Blue Voodoo: A Romantic Retelling of Bluebeard (The Hidden Kingdom Series Book 2) (16 page)

“I am not talking to my glass of bourbon to annoy anyone.” Dominique lowered her glass to the smooth wooden table, turning it in circles and watching the firelight from the surrounding torches flicker in the liquid depths. “I am speaking to the bourbon because right now, it is the sanest option.”

His eyebrows knitted, and she pointed over her shoulder.

The Midsummer Celebration was in full swing. Men, women, and children danced and sang, wearing colors so bright they challenged the night sky to keep its shadowy secrets. Food and drink were readily available for all, and the vendors paid little if any attention to paltry things such as payment. Joy was thick in the air, an invigorating perfume that raised spirits and rendered all right with the world. A charming parade marched past the table nestled against the side of Hugon’s tavern where Dominique had sat alone until Tenoch’s arrival.

“That’s a lovely ring.”

Dominique snorted, amicably glancing down at her “wedding ring.” It was beautiful, a gold band tastefully etched with ancient symbols of happiness and loyalty. It wasn’t gaudy in the least, not a ring that shouted to all who saw it that the presenter of said ring was a man of means. In point of fact, it hadn’t been chosen by a man at all.

“He came here intending to force me to marry him, and he didn’t even bother to bring a ring.”

Like her body, her voice felt soaked in the liquor, her cadence deep, smooth, and steady. She sounded like her old self, like the powerful voodoo queen her people so loved and respected. What a fortunate coincidence that this was the night she could allow herself more than one bourbon—could even act a bit silly if she pleased. It was Midsummer’s night, and no one was immune from the festivities—not even Dominique Laveau.

Tenoch used a sharp thumb nail to trace the grooves in the table. “When last we spoke, you gave me the distinct impression that you would not marry him. May I be so bold as to ask why you changed your mind?”

Dominique opened her mouth, a ready response on her tongue, a simple explanation involving good business and not having had all the facts until now. A reflection of the bodies writhing behind her sparkled in her glass, reminding her that this was a night to live free, to forget convention and…

“Did you know he is an
impundulu
?”

“Yes.” He shrugged a careless shoulder. “I still see on both planes, the physical and the astral. The pirate’s other form is quite visible.”

“I didn’t know.” She cast a surreptitious glance around to be sure that the joviality of the occasion was keeping attention off of her conversation. “Did you also know that unlike everything I’ve ever been told about his race, he is adamant that he will never bond with a magic wielder, that he will keep the well inside his being empty? He sees it as enslavement.”

“He married you. Does he no longer have the same fear?”

Dominique stared harder at her glass, eyes following Tenoch’s finger as he reached out and nudged it, making the liquid rock. “He is desperate enough to risk it.” She pulled the glass away from Tenoch. “And of course there’s the new kingdom you told him about—the one he cannot enter without a wife.”

Tenoch searched the depths of the liquor. “You are angry with me for telling him of the new kingdom? I did tell him I was only guessing about the need to be part of a mated pair.” He reached for the glass again. “Perhaps it’s all just a convenient excuse to be with you.”

She tugged the bourbon away from Tenoch’s fingers and took a sip. Exhaling through her nose to savor the aroma, she clapped the glass back on the table, cradling it protectively with both hands. “Whether part of him wants to be with me or not is irrelevant. His fear of enslavement, of bonding, is greater than any…affection he has for me. He would never stay. Not for the right reasons.”

“Madame Laveau!”

The shout came from behind her, but Dominique didn’t turn. Rather, she watched the bourbon slide against the sides of her glass as she swirled it around, letting her mind dance over the events of the day—studiously avoiding any thoughts of what events might occur tonight.  She would speak with whoever was shouting at her when they saw fit to sit down and address her in a calm and respectful manner, not bellowing at her as though she were a wayward hound.

A body half-collapsed into the chair beside her, alerting her that Tenoch had disappeared again. She idly noted that the man had an uncanny ability to come and go without warning. There was probably something more to that stealth. She’d think on it later. For now, she zeroed in on the next man to come calling.

He is such a pretty young man. He should apply himself to something other than the bedroom.

Narcisse had tucked his admirable physique into a wonderful sky blue silk shirt and a pair of velvet maroon pants dusted with amber granules from a dirt road. His shiny boots were caked with similar red soil, like he’d abandoned the regular paths to cut around the parade.

He struggled to catch his breath. “M…M…Madame Laveau, I have come to plead for your forgiveness.”

“And what is it that you need my forgiveness for?” Dominique took another sip of her whiskey, casting a glance around the parade for some sign of her husband.
Still hiding. Coward.

“You must believe that I didn’t know you were the woman he spoke of.”

Narcisse reached across the table, hands stopping short of hers. She arched an eyebrow as his fingers flexed into the wood. If he had the audacity to grab her, that would be a first.

Am I not as scary as I used to be? What happened?

“You are upset.” She slipped her hand off the bar and settled it on her lap, using the whiskey cradled in her other to gesture to him “You must relax. You didn’t know I was the woman who spoke of?”

“My friend!” Narcisse’s gaze darted about as he leaned closer as if about to reveal some awful secret. “My friend, the captain. The one I told you was besotted, who pined for a woman here in Sanguennay.”

Julien
. Something about her expression gave Narcisse pause, and he leaned back and straightened in his seat, chest rising and falling rapidly. She pursed her lips and waved for him to continue. “What about him?”

“Madame Laveau, if I’d known it was you, you must believe me, I would have warned you. I would have told you that you must not give in, that you must not marry him.” Narcisse wrung his hands until his fingers were red and angry. “This is why I wanted some sort of spell to dissuade his passion, to make him—”

“Narcisse, I can only assume you are speaking of my husband.” Dominique waited for the eager nod from Narcisse before continuing. “Yes, well, obviously he is my husband now, so warnings are irrelevant. I do not hold you responsible for anything, so you may continue on with your life with a clear conscience.”

“But your life is in danger!” he hissed.

Dominique put her fingers to her temple, trying to ease the headache forming there. “What are you talking about?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

A laughing couple stumbled past their table, bumping into Narcisse’s chair. The table edge jabbed him in the stomach and he grunted and shot an annoyed look at the jovial villagers. “Perhaps we could go someplace quieter to finish this conversation?”

Dominique was about to tell him they could well finish the conversation right here. Going off alone with a known prostitute wouldn’t make any of her people blink an eye—she was known to be nonjudgmental of those she helped and socialized with. But Julien would likely be…irate. “Of course. Lead the way.”

She followed the young man away from the loudest of the revelers, retreating closer to the shadows of the tree line that bordered the swamp. Narcisse tucked himself beside a wide oak and rapidly gestured for her to come closer. Dominique sighed at the theatrics, but humored him with a few steps closer.

“He’s been married before,” Narcisse whispered.

Glass shattered in her grip. She exhaled slowly through her nose, cursing the warm wetness that soaked her palm. Blood and bourbon. What a waste.

“When? Who?”

“Three women.” Narcisse spoke the words under his breath as if the trees themselves were listening. “Triplets from an island near the shores of Ville au Camp. Rich women.” He tried to stifle a shudder. “And he killed them all.”

The pulse in Dominique’s throat beat like a trapped animal beneath her skin, the sensation unpleasant, almost choking. Married. He’d been married before, ostensibly for reasons other than good business. To three women. Dominique knew there were places where it was normal to take more than one spouse, but she’d… She’d never thought that he would…

Her stomach rolled, her chest too tight to get a proper breath. Plucking bits of broken glass from wounds she couldn’t feel, Dominique forced the emotion from her voice. “What proof do you have of this?”

“The proof lies in a mausoleum nestled in the woods on his property. He had the corpses brought here with him.” Narcisse scanned the trees as if he could see the mausoleum in question even though they were far from Julien’s property—their property now. “They lie there still encrusted with their own blood. He didn’t even give them an honorable burial.”

“You speak with such detail.” Dominique held up a sliver of bloody glass, idly turning it this way and that. “Why is that, Narcisse?”

“I told you, I know this man.” His face twisted into a pained expression. “I called him friend for many years. I was there on the island when he married them, and I was there when…” A shudder rippled through Narcisse’s body, muscles gripped by sharp spasms, though his eyes remained steady on Dominique’s face. “I came to visit and… He was…”

The trembling grew worse, shaking Narcisse so violently that he stopped speaking, as if to continue would risk cutting his tongue off on chattering teeth. Dominique’s throat constricted, but she kept her face serene. After a moment he calmed enough to speak again.

“So much blood...”

The tree branches stretching before Dominique suddenly seemed like arms deliberately blocking her view, wanting to hide Julien’s past from her prying eyes, protect her from his crimes. Ice settled in her veins, freezing the warmth the bourbon had left in its wake.

“Please don’t tell him I told you. Do not even mention my name. If he were to discover… If he thought… If he knew…”

Fury rose like an acidic wave inside her. She’d bared her soul to him, and she’d received nothing in return but rhetoric and indignation. Dominique glared at Narcisse, suddenly wanting him gone. “I will tell him nothing. Go, make yourself scarce. Run!”

There was no reason for her to be angry with Narcisse, no reason to use that tone that frightened others so. There was certainly no reason for her power to ride her words, lash him like a vicious cat o’ nine tails. Narcisse flinched. He didn’t speak again, didn’t meet her eyes. He ducked around the other side of the tree and fled, vanishing into the crowd of revelers at the edge of the village.

Dominique stood by herself in the night, still staring out into the trees. Strangely enough, the idea that Julien had killed his wives for wealth rang ridiculous. Narcisse seemed earnest and sincere enough in his tale, but knowing how easy it was for rumor and excitement to blur fact and fiction, she wasn’t ready to cast judgement on the crime. Actually, she was more than preoccupied with the revelation itself.
Married before. To three women no less. But wouldn’t marry me. Not until he needed me. Not even me, just my reputation, the fact that I meet some requirement for an invitation.

“There you are, my dear wife.”

Julien’s voice spilled through the air like oil on water, smooth and deceptively pretty. Earlier when she’d heard that voice say “I do,” she’d been plunged into a moment of weakness, a moment when she’d suddenly looked forward to coming to his bed as his wife despite what she knew about his motivations.

“Number four.”

Julien halted a few paces away, still close enough for her to smell the sharp scent of rum on his breath. Heathen couldn’t even appreciate fine liquor. He continued to drink that swill even here in Sanguennay when there was bourbon to be had.

“I’m sorry?”

Dominique faced him, back ramrod straight, her features schooled into her most distant mask. “I am wife number four. Am I not?”

The grip that closed around her wrists dragged a hiss of pain from between Dominique’s lips. Julien had moved with inhuman speed, more a force of nature than a man of flesh and blood. The surprise she’d expected to see on his face, perhaps a smidgen of chagrin, a touch of nervousness, was blatantly absent. Instead, the lines of Julien’s handsome face were deep with fury, brown eyes once again the avian black orbs that were so terribly disconcerting on a human face.

“What do you know of them? The three. Who have you been talking to?”

He shook her with each question, jarring her where she stood and her back seethed with fresh pain, the blood from the myriad of cuts on her palm flowing faster. Her own fury rose in response, her power crackling in outrage at being manhandled by the pirate—
again
. She pushed her aura outward in a small cloud, like breath on a freezing winter’s day, wrenching her arms from his grasp at the same time. He released her, the quiet blast knocking him a couple steps back.

“Do not lay a hand on me again.” She pawed at the satchel still hanging at her side, and dug through it until she found the red bottle she was looking for.

Ignoring the seething pirate beside her, she spilled some of the bottle’s contents onto her palm. Fumbling to replace the cork in the bottle with one hand, she finally got it back into the satchel. A few muttered words under her breath, and a swirl of her finger through the watery, bloody mess in her palm and the symbol for healing flared into existence. She held her breath as the wounds closed, praying she’d gotten all the glass out. When the symbol had sunk completely into her flesh and disappeared, most of the wounds were completely gone, the few large ones flushed with fresh tissue.

“Tell me who spoke to you of the three.”

Julien reached for her, and she stiffened. His hand fell back at his side.