by G A Chase
He remembered the floor-to-ceiling glass case. “There were other statues in that display. Please tell me they aren’t all imprisoning evil spirits.”
“I didn’t ask, not that she would have told me or I would have believed her.” Kendell leaned her head back against his bare chest. Her black hair smelled of bonfire, lavender, and cannabis from the day before. “All I cared about was getting you back and sending that motherfucker someplace where he couldn’t do any more harm. As far as leaving the totem with Delphine is concerned, she said it would complete our payment to her for her services.”
He couldn’t deny Kendell’s vulgarity. “I can’t help feeling that we used a Band-Aid on a heart attack.”
Her giggle never failed to warm his heart. “It’s not that bad. I know it’s not as permanent a solution as either of us would have liked, but those who were in danger, both the living and the dead, are now safe.”
“And what about Baron Samedi? Now that Malveaux’s out of the way, has the offering been accepted?”
She started sipping at her coffee again. “We don’t know. The gate was in the New Orleans Bank and Trust. That’s not exactly a place we can go check. Even if it was, though, once Delphine put the baron in the totem, we lost the opportunity to send him to hell—or wherever the loas of the dead keep someone like that.”
“And his belongings?”
At the rate she was savoring her coffee, he wondered why her cup wasn’t already empty. “You mean the curse? I had to turn over the seven objects we modified. That means I have a secret weapon among the Laroques should they want to confront us again. Though with the baron removed and his women’s spirits freed, I’m not sure what power remains in the items. Minerva took the rest of the stuff in the four trunks to her garage. I don’t imagine anyone will be looking for them. It’s just old stuff at this point.”
He hoped she was right about the curse no longer having any power, but after what they’d been through, her explanation sounded naïve. “So with any luck, we’re done trying to save the world from some mysterious curse. Tell me about the music. I saw you in the spirit realm while you were playing. How did you manage to be two places at the same time?”
With her foot, she petted Cheesecake, who was relaxing in a spot of sun. “I learned that from my girl. Call it astral projection. I think by taking what you taught me and adding in the modification we did to the curse, I ended up with the ability to leave my body without really leaving my body.”
He understood the idea of moving between realities—hell, he’d taught her about it. But he’d never been able to set his body on autopilot while he was away. “I don’t get it.”
“I don’t fully understand either. When I was talking to Maman Brigitte, Cheesecake was with me. At first I thought it was because she was lying next to me, but later, I figured it had something to do with her swallowing that pipe tool. Either way, she wasn’t freaked out. It almost seemed natural to her to be a spirit wolf by my side. It had to do with our connection.”
“Still not getting it.” He began to wish there was rum to add to his coffee.
“I’ve never really been able to explain what I feel when I play music onstage. I connect to people. Sure, they’re out on the dance floor, watching me, but really, I’m the voyeur—and not just because I’m observing their reactions. Often, I’ll see one or two people I really connect to. The way they move or sing along or clap is an opening into their souls. I had never pressed the ability before yesterday, but you needed me. My music was what connected us. I had to keep playing, but I also had to be with you. Maybe it was my love for you, or maybe it was all the pot Whit kept tossing on the bonfire. I had a pretty intense contact high for being outside.”
He could almost understand. Playing music for her wasn’t about logic. She lost herself to the performance, and that had nothing to do with the cursed objects. “I was glad you were there with me. Cheesecake nearly gave me a heart attack as a wolf, though. Not that I didn’t know she had it in her, but I was damn glad she wasn’t lunging at me. Just make me one promise.”
She turned to him with her caring, soulful eyes. “Anything.”
“Never again play anything by ABBA for me.”
* * *
In Minerva’s garage, Kendell adjusted her electric guitar for their final rehearsal before the band’s next gig. Musicians and addiction were a deadly combination. She had all but promised Myles and Cheesecake that she wouldn’t delve back into the dark magic. Their concerned faces would be all she’d need to remember to stay on the wagon.
The band, however, was a different story. Had it only been drugs or alcohol, she could make the argument that going cold turkey would help their performance. As the cursed objects amplified the band’s inherent skills, however, convincing each member that they played better untainted was more of a challenge.
“I just don’t want to go back to playing for half-empty nightclubs.” Predictably, Polly was the hardest to convince.
To Kendell’s surprise, however, Scraper was on Kendell’s side. “I’ve done my time with drugs. Cocaine can make you go all night, and you think you’ve mastered something otherwise unattainable. Playing with your curse felt a lot like that to me. If I can’t slap the bass without the enhancement, then I’m not much good as a musician.”
Minerva often followed the lead of her partner in the rhythm section. “My muscles didn’t get as fatigued with the curse, but the next day, they felt like overstretched rubber bands. I think I’ve learned what I can under the influence.”
“What did you learn?” Kendell hadn’t considered that there might have been a lesson under the intense adrenaline-fueled playing.
“Don’t hold back. Give every bit of energy to every lick. The next song will take care of itself. I used to plan out a gig. You know, like, ration how much energy I was using. With one of those things around, I had no choice but to lay it all on the line with every muscle movement. I can do that without being under some weird paranormal influence.”
Only Lynn seemed not to care. “I use music to get out my aggressions. I already focus all that energy into my fingers. The curse didn’t seem to make much of a difference to me, though I did think the rest of you played with more vigor.”
Kendell hadn’t known her quiet, petite friend to ever express anger. “With the way you play, people must piss you off something awful.”
Lynn lowered her head as she giggled. “I like people—most of the time.”
“Look, I know we had a fair amount of unexpected success with the power of the curse. But it wasn’t us, not really. And the part that was us is true with or without the added energy. I know there’s a little more stress on us now that people are paying attention, but that’s just an added reason to show them what we can do. Let’s just rock this gig tonight the way we always did—just to have fun and be bandmates on stage.”
Polly was still pouting. “I guess we don’t have much of a choice.”
It would have been easy to agree with her bandleader, but Kendell didn’t want to be seen as the usurper taking over the band with her equivalent of magic dust. “Give me tonight. Let me show you that I can still push the envelope all on my own. If you still don’t think we can play better on our own, I’ll remain open to finding a way to reincorporate the voodoo into the music, but the decision has to be unanimous.”
* * *
There was a tension Kendell didn’t like as the band set up on the small stage at the Scratchy Dog. She felt the weight of their success resting on her shoulders. Those who arrived early and were starting the night off at the bar expected a high-octane show. If only Myles were pouring the drinks. He could at least moderate their level of intoxication.
Kendell strapped on her black electric guitar. The butterflies in her stomach weren’t just from the lack of amplified energy.
Polly gave her a wink before taking the microphone. “We have a little surprise for you tonight. Our lead guitarist, Olympia Stain, has asked to sing. So I’m goin
g to sit back with my tambourine and let her take center stage—this one time.”
Kendell took a deep breath to calm her nerves before stepping into the spotlight. “This song has a new meaning for me after the last few weeks.” Summoning up the skills that would be inherent in Stevie Nicks and Lindsey Buckingham’s proverbial lovechild, she hit the opening notes to “Rhiannon.” Kendell belted out, “Your life knows no answer” as if she were screaming the words at her recently imprisoned ancestor.
As the music took hold, the smoke that filled the upper balcony attracted her attention. Smoking wasn’t allowed. Though no one else would notice, Kendell saw the seven women who had been kept captive by the baron Malveaux dancing with wild abandon to her music. Their long, elegant dresses floated on the air as if lifted by the lyrics.
Her heart skipped a beat as a tall gentleman in a tuxedo and top hat pressed his way between them. For just an instant, she feared Malveaux had escaped, but the elegant figure was too tall and dignified to be her hated ancestor. He lifted his top hat to reveal his naked skull then bowed so low his forehead touched the floor.
The spirits of the seven women continued their joyful dance as each disappeared behind him as though stepping through a doorway. After they had gone, he stood back up and tossed something high over the heads of the audience.
Kendell was just finishing the song as the small object crossed from the shadows into the light. She snatched the gleaming guitar pick out of the air. Inscribed into the gold finish on one side were the words “With Appreciation and Love” and on the other “Papa Ghede and the Loas of the Dead.”
Turning back to the balcony, she saw Maman Brigitte standing next to her husband—each blew her a kiss before joining the freed women. Two large wooden doors closed behind them, sealing off the final gate to Guinee and returning the dead to their natural order.
Kendell held the guitar pick up toward Polly. “I think it’s time we rocked this place.”
“And I know just the song to do it.” The bandleader turned to the rhythm section. “‘Black Magic Woman’ in honor of our lead guitarist. Let’s make Fleetwood Mac’s original blues band proud.”
From the opening chords, Kendell knew the pick wasn’t possessed the way the baron Malveaux’s things were, but there was a purer power, one that came from Kendell herself. I suppose being a voodoo queen is a destiny I can’t ignore.
44
Wearing his freshly tailored Armani suit, Lincoln Laroque leaned back in his office chair and put his feet, in their highly polished Ferragamos, on his glass desk. The trappings of wealth and power were only the outward manifestations of his ambition. Looking out the window of his penthouse office at the city—his city—he knew he’d outgrown the petty politics his family had spent generations mastering.
He set the leather box the family had held for generations next to the cheap Nike cardboard box. From one, he pulled the cufflink with its modified curse, and from the other, he pulled its match. The two hadn’t been united since the death of their original owner. He fastened them to his dress shirt. The Ms decorated with skulls would be conversation starters to everyone else, and only the family would recognize them as his claim to power. And where the Laroque family focused, money followed.
The young secretary’s voice on the intercom made him momentarily irritated at being disturbed. “She’s here.”
The annoyance quickly passed. “Send her in.”
He remained in his position of repose. Polite greetings didn’t extend to those in his employ. “Have you got it?”
Delphine de Galpion pulled the ugly folk-art fetish from her canvas bag and set it on this desk next to his feet. “And your end of the bargain?”
He nodded toward his briefcase as if he couldn’t be bothered to open it.
She unlatched the catches and pulled forth the six leather-bound journals. Her face told the story. She believed she’d gotten the better end of the deal. Such confidence often loosened people’s tongues once they thought the negotiations had ended. “I knew when you sent me those photocopied pages what you were offering, but nothing compares to holding Marie’s journals. These are everything your family has of hers?”
“Of her writings, yes. You’re holding secrets that have been kept safe for one hundred and fifty years. Added to what you already have, these should make you the most knowledgeable voodoo practitioner that ever lived, assuming you can make out all the writings.”
She nodded toward the antique West African spirit statue. “And what will you do with that?”
“My ancestor is right where I want him. I have no desire to fall under his version of authority.”
“So that’s just a keepsake?”
He finally stood but not out of respect. Some people needed to be physically shown the door. “We have what we want from each other. I’m sure we’ll be in touch.” So many of his people who were much smarter than Delphine had spent so much time spent trying to figure out the old voodoo queen’s writings that he knew she’d be back with questions sooner rather than later.
“You’re a busy man.” She held up the journals one last time. “Thanks again for these.” Her feigned nonchalance only proved how badly she hid her emotions.
Once the door closed, he returned to his desk and hit the intercom button. “I’m not to be disturbed.”
He’d played the game to perfection. His meddling mother still ran the bank, but the demise of her power under the harsh glare of the baron Malveaux had been all too easy to predict. Anyone who’d read the family diaries knew the man would never bow to a woman. If those silly kids hadn’t recaptured the old goat, the supposed great and powerful voodoo priestess would have jumped at the chance all on her own. Either way, the voodoo journals would be exactly where he wanted them—out of the hands of his family where someone might figure out his play. In the end, the family’s base of power had been brought forth, isolated, and distilled into a form he could control. Both the living and the dead would now be at his beck and call. As for any future potential paranormal meddling, he’d keep an eye on the witchy guitarist. Success often had a way of forgiving the sins of those who had provided a boost. And if helping her band along didn’t prove to be enough of a distraction, a little nudge might set up an interesting power play between the educated voodoo practitioner and the girl with innate skills of her own. Power wasn’t much fun unless it could be used to manipulate others. Winning only meant it was time to reset the board and find a worthier opponent.
He turned the voodoo doll with its mouth and eyes sown shut toward him. “So, great-great-grandfather, let’s try this again—my way this time.”
***
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Oops! I Voodooed Again
Oops! I Voodooed Again Blurb
Every time Kendell Summer thinks she has finally apprehended her ancestor, Baron Malveaux, the dastardly spirit slips from her grasp. His being freed from the voodoo totem to rejoin the living creates unprecedented dangers—too many for Kendell to face alone, causing her to turn to her newly discovered Wiccan counterpart, Sanguine Delarosa, for help.
Sanguine, however, comes with her own challenges. Acting more like a bratty younger sister than an accomplished swamp witch, Sanguine has her own secret agenda. And once again Kendell, her boyfriend, and her faithful pooch, Cheesecake, end up in harm’s way while fighting for humanity’s greater good.
But Sanguine is the key—if there is any hope of preventing a war between the living and the dead, Kendell and Sanguine must find a way to trust each other and work together.
***
Want the fourth book in the Malveaux Curse series? Get it here:
Voodoo You Love
G.A.’s Newsletter
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45
“Can yo
u help me?” a woman asked, out in the bar.
Myles cringed, having supposed the place empty. Damnit, Charlie, you left the front door unlocked again. As he looked up, he instantly forgot about the dripping dishrag in his hand. Blood was flowing from a three-inch gash in the woman’s forehead into her left eye and down the side of her face. Her torn dress was so saturated with blood he couldn’t tell what color it had been.
“I’ll call 9-1-1,” he said.
“Don’t bother.”
Her ripped blouse fell open as she walked to the bar. In the yellow glow of the blown-glass droplights that glamoured up the establishment, he saw her wounds weren’t limited to her head. Where the soft curve of her cleavage should have been, flesh peeled away from her ribs. She sat on a barstool like any other customer.
The combination of water, alcohol, and sweat ran from the rag down his arm like condensation from the night’s humidity. He tossed the disgusting piece of terry cloth into the cleaning bucket. In spite of her wounds, he didn’t see any blood where she’d walked. She had to be a spirit who’d succumbed to her injuries. He’d experienced dead souls in the voodoo realm of Guinee during his psychometric trances, but never while fully awake.
“How did you find me?” he asked.
“You’re the only person whom I can see clearly. I don’t even know how long I’ve been wandering the streets, but the longer I’m in this state, the more ethereal people seem.”
“Do you know what happened to you?”
If a stabbing had happened recently in the French Quarter, the police would be asking questions. Myles wasn’t a fan of being interrogated by cops with limited imaginations, but if the recently deceased were going to start wandering the streets, the loas of the dead wouldn’t be far behind. If a member from either version of authority stopped by the bar, he needed to be prepared.