Dark Destiny: Book One of the Destiny Novella Series (Destiny Novellas 1) (11 page)

Mom, what should I do? Please, I don’t know what to do. I’m in so far over my head…

She closed her eyes and envisioned her mother: strength, beauty, grace, intelligence. A will of steel, not unlike Mimi’s. Not unlike her own. She opened her eyes, her gaze wandering from her dance partner to the others in the room, spinning, twirling, laughing, oblivious to the danger around them.

Her journal, the one her mother had given her. There was something in it she could use, and while it wasn’t to be entered into lightly, she didn’t see another choice. She looked back at Othello, meeting his gaze directly, unflinchingly. “We’ll take you there, if you make a blood pact with me that you will not harm any of my family again. Or Bennett.”

She knew a moment of satisfaction when he nearly missed a step. He looked at her through narrowed eyes. “What do you know of blood pacts?”

“You know very well I am a Salem Witch,” she said, meeting his cold eyes without flinching. “You’re not the only one with power, and even with that, you have limits. Everyone does.” Lily smiled. She would go with him alone to the graveyard Poppy had learned about, and she would use everything she had to get him to somehow incriminate himself. He hadn’t said anything since approaching her that they could legally use to hold him, at least for very long. But he wasn’t stupid, and if he realized she was wired before she could get him to do the blood pact, she was in trouble.

A muscle worked in his jaw as he watched her and she held her ground, wondering if her heart would ever beat at a normal rate again.

“Where is this place you must search?” he bit out.

“I will take you there alone, my sisters remain here.” She could only imagine the fury on Dahlia’s face as she said it. Her sisters would not be amused.

“Your sisters come with us. You brought them here, what happens to them is now on your head. No more bargaining, Miss Bordeaux, you try my patience.”

“You tried to kill me,” she whispered furiously, her eyes narrowed. “And implied threats to them. None of this is on my head.”
Give me a confession, you crazy bastard, come on!

He smiled. “They are watching you most anxiously from the shadowy corners of the room. And they do look lovely, the both of them. You’ve all benefited from an impressive gene pool. We shall exit those doors leading to the gardens, and I suspect they will be close on our heels.”

He drew Lily’s arm through his and began strolling toward a pair of large doors on the far wall. The smoky black tendrils again snaked their way from him and slid up her body as they had before, coming to rest on her throat as firmly as a set of hands that flexed, coiled, waiting to squeeze. She shoved at them mentally again, but this time, he held them firmly in place.

“You should hope, my dear young witch, that this goes well. I believe you are beginning to overestimate your own power and underestimate mine.”

Lily looked through her mask at the garden doors, willing herself to make it there without gagging, to follow through on the reckless course she’d just set for herself and her sisters. One thing she knew for certain—if anything happened to either Dahlia or Poppy, she would make it her mission on earth to destroy the
bokor
.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The
bokor
had had the right of it. He stood to the side of the French doors, clasping Lily’s upper arm with his long fingers as they waited for all of thirty seconds before Dahlia and Poppy exited, clearly looking for Lily.

“Hello, ladies,” he said softly, and Lily wondered if he possessed a gift similar to Poppy’s—possibly used his voice as a weapon to his advantage. It would certainly lull the unsuspecting into a false sense of security.

“We’re going with Othello to the graveyard,” Lily said before either Dahlia or Poppy might say something that indicated they had heard the conversation and already knew what was going on.

Dahlia’s glance flickered from her to Othello and rested there. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea, Lil.”

“Not to fret, the good
bokor
has agreed that we will come to no harm. He and I will complete a blood pact to secure it.” Lily was proud of herself for delivering her lines as though she hadn’t a care in the world. As if such doings were commonplace, a part of everyday, ordinary life. As if she made blood pacts all the time, and really, what was one more?

Othello chuckled, and Lily felt the smoky black tendrils caress her neck. She gritted her teeth and kept still, realizing that as an extension of his aura, her sisters couldn’t see it. It was just as well. They’d react.

“The blood pact is necessary for each individual,” he said. “You cannot stand in for your sisters, they must each complete their own.”

“No.” Lily tried to remember the details she’d read in her mother’s book.

“He’s right, Lily.” Poppy looked at Othello as she spoke. “I read the book quite thoroughly on the plane. And you know I never forget anything.”

Lily almost smiled. Her sisters seemed anything but intimidated. Dahlia looked royally pissed and Poppy assessed the
bokor
as one would an equal. Maybe the demi-masks lent an air of confidence to the wearers—regardless, it worked.

“I have a car around front,” Othello said. “I invite you to join me—it’s so much more comfortable than a cab.”

Lily managed a tight smile at the man as party guests strolled past. “How considerate of you. I wonder if we should make our agreement before we leave, though.”

Othello cocked a brow at her—she read the expression even beneath the mask. “You wish to draw blood, here in full view of New Orleans’ finest citizens?”

“That’s true,” Dahlia muttered. “They might get jealous.”

Poppy bit her lip, and Lily could only wonder what the conversation was like between the surveillance van and her sisters.

“Fine, then. On the way there.” Lily suppressed another shudder as the man drew her arm through his again. It was wholly unnecessary; he could have pulled her along with his tendrils like a dog on a damn leash.

They descended the patio steps, making their way around the house through the large gardens and onto the street. There were people aplenty outside, heading into the ball and socializing outside before entering. Cars moved in a steady stream, and Othello held a finger up as they neared the curbside.

A black limousine pulled up and Lily eyed it with a brow raised, figuring it was probably a good thing the mask hid her expression. She didn’t imagine the
bokor
was one who liked to be mocked.

Dahlia, apparently, had no such compunctions. “A freaking limo?”

The
bokor
smiled as he opened the back door and gestured for Dahlia to enter first. “You might temper your amusement, Miss Bordeaux. I hold your sister tightly reined.”

Dahlia’s gaze flew to Lily’s face, her eyes wide, then narrowed. “What is he doing to you?”

Lily shook her head. “Get in the car.” She motioned curtly with her head for emphasis.

Dahlia paused for a long moment before throwing a dark look at Othello, and finally climbed into the limo, followed by Poppy. Othello all but lifted Lily off of her feet and shoved her into the car, clearly keeping her close to control the other two. He climbed in beside her, the two of them sitting in the backward-facing seat, across from Dahlia and Poppy.

He looked expectantly at Poppy as he opened the door to speak to the driver. She clenched her teeth, but gave him the address. He relayed it to the driver and closed the glass partition as the car pulled away from the curb.

Lily removed her mask with a sigh and rubbed the bridge of her nose and her eyebrows. “It’s not like you don’t know our faces,” she said as her sisters did the same. “You should keep yours on, though, so you don’t have to kill us when the night is over.”

The
bokor
sat still, silent on the seat next to her, his presence filling the entire car until Lily thought she would choke on it. Dahlia and Poppy seemed fine, if a little wary as they watched the man. Lily knew they were nervous, but it didn’t show in the least. They’d spent their teen years honing their gifts—they were confident and self-assured in this tense setting, comfortable in the presence of the paranormal, while it had been years since Lily had entertained the notion of even tolerating it, let alone embracing it.

Othello slowly lifted his hands to his head and removed his mask. He really was remarkably easy on the eyes; if someone had picked him out of a crowd and told her he was a voodoo priest, she’d have laughed.

“Now why would I kill such talent?” He gave each sister a long look. “It would indeed be a waste. I find myself intrigued.”

“The pact,” Lily said through her teeth. “We do it now. Dahlia, your knife?”

Dahlia kept her eyes on the
bokor
as she lifted her dress and retrieved the knife from the sheath. To his credit, he maintained Dahlia’s eye contact rather than ogle her like a lecher, but Lily felt the strands at her neck tighten ever so slightly—probably a warning as Dahlia handled the knife with deft fingers.

“A pact goes two ways.” Othello’s intense voice filled the interior of the car. “I will not harm you, and you will promise the same in return.”

It gave Lily momentary pause, but she figured they’d have a hard time killing or wounding him on their own anyway. All she had to do, she reminded herself again, was get him to confess something that would put him behind bars without any wiggle room. “Poppy, do you remember the spell?”

Poppy nodded. “It’s in Romanian. Had to ask Mimi for translation on a few of the words but the bulk was straightforward.”

Lily did her best not to stare at her baby sister. When had the girl learned Romanian?

Othello stilled. “And why would you possess a Romanian spell book?” He turned his attention fully on Poppy, who raised a brow at him but otherwise remained expressionless.

“Why would we not? Mimi’s ancestors were Romanian. Moved to England, came to the colonies with their daughters, settled in Salem. Our father’s people were French.” Poppy tipped her head slightly to the side. “How is it you don’ t know that?”

Lily held her breath, keeping her eyes on Othello and wishing she could do an aura read on his emotions without him knowing. The grip he maintained on her neck with the creepy black fog fingers was enough to keep her still for the moment. She decided not to bring up the fact that he’d mentioned being raised in Romania. Great. They were probably all cousins.

Lily held her hand out to Dahlia, who placed her knife carefully in it. “Ok, then. Poppy, you’ll have to tell me what to say. I suspect our
bokor
might already know it.”

He turned his eyes on her, gave her his full regard. “Indeed I do.” The corner of his mouth tipped upward in a smile defined as anything but warm. “My mother was also a witch.”

“And the plot thickens,” Dahlia murmured.

“There are consequences,” Poppy said. “Side effects, if you will.”

Again, the smile stayed in place. “I am aware.”

Lily glanced at Poppy, who watched the
bokor
carefully. Side effects? Lily knew a moment of doubt. What had she gotten them into?

“Worth the risk, Poppy?” Lily asked.

“Considering he could just as easily kill us after we find the talisman for him, I would have to say yes.”

He turned his attention to Poppy. “And again, I’ve said I would not do such a thing. It would be a great waste.”

Lily stripped the glove off of her right arm, taking the knife in her left hand and placing the tip of it in her right palm. “We’re supposed to take your word for that? I don’t think so. You tried to blow me up. Tell me what to do, Poppy.”

Poppy drew in a breath. “Make a shallow slice in the center of your dominant palm. It doesn’t have to be big. Then Othello does the same.”

Lily pulled the knife tip a half-inch across her palm and watched the blood drops appear. Othello took the knife from her and she knew a moment of panic—he could kill them all and ditch the car in a lake. She felt Dahlia’s tension—her sister was poised and ready to strike.

Othello kept his eyes focused on her as he did the same thing to his left hand. He then made a fist and raised it above Lily’s hand, blood slowly dripping from his hand into hers. His blood mixed with hers, and it was the first sensation of warmth she’d felt from the man since before she’d laid eyes on him. He murmured a phrase she didn’t understand, and she glanced at Poppy, who regarded him closely with a slight nod, almost reluctant approval.

“Now your turn, Lil.”

The
bokor
put his hand out and watched Lily, waiting, as though taunting her to be brave enough to do it. She made a fist and squeezed her fingers, the pain in her bruised hand and sprained wrist manifesting badly. She winced and continued, blood finally running from her hand and onto the man seated next to her.