Dark Sacrifice (15 page)

“She took a page out of your book and is performing a magic act.”

“Oh? She gettin' paid?”

“Of course.” My voice lowers. “She researched online and found a fake spell. Shush, she's about to start. This should be interesting.”

Mala nods toward a metal folding chair, and Clarice follows her lead and sits down. “Things have been so chaotic I kind of forgot the exact details of our fight,” Mala says in a fake, buttery voice.

“I didn't.” Clarice's voice quivers. “I can't stop thinking about it. I'm sorry for slapping you.”

Ms. Jasmine rises out of her seat with a cry. “That skinny bitch slapped my baby?”

“No, stop,” I hiss. I forget I can't physically restrain her. My hand passes right through her chest, and her eyes widen.

“Did you just try to touch my breasts?”

A scarlet heat rushes through my body. “No, Ms. Jasmine. I'd never touch your—do that, I swear.” I glance inside the house.

Mala's lips quiver.
Did she hear?

“Please forgive me,” Clarice cries, grabbing on to Mala's hands.

The smile drops from Mala's lips. She squeezes Clarice's hands. “I forgive you.”

“You said you didn't want Landry.”

Mala's gaze flickers in my direction. “I did.”

My stomach tightens, and I sink lower in the rocking chair.

Ms. Jasmine shakes her head. “Mala's lyin'. She's got a powerful lust for you. A mama knows her child.”

“If this is supposed to make me feel better, Ms. Jasmine, it's not.”

“Course not. You're too busy denyin' yourself. Gaston told me you feel guilty and don't think you deserve my daughter. Does being a martyr make you feel like more of a man?”

“Neither of you would've been hurt if it wasn't for my family.” I choke on a bitter laugh. “I'm okay with it. I just want her to be safe—happy. She's got George.”

“Ha, that boy's too conflicted to make her happy. Do you really think his mama, hell, even her own father, will ever accept their relationship? She's a livin' reminder of his infidelity.” She waves me off when I glance at Mala again. “She's not listenin' to us, but it might save her a lot of heartache if she did. Never mind. I'm wastin' my breath, ain't I? Maybe someday you'll remember my words and take them to heart.”

I expect her to disappear, but she doesn't. Guess she's bored enough being dead that this seems entertaining.

Ms. Jasmine shakes her head. “That poor girl looks tore up from the ground up. What happened to her anyway?”

“She says Mala cursed her into losing her hair.”

“Heh, my girl's learned to throw curses. Knew she had power, but not how to use it. Sounds like they got into a fight over you, huh?”

Are they still talking about me? Time for me to pay more attention to the conversation going on inside. Mala leans over the table, listening to Clarice. I find both of their eyes on me, and I look back at Ms. Jasmine. The woman wiggles her eyebrows at me, and I laugh.

“I've loved Landry since we were in kindergarten,” Clarice says. “He's never seen me as anything but a friend. Guess I dodged a bullet with him. He's gone crazy, hasn't he?”

I jerk in surprise. “What's she talking about?”

Ms. Jasmine rolls her index finger around her ear. “She can't see me, remember. Looks to her like you're sittin' out here conversin' with an invisible person.”

Mala laughs. “He's no crazier than you begging me to un-curse you.”

Tears fill Clarice's eyes. “I'm desperate.”

“Well, take off your scarf.” Clarice does, and Mala picks up the spices I mixed together—cayenne pepper, thyme, and oregano. She sprinkles the mixture onto Clarice's head. “Rub it in good.”

She does. “It burns.”

“Good. That means it's working.” Mala covers her mouth and sneezes. “You're done. Go on outside and make sure you rub that in good. Don't wash your hair for a week. Don't run your fingers through it or scratch your scalp. After seven days, wash your hair with peppermint tea. On the full moon, burn a strand of hair and throw the ashes in running water, like a stream or creek.”

Clarice's eyes narrow.

“What? Do you think I'm making this up?” Mala snaps.

“N-no, I trust you.” Clarice pulls out an envelope. “Here's your money. Thank you.”

Mala flips through it, lips moving as she counts the bills stuffed inside. “Good. Now go on and get out of here. Make sure you speak nicely to Landry on the way out.”

I
watch Clarice leave, then sink onto the sofa. Why did I ask her over? Part of me feels like I did a good deed. The other part feels dirty. Landry and Mama come inside with Cheshire Cat grins stretching their cheeks, and I sigh. “What now?”

“When did you learn how to throw a curse?” Mama asks.

I glance at Landry. “What is she talking about?”

Landry plops down on the edge of the sofa. He runs his fingers through his black hair then rolls his wide shoulders in circles. He looks as mentally drained as I feel. “Ms. Jasmine saw Clarice pay you and started complaining about how, if you can throw curses, you should get more than fifty,” he says.

Of course, why did I bother to ask?
I roll my eyes. “Are you kidding me?”

“She has a point.” Landry shares a look with Mama, and I feel excluded. They've bonded during their time on the porch. Jealousy makes my stomach burn. I'm not sure who I'm jealous of, only that I envy the ease of their relationship. “I paid Madame Ruby a hundred dollars to contact Lainey's spirit,” Landry says, and I blink at him. He leans in my direction. “Don't you get it?”

Mama settles in her favorite armchair with one leg propped over the arm. Her foot bops up and down. Luckily she wore her long white cotton nightgown the night she died; otherwise she would've spent eternity in a muscle skirt and thong. A shudder-worthy thought, since Landry can see her.

Fingers snap in front of my eyes. “Are you listening?”

I wave Landry's hand away and lean my head against the back of the sofa.

“With your ability to speak to the dead, you're more powerful than she was,” he says. “Plus, if you can work magic…”

Nothing happened when I tried to take down Reverend Prince yesterday, but what if I really
can
work magic?

“You're talking about black magic,” I snap, crossing my arms. “Curses are evil. If I really cursed Clarice to have her hair fall out, then that was wrong.”

Mama and Landry share a confused grimace. They don't get it.
Two peas in a pod.

My chest clenches. “That's the kind of magic Auntie Magnolia does.”

“Exactly,” Mama cries. “That's why you got to take yourself to New Orleans to apprentice with her.”

I die a little death every time I think about visiting that woman.

Landry stiffens. “Hold on. What do you mean? New Orleans?”

“Mama made me promise to go to Magnolia so she can teach me how to use my powers.” I feel like an idiot for saying the word.
Powers.
What a load of bullshit. I don't feel very powerful—confused bordering on schizoid, yes.

“When did you plan on telling me that you're leaving?”

I pat Landry on the knee. It's a testament to how badly I've annoyed him when he doesn't shift away from my hand. “Sorry. It's not a promise I can get out of, but I can choose when I go. Don't worry. I'll stay here until you heal up some more.”

Landry's quiet for a long, thoughtful moment. “Getting out of Paradise Pointe isn't such a bad idea. It'll be less stressful…safer living with your aunt. Plus if you can learn how to use your gifts to make some money—”

“Then you go if you want to learn how to swindle the gullible bereaved out of their hard-earned cash. Not like I'm the only one in this room who can speak to the dead.”

“Don't you need money to pay your bills?”

“I need to earn money by performing fake séances like I need a hole in my head.” I meet his concerned eyes. I don't buy his excuse…money, hah. He's trying to get rid of me. My stomach burns at the thought. Man, I hope I'm reading too much into his sudden enthusiasm. “Look, I didn't tell you, since we weren't on speaking terms this morning, but Bill Aldridge called. He's Mama's attorney, been on retainer for years due to her repeated brushes with the law…” I shake my head. “Long story short, Mama had a life insurance policy, and I'm the beneficiary.”

“Why do you sound so shocked, Mala Jean?” Mama says. “I told you I put my affairs in order after I got my death vision. Do you think I'm such a bad mother that I wouldn't set aside money for when I died? You also get your inheritance, which has been passed down through the generations.”

“Yay…” I drawl, lazily punching the air with my fists. “See, Landry? I am officially the owner of a hunk of swamp.”

Landry snorts. “Don't hold in your excitement. You might bust a gut.”

“I'll try to contain it.” I yawn, patting my mouth with a hand.

“Well, I can't lie. I'm sort of relieved you don't have to pull a fake madame routine to keep your house.”

“Me too.” I curl my legs beneath me, wishing I could take a nap, but I still have to head out once Dena shows up. My eyes get stuck at half-mast. The numbers on the digital clock tick forward with soul-numbing slowness.

Landry nods off in the opposite corner, head tilted against the back of the sofa and arms crossed. His mouth hangs open slightly, showing straight white teeth. His hair has fallen back, revealing the sharp angles of his high cheekbones. Long black eyelashes and eyebrows stand out in sharp relief against his skin. He looks vulnerable. And sinful as a Devil Creme cake.

I lick my lips, mouth dry. Heat radiates upward to burn in my cheeks. I inch closer, until his heat warms the coldness in my hands. His pouty lower lip taunts me, begging to be licked.

“How much longer are you planning on staring at me?” Landry asks. “If you haven't memorized my face by now, you won't.” His gray eye opens. Today it warms me.

I sigh, sitting back before my shaky arms give out and I fall on top of him. He'd probably just dump me on the floor again. I glance over at the armchair, but Mama's vanished. Probably back in the bedroom watching never-ending repeats of
Y&R
on the Soap Opera channel.

“It's not my fault you're so pretty,” I mutter.

“Yeah, blame my parents for good DNA.” His laughter trails off.

I glance at the clock again, trying to ignore the minnows-swimming-in-my-tummy feeling I get when I think of my cousin. “Dena should be here by now.”

“Maybe she changed her mind.”

“It's her father. She can't move forward until she has his body.” I grab Landry by the arm. He shrugs away with a slight dip of his shoulder. “I'm going to go look for her. Do you want to come?”

“No.” His eye shuts again.

More avoidance.
“Fine. I'll be back before dark.”

I throw the door open so hard it slams against the wall and don't go back to close it behind me.
Landry's an ass!
To think I worried about living with him. I thought he'd be like before—flirty—a slightly dangerous threat to my virginity. That Landry I understand. I can shield myself from caving to his charm. This guy, yeah, not so safe. The more he pushes me away, the more I'm drawn to him like a freaking meteorite that will shatter when it crashes into the moon.

How did I become the one trying to edge into his life? He obviously doesn't want anything to do with me. If I keep chasing him, he'll run. Maybe he'll go to Clarice. And why shouldn't he? She loves him.

“Wait!” Footsteps run down the stairs, then I hear a crash and a grunt. I spin. Landry's on his knees at the foot of the staircase. He grabs on to the railing and pulls himself upright with a wince.

I step toward him and stop. He won't appreciate my concern. I turn back around and start walking again.

“Hey, I'm coming with you.” His hand latches on to my arm. “It's not safe for you to be wandering around the woods alone.”

“I've wandered my whole life. What makes today different?” I shrug off his hand the same way he did mine earlier. “Look, just go back inside and take a nap. Maybe you won't be cranky when you wake up. I'm stressing about Dena, and I don't need any distractions.”

His lips tighten, and his gray eye turns stormy. “I'm worried about her too. Do you have a gun?”

This throws me. “Why?”

He scans the surrounding woods. “It's gonna get dark soon. I'd rather have protection.”

The woods go silent as if waiting for my response. Even the slight wind ceases to blow. A moment ago I couldn't wait to escape into the thick brush. Now its shadows look menacing. I scowl at Landry. Way to freak me out.

“I have no idea where Mama put the shotgun.” I rub my arms. “She never liked having Grandma Cora's gun in the house. The thing was so old, she worried it would backfire and blow off her face if she tried to use it.”

I glance at him from the corner of my eye. “'Sides, if I had a gun, I would've shot your father's friends when they broke into my house!”

He raises his hands. “Sorry, I—”

“No.” I wave off his apology. He has a right to be worried. If I had an ounce of self-preservation, I'd act more like him. “I get it. The fourth guy.”

Somewhere the unidentified fourth guy waits for a chance to get us in his sights. I've lulled myself into a false sense of security by having Landry living with me. Truth is, he's in as much or more danger than I am. “You're right. That guy's still out there. Bet he's hiding out with Rathbone and your father, planning their revenge on us.”

Landry's mouth opens like he's about to say something profound, like maybe confessing the truth about Rathbone's death. Wishful thinking.

He shakes his head. “I'd feel better if we had a weapon.”

Fine.
Rather than heading into the woods, I walk around the side of the house to the screened-in back porch. When Mama lived, I slept out here in the hammock during the summer. The heat made it difficult to get a good night's rest. The box I store my gear inside sits in the corner. I haven't used it since Landry and I went fishing. I dig out the utility belt that holds my sheathed fillet knife and wrap it around my waist. A stick from the woods makes a handy club. I left it in the umbrella stand instead of throwing it into the yard for this reason. I dart inside to get it and hand it to Landry.

Anxiety doesn't sit well on him.

“Don't worry,” I say. “We'll just walk to Dena's house. We'll be fine if we stay on the path.”

He breathes out a puff of air. “Okay, let's go.”

I check overhead. White fluffy clouds and clear blue sky share space with the setting sun. We still have about three hours of daylight. More than enough to get to the Ackers' farm and back. Muggy heat drenches me with perspiration. The temperature drops several degrees once we get beneath the thick canopy of trees, but the stagnant pools of water increase the moisture in the air.

Mosquitoes buzz, and I swat a little sucker on my arm. The tension flows from my body. Nature relaxes me. The song of birds, the chirp of frogs, the buzz of insects, and the feel of dirt beneath my feet. The only thing chipping at my increasingly good mood? Landry.

I feel guilty about dragging him out. My panic about Dena is premature. She's probably fine. I should've ignored the tingling sense of unease turning my stomach into a knot. Being out here only shifts my nervousness off my cousin's safety onto Landry. After the rebuff he gave earlier, I don't want to bring up the topic of our relationship, or lack thereof, again. It's pretty obvious that Dena's wrong about Landry having a crush on me. Or if he did, I've scared him off.

I shouldn't be surprised. Who'd want to date me after getting to know me? I have a bad temper. I'm too sarcastic. I see ghosts. My mama's undead or…whatever you call ancestral spirits who never give you any privacy even after they've supposedly crossed over to the spirit realm.

That's the scary thing. How in tune I've become to the spirit realm. At first, I felt overwhelmed by all of the ghosts flittering in and out of my hospital room, talking to me, asking me for help. I couldn't tell the difference between a real person and a spirit unless they displayed the gruesomeness of their death: A decapitated man roaming around the hospital searching for his head pretty much screamed
GHOST
.

I haven't told Landry, but I stopped taking my psych meds. Part of me regrets it because my PTSD symptoms have increased, but the medication blocked my ability. It kept me from learning how to tell the difference between the real world and the fake, because even while drugged, I still saw ghosts. Meds just reduced my anxiety level enough to keep me from freaking out as much upon seeing them. I also didn't care about George being my brother or Ms. March keeping that secret from me for years.

Now…now I'm pissed. And disgusted by the overwhelming hurt and betrayal I feel. I'm being crushed beneath the weight of all the emotions George must've felt in the psych ward when Ms. March revealed the truth. Now I understand why he ran from me.

I sigh, kicking a rock into the bushes. “Where the hell is she?”

Landry glances in my direction. “Something probably came up at home, and she couldn't make it tonight. Why didn't you call her…or drive over?” He swats at a mosquito with a grimace.

“It takes longer to drive than to walk. It's the twisty way the bayou flows. 'Sides, maybe she's on the way and we'll meet up with her.”

“And the phone?”

I bite my lip. “Honestly I forgot I could call. Her dad never let her use the phone unless it was for business or emergencies.”

“So you'd just show up on her property?” He scowls. “That doesn't seem very smart either. I seem to recall Acker pulling a gun on you. Did that happen so often you got immune to it?”

“Who gets immune to having the barrel of a gun shoved in their face?” I scowl. “I never thought he'd really shoot me. Shows how much I know about human nature, huh?”

“Seriously?”

“No, we usually met at the pond.” My lip curls at his expression. There's a break in the leaves ahead, and I see the sparkle of water. I grin up at Landry. “Race you to Daisy.”