by Michele Ryan
Jonah turned, looking to where his Beloved stood with Ezra’s mate who were still deep in conversation. Both teams stopped speaking, watching the woman. Clara finally glanced up, catching his gaze with her own.
“Would you like to include us in your discussion, Beloved?” Jonah inquired, his tone hinting he knew exactly what the women had been speaking of.
Annabelle immediately elbowed Clara as if they had been caught doing something they should not have. Yes, something was up with these two. And if he had to make a bet, Clara knew who had placed the spell. She was just hesitating, and this concerned him, greatly.
“Mate?” Ezra inquired.
Clara took a deep breath and squared her shoulders before she started toward him. “The magick is familiar to me. It is the same person from when we went to investigate Hyde Park together. After Grant arrived.” She was stalling. He could sense her hesitation as she spoke. It was almost as if she were choosing her words very carefully.
“Ezra…” Annabelle said, hedging closer to Clara, grabbing his mate’s hand in what could only be viewed as support.
“Let her speak,” Jonah advised.
Annabelle nodded.
“I’m not a patient man, Clara. Especially when my family has been threatened,” Ezra snarled.
“It is my fault he has come,” Clara whispered, her voice trembled with fear. “He is here for me.” A single tear trailed down her cheek causing his chest to ache at whatever was paining her.
“How is this your fault, Clara? Explain,” Ezra demanded.
She flinched at his tone. “I have always had to guard the true power of my magick. They—my family, taught me from an early age to never to show its true strength, because it would place me in danger. When I casted the spell to capture Jonah, I tapped into the magick I had hidden for so long. You all have to understand, I had to do it.” Clara’s brown-eyed gaze pleaded for him... them, to hear her words. Her gaze flickered to those standing around till it finally rested on him.
“I had save Annabelle’s other half. The good outweighed the bad and so I broke the promise I made a long time ago.” Clara’s face contorted with discomfort and another tear slipped unchecked down her cheek. Her terror and agony had his stomach cramping again in distaste. “So much time had passed. I thought I was safe from his evil. I was wrong and have been found. Endangered all who I hold dear.”
Chapter Eight
Dr. Brew snorted. “I doubt it, my dear. Need I remind you, we fought The Summoner, a zombie horde and we won. We can handle whatever you fear together.”
Ezra stiffened beside her and bristled at the fact Dr. Brew had reassured Clara where he hadn’t yet.
“Tell them, Clara,” Annabelle urged. She’d been the one to know the truth of who Clara really was. Now, it seemed like a stupid idea to tell them. When she explained it to Annabelle, she lost everything because Elijah couldn’t accept Clara. Telling everyone else worried her.
Ezra moved in front of Clara and wrapped his hands around her shoulders. “They are correct, mate. We need to know so we can help you.”
Clara rested her forehead on his chest and sighed. If only it were so simple. If only telling her secret would make all the problems disappear or make it easier to take care of their issues. “I am sorry, Ezra. It is my fault Grant is hurt. I should have told you before the mating.”
“Did you cast the spell?” he asked.
Clara pulled back, looking up at him. The steadiness in his gaze swamped the doubt coursing through her; however it didn’t assuage the guilt. “No.” She hated the quiver in her voice. Hated feeling weak in front of those she should be leaning on, but instead tried to hold herself apart from.
“Then it’s not your fault. Tell us what we need to know to protect ourselves, my Creole Queen,” he prodded.
“In the early 1800s a West African voodoo priestess prophesized of a girl child, born between coloreds, with a deformity of a limb, and would have unlimited powers. Her blood, her abilities would be like nothing ever seen. He wants me…”
“Who wants you, Miss Clara?” Omer probed.
“I simply know him as The Baron Samedi,” she answered. “He thinks, as did my family, I am the girl child who the Priestess foretold long before my birth. The Baron wants to breed me, using my offspring as a conduit to channel those abilities and amplify them.”
“Funny how they did not foretell of you being a she-wolf, so perhaps it is not you,” Jonah stated.
“Being what she is now only makes her stronger,” Omer stated with a hint of foreboding. “I believe there maybe something you are leaving out, Miss Clara. We need to know the full of it.”
She nodded. “This is true; my real name is not Clara Fitzpatrick.” The Creole accent she worked so hard to hide was getting heavier. “It is actually Clara Marie Laveau.”
“Laveau?” Ezra questioned. “As in Marie Laveau? The renowned Creole practitioner of voodoo, in New Orleans?”
“Yes,” Clara said, her accent heavy now. “She is my granmé or, as you would say, my grandmother. When I last saw her, she was in Saint Louis where she passed five and a half years ago.”
The questions came quickly then, and she didn’t stop them. How a voodoo priestess ended up in London when she should have been in the States; had been the most prevalent of inquiries. Clara tried to explain it. How her mother had given birth to her while her father had been inside a meat packing plant, working for the night. How the doctor they’d arranged to help her didn’t show up. How her mother and granmé toiled through the night, hour after hour until Clara came screaming into the world as the sun came up.
When the doctor did show his face, it’d been to explain the withered appendage he called her right arm, and how she, Clara, would be not only physically disabled but also mentally incapacitated. He made it seem like she would grow up a shell of a person, not really alive, but not really dead. She supposed it was that line she’d toed that brought forth the Baron.
However, she defied them all. Her abilities even at a young age were unparalleled. By her tenth birthday, she’d been so experienced with wielding magicks, her mother and her granmé feared the Baron would seek her out. Take her as his child bride. Neither of them would give Clara willingly to him, so, on a particularly hectic day, he tried. Her memory of the time she spent with him was unreliable. It seemed like years passed, but it’d only been two days, and when she pushed to remember where she’d been, her mind went blank. The time for her, didn’t exist.
The next memory she had, she’d been placed on a train to New York with an aunt. Her aunt stayed with her until the ship left port and she was on her way to France to live with distant cousins. Her granmé made her promise she would never use her true magicks. She could practice the arts but never immerse herself in anything that might call forth the Baron. At ten, she’d readily given her promise and kept it till now.
“I should clean the spell from the porch. No one will be leaving until I do. Ezra?” She could barely meet his hard, penetrating gaze. “Please know, I didn’t mean for this to land on our doorstep. I believed I’d gotten far enough away.” She sighed. “There is one thing you should know. Whatever he is doing, for Marbella, he will want something in return.”
“What?”
“That would be in the terms of her contract with the Baron,” Clara replied. “What I do know for certain, is that it won’t be good and many more could be affected by this before the game is over.”
“Son of a bitch.” He huffed out a breath and crossed to her. When he gathered her up into his arms, a sense of peace descended over her. “I don’t blame you for this.” He kissed the top of her head. “I just wish you trusted all of us more.”
She understood. “I’m sorry. I ruined this evening.”
“No, you didn’t. Whoever placed this spell in front of our door did. I suspect it wasn’t meant for Grant, but a certain wolf.” He placed his finger under her chin. “You.”
“Me?”
“You too
k away her favorite chew toy, and now she wants to get back at you—at all of us. Question is, how did she know to make such a spell to cause us not to be able to leave while harming you?” He pushed a lock of her hair behind her ear.
She could fall into his gaze. The perfect mix of wolf and human. “l’m not sure. Witches never work for wolves unless there is a hefty price attached to it.”
“We can figure it out later,” Jonah added. “We should tend to young master Blakely. Annabelle, help Miss Clara clean up this spell. The sooner we can get out the door, the sooner we can track the person responsible.”
Annabelle gave him a curt nod. “Let’s begin.”
“This won’t be easy,” Clara began. “I have to break it, before we can clean it and I need to know exactly which spell was used before I even attempt to neutralize it.”
“I’ll grab your book then.” Annabelle squeezed her shoulder. “Don’t fret over the past. Here and now.”
She understood her friend’s sentiment. To not dwell on the things which couldn’t be changed was the best way to keep going forward. Mentally it made sense, but in affairs of the heart, not so much. She should have been completely upfront with Ezra. “Thank you.”
With the foyer empty, she braced herself against the door, then turned the knob to open it. She’d use the hardwood to buffer whatever greeted her on the other side. When there wasn’t a whiplash of power throwing her backwards, she edged around her shield and peered out into the crisp night air.
Clara glanced down at the crude voodoo drawings. They were also done in chicken blood, fresh by the scent of it. There was also a chicken foot and other objects used to bind them in the home. She knew how to break it, but it would take Omer’s help as well. As if hearing her thoughts, the man appeared beside her. His solemn expression, spoke volumes.
“Miss Clara,” he murmured. “What can I do for you?”
“In order to clear the spell from the steps I must break it first. In doing so, I must bury the items before we will be able to leave.”
He nodded. “You would like to place them near my tomb.”
She wouldn’t even ask such, if there wasn’t a need for it. “Yes. Temporarily. Once I neutralize the magicks used, I should be able to inter them outside at a later date.”
“No need, Miss Clara. I will dispose of them properly once the spell is broken, do not fret.” He placed his hand on her shoulder. The warmth of his touch spread through her. The unbridled power radiating from him frightened her while also projecting a net of safety.
“Thank you, Mr. Cause.”
“Of course. Do you require any other assistance from me?”
“No,” she answered. “I believe I have everything I’ll need here. Thank you for the offer.”
“Then I believe I will avail my services to Miss Dell and young master Blakely. Please tell me when you are finished.”
“I will.”
His form wavered then disappeared as Annabelle returned with her book. Already Clara began to build a list of supplies she’d need to remove the hex. It wouldn’t take very long to do so, removing the blood on the other hand might be a bit tedious.
“Interesting diagram,” Annabelle noted.
“It’s voodoo. Crude. Not very well drawn, but it worked,” Clara muttered as she flipped through her book. When she found the spell she needed, she tapped the page. “Join me in the kitchen to gather the supplies.”
“Of course. What is it exactly?”
“It’s a warding hex. One meant to keep us in, instead of letting us out.” It was meant for her, she agreed with Ezra now after seeing the markings. “It’s a calling card.” A little nod to her voodoo heritage and allowing her to realize they—whoever had been behind the hexing, knew who Clara was.
Annabelle whistled. “Ezra isn’t going to be happy when he finds out.”
“What makes you think he isn’t already?” She arched a brow as she grabbed her brewing pot. “Do we still have well water?”
Annabelle nodded. “Yes.” She rushed over to small sink Miss Gemmy used and poured a glass for Clara.
“Perfect. I need one of my black candles as well. It should be in the library. My plan is to do this spell right in front of the hex. As soon as it is broken I’ll need to clean the mark and do a cleansing spell to make sure the remnants are gone.”
Once she had all the ingredients she needed for the removal of the hex, she placed the pot at the threshold. Next, she poured the water into it and placed the small black candle into the water. After lighting the wick, she stared into the flame and said, “If truly hexed or cursed I am, let it break with quench of flame.”
The flame flickered then turned an eerie green color before going blue and finally back to black. Time crawled by. With each drop of wax into the water a bit more of the spell broke. Above her, Annabelle gasped.
“It’s disappearing.”
As much as Clara wanted to look away, she couldn’t. Part of breaking the hex meant watching the negativity leave. “It should be. We’re almost done.”
The candle dissolved into the water and with it, snuffed out the fire. “So mote it be.”
Without having to be called, Mr. Cause appeared, his hand outstretched, waiting for the pot. She retrieved the candle from the water and placed it in his hand, then gave him the container with the other pieces from the spell.
“Pour out the contents and bury the candle separately, please.” Clara stood. “I have to retrieve the ingredients I’ll need to do a cleansing spell for the house. It will take an hour or so to complete.”
“I will let the others know that it is safe to leave the house now.” Omer disappeared once more, leaving her with Annabelle.
“I don’t want to keep you and Jonah apart. I have this.”
Annabelle frowned. “You’re not. You don’t have to do this alone.”
“I do. It’s my penance.”
Her friend sighed. “No one is punishing you or judging you, Clara. You’ve had a considerable amount of pressure and reason to keep secret who you are. It is not for us to say anything about it. I wish you could understand this.”
Maybe one day she would. Perhaps if Grant woke up and none of his injuries were life-altering. “Thank you for your help, Annabelle. I’ve got the rest of this. Don’t worry.” She tried to smile, but she feared by the expression her friend’s face, she didn’t do a good enough job convincing her.
Instead of trying to reassure Annabelle anymore, she headed for the library. She would use the containment box to build her cleansing spell, then start there and finish at the front door. The blood, already dried would be the hardest thing to get rid of. However, no one could say she didn’t put her all into her work.
She set about gathering everything after placing the small black cauldron she left in the containment box on the hook over the fire burning in the fireplace. Then she added the slices of lemon, water and salt. Then she added a bit of sage to the mix. While that came to a boil, she set about lighting candles around the house. Since the door had been where the source of the hex came from, she lit several there in the foyer.
The house filled with the scent of fresh lemon and sage, warming her soul. Finally, a little bit of normalcy. She hummed to herself as she went back to the kitchen to gather the remainder of the water so she could scrub the porch and stairs.
Before leaving the kitchen, she grabbed the scouring brush and set about to the front of the mansion. At least she’d be done with all of it before the sun came up. Clara gathered her skirts and knelt onto the porch. The job gave her time to keep her mind occupied. Sitting outside under the full moon made her twitch with an incessant itch between her shoulder blades. She’d come to realize over the last couple of hours, it was her wolf wanting out. She hadn’t wanted to say anything for fear they’d think she sought to get out of her responsibilities, which sounded silly even to her. But, she had work to do. She couldn’t allow the animal to control her while the mark of voodoo lay on her home.
A low growl came from over her right shoulder before the sour scent of fetid fish and the sickly smell of arousal permeated the area. Clara’s nose wrinkled. Her lip curled in disgust. She knew the smell. Marbella. She glanced over her shoulder and found the woman standing there. Watching her. She wore a dingy white shift. Her feet and ankles were covered in dirt and mud. Behind her were three other wolves. Each one of them snapped and snarled at Clara as if daring her to do something.
“You have my son,” Marbella growled.
Clara didn’t answer, instead continued to clean up.
“You heard me! Give me my son!” Marbella screamed.
Clara continued to scrub the wooden porch, erasing the mark of an inexperienced witch. “You don’t deserve him.” It took all of her will power to remain rooted where she knelt; instead she cut her gaze towards the filthy woman. “Tell me, what kind of mother allows her son to be mistreated by the females in the pack?”
Marbella shrieked in outrage, charging at Clara. “How dare you!”
With a flick of Clara’s hand, she sent the woman hurdling backwards. “No, how dare you.” She stood then. The power of her wolf combined with that of her magicks, filling her with a heady, adrenaline spiked sensation. She’d never felt anything like it before. The greedy part of her soul wanted to bathe in it, absorb the power and let it flow through her fingers, and force Marbella to pay for the atrocious acts preformed against Ezra’s son’s will.
“What is the meaning of this?” Ezra bellowed as he stepped out onto the porch. He radiated Alpha dominance, wielded it against those who would once again come to his home and threaten his family.
Clara swore his body from the waist up swelled, growing broader by the second. Ezra’s hands were fisted at his sides and the scowl marring his features was one meant to strike fear in anyone who dared to cross him. A thrill swept over her as a spark of arousal banked some of the need for vengeance coursing through her veins.
“I want my son back,” Marbella whimpered, trembling before Ezra. “He is mine. He belongs with me.”