Blue Voodoo: A Romantic Retelling of Bluebeard (The Hidden Kingdom Series Book 2) (20 page)

“Such a hurry to end this conversation.” Parlangua licked its teeth. “It is as if you fear what I am going to tell you.”

“Not at all.” She tucked stray curls into her scarf and smoothed it into place. “I simply have plans that need seeing to, so I don’t have time to waste on unnecessary conversation.”

“I am here to warn you that your life is in danger.” Parlangua’s tail flicked from side to side, thick scales rough on the tender green grass combing a swath clean of sticks and stones. “Your husband will be the death of you.”

Parlangua was many things, but never had she known it to exaggerate. If anything, the beast had always remained infuriatingly calm, speaking of even the most macabre events with the same voice one would use to discuss the weather. Even on the few occasions Dominique had seen it feed—only ever on animals—the creature had been efficient and ruthless, its pursuits absent of sadistic pleasure. Manipulation was understood, but unpracticed to the creature.

“What do you know about him?”

Parlangua bared its teeth again. “He is a murderer. Three wives he had, three wives he killed. Buried them on his own land no less.”

Narcisse’s words drifted back to Dominique.
“Three women… And he killed them all. The proof lies in a mausoleum nestled in the woods on his property. They lie there still covered in their own blood. He didn’t even give them an honorable burial. So much blood…”
Her mind paged back to trying to confront Julien about the entire matter, but he’d…gotten angry, hadn’t he? Hadn’t given her any answers at all, hadn’t deigned to provide any information whatsoever on his previous marriage. In fact, he had reversed the conversation immediately, demanded information from
her.

Then they’d fought… She’d bonded with him…And then, she remembered something very important. Julien holding his dagger, the wicked tip aimed at her heart as he pleaded with her to do as he asked, as he begged not to have to do the worst.

 His voice rose in her mind like fresh words whispered in her ear.
“The only way for one of my kind to forcefully free themselves would be to kill the magic user.”

Nausea rose inside her like a greasy tide. She cleared her throat, ignoring the sweat chilling her forehead. “What do you know of his marriage?”

Parlangua lifted its snout. “Ah, you see it now then. You understand.”

“Do you know the nature of his previous marriage or not?” she snapped. Her pulse was throbbing painfully in her throat and it was getting harder to swallow past a sudden lump. Instead of fighting it, she let the anger show in her eyes, let it coax her power to skin-tingling life. “Tell me.”

“No.” Parlangua’s eyes glistened, a sickly sheen over the greenish-yellow orbs. “You’re the one who claims to be a voodoo queen, you’re the one who claims to serve your people, to put them before yourself. You know there is only one way to know for certain what happened to those women—only one way for them to find peace in death. If your husband has truly diverted you from your righteous path, then there is nothing I can do to save you.”

A shiver ran down Dominique’s spine despite her efforts to suppress it. “You… You are speaking of zombies.”

Parlangua nodded, an awkward gesture for its massive head. “Yes. Your mother performed such a ritual twice.
She
was a woman who knew where her priorities lay. Of course, she was married to your father, a strong, honorable man. Not a self-serving pirate too full of his own importance to recognize that his refusal to accept what he is only weakens him.”

“You don’t know him.” Dominique shoved her hand into her satchel, petting the objects there as if their familiarity could somehow comfort her.

Parlangua’s nostrils flared. “I know that he fights the very idea of bonding. Tell me, Dominique, you haven’t been so foolish as to fall in love with him, have you?”

“Go back to the swamp, Parlangua.” Dominique unlocked the protection wards on her home. “Your counsel is not needed here—or wanted.”

“As you will. But remember this—when you look back at your life and wonder how you shamed yourself—again—remember that it was for the same man and for the same reason. He fears losing himself, Dominique, fears what letting another person too close will do to him. A man like that will never make a good husband, a good partner. He will always leave you.”

“I will not shame myself. I truly do hold my people’s best interests in my heart, above my own. Nothing I have done with Julien has put their welfare in jeopardy.”

“So he has not forbidden you from going near the grave of his wives?”

Dominique‘s hand tightened around the doorknob. “If you think I would allow him to prevent me from doing what must be done for the good of my people, then you do not know me at all.”

“So glad to hear it.” Parlangua looked at something over Dominique’s shoulder. “And I’m certain they will be relieved to hear that as well.”

Dominique followed Parlangua’s gaze, startled to find two sobbing women stumbling through the marshy area. They were dressed in black rags, with veils hiding their faces. The garb of mourning. Something about the way the creature looked at them sickened her stomach.

“Who are they?”

“Former in-laws of your husband.” Parlangua snorted. “I hope you have your mother’s notes…”

Chapter Sixteen

Julien gripped the edge of the balcony as he strained to see into the distance, searching for some sign of his wife’s return. The sun was starting to set, shadows stretching like fingers of fog over the land. Flickers of torches lit up the dark tree line surrounding the swamp as the people prepared for the second night of the Midsummer Celebration.

She stayed away all day. All. Day. What the blazes is she doing?

“Probably sulking.” He drummed his fingers on the balcony railing. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

Tap, tap, tap, tap
.

Julien pressed his fingertips to the aching flesh over his heart. For a second, his hand felt like it would sink right through, pierce flimsy skin and disappear into the black hole trying to swallow him from the inside out. That hole had been a part of him for as long as he could remember, but it had never felt as empty as it did now.

“No. Think about something else.” He pivoted on his heel and paced back into his bedroom. The scent of dust still clung to the air, a reminder of how long he’d allowed the house to remain empty while he was at sea. It was a miracle the place hadn’t been looted or repossessed as abandoned property. Whatever the reason, he was grateful. He had no idea what he would have done with the bodies if he hadn’t had the land to hide them. He snorted, batting half-heartedly at a curtain, sending another burst of particles into the air. 

An image of the mausoleum came to his mind, and his blood thinned so quickly he nearly rubbed his arms in an attempt to scrub away the gooseflesh pebbling his skin. The bodies. He was afraid to destroy them, afraid that without a physical anchor, the souls of his wretched wives might find new hosts, might find a way to come back. Maybe he could ask Dominique how…
Dominique.

His gaze wandered to the bed as if she were still there. She was his wife, she had married him, and she’d been lying there in his bed—
in his arms
. How in the name of the seven seas had that gone wrong? What sort of man fails to close such a deal, fails to claim his prize in his own marriage bed?

“Inconceivable.”

Of course, Dominique wasn’t just any woman. No, any other woman would have succumbed to his charms, would have had the good sense to surrender to his kisses, to spend the day naked in bed, enjoying all the pleasures he had to offer. Any other woman would have wanted to talk about something—anything—other than the pain and humiliation of the previous night. Any other woman would have had the
decency
to pretend such an embarrassment had never happened.

“But not Dominique. Oh, no, not Dominique.” He glared at her side of the bed—not that she deserved a side, considering the meager time she’d spent in it.

As soon as she brought her rear end back home where she belonged, he would make it a point to drag her to bed with him until she understood that was where she really belonged. And afterwards, he might ask her what to do with…

Wait, someone had already told Dominique of his other wives. She already knew he’d been married before. Who told her? And if she knew he’d been married before, what else did she know? Who had told her?

He took a deep breath to calm his suddenly racing heart. “Relax, Julien. It’s forgotten. She has new things to be angry about now. Let it go and it will never come up again.”

A knock on his door drew him out of his thoughts and Julien drew himself up to his full height. He composed his face, attempting nonchalance in anticipation of his wife’s late return. “Come in.”

A servant’s face appeared and Julien bit back a curse of disappointment. “Yes, Laurent?”

“The boy’s parents would like to leave now.”

“Already? They’ve only been here a day.” Julien drummed his fingers on his thigh. He didn’t want to brag, but he had one of the finest homes in this area of Sanguennay. The boy he’d saved from Parlangua should have been over the moon to stay here, as should his parents. They were being treated like royalty, Julien had seen to it. “Why do they want to leave?”

“The boy’s leg could not be saved. The healer had to remove the mangled flesh below the knee.” The servant’s face twisted with sympathy, grey eyebrows drawing together. “It is healing nicely, much of that no doubt due to your own wife’s
gris-gris
, but the boy is understandably upset. He is only twelve, a very active age for a young man. And now he’s been told he will never walk again.”

An image of the boy rose in Julien’s mind. He could still see him holding onto the slim cypress in the swamp, face contorted in determination and no small amount of agony and terror. Parlangua’s gnarled muzzle locked tight on his leg, blood flowing, painting the giant white teeth crimson. It was no small ordeal for anyone, to say nothing of a twelve-year-old boy.

Dominique will be devastated. She’ll blame herself.

“He will walk again.” Julien thrust a finger at the older man. “He will walk, he will run, he will
flourish
.”

He strode across the room to a large trunk beside the wall. The heavy, buckled lid clanged as he flung it open. “I know it’s here somewhere.” A black lump rolled as he jostled the contents, landing with a disturbingly solid thunk. “A cannonball? No wonder this blasted thing was so heavy.” He grunted, shoving the ammunition to the side with a mental note to make Drust lug it back to the ship. He tugged at some red material that was either a cloak or a blanket. Finally he spotted his prize. “Ah-ha!”

Laurent peered over Julien’s shoulder and barely missed getting struck in the face when Julien hefted a piece of wood over his head. A leather harness had been fastened to the top of the smooth club with a stem as wide as a man’s leg and a tapered pegged tip.

“My lord?” Laurent eyed him warily.

Julien grinned and hefted himself to his feet. He passed the bemused servant and plunged into the hallway, making a beeline for his guests’ room. He threw open the door and found the boy huddled on the bed in a mountain of forest green pillows. The lad’s cheeks had lost the angry red tint his tears and panic had painted on him before, but they still glistened with the remnants of fresh tears. The tears of a boy who saw too much time lost in bed in his future. His leg was propped up on its own lump of down and cotton, shiny scarred skin glistening in the daylight shining through the large windows.

It was nothing short of a miracle. Julien had seen more than his share of severed limbs—it was an unfortunate hazard of life at sea. If it wasn’t a sea monster of some ken or another, it was a mermaid with a twisted sense of justice or poorly secured rigging. Never had he seen a wound like that heal to shiny scars in twenty-four hours. Dominique was more powerful than even he had anticipated, if her
gris-gris
could yield results like that.

The boy’s mother—Gertrude, he’d heard a servant call her—was cradling her son’s cheek in her hand, speaking in a low, soothing voice. His father—Claude?—stood beside the bed, shoulders slumped, eyes bright with tears he was desperately holding back. Julien noted the man’s clothing, the dirt, the broad-rimmed hat held in a half-hearted grip. He was a farmer then. Julien winced.
The boy’s help will be sorely missed on a farm.

It took them all a moment to register his presence. Claude startled first, scrambled to keep from dropping his hat, then bowed his head. “Monsieur Marcon.”

Julien nodded back to him, but quickly focused his full attention on the child—young man, he corrected himself.

“It has been brought to my attention that I completely failed to present you with this gift.” Julien held the wood over his head and grinned. “I do hope you’ll forgive me.”

The boy sniffed, blinking rapidly to clear his eyes. “What is it?”

“This,
mon ami
, is your ticket to fame.” Julien strode over to the bed and plopped down beside the boy. Gertrude made a small sound in her throat that might have been a squeak of surprise or indignation—it was hard to tell, the woman had a poker face that would bring some of the pirates Julien had known to tears. He tried to ignore her as he settled by the boy’s leg.

The next sound out of the mother’s throat was definitely protest, but this time Claude put restraining hands on his wife’s shoulders. She dropped the hand that had been reaching for Julien, but her eyes gave him plenty of warning about what it would mean to harm her child.

What would Dominique do if she looked at her like that?
He fitted the wooden club to the boy’s leg and fastened the harness to secure it. Dominique would probably start using the woman’s full name, emphasizing the first, middle, and last with equal finality. Then she would do something creepy, gather a hair or bit of clothing, insinuate that she would use her magic to bring misfortune to the woman. One corner of his mouth quirked up. She’d done the same thing to him the first time they’d met and he’d tried to kiss her without asking properly. He could still hear his name on her tongue.