. I like dick. There. Exclusive to the fucking world. I prefer dick over pussy.

Must you be so graphic?

"Gotta problem with it, Alden?"

Of course not, but you can say, ‘Hey, I’m gay,’ instead of being so damn offensive.

Again, fluid, not gay. If I find someone attractive, it’s not because of gender.

Alden sighed into the receiver. Anyway, we have a new contract with Warner Brothers to sign.

What kind of contract? I want full control, Alden. Don’t sell my soul to record companies. I’d warned Dad many times that I was an independent artist.

No, no. It’s a two-year deal for distribution only. They’re giving us 70 percent. Stop by, and we’ll discuss the details over lunch.

Fine. I’ll be there after I hit up my boys to go paintballing later. I need to let off some steam. And by the way, Alden?

Yes?

"No more fucking interviews this year, okay? I’ll talk about my new single on my Facebook and interview my damn self."

Alden sighed aloud. Yes, sir. I’ll make sure of that. Come into the office when you’re done.

Right. I pressed the disconnect button and pushed speed dial Two. I waited a couple of seconds and drummed my fingers on the chair’s arm. Just as I was about to hang up, my buddy Jonah answered. We’d grown up together in the Los Angeles suburbs. Unlike everyone else, he didn’t come to my damn doorstep asking for anything.

Cayden, my man.

What’s up? Hey, you up for some shooting tonight?

Always. Are you buying out the place again?

Sure the fuck am. I need it after this interview that just ended. Round up the guys. I’ll call the place to set up?

Jonah laughed. Will do. See you in a bit.

Later.

I hung up and looked in my contacts for Powerhouse Paintball Park in the suburbs. It was a hike but well worth the time and effort to let out some aggression. It was either that or kickboxing, which I enjoyed doing a lot with Jonah one-on-one, but ever since I’d made a pass at him, I hadn’t asked again. When it happened, he immediately let me know he wasn’t into dudes like that. From then on, I’d shied away.

Maybe that was a coward’s move on my part, but I couldn’t help it.

When Jonah turned down my advances, it hurt me like a stab to the gut. Other than the death of my mother, it would take me a while to get over that pain too.

I’d always thought friendship with Jonah would turn into something more, and when it didn’t, it nearly killed me.

––––––––

Trent

Trent, get your tired tail over here with them boxes!

I sighed, wiping the sweat from my brow. As per usual, June temps in New Orleans spiked, but that couldn’t stop me from working at the place I’d wished I’d had when I lived on the streets. With a box of books in hand, I walked outside to where our volunteer captain for Harbor House stood. He was taking inventory of the items people had donated.

NOLA hadn’t done anything for these kids until we raised a stink about it. Thank goodness the guy in the mayor’s office had a bigger heart than some of the other idiots they’d elected.

Here they are. I dropped the box between us. There’s about six more. I’m gonna need a little help bringing them in.

All right. I’ll get Prez to help. You gotta work a little faster, boy! We got a deadline to meet. You know they’re set to open this place up on Thursday.

Yeah, I know. I’m going as fast as I can, Cap. You know I gotta leave soon, though. I got a tour tonight, and I gotta close up shop at Deminion.

Cap chuckled, shaking his head. Boy, don’t you have enough to do? When the hell do you sleep?

I’ll sleep when I’m dead. These queer kids needed a place to stay.

And they got it, thanks to Mr. Evers, the mayor, you, and some of the other reformed drifters. You know a lot of ’em still wanna be out on the streets peddling.

Sure. Maybe once they see a person like me made good, they’ll get their asses in gear. I took off my fedora and wiped my forehead. The sun had been blazing ever since it rose after 6:00 a.m. At barely 10:30, it was almost ninety degrees.

I hope they will. You did good, boy. Cap patted my shoulder. Go on and bring the rest of them in. I’ll find Prez and tell him to help ya out.

Thanks, man.

I spun on my heel and left to grab two more boxes. This shit was heavy as hell, but I was grateful there were good people left in