Blue Voodoo: A Romantic Retelling of Bluebeard (The Hidden Kingdom Series Book 2) (12 page)

“It is rare to see someone without a royal bloodline have such an effect.” He focused on Dominique again, those shadowed eyes unwavering. “Is that why they call you the voodoo queen?”

Talking about one’s reputation could be as good as damaging it. “You are not from around here,” she said instead.

She arched an eyebrow and cast a deliberate glance over the stranger’s form. His body was painted around his ribcage with jaguar rosettes, and he wore a loincloth low on his hips and a god’s headdress. The arch of the headdress was formed from solid gold and long elegant feathers dyed a deep turquoise fanned around it, backed by even longer pitch-colored feathers plucked from a pheasant.

“No.” The man fingered one of the plumes brushing his shoulder. “My name is Tenoch. I am from the Kingdom of Mu.”

The hairs on the back of Dominique’s neck rose. The kingdom of Mu. The most frightening of the five kingdoms, a place only spoken of in hoarse whispers by any outside its borders. She’d never been there, didn’t know anyone who had, but like everyone else, she’d heard the stories. It was said that the land required a blood offering from every man, woman, and child once a year—that the very plants themselves would rise up, offering a thorn for the citizens to prick themselves on—and vengefully thrusting themselves into the flesh of those who didn’t offer the sacrifice willingly.

The blood fed a monstrous creature upon whose back the land had been created, and there were rumors that at one time, the beast had been fed not a drop of blood from everyone—but every drop of blood, and every pound of flesh, from one poor soul… A yearly sacrifice steeped in ritual. Suddenly the man’s rich adornments held a far more sinister sheen, and as hard as she tried, Dominique couldn’t stop herself from dropping her gaze to his chest and the scars that stood out like melted wax. Thick, white, and raised…right over his heart.

“You’ve heard of my kingdom then.”

Dominique patted her crimson head wrap, busying her hands with pressing the creases and making certain the folds remained tight, keeping the wild curls of her hair carefully contained. “I have. Though I have never had the pleasure of meeting one of your kingdom’s people.”

“The man you were speaking with when I arrived, he wanted help for a lovesick friend.” Tenoch lifted the glass Narcisse had abandoned and sniffed experimentally at the lingering traces of bourbon.

 “I’m afraid I cannot discuss my dealings with other people. It is a matter of respecting their…privacy.” She stopped, raising an eyebrow as Tenoch alternated sniffing at the glass and raising it up to peer at its contents. “Would you like a drink?”

Tenoch didn’t look away from the glass. “What is it?”

“Do you not have bourbon in Mu?” She held up a single finger to summon Monsieur Hugon. The barkeep’s gaze seemed to be glued to the bar’s surface, his attention lifting only to confirm Dominique’s non-verbal command before he set himself to the task.

Tenoch straightened in his seat as the older man neared the bar. He stopped short of being anywhere near Tenoch and served the fresh glass to her. It was difficult to tell if his distance and discomfort was the result of overhearing Tenoch’s home of origin, or if Tenoch’s clothing had made him wary of engaging in any unnecessary conversation. She dismissed it as irrelevant and slid the glass over to her guest.

Tenoch followed the glass intently, grip closing around it as soon as it was within reach. “No, we do not have bourbon in Mu. The Jaguar King drinks wine with the rest of the council on occasion, but the kingdom of Mu itself is…” He halted, the glass halfway between the bar and his lips. His brows furrowed, his eyes losing focus like all he could see was barren rock extending for miles.

“Dry?”

“Yes.” He resumed his study of the glass. “Yes, dry.”

“Interesting.”

She leaned forward, observing intently as he took his first sip. His nose wrinkled and he peered into the depths of the liquor, eyeing it with suspicion like it had bitten him.

“Too strong?”

He took another sip. Deep lines of concentration appeared between his eyebrows, and this time he swished the liquid around his mouth before swallowing. He licked his flushed lips as he set the glass back on the bar with a satisfied clink. She opened her mouth to ask for his opinion—as unbiased feedback was a rare commodity—but before she could speak, he twisted on his stool, facing her so directly and so quickly that she instinctually leaned back. “What? What’s the matter with it?”

 “If you had to choose between pride and love, which would you choose?”

“Which would I— What?”

“If you had to—”

“I heard what you said.” Dominique held up a hand, already sliding off her stool. Her skin prickled with the stares of the other patrons, the tips of her ears burning beneath her headscarf. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I don’t have time for philosophical hypotheticals. I have much to do in preparation for tonight’s festivities.”

She dropped a few coins on the counter and strode for the door. The spot between her shoulders itched and a moment later, Tenoch appeared at her side. The words to tell him to leave her alone, to take his personal—and loud—questions and go away, bubbled in her throat, held back by her need to maintain some level of decorum in front of her people. He took advantage of her silence, following her out the door and onto the path that would lead her back to the edge of the bayou and her home.

“You will not lose their respect if you marry him.”

“Shhh!”

Dominique tilted her head to acknowledge a group of women walking by, her brittle smile expertly pinned  in place. Their footsteps slowed as they crossed paths with Tenoch, their gazes lingering on every scandalous detail of his outrageous attire. The youngest one, a slender girl with skin the same sienna hue as Dominique’s and deep, rich brown eyes, gestured to his garb and smiled.

Tenoch lifted an eyebrow. “You know them?”

She leaned in and hissed a whisper. “Yes. And you’re lucky tonight is the Midsummer Celebration or you would be drawing attention of an entirely different kind.”

A wrinkle furrowed his brow. “What—”

“I am not discussing my personal life with you. ” Her smile nearly cracked. “And I will thank you not to ask such impertinent questions in public where anyone might overhear you.”

“I was trying to ask you these questions inside. You left.”

She trembled, nerves so taut she was certain they would snap at any moment. Doubling over, Dominique traced a finger over the pattern woven into the top of each of her boots. The beads and bits of feather trapped in the sky blue threads hummed as she drew the verve for the
loa
Papa Legba.

Warm energy washed over her feet, up her legs. It was like lying in bed with her lower body bathed in a patch of sunlight, the heat invigorating as it eased some of the stiffness from her muscles. She straightened and faced Tenoch.

“I’m sorry, but you will have to excuse me. I must be getting home.”

She didn’t wait for an answer. The first step she took sealed the magic, and the world around her grew fuzzy at the edges, as though she were looking at everything and everyone through the glass of an imperfect bottle. Another step and things grew fuzzier still, though she could still bring people and objects into focus if she concentrated. She didn’t pause, didn’t slow down, just marched on toward home and peace.

“You can walk through the astral plane?”

A squeak erupted from Dominique and she snapped her mouth closed so fast she nearly bit her tongue off . Tenoch walked beside her, keeping pace with every step she took. But that wasn’t possible. He wasn’t part of the magic.

“How did you…?”

“I traveled the astral plane for many years after my death, before the rebirth of the Black God’s wife restored my physical body. The ability remains one of my gifts.”

Bile churned in Dominique’s stomach, and she walked a little faster even though she had little hope of outpacing him. “Your death. Then the scars on your chest… You did not survive that injury.”

One sleek black eyebrow rose. “No, I did not survive having my heart torn out.”

There should have been considerably more emotion in that sentence than there was. The words had a ring that spoke of past heat, as though once they had been spat in fury, but now were merely fact. How did anyone move on after such an…ordeal?

“You have come from a
bokor
then.” Her voice remained even, but horror thinned the words until they were mere ghosts of sound. The magic thickened, the world blurred beyond recognition as her physical body wove in and out of the astral plane, consuming the distance between the road and her home in half the time.

“A
bokor
?”

“One who serves the
loa
with both hands.”

Tenoch blinked. “Both hands?”

“To serve the
loa
with both hands is to practice magic on both sides of the spectrum, good and evil, black and white. A
bokor
has veered from the true path, has allowed power to corrupt them.” She spouted the words as though she were reading from a child’s textbook. Up ahead, her home came into view, the small cottage just visible beneath the overhanging boughs of a flourishing cypress at the edge of the bayou.

“I have never met a
bokor
that I know of. I was sent by the Black God. Well, by the council to which he belongs. I trust you know of the five princes, those who will someday rule each of the five kingdoms?”

“Prince Etienne, Prince Kirill, Prince Adonis, Prince Patricio, and Prince Saamal,” Dominique rattled off immediately. “I know them, of course.”

As her foot touched the path that led up to her front door, the magic of the traveling spell broke. Details snapped into vivid focus, the haze vanishing as if it had never been. Tenoch’s presence remained a heavy weight against her back as she ran a hand over the carvings in her thick wooden door, brushing the wards that protected her from the defensive measures of her home. Energy writhed beneath her fingertips and then parted. She opened the door to her cottage and stepped inside, sighing as he followed behind her too quickly for her to dismiss him and reset the wards to keep him out.

To make matters undoubtedly worse, she hadn’t been expecting company. It wasn’t like she normally had any visitors to speak of, with the expressed exception of those seeking her help. And even so, she always went to them for any services rendered. Frowning at the glimpse of her underthings hanging over the awning walling off her bathing area, she stalked across the room, collecting the few other embarrassing personal items draped on her grinding table as she went.

She tossed everything into a weathered, leather trunk near her bed and snapped the lid shut, stressed fingers whitening at the tips. “You were saying?”

“The princes have formed a council—a ruling council.” Tenoch seemed unaware of her rancor over his presence, busy wandering around investigating her private abode. “There is a new kingdom being created even now, and this council seeks to have an active hand in its population. To that end, they are approaching couples they believe will offer some benefit to their new kingdom, inviting them to come and contribute to this new world.”

“And if we play our cards right,
chere
, you and I will be the next couple to bless their precious kingdom.”

He didn’t close the door behind him.

Dominique shoved her hand into her pocket, closed her fist around the string holding the cayenne packet, and with a vicious tug sent it flying through the air straight toward the source of that maddening, whiskey smooth voice. Silver flashed and the packet flew from the severed string, tumbled through the air, and landed soundlessly on the planks of the wooden floor.

Black boots stepped into her line of vision near the useless packet. She followed them up, over a pair of immaculate brown trousers that looked as soft as the coat of a new deer. A belt hugged a narrow waist, anchoring a white shirt that moved with the slight breeze through the
still open
door.

The neckline was open just enough to reveal a flash of smooth, sun-tanned flesh. The blue jacket that completed the ensemble hung down to mid-calf and was edged with fine gold embroidery. Shining brass buttons glowed like muted suns, so brilliant they almost seemed to give off a heat of their own. He tilted the silver sword resting at his side, and the flicker of reflected light broke the spell.

Julien wagged his sword at her, shining brown eyes bright with male humor. “We will need to discuss this cayenne pepper habit. It is unbefitting of royalty such as yourself.”

The desire to hit him was all the stronger for the other, opposing desire that warred with it. Dominique clenched her hands at her sides. “I told you I would speak with you the final night of the Midsummer Celebration. You have no reason to be here.”

“Aye, so you did promise such a timetable. But then you hit me with your little baggie of cayenne.” Julien’s free hand rose as if to rub his eyes, but he seemed to remember himself and stroked his beard instead. “Not very loving of you, my future wife.”

Dominique backed toward the shelves to one side of her fireplace, careful to keep them both in her sights as she sidestepped the wide table made from a section of a great oak. The polished surface gleamed in the light streaming through the front door, the natural verves created by the oak’s rings humming with subtle power.

She held onto that undercurrent of serenity as she blindly rummaged around on the shelves. “I am not—”

“And if we play our cards right,
chere
, you and I will be the next couple to bless their precious kingdom.”

“I don’t care. I’m not—wait a minute.” She pointed at Julien with a long matchstick. “You know about this new kingdom?”

“I do.” Julien took a confident step forward. “And I cannot think of another couple who have so much to offer it as you and I.”

Something of Dominique’s thoughts must have showed on her face, because his grin wilted. He took two steps back, eyeing the matchstick in her hand as if expecting her to light it by magic and sending it hurtling at him like a firecracker. Despite her wish to do exactly that, Dominique struck the match against the side of her bookcase, and knelt at the hearth to coax the kindling to life.