Black Heart Loa (40 page)

“C’est ça bon,”
Kallie said, her throat so tight it ached with each word. She bent, wrapped her arms around her cousin’s neck, and rested her face against his, breathed in his sour/musky odor of blood and fur and too much pain. Whispered, “‘Give me women, wine and snuff / Until I cry out “hold, enough!” / You may do so sans objection / Till the day of resurrection: / For, bless my beard, they aye shall be / My beloved Trinity.’”

Releasing Jackson, Kallie sat up. “I’m holding you to that, Jackson Bonaparte. You keep goddamned fighting. You wanna give up, you hafta be actually able to say ‘hold, enough!’ before I’ll ever let you go.”

Jumping to her feet, she strode across the floor, straw crunching under her boots, and hammered her fist against the stone door. She felt Ambrose’s gaze on her back.

She could only hope that she’d told Jackson the truth about knowing how to fix things. What if Devlin Daniels was wrong? When the door shuddered, then scraped open, and Kallie stepped out, she found herself facing a woman she didn’t recognize, instead of Angélique.

The woman looked to be a youthful forty with a narrow-hipped and boyish figure, her wind-tossed hair a spill of alabaster silk. But her eyes were her most arresting feature: a deep jade green like a depthless Caribbean sea at twilight.

Angélique and Merlin stood beside her—though the
shuvano
dimmed his lantern to spare the sensitive
loup-garou
eyes. “Kallie, this is January, Ambrose’s wife, and the other half of our Alpha pair,” the
traiteur
said.

“So, you’re Kallie Rivière, Jackson’s human cousin,”
January said, folding her arms beneath her small bust and studying her with those Caribbean eyes. Kallie tried not to bristle at the disdain threading through the word
human.
“Who marked you?”

Kallie glanced down at the bloodied claw scrapes scoring the tender flesh near the scooped neckline of her tank top.

Yo’ heart be mine, Kallie Rivière, hoodoo woman.

Kallie quickly shoved aside the uncomfortable memory. “Devlin Daniels,” she said. “He’s also the one who told me to seek out Angélique and Merlin—although he didn’t give any names.”

“Devlin?
He
sent you?” Surprise flickered across the Alpha’s face. Her gaze, now uneasy, returned to the claw marks on Kallie’s chest. “And claimed you,” she murmured, almost to herself.

Kallie stiffened. “The hell he did.” She felt Layne stir beside her, felt his gaze. “Forget about that. It’s what he
told
me that’s important—that I’m the cause behind everything that’s gone wrong since yesterday morning.”

“Dat’s what I been saying all along,” a familiar voice said from the shadows beneath the oak tree. “Dis girl be a walking jinx, a living hex.”

“J
esus in a cracker
tin,” Layne muttered. “Just what we need.”

A cold brick of dread dropped into Kallie’s stomach when she saw Baron Samedi stroll into view, still wearing his Cash suit, and twirling his walking stick in one white-gloved hand. He sauntered to a stop beside January, his sunglasses-hidden gaze looking everywhere but at Kallie. The sharp smell of hot-peppered rum spiced the air.

He still can’t see me. That’s one good thing.

“Y’all don’t understand—the magic ricochets have affected the Baron too,” Kallie said. “And his
cheval
hates—”

“One thieving, betraying, sorry-ass sonuvabitch named Jackson Bonaparte who’s just run outta time,” the Baron said in Cash’s voice, then laughed. “And I ain’t a fucking
cheval
at the moment, darlin’.”

Kallie’s hands clenched into fists. “I know how to fix this. I need a little time—”

“Sorry. Time’s up.”

“We’ll just see about that,” Kallie promised, stepping in front of the
loa.
“Give me the time I need to set things
right or I’ll let
my loa
come out and play a few hexing games.”

Of course, the last part was pure bluff, since she didn’t even know how to contact her
loa,
let alone release her, but the Samedi-Cash didn’t know that—hopefully.

Thunder boomed, shaking the ground and launching Kallie’s heart into her throat. Baron Samedi seemed to stretch up into the cloud-roiling sky as though rising on stilts, his Armani suit jacket flapping in the wind, and his skull-painted face scowling down on her. Her blood turned to ice.

“Holy shit,” Layne whispered.

“Agreed,” Belladonna said.

“Who you t’ink you be talking to, little hoodoo? Mebbe I can’t see you ’cuz o’ yo tricks, but I can close de gates between de world of de living and de realm of de dead and leave you wandering forever in de Between Places.”

“I was talking to your
cheval,
Baron, not to you,” Kallie said, mouth dry. “I never intended those words for
you.
All I’m asking for is the chance to restore things to their proper natures, the chance to save my cousin’s life and—”

The Baron’s voice rumbled across the night sky and vibrated up from the ground, echoing within her. “Kallie Rivière, you got ten hours to restore t’ings to deir proper natures. If you don’t get it done in dat time, I’m sending yo’ cousin to de realm of de dead—if he ain’t had the good sense to die before den—and I will find a way to strip dat
loa
from yo’ luscious body and leave you empty in de Between Places.”

Baron Samedi vanished in a retina-searing flash of
forked lightning. The pungent scent of ozone and peppered rum saturated the air.

Kallie looked away, blinking and shaken. Instead of getting Cash to back off from his quest to kill Jackson, all she’d succeeded in doing was pissing off the
loa
of death and resurrection and earning herself a deadline. Never a good thing.

“Hellfire,” Belladonna said. “Oh, Shug, ten hours …”

“Start talking, girl,” January commanded. Wind whipped her hair across her face and her eyes glowed between the white strands.

Shoving her trembling hands into the pockets of her shorts, Kallie did just that. She told January and Angélique and Merlin everything. And she watched their expressions shift from disbelieving, to shocked, to horrified as she told them about Doctor Heron and his black dust and the tragic case of mistaken identity, about the
loa
her mother had replaced her soul with, about what Devlin had found inside of her.

It be de black dust you took in from Doctor Heron. De hex you sucked down when you unzipped de man’s soul. It captured de
loa,
webbed her up like a fat fly in a spiderweb and it feeds on her power, using it to magnify its own. Dat be de cause of all de magical mishaps.

“Great Mother,” Angélique whispered, her face stunned. Sympathy glimmered in her eyes. “You’re caught in a nightmare.”

“I think that sums it up, yup,” Kallie replied. “Devlin told me to ask y’all about the sacred fire, that it was the only way to fix things.”

Merlin’s eyes widened. He whistled low and long, then said, “Holy goddamn. The sacred fire. Yeah, yeah, that
could definitely work. The sacred fire is a very powerful and transformative energy, yeah. But …”

“But what?” Kallie asked. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

“Excuse me,” Belladonna said. “But we’re talking sex magic, right?”

Kallie stared at her. “We are?”

“Yup,” Merlin agreed. “But the sacred fire ain’t magic, per se—which is a good thing, given all the problems we’re having with magic.”

“Then what is it?” Kallie asked.

“It’s a ritual of prolonged, very intense sex,” Merlin replied, meeting her gaze, and Kallie noticed for the first time that his eyes were two different colors, one blue and one brown—much like Cielo’s, but with deeper, richer shades. “And by
prolonged
, I’m talking hours, not days. Though that’s been done too, with some
amazing
results.”

Kallie blinked.
Days?
She wanted to ask if the people involved had survived their marathon of intense sex, but decided that if they hadn’t, they’d most likely died sweaty and exhausted, but very happy. “And this ritual creates the sacred fire?”

Merlin nodded. “Yup. Raw sexual energy heightened by connection on all levels—physical, spiritual, mental—by the couple performing. The sacred fire is powerful, a positive and life-affirming energy that will burn to ash anything dark or destructive within you and your partner—or around you.”

Belladonna leaned in and cupped a hand around Kallie’s ear. “Sounds like a fancy way of saying you fuck away the black dust,” she whispered. “Where do I sign up to get hexed?”

Kallie whapped Belladonna’s shoulder. “Evil.”

“But,” Merlin said pointedly, recapturing Kallie’s attention, “there’s still a problem. Like I said, the energy generated is way fucking powerful, and that kind of light and heat lures all manner of things—good and bad—to a couple completely vulnerable in the throes of sex.”

“And now, thanks to the magic snafus,” Angélique said, “we can’t use normal protective measures, such as wards or protective circles.”

Kallie nodded, her stomach sinking. “What other options do we have? I hafta do this, I hafta try, at least.”

“If we had more trained
shuvanos
or
traiteurs
here, then we might have a chance,” Merlin said thoughtfully. “We could become living wards, surrounding you with positive energy and channeled white light, instead of magic. Use chants. Drums.”

“I could help,” Belladonna volunteered. “I’m a voodooienne.”

Hope surged renewed through Kallie as a possibility bloomed bright. “Would hoodoos and voodoos work too?”

A light glinted in Merlin’s eyes. “Definitely. But we ain’t got much time to round a bunch of people up—”

“Wait, hold on,” January cut in, slashing her hands through the air in front of her. Once she had everyone’s attention, she continued in a quiet but forceful voice. “As unhappy as I am to have Outsiders in Le Nique”—her narrowed gaze slashed across Kallie, Belladonna, and Layne—“and as much as I wish to avoid admitting more, I realize the situation gives me little choice. But I have conditions that need to be met so I can keep my pack safe.”

“Mais oui,”
Kallie said. “Anything.”

The Alpha’s conditions were simple: only those trained in magic and healing would be allowed—no friends or
other tagalongs. René and a few other
loups-garous
of his choice would meet the incoming conjurers near Morgan City, some twenty miles distant, blindfold them, then bring them to Le Nique.

“If they refuse the blindfold, they will be left behind,” January finished.

“Fair enough,” Kallie said. “Give me just a minute.”

She slipped her cell phone from her pocket, then walked up the path until she caught a signal. “We found Jackson,” she said when her aunt answered.

“Praise Bon Dieu,” Divinity breathed. “Is de boy okay?”

Kallie thought of the slow, labored rise and fall of her cousin’s chest beneath her fingertips and her throat tightened. “For now,” she lied. “Look, we need help. Are Addie and her posse still there?”

“
Oui,
we been hashing t’ings out, us. What you need, child?”

Drawing in a quick breath, Kallie told her, passing along the Alpha’s instructions.

“We be dere, girl. Don’t you worry. I’ll let dem know dey have an opportunity to make up for deir earlier foolishness.”

“Merci, Ti-tante.”

When Kallie returned to the stone cottage, she told January, “They’ve agreed.”

“Then I’ll get René on his way.” The Alpha’s eyes unfocused, her gaze seeming to turn inward, and remembering how Devlin had delved into her mind, Kallie suspected the
loup-garou
was using telepathy to contact René.

A moment later, January slanted a glance at Angélique.
“He’s taking Jubilee and Dorian with him, and Moss will keep an eye on your sleeping cubs in the meantime.”

The
traiteur
smiled. “Good.”

“You have children?” Kallie asked.

“Double handful,” Merlin replied, pride in his voice. “Twins, a boy and girl.”

And, Kallie thought, sympathy prickling through her as she glanced at the stone cottage behind the
shuvano,
half bloods.

“Who’s gonna be your partner in the ritual?” Angélique asked. She flicked a speculative glance toward Layne. “If it’s going to be too awkward to do it with your nomad friend, I’m sure I can round up volunteers. Merlin is skilled in sex magic and rituals—one of his specialties, actually. You couldn’t ask for better.”

“Thanks, hun,” Merlin replied, smiling at Angélique.

Kallie’s cheeks flamed. She looked up at Layne. His best friend had died in her bed and that was something she wasn’t sure either of them could get past just yet. Or, in Layne’s case, ever. No matter how much she wanted Layne, being together like this
would
be awkward, especially with everything that hung in the balance. But hopping into the sack for a long, boisterous round of ritual sex with a stranger would be even more so.

“I’ll understand if you say no,” Kallie said. “Please don’t feel—”

Bending, Layne brushed his lips against hers and stopped her words. “Ain’t saying no, Kallie,” he murmured. His dreads lifted into the wind, pale tendrils against the fading night.

She touched her fingers to his face. Saw the grief and guilt he buried in the depths of his eyes.
“Merci, cher.”

“Let’s get going,” Angélique said. “There’s a lot we need to do to get you two ready and—” She stopped talking and her gaze turned inward, as though she was listening to something only she could hear. Kallie noticed that January had the same introspective expression.

“Mon Dieu,”
Angélique said a moment later, expression dismayed. “According to what René just heard on TV, landfall is in
fifteen
hours, not twenty or thirty. And Evelyn is still a category five.”

Dread folded through Kallie. If Evelyn landed as a five, nothing would be left in her wake. Reaching for Layne’s hand, she met Angélique’s glowing eyes and said, “Then tell us what we need to do.”