Blue Voodoo: A Romantic Retelling of Bluebeard (The Hidden Kingdom Series Book 2) (21 page)

“Ah, ah, ah, Julien. Francois. Marcon.”

A shiver ran down his spine, heat infusing his body. Dammit, he had to find that woman and he had to find her now. He didn’t care if it took all evening, he would woo her out of her foul mood and tonight they would have a
proper
wedding night.

 “Now, you must swear that you will not use this to shame the other boys.” Julien refocused on the boy, sternly keeping his thoughts from going too far afield. “After all, it isn’t their fault they don’t have proof of their masculinity such as this.” He thumped a hand on the wood. “Not many men can saunter around the village a proud survivor of an attack by Parlangua.” He met the eyes of the boy’s father. “The girls will be all over him. I don’t envy you the time you’ll have.”

The boy’s eyes had grown wide and he was sitting considerably straighter than he had been a minute ago. His father had a considering look on his face, his shoulders rising as if a weight had been taken from them.

Gertrude on the other hand…

“It sounds hollow.” She eyed the wooden limb suspiciously. “Is that a cork in the end?”

Julien froze, smile carved into his face as he fought not to let his eyes fall to the cork in question. Now that she mentioned it, he did recall the pirate he’d won it off of taking a swig before he’d handed it over. It hadn’t seemed strange at the time, they’d all been a bit worse for the rum, but now…

There’s no way that Dacian beast would have forked it over if it had so much as a drop left in it.
He held Gertrude’s eyes—a feat he didn’t think many liars could master. “Yes, it is hollow. It has to float so it can be found if it goes overboard—hazards of working at sea, you know.”

“And the cork?”

“Why, to let water out should the surface be punctured and the leg compromised. Have to drain it before it can be properly fixed, you know.”

The tides take it, Dominique, where are you? This interrogation is intolerable without a pint to wash it down.

“If you’ll excuse me, I should go see to my wife. New bride, and all.”

He winked at the boy’s father, drawing a small smile from the man. As he’d hoped, Gertrude zeroed her attention on her husband, leaving him free to leap off the bed and bolt.

He closed the door gently behind him. “There’s no pleasing some people.”

“If I might have a word?”

The voice came out of nowhere and Julien’s heart leapt into his throat. He threw himself against the wall, swearing as his back connected with the edge of a painting. The gilded frame jarred his spine, the impact knocking the painting from its moorings. The whole piece of art crashed to the ground with a resounding crack.

Tenoch stood in front of Julien, one black eyebrow arched as he observed the chaos. He couldn’t have looked more out of place if he’d painted himself pink. His copper skin was still mostly bare, his body kept from complete nudity by only the simplest of animal skins and a smattering of gold jewelry. A dagger hung sheathed at his side, but more than the weapon, the man’s bearing kept him from appearing silly. He radiated calm, bottomless black eyes not quite empty, but not giving any hints to his emotions either.

Julien took a few slow breaths. He was half leaning against the wall, but he wasn’t ready to stand just yet, not when his pulse was still beating like a wild animal in his throat. “Tell me, Tenoch, do you intend to make these little surprise visits a habit?”

“I’ll answer your question if you like, but it will waste valuable time. Your wife would benefit from a speedy conversation between us.”

Wood snapped as Julien crushed the painting’s frame in a sudden scramble to regain his feet. “What about my wife? Where is Dominique?”

“Do you love her?”

“Do I…” Julien flexed his hands, barely able to hold himself back from throttling the answers he needed from the man’s throat. “Where. Is. My. Wife?”

“If you don’t love her, then her location is irrelevant. You cannot help her if you do not love her, if you are not willing to do what only a man in love would do.”

A chill frosted up Julien’s spine, an aching, bone deep chill. He swallowed past the lump in his throat with some effort, struggling to remain calm. “You have always spoken plainly with me, Tenoch. Do so now. Please tell me where she is.”

Tenoch’s gaze remained steady, though there was a glint of sadness in his eyes now. “That knowledge will doom you both if you don’t love her.”

Julien clenched his jaw. “Tell me.”

“She is at the mausoleum that contains the bodies of your deceased wives.”

Julien took off at a dead run before the last word left the copper-skinned man’s lips. He didn’t need to hear the rest of what Tenoch had to say—it wouldn’t matter. If Dominique was at the mausoleum, then she was in more danger than she could possibly know.

She doesn’t know them. She doesn’t know what they’re capable of
.

Because I didn’t tell her.

He tore off his clothes as he ran down the hall, stopping only to shuck his pants and boots. Servants stared at him like he’d lost his mind, surrounding him with wide eyes and open mouths. None of that mattered, and he didn’t spare them a glance as he careened down the stairs, throwing himself into the change with more force than he ever had before. The transformation was blessedly fast, human flesh becoming lighter as it changed, bones hollowing, muscles stretching. Feathers flowed like water over his body, holding him in a cushioned embrace as he spread massive wings. Guillaume tore open the door in time for Julien to sail out of it and he made a mental note to reward the man when he returned. That is, if he were still there. If any of them were still there now that his little secret was out.

No time, no time. Dominique is there—with them. Oh, blessed gods, I should have told her. I should have told her everything, should have told her… Now she’s there, and she’s a voodoo queen…

Gods, forgive me.

Pain exploded up his leg. Bones splintered as something closed on his ankle and held on with merciless tenacity. His body stuttered in the air, flailing. He beat his wings, instinct driving panic through his veins like an acidic wave, an avian scream tearing from his beak. The added weight yanked him out of the air, and he slammed into the grass with enough force to snap his beak closed.

Agony lanced his nerve endings as he floundered on the ground, fighting the urge to shift and heal himself. Such a course of action would be fruitless while the threat was still present. Better to stay in this form, to summon his power. Thrashing against the ground with his wings, he craned his neck and pointed his beak over his feathered shoulder.

Parlangua dug its teeth deeper into his calf, and pain like flames scorched up his leg to lick at the rest of his body.

Julien screamed again, but this time it wasn’t just pain. “Traitor!”

The word barely escaped his beak, the syllables twisted, screeching as he fought to get them out of a mouth not meant for speaking. Parlangua narrowed its eyes, its words garbled by the limb trapped between its teeth. “You would bring her nothing but misery.”

Julien screamed again, frustration tying his nerves into hard knots. Plumes rose around his neck. “Danger! Wives…magic!”

Curse this form and its pathetically inadequate vocal cords.
He beat the air harder, trying to build up the power he needed for the lightning that would save him. Slate grey clouds rolled over the sky like a winter blanket, but they were too slow.

There was nothing else for it.

The change came slower this time, impeded by the pain seizing his body and the fact that the jaws locked on his leg sent blood pouring from open wounds as he shifted. His warping fingers and feathers rooted into the soil as he braced himself through the agony and rushed as fast as he could, gasping when he finally had proper use of his vocal cords.

“Wives were magic,” he gasped. “Dominique is in danger.”

Parlangua froze, chartreuse eyes sharpening. It opened its mouth, just wide enough to let Julien finish his shift, his flesh blessedly knitting together with supernatural speed as his body went from one form to another. The skin over the wound was pink and shiny, but at least blood no longer poured from the wound.

The beast’s teeth grazed his leg, faint threatening prickles. “Explain.”

“No time, no time,” he panted, trying to resist the urge to yank his foot free. “I have to get to Dominique.”

Parlangua said nothing, had no reaction beyond the way light refracted against its cold eyes. Julien couldn’t wait for it to make a decision, he didn’t have time to convince the beast, to wait for it to choose whether or not to believe him. It would be a huge benefit to have Parlangua on his side right now, but
time
…

Teeth skated over his skin as he jerked free of Parlangua’s still blessedly open jaws. Instinct made the beast snap its mouth closed, but panic gave Julien the speed he needed. He kicked out with all his might, his heel making contact with one of the creature’s glowing yellow eyes. A fierce roar of pain and a wet trickle heralded the destruction of the eyeball, fluid dripping down his foot as Julien flipped over and scrambled onto his feet. 

He bolted into the forest, weaving through the trees as fast as he could, gaze locked ahead of him where he could see the mausoleum in his mind’s eye. Weakened from shifting form twice in such a short time span, his body protested, his chest heaving as he struggled to move through the fatigue weighing down his limbs. Some part of his mind panicked, reminding him that he was now naked in human form—no weapons and no magic. He was helpless until he recovered enough to shift again.

I’ve already shifted twice, not ten minutes apart. It will take hours to recover for another shift. I should go back, get a weapon.
He ran faster.
No. No, there’s no time, no time, no time.

Dominique, I’m coming.

Chapter Seventeen

Waves of cold air rolled off the mausoleum, thick with the scent of death and old blood.  Dominique rubbed her arms, trying to smooth out the gooseflesh as she stood at the mouth of the threshold, the heavy stone door hanging on its hinges, unmoved by the breeze. The bodies inside—and she had to think of them only as bodies for now—lay silent and unmoving. The mausoleum had three levels, so the sisters were lying on slabs one above the other. All Dominique could see was their bare feet…and the blood stains.

Narcisse was right. He didn’t even prepare them for a proper burial
.

“Are you certain you can do this?”

One of the grieving sisters clutched at Dominique’s arm, too-thin fingers grasping like claws, digging into her flesh in a painful grip. Her brown eyes showed far too much white, glowing in the burgeoning moonlight all the more for the tears glistening in them. Her raw emotion did nothing for Dominique’s attempts to center herself in preparation for the ritual she was about to attempt—a ritual she had believed herself incapable of until this night.

She hid her thoughts as best she could as she put a hand over the woman’s, gently eased her fingers from her arm. “You will have your answers.” She pressed against her shoulder, urging her to step back. She had to be careful not to press too hard since the woman couldn’t weigh more than a hundred pounds soaking wet and would likely fall over if Dominique wasn’t gentle. “Now, go stand with your sister. I need to prepare for the ritual.”

“And they’ll be able to tell you what happened?” the girl pressed, taking only a small step back. The thin skirt of her simple black dress swayed with the movement, rushing against sandals that would offer little protection slugging through the bayou. “They’ll be able to tell you he—”

“They will tell me everything. Please, go stand beside your sister.” A little voice inside Dominique’s head that sounded remarkably like her mother scolded her for speaking to the grieving girl that way. She was in need, in need of a service only Dominique could provide—that it was Dominique’s duty to provide. The fact that her duty may very well end up proving that her husband was a murderer did not justify treating these girls with cruelty.

But even her mother’s voice couldn’t soften Dominique’s face to an expression of understanding, couldn’t bring words of comfort to her tongue. Not when an image of Julien haunted her, the sight of his face twisted with pain, his voice begging her to free him. The vulnerability she’d seen, so rare on his smug face, did more to her heart than any number of grieving sisters could manage. A fact that would plague Dominique for the rest of her days.

The
loa
seemed to take pity on her, because the girl sagged with visible relief, her makeup still smudged from her earlier hysterics. It had been less than ten minutes ago that she’d finally stopped sobbing, ceased her wailing over her poor murdered sisters, shrieking her pleas for justice that only Dominique could provide. She sucked in a shuddering breath, and seemed to pull herself together a little bit, even went as far as to right her veil over her face. The other sister stood several yards away, observing Dominique with a face like carved steel. She didn’t show her pain as much as her sister, but it was there in the way her shoulders hung as though there were weights tied to them, the way her eyelids drooped. She held out an arm, offering her living sister solace even as her eyes remained on Dominique. A silent challenge to make good on what she’d claimed she could do.

Her mother’s book weighed heavily in Dominique’s hand. Less of a book and more of a journal, it contained her mother’s thoughts, experiences, and rituals. She had kept careful records of the services she’d performed, taking detailed notes on each situation and her reasoning for approaching the solutions she did. Dominique had never read her mother’s book, hadn’t wanted to know if what the people said about her was true. Now she’d spent the entire day pouring over this journal and many others, studying her mother’s records, learning what she would need to do, what had to be done.

Shaking off thoughts of her mother and the burgeoning suspicion that performing the
desounen
would make her exactly what she had always sworn she would never be, Dominique faced the sisters.