Blue Voodoo: A Romantic Retelling of Bluebeard (The Hidden Kingdom Series Book 2) (10 page)

“They?”

Tenoch snorted. “A motley crew to be sure. A werewolf, a vampire, a demon, an angel, and a god.”

A werewolf, a vampire, a demon, an angel, and a god. The prince of Sanguennay is a werewolf, and the prince of Dacia is a vampire. Tenoch is from Mu, he could speak of the Black God who married the princess. Could the demon and the angel relate to the other two kingdoms? Nysa and Meropis? Politics does make strange bedfellows.

“I have no direct information,” Tenoch continued, “but I could venture a guess. Based on the limited experience I have with these…investigations, I believe the council is considering inviting you and Dominique into their new kingdom. The prospect would afford you with opportunities that few have even dreamed of.”

The servants returned, each of them holding another two buckets. This time the steaming water held the scent of pine, and the surface gleamed with a layer of oil. The steam that rose into the air as they emptied the buckets called to Julien, promising an end to the lingering odor of the bayou and chilled ache threading through his muscles.

As the last servant closed the door, Tenoch obligingly stepped back, giving Julien room to step into the tub. Slowly, Julien eased his body into the hot bath and balanced the sword across the top. Water enveloped his body, the heat coaxing his muscles to relax until he’d half-melted against the side.

The urge to revel in this release of tension rode him through the steamy haze, but he kept his eyes open and trained on Tenoch. “You were saying? Council? New kingdom?”

“They are building a new kingdom from the ground up. It is empty now, save for those they’ve invited into it. They seek people to help them shape this new world, people to play a controlling part in the land’s government.” Tenoch tilted his head, studying Julien. “How many men do you know who could boast such an opportunity?”

A new kingdom.
A place where no one knew his face, a place that had not yet been tainted. If he had a controlling part in such a world, he could bring his men there, they could bring their families. Such a land could offer safety, anonymity. A new beginning.

“And you say they are only interested in mated pairs?”

“That is what my limited experience suggests.”

Julien lifted the clean cloth one of the servants had left on the edge of the tub and dipped it into the water. “I don’t pretend to ask for a quiet life. I know that my choice to make my living the way I do comes with a price—for me and for the men who choose to follow me.” He scrubbed at his skin. “But these past years, business has gotten progressively more dangerous. And there are men who still follow me—who follow me despite my attempts to send them home to their families, to find them other ships to sail on, safer captains to serve. I owe those men something. Tell me, is there room in this new kingdom for them?”

“That is not a question I can answer. You will need to discuss that with the council.” Tenoch scratched at the scars over his chest as if the shiny white tissue itched. “Not to discourage you, but I would point out that this is all moot at the moment. You have not been invited.”

“Because I am not part of a mated pair—yet.”

“There is no guarantee that even if you were part of a mated pair you would be invited. But, yes.” Tenoch’s gaze strayed from the tub, and he seemed pulled by some invisible force to the window. He leaned closer to the glass, peering intently at the estate’s grounds. “Does Dominique know about them?”

“Hmm?” Julien lowered the wash cloth, pleased at the sensation of silt-free skin even if his vigorous scrubbing had left him a little raw. “Who?”

“Your former wives.”

Blood crystalized in Julien’s veins like ice, the warmth of the water suddenly lost on him. Bile coated the back of his throat, and he fought to swallow it back down. Fought to shake his head free of the terrifying resilience of their memory.

“
What is a marriage vow if not a pledge of service?”

“You desire to marry. You desire to serve. It is your nature.”

“You cannot deny what you are, little bird. Fly over the sea if you want, you will come home, you will nest eventually. Loyal impundulu.”

Three voices. Three women. Sneers and laughter in their tones.

“No. No one can know about them. Don’t speak or even think of
them.
There is power in such words, such thoughts.” He glanced at his reflection in the steel blade. “It is not safe.”

“True enough. But I think you should tell her.”

“No. Perhaps someday, but not now. There is too much else between us, too much that needs addressed before we can move on. It is not the time to drag up more…unpleasantness from the past.”

Tenoch pressed his fingers against the windowsill. “There is a strange feel about their tomb. Something…is not right.”

Throat closing in a strangled swallow, Julien stared at the east wall as if he could see the mausoleum through the brick and mortar, through the forest that surrounded them. The building loomed in a small clearing. Basic, rushed roof lines and moss covered stone. From the outside, it almost looked like a small detached armory left over from this land’s last civil war several decades ago. But he knew better than anyone that the single crypt was filled with an evil like no other.

He swallowed hard. “Their souls are not free to continue on. They will never be free to continue on.”

“The souls of the murdered.”

Their faces bloomed before his mind. The first with her silky black locks and her addiction for liquorish tea. The second, the curvy vixen who infuriated him with her coquettish teasing. And the third—the worst of them all. Sometimes when he was still drunk from sleep, he could still feel her auburn hair tickling, hear the sickly sweet whisper as she beckoned him from his dreams and drew him farther and farther into the jaws of her total control.

Pins and needles pricked his arms and legs, his body reacting to the memory of what it felt like to have his body moved to the will of someone other than himself, to have his mind enslaved, locked away. He shoved his head under the water, fleeing from the thoughts bubbling up inside his head. The outside world vanished for a few precious moments, dulled by the heat and the weight of the bath. He hovered there in that silence, wishing he could block thoughts from his mind as easily as he’d blocked the sounds from his ears.

But he couldn’t outrun himself, what was left of his tarnished conscience. Even now, those women. Their bodies. The after-taste of their vast power. They haunted him. He’d spent his life sailing every sea from here to the end of the earth, and still they haunted. Bodies bloody. Broken. Flesh torn by thick, curved talons, eyes plucked from their skulls by the merciless digging of a wicked beak. Three women who had sought to make him a servant now reduced to nothing but boney racks of decaying meat.

He rose from the water and slicked his hair back. “I should have burnt them all to ashes.”

Tenoch dropped his hand from the glass. “Why didn’t you?”

“Destroying the bodies could leave the souls untethered. Such roaming souls could possess…” His voice grew hoarse, and he cleared his throat. “Could possess…”

Again, his mouth refused to go on. The words tasted foul on his tongue, threatening to bring nightmarish images to his mind. Images of bodies moving about like puppets, animated by a spirit that had not been born into that flesh. Nightmares of being a prisoner in his own mind, shut away while something else possessed and ruled his body, lived his life. The tales he’d heard as a youth when he had lived in Sanguennay, tales of zombies and the horrible fate of being a slave even after death should have moved you to your next life. The worst fate imaginable. Eternal servitude.

Nausea rose inside him on a sickening, oily tide. He gripped the edges of the tub and hung his head over the pine-scented steam. His hair hung in wet tendrils around his face, droplets rolling down his temples and chin to strike the water in ripples.
They are dead. They are gone. They are locked away.

When he lifted his head, Tenoch had vanished. There was no trace of the mysterious intruder, no hint that he had been anything more than a figment of imagination. Nothing beyond the lingering impression of his strange aura, the energy licking against his exposed skin like snake scales.

Collecting his sword, Julien bullied himself out of the bath and quickly dried himself off. The door of his wardrobe banged against the wall as he threw it open and scanned its contents for clothes befitting the Midsummer Celebration.

“They are interested only in men and women in mated pairs.”

Memories of the stranger’s warning only renewed his determination as he shrugged into a crisp new shirt he knew she’d favor. “No more stalling, Dominique. I will have your answer—the only answer—tonight. Everything will be made right.” The ghostly trio’s voices in his head swirled and mocked him with laughter, but he shoved them away. “Everything will be made right.”

Chapter Seven

Narcisse rolled over in bed, propping his head on his hand as his latest ‘guest’ bent over to finish adjusting her stockings. Her rump was practically non-existent, any fat that had once given her proper curves lost along with the elasticity in her face. Her skin, a pleasant shade of buttermilk, remained soft, if a little wrinkled, and had felt good under the palms of his hands. The supple texture compensated for the lack of cushion, and even now he was half-tempted to pet her like a silky-coated cat.

She seemed to feel his eyes on her, glancing back at him through the long tangles of grey-streaked red hair that he’d freed from a severe bun mere minutes after her arrival an hour ago. Green eyes glittered with the afterglow of her release and she smiled shyly.

“I had a wonderful time.” She straightened, her hands fluttering in front of her like lost butterflies before finally landing on her skirt. The material bunched in her hands as she clutched at it, adding more creases to the already abused material.

“I’m so glad.” He slid a hand over the sheets, rubbing the spot where she’d been. “I hope you’ll come back.”

A pretty blush stained the woman’s cheeks. She looked away, clearing her throat as she fished around in the satchel hanging from one shoulder. She withdrew a small, battered pouch that clinked with the sound of gold coins. She quickly dropped the pouch on the table beside the bed and the red hue spread to her chest.

“I-I’ll try.”

Narcisse smiled at her, enjoyed the way she trembled, too flustered to get any words past lips that held only a memory of the lipstick she’d arrived in. She likely didn’t have the money to spend five minutes, let alone an entire hour with him again. At least not anytime soon. Still, a desired woman was a happy customer. And a happy customer begets more happy customers. He hardened, thinking about all the naked flesh in his future. Gods, he loved women. All of them.

He unfolded himself from the bed and strode around to stand in front of her. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed hard, eyes so wide the crow’s feet all but vanished. He sealed his mouth over hers, swiping his tongue inside in a playful caress.

A tiny strangled cry echoed in her throat as the familiar heat of passion built between them, her growing desperation evident in the involuntary thrusts of her hips. Narcisse smiled against her mouth and pulled away.
Always leave them wanting more.
He caught her as her knees gave way, easily lifting her back to her feet, holding her steady by the elbows until she found her balance. Hazy eyes blinked at him as he escorted her to the door.

Her mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. She stumbled out on wobbly legs and he watched her totter down the road, ready to give her a wink if she had the guts to look back at him.

She didn’t.

He leaned forward, resting his arms on the lower section of his door as he surveyed the shops around him. His schedule for the rest of the day was empty of visitors. There was nothing more pressing for him to do than watch the rest of the village prepare for tonight’s festivities. Large cooking fires filled the air with meat-scented smoke, brightly colored silks were displayed as scarves and skirts for anyone looking to add a little flair to their attire, and people gathered in writhing pockets to discuss menus, clothing, and other frivolities. No one talked about what they would do, or who they would meet—not beyond the most trivial details. The Midsummer Celebration was about freedom and pleasure. And no one wanted to admit premeditation for the fun they would have.

Despite his open schedule, a few moments were all he could risk before retreating back into the shadows of his small residence. He’d had his door specifically designed to have a top and bottom—all the more handy for giving potential ladies the eye, flashing bare chest and giving the impression of being naked without revealing his unmentionables to innocents passing by. The law was rather touchy about things like that. He didn’t even dare to linger too long with his chest bared nowadays.

Narcisse shook his head. “Prudes.”

“And he says he’s going to marry Madame Laveau on the final night of the Midsummer Celebration.”

“He did? Oh, how wonderful!”

The two women’s voices snared Narcisse’s attention and he quickly pivoted to put his back to the wall beside the door, hiding himself from view. Footsteps drew closer, coming down the road by his house, the voices continuing.

 “Is it wonderful? He’s a pirate you know. I hear they call him Bluebeard.”

“A good name for a pirate. A little on the nose perhaps. I wonder why he dyes his beard that way anyway?”

“Who can tell?”

 “Strange that Madam Laveau never said anything,” the first voice mused.

“Well, you know how secretive she can be.”

“Yes. Not unlike her mother…”

“You don’t think…?”

“Who can tell? She is powerful. All that power in the hands of one woman…”

Narcisse rolled his eyes. He caught a glimpse of the women as they walked past. As he’d suspected, the first one was a customer of his. Typical. A compliment in one hand and backstabbing gossip in the other. He himself had never understood the big deal about Madame Laveau—mother of the current voodoo queen. So what if some of her magic came from the darker end of the spectrum?