The Malveaux Curse Mysteries Boxset 1

by G A Chase

  “There are all kinds of creatures in the bayous that few people know about. Now, let me focus on my work. This area isn’t to be taken for granted, even by those like me who’ve lived our whole lives here.”

  * * *

  Myles was still huddled in the back of the boat, searching for any sign of their pursuers, when the cypress trees and Spanish moss broke into cloud-covered skies. As the boat slowed, he snapped around, fearful Hoyt’s arms had finally given out from the extreme exertion, and saw the huge airboat dominating the area next to the flatboat.

  “Here’s where I hand you off. My boy and I will continue plying the cypress grove just in case your pursuers want to play some more. Even if they do spot you, that outboard engine doesn’t stand a chance against the water hyacinths.”

  Whit was the first on his feet to extend his hand. “Thanks, Hoyt. I owe you.”

  “Don’t be silly. I owe Mary more than I’ll be able to pay back in this lifetime. Stop by when you’re ready to hear more of my story. We’ll pull out some moonshine and have a time of it.”

  By the time Myles made it onto the airboat, Kendell and her crew were already on board. Before they took off, though, the pilot waited until Hoyt and his son were safely back among the trees. The eight-cylinder engine should have more than announced the escape plan, but Myles suspected Hoyt would use that to his advantage.

  Even with the craft loaded down with seven additional passengers, the pilot handled it as though he were on a downhill slalom snow course. His cutting and weaving left vast openings of water between the dense foliage, but anyone hoping to follow the course would be in for a rude awakening as the airboat skimmed above the worst of it.

  The newly freed bandmates spread their arms to the rushing wind. At the back of the boat, Myles discovered why. The putrid aroma of rotting fish, combined with what smelled like a hundred pounds of raw hamburger, wasn’t confined to the processing facility. After four days of captivity, the intense scents had saturated every piece of their clothing.

  Kendell carefully worked her way next to him. “I know this is only a temporary fix to our problem, but damn, it feels good to be the one doing the rescuing.”

  He’d tried not to focus too much on the next step. “Maybe we should lie low for a while to figure things out.”

  “I’m not hiding, and neither are the girls.”

  He had suspected as much. Not that trying to escape notice by the powerful family would last long. They had too many ways of digging their claws into Kendell. Taking the offense might be their only play. At least they hadn’t had to rely on her use of the curse—this time.

  28

  Kendell had her girls back. All might not be right with the world, but she had the upper hand. She wanted to scream in defiance, to hold a parade in celebration, to do something—anything. As the last of her people disembarked from Whit’s skiff onto Riverwalk’s green space, which ran along the edge of the French Quarter, each seemed to be full of the same pent-up energy.

  “I want to take on the world!” Polly wasn’t holding anything back as she hugged each person from the boat.

  Only Myles seemed to maintain a sense of reserve. “They’ll have their eyes out for us. Tomorrow, Kendell and I will start rounding up our allies. Just don’t go accepting any random offers of gigs.”

  “Shit!” Polly checked the digital display on the ferry terminal. “We’ve only got two hours before our late-night set at the Scratchy Dog.”

  Playing her jet-black electric guitar would be the perfect ending to such an adrenaline-fueled day. “We haven’t had time to rehearse this week, but no one’s ever complained about the regular set.”

  Lynn bit her lip as she stood next to Lars. “We’ve kind of been playing without you. There wasn’t much to do in that processing facility. We didn’t have our instruments, of course, but we were able to work out some arrangements without them. The seven of us came up with cool punk renditions of some classic rock standards from the ’80s and ’90s.”

  Lars put his arm around the spunky keyboard player. “We’re not ready. Other than the music, we don’t have personas, outfits, or advertising. Going onstage without trying the ideas with our instruments is just crazy.”

  In spite of not being involved, Kendell liked where the idea might lead. “I’ve got a trunk full of garments from the 1800s. I’m sure we could patch together something in a hurry. I’m up for it if you guys are. I can’t just go to bed after a day like this. Even if it’s crap, at least we’ll hold on to our slots at the Scratchy Dog. We’ll play loud and strong—people love that.”

  Polly did a hop and skip before taking off in a run. “Then we’d better get moving!”

  Kendell grabbed Myles’s hand to make sure he didn’t get left in the dust. “Come on! You’re a part of the action now. Musicians can be kind of crazy when we get an idea.”

  She was out of breath by the time they reached her apartment, but her determination to play like never before had grown stronger. Cheesecake barked in delight at seeing so many of her old friends—each of whom was more than happy to give her a treat as their price of admittance to her domain.

  Fleurentine’s old chests weren’t just filled with her personal outfits. Suits tailored for a full-grown man in a position of power were intermixed with garments more befitting a gangly boy in his teens. Everyone pawed through the collection, seeking to create personas that would best fit their playing.

  For a moment, Kendell thought she should be more respectful of her ancestor’s possessions, but she doubted even Miss Fleur would mind the sad garments being repurposed by the bands. “We still need a name.”

  Scraper, usually the quietest of the band members in daily life but a driving force with her axe on stage, was inspecting a pair of boy’s britches. “I was thinking we could combine the two band names. The Mutant Strippers.”

  People filed in and out of Kendell’s bedroom and bathroom in a chaotic frenzy. Clothing was layered and ripped. Makeup for both men and women was applied in thick, dramatic shades of black and blue. In no time, a group style took shape—part steampunk, part retro ’80s, and mostly teasingly erotic.

  Kendell helped Minerva finish shredding her long ball gown into streamers that extended from her corset to the floor. “Be careful how you move if you don’t want to expose more than your legs.”

  “You just worry about those crotch-less pantaloons,” Minerva said. “I think those are supposed to be undergarments. Even with that long waistcoat, you’ll need to keep your guitar strategically placed.”

  “We are seriously out of time.” Polly always had one eye on the clock, even when they were on stage.

  With eight band members plus Myles running and laughing through the streets of the French Quarter, their group attracted more than a few curious glances from the evening crowd. Polly, always the show promoter, yelled to every group they passed, “Come see the Mutant Strippers at the Scratchy Dog!”

  * * *

  As Kendell unpacked her guitar, the antique glasses she’d set aside from the baron’s possessions fell out of her waistcoat. Though she knew they might be cursed, the dark energy didn’t frighten her anymore. Modifying the items with Madam de Galpion had proven to her that they were for her use whether that was for good or evil. What was there to fear?

  As the first song started up, she remembered her promise to Cheesecake not to play under the influence of the curse again. This was different. The dark energy wasn’t controlling her—she was in command. But a promise was a promise, especially one made to her dog. Kendell folded the old spectacles and put them back in her vest.

  As their first number, Dorian—lead singer for the Mutants at Table Nine—picked “Take Me to the River.” Kendell began the usual chord progression. It wasn’t a bad choice. He looked a little like David Byrne with his awkward stance and short hair. The Mutants knew their lead singer well enough to keep to the standard without much deviation. Unfortunately, the same wasn’t true for Polly and the Strippers. Ken
dell did what she could to bridge the two styles, but if the first number was any indication, they were in for a long night.

  The second number, Wilson Pickett’s “In the Midnight Hour,” didn’t fare much better. Polly was able to wail out the lyrics with her usual bravado, but the Mutants sounded lost. In desperation, Kendell pulled out the glasses and put them on Cody. The saxophonist immediately fell under the trance of the music.

  With a couple of quick nods to her bandmates, Kendell signaled for a sax solo. As the other musicians faded out, the long, curving brass instrument took command of the stage and audience.

  Polly was never one to reject the spotlight, but even she seemed reluctant to take the microphone after Cody’s solo. With each song, the glasses were passed to a different musician and left there until the whole greatly outplayed the sum of its parts. When the spectacles finally made it back to Kendell, she felt as if she were playing the whole band like an orchestra conductor. But instead of standing at the front with her baton, she was hammering on her guitar, daring the rest to keep up.

  Though the crowd’s enthusiasm was always a driving force in her playing, Kendell typically saw them as one large mass of humanity—except, of course, when Myles was present. She knew he was out there watching. He’d always support her even though he might not approve of her casual use of such a dangerous Malveaux artifact. The realization made her search the crowd for his stabilizing influence.

  What she saw, however, made her nearly drop the beat. It was as if she could identify how much Malveaux blood coursed through each member of the audience. Their noses, though not all of the long, straight variety she was used to, still showed how connected each person was to that dreaded lineage. She yanked the glasses off and tossed them into her guitar case.

  * * *

  She woke to the dim light of day filtering in through her bedroom window. The first surprise was the bare arm around her waist and the head snuggled next to hers. As she realized it was Myles, she settled back into his embrace. Trying not to wake him, she touched his leg to be sure he was still wearing his jeans. To her disappointment, he was.

  They hadn’t had sex. She would have remembered if they had. But how she’d ended up in her nightshirt, in bed, with him snuggled next to her was all a bit fuzzy. The last thing she remembered clearly was the gig with the combined bands. After a rocky start, the music had flowed out of every member so seamlessly she wondered if they would be able to go back to being two groups.

  She had a vague memory of everyone laughing and drinking on the way back to her apartment. Had they still been there when she’d fallen asleep? She couldn’t remember. Cheesecake rolled against her leg. If anyone else were in the apartment, the dog wouldn’t have been so comfortable.

  Kendell pulled Myles’s arm tighter around her.

  “Hey, you. I wanted to let you sleep as long as you liked.” His voice wasn’t as groggy from sleep as she’d expected. Some people had the ability to instantly wake up fully alert.

  She felt more rested than she thought possible for only a couple of hours sleep. “I need to get up. They’ll be expecting me at work.”

  He rolled her onto his chest with his muscular arms. “Not at seven p.m. You’ve been asleep for nearly seventeen hours.”

  Cheesecake jumped from the bed as Kendell sat bolt upright. “What? It’s not morning?”

  “Take it easy. Lynn stopped by the café and told them you were under the weather. You’ve been pushing it too hard this last week. That powerhouse performance last night proved to all of us how far gone you were. You needed rest.”

  She hated being manipulated. “So you’ve started making decisions for me?”

  He sat up and took her hands. “It’s not like that. But you have to admit it’s been beyond a crazy week. Even Cheesecake’s been worried. You know that.”

  The fluffy black-and-white face that peered over the edge of the bed needed trimming. Kendell could only barely make out the worried brown eyes. She reached down and lifted the heavy dog back up. “You were worried about me, weren’t you? I’m sorry. I know I promised I wouldn’t use a cursed item in the show again.”

  It seldom took more than an apology to earn Cheesecake’s forgiveness. She stretched out to give Kendell kisses to her face.

  Myles, however, wasn’t as easily pacified. “Now that everyone’s safe, we can back off on your sessions with Madam de Galpion. We should also consider turning over Fleurentine’s chest to Luther Noire. He can keep the baron’s possessions safely out of the reach of the Laroques.”

  Though he was probably right, she’d grown attached to the things. “You know, we haven’t heard the last of the Laroques. Just because Polly and the others aren’t being held hostage doesn’t mean we’re off the hook.”

  “Well, you can’t keep going at this pace. I won’t let you. And that’s not some macho trip. I’d expect you to tell me exactly the same thing if I was going off the rails. You’re living on caffeine and dark energy. I love you. We need time for both of us to explore this relationship, to go out on dates, to make out, and to just be together as more than paranormal-mystery partners.”

  He did have a point. It hadn’t been that long since they’d shared their first kiss, and she’d been demanding a lot from him. As an answer, she scooched her butt up next to his and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I love you too. I guess I’ve been a bit of a handful as a girlfriend. You deserve a lot better. Every time I turn around, you’re there, supporting me. I want you to know that I’m not taking you for granted. We do need time to just be us.” She pulled him tight to her mouth. He was so sweet. He could have taken her anytime he wanted, but the thought of her in peril wasn’t a turn-on for him. She reached out her foot and gave Cheesecake a shove off the bed. The pup obligingly moved out of the room. After eleven years, her canine companion had seen enough boyfriends come through Kendell’s life to get the not-so-subtle message.

  His arms clamped around her like a protective harness of love. Her body followed his as he stretched them out on the bed. She’d had enough boyfriends to learn the moves a man couldn’t resist. Lightly, she kissed Myles on the neck while arching her body hard against his. He’d be feeling her bangs tease his face as she caressed his jaw with her cheek. Guys liked seeing her big brown eyes staring up into theirs. The thin nightshirt took only a couple of undulations of her body against his to bunch up to her thighs. She bent her naked leg up along his jeans. Even under the denim, she could feel his rock-hard desire against her inner thigh.

  His powerful hands slid down the sides of her body until he found bare flesh. Then he slowly worked them up under her nightshirt until he was cupping her cotton-covered bottom. Whoever had helped dress her for bed had done her the disservice of including panties, and not sexy lace ones. She flexed and rolled her butt in his grasp, desperate for him to start ripping her clothes off like any normal horny man. But he wasn’t like every other guy she’d slept with. He didn’t let go, but he did pull his face far enough from hers for a conversation. “You must know how badly I want you right now. I’ve been fantasizing about this moment for months. But don’t people usually go on at least one date before they get naked?”

  “Stop being so goddamned chivalrous, and get those jeans off.”

  29

  Myles didn’t consider himself a lothario, but he’d had enough girlfriends to know when sex was good and when it wasn’t. As he lay panting and sweating next to Kendell, he knew he’d need a new scale. Maybe it was the seventeen hours of sleep, or the overdue nature of their relationship, or the fact that he knew her better than any woman he’d begun a relationship with, but whatever the reason, their sexual culmination had been explosive.

  One thing he’d traditionally prided himself on was keeping track of how many times a woman reached orgasm. After the first two, it came down to looking for subtle markers. Often, that wasn’t so easy because he liked to wait until a woman had reached her limit before he truly let go. Such objectivity was impossible with
Kendell. Her small body had worked his over as expertly as her fingers played a musical number on her guitar. Lightweight, athletic, and agile, she’d had the upper hand from the moment he’d pulled off her clothes. She had danced her hips on top of him like a Persian belly-dancing snake charmer.

  But it wasn’t the physical acts that lingered in his thoughts. She’d seen inside his soul. Things he liked, things he didn’t, and things that surprised him—she knew them all without asking. In a typical relationship, the sex never really got good until they’d been together a few times. The newness was always fun, of course, but learning how the other person ticked usually took experience and practice.

  Kendell snuggled close to his side and placed her hand on his leg. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt so satisfied. I could lie here like this with you forever.”

  He rolled to his side to face her. “I know what you mean. That was crazy. I’ve never been able to orgasm three times in one session.”

  “I didn’t mean just physically. There’s been this growing feeling in me. I can’t explain it. Anxiety, pent-up energy, nervousness—none of those terms really work. It’s like my emotions have been a rubber band that kept getting wound tighter and tighter. Last night, all those built-up knots finally released their energy. I haven’t been at peace like this for a really long time.”

  Though he was grateful for her calm, a small knot in his stomach made him wonder if some of that energy had been unloaded into him.

  * * *

  Between making love, sleeping, eating, and watching movies, Myles managed to keep Kendell at home resting for thirty-six hours. But as the early afternoon lit up her apartment, he knew he was going to need other forms of entertainment to distract her from pursuing the damn curse again. New Orleans was filled with options, but each one he considered either held the threat of running into the Laroque family, stumbling onto another item from the baron Malveaux, or leading her back to work.