by L. A. Kelley
“I can carry a bucket,” I snapped, more harshly than planned.
Amelie arched an eyebrow and brushed past me out the door. “No, you can’t.”
I followed in a huff. At every step, each wound called out for me to please stop being such a jackass and sit. Of course, I didn’t listen. “Give me the bucket.”
“Why are you so angry? I want to help.” Amelie gestured at my back. “You won’t admit you’re hurt.”
“I’m okay.”
“No, you’re not. You’re being completely unreasonable.” Her voice softened. “I’m scared for Lucy, too.”
Don’t be kind to me, I wanted to cry out. If you’re kind I can’t hold in all the emotion. The last person beautiful, wealthy Amelie Marchand would be attracted to is a poor orphan boy hunched in a useless blubbering pile at her feet.
I drew a shuddering breath. “Stop being nice, is all. I-I don’t need—”
“I do.” She dropped the bucket and leaned against my bare chest with her head on my shoulder. “When you pushed us through the door, I thought I lost you Peter. I-I can’t lose anyone else.”
I held Amelie in my arms, closed my eyes, and rested my cheek against her hair. My heart beat so loudly, people must have heard the pounding halfway to New Orleans and wondered at the sound. Suddenly, the world wasn’t bleak. I’d happily stand in the middle of the bayou forever with her at my side. “Amelie, I—”
Without warning, she knocked me flat. Excruciating pain rocketed though me. I couldn’t tell if she was angry or in the middle of a strange Southern courtship ritual. An instant later a gunshot from the bushes posed a third possibility.
“Delphine,” Amelie snarled. “I’m going after her.” Before I said a word, she was on her feet, bolting into the underbrush with dagger in hand.
“Amelie! Don’t kill Delphine. We need her alive.” Odile trotted briskly down the path. “Peter,” she panted, “go after her.”
“Odile? Where’s Renny?”
“No time—get Delphine.”
The urgency of her tone forced me staggering to my feet. “Mrs. Hart is hurt.”
“I’ll tend to her. Hurry!”
I darted into the swamp. Odile had discovered something, perhaps about Amelie’s inheritance. Maybe Delphine hid the assets before she left New Orleans. If she didn’t talk, Amelie would be destitute. Whatever had happened bought Delphine a little more time, if I could get to her before Amelie slit her throat.
Gunfire exploded far off to my right, too far for the shooter to be aiming at me. I immediately veered off in that direction. More shots echoed through the swamp. They grew farther and farther away until I lost the sound entirely. The air was still, except for the whisper of a breeze rustling through the leaves overhead. My eyes darted about, frantic for a sign of Amelie. I saw nothing.
“Amelie! Where are you?”
I forced my way through a tangle of vines and glimpsed running water from another cut. A subtle movement on the opposite bank seized my attention. “So you’re here, too,” I muttered, eyeing the gator. The reptilian behemoth sunned in a pile of vegetation on top of the slide. We met only once, but I was sure she was the same one whose essence I divined several weeks ago. “I don’t suppose you saw a dark-haired girl with blood in her eye headed this way?” The gator lifted her head and noted me warily before hunkering down. The mottled hide blended perfectly with the surroundings.
Frustration gnawed at me. Now, I had to return to Odile and admit defeat. Amelie might become destitute because I wasn’t quick enough to stop her from killing Delphine.
The shot exploded out of nowhere. Excruciating pain slammed into my head, bringing me to my knees. I reached to my scalp. My hand came away smeared with blood. I struggled to stand, but instead fell back sick and dizzy.
Pike strode from the brush, smoking pistol in hand. “I wouldn’t be so quick to move if I were you.” Icy cold arrogance marked his words as he leveled the weapon at my head. “Did you honestly think the death of Feu De L’enfer would stop me? I know the path to the other world. I’ll contact another demon. The next bargain will be struck for more power.”
No fire distorted his eyes any longer. They were now two dark brown orbs filled with hate. He kicked me hard in the ribs and I collapsed in agony. Pike dropped to his knees and grabbed my hair, yanking hard to regard me square in the face. “I will take the child. I know where she is now and the people who hid her. Mrs. Marchand and her men were extremely helpful in that regard.”
Pike was going to kill me, of that I was certain. Odile, I thought bitterly, why didn’t you let me have a gun? I could have ended the conjuror once and for all.
When you stare down death empty-handed, your brain casts about for any reason to delay the inevitable. Keep him talking. Maybe Amelie heard the shot.
I spit out a mouthful of blood. “Delphine?”
“Dead by now, attacked by the little spitfire with the dagger. While they were busy, I made my escape.” An air of contemptuous self-confidence wove around him like a mantle. “I have no further need of Mrs. Marchand. I have no need of anyone and once you answer a few questions, I will have no further need of you.”
Behind Pike’s brazen arrogance I caught a glimmer of something else. The conjurer’s tone held a shade of desperation. He wanted information and he wanted it badly. I pushed myself to a sitting position. The simple movement brought an excruciating wave of pain.
“How did the shaman do it?” he demanded.
The torment in my ribs made drawing a breath agonizing. “Do what?”
The conjurer’s eyes glittered. “How did he kill the demon?”
If I hadn’t been in so much pain, I would have laughed. “What makes you think Clovis killed Feu De L’enfer?”
Pike backhanded me across the face. “Don’t toy with me. I saw the open door. Everything I’ve learned taught such a journey to the other side is impossible and yet...” He shook his head as if unable to believe the obvious. “The shaman made no bargain, but he crossed over and killed a demon. The single way he could have stopped me was to return with stolen power. A mere boy,” he jeered, “is incapable of understanding the intricacies of arcane forces, but you have been in the swamp for a time. Tell me everything you saw of his magic. I will not be defeated again.”
The conjurer’s condescension set my teeth on edge. I glared at him in defiance. “If I don’t?”
Pike pressed the gun barrel hard against my forehead. His voice dropped to a rasping whisper. “Nothing in this useless wasteland is worth salvaging, except for the child, but I think you feel otherwise.” The ice in his tone chilled my heart. “This place and these people mean something to you. I will lay waste to the swamp. I will kill every inhabitant, but death can come in many forms, merciful and quick or slow and painful. Tell me what I want to know and they will not suffer.”
My vision blurred, blood loss from the head wound sapped more of my dwindling strength by the minute. My time was over. No rescue was imminent. I had no fear of dying, rather a calm serenity settled over me. The pain dulled. I had completed my mission. The demon was dead. Bayou St. Gerard was safe. Pike would meet a bloody end. I was sure my friends would see to that.
Amelie was my sole regret. I would never get a chance to tell her how much the summer together meant. Perhaps not knowing was for the best. She would have no reason to mourn. No more sadness should ever be reflected in those warm green eyes. I glared at him. “I’d tell you to go to hell, but the Lower Worlds are too good for you.”
Pike rose to his feet. “You’re nothing, orphan boy,” he sneered, “but a little fish playing in a big pond who is about to get eaten.” He raised the pistol and sighted along the barrel right between my eyes.
Fish?
A crazy idea sprung to mind. Cajun crazy. The world was at a standstill, tranquil and calm. “I’m not a fish. You are.” I fought against weakness, evoking every last scrap of power. One last lie—and it would be a whopper.
The conjuror narr
owed his eyes. “What are you talking about?”
“A tasty fish, best one ever,” I murmured. “So rich in fat, it’ll slide down easy. The kind of fish you dream about forever.” The prickle of energy sparked. My will poured into the lie, forging its purpose. Blood pounded in my ears with the strain. The lie exploded into life. “Come one, come all,” I cried. “Plenty to eat for everyone.” I cast the spell across the cut and into the bayou.
“What are you doing?” Pike snapped. “What are you talking about? What fish? Is it something that shaman said?”
Breaths came with wrenching pangs. “I am the shaman! The same one who walked through the Lower Worlds and killed a demon.”
“You?” he sneered. “You expect me to believe a useless orphan killed a god of the dark road? The same orphan who fled from me like a scared rabbit the night in the carriage house? You can tell a better lie than that.”
The water in the cut filled with bubbles as dark shapes glided under the surface. The gator on the other side eased silently down the slide.
“Yes, I can.” I envisioned the conjuror on the shore, slick and scaly—an easy meal for a gator. “This time the lie is about you, fish.”
The conjuror stiffened in disbelief as the magic wrapped around him, blurring his true shape. “Impossible…a trick.” The bayou boiled and frothed as a cluster of reptilian heads led by the behemoth from across the cut broke the surface.
“No,” I jeered, “it’s a lie.” With my last scrap of strength I locked the spell in tight.
Click.
“Dinner’s ready!”
Hungry gators exploded from the water.
Funny thing about a gator, a single pistol shot will kill the largest animal if you hit the right spot. Otherwise, bullets bounce off the leathery hide. Of course, a dozen sets of teeth and claws tearing at you make the perfect shot darn near impossible.
With a bloodcurdling scream, Pike was dragged into the water and pulled underneath. The murky bayou churned bright red splashing crimson rivulets against the shore. In a moment, nothing remained of his descent except for scattered bubbles breaking on the glassy surface. One by one they popped, and then only the peaceful silence of the swamp endured.
I collapsed on the grass. I couldn’t move or speak. As the world faded away and darkness closed in, I had a vision of Amelie holding me her arms, calling my name. Dying wasn’t so bad after all.
Heaven is nice, I thought, and then plunged headfirst into nothingness.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The Afterlife
Who knew the afterlife would be so cozy? Heaven felt distinctly like a downy mattress, encased in silk sheets. I attempted a feeble movement and then sucked in my breath as every body part emitted a screaming protest. The afterlife was also awfully painful. I groaned and forced open one eye. Very bad idea. The faint illumination instantly produced a roaring headache.
Something stirred near my feet. A small furry body wiggled against me. Startled, I opened both eyes this time and came face to muzzle with a familiar little black nose.
“Mrs. Hart,” I cried joyfully. I never realized dogs were allowed in the afterlife. I was relieved not to be alone.
She sported a new pink collar. Her little tongue darted frantically about showering me with kisses. “Y-You can stop now,” I sputtered as the slobber plastered my face. “Mrs. Hart?” Instead of the woman’s intimate voice in my head, the terrier responded with more frenzied licking inside my ear. “Blech…please…I don’t…blech…not on the lips.” Maintaining her silence, she ignored me completely and continued to lap with relentless zeal. Her actions were very…well…un-Mrs. Hart-like. Death obviously affected her reserved nature.
Raising my hands to shield my face from Mrs. Hart’s enthusiasm, I touched a heavily bandaged head. Doubts crept into my fogged brain about the present location. Why would the dead need bandages? I then noticed Mrs. Hart also sported fresh scars and a bandaged foot.
I pushed the enthusiastic terrier away. She responded with a surprisingly doggish whine of protest before settling beside me. I shifted my head and examined my surroundings. I was in the middle of a large mahogany bed in a strange room I’d never seen before. Light filtered through gauzy curtains at the windows. With a whoosh, soft breezes parted the drapes. Outside, leaves rustled through the top of a magnolia tree. I was on a second floor.
“I thought I heard someone. You’re finally awake.”
I froze in horror as Delphine Marchand waltzed through the open door. She was alive with not a mark on her. Her untouched appearance meant Amelie had failed. The awful consequence tore at my heart.
Delphine shook her finger at Mrs. Hart. “Some watchdog, you turned out to be. You were supposed to signal me immediately once he woke.” The little terrier raised her head off the comforter and yipped an apology. Delphine patted her affectionately on the head. “I know, you were excited.” Mrs. Hart responded with an enthusiastic wag of her tail.
My mind disregarded the odd tableau of Mrs. Hart cuddling up to a she-witch. Fury raged though me as I struggled to sit. “Amelie…where is she? If you hurt her—” Not for the first time did I wish Odile allowed me a gun.
“Amelie is fine.”
Delphine’s voice held a gentle lilt I’d never heard before from the woman who mercilessly killed her husband and casually plotted the death of her stepdaughter. Her eyes twinkled in merriment. Those eyes—they reflected none of the cold arrogance of Delphine Marchand.
“No…” I sank in the pillow, gaping in disbelief. “You can’t be…Mrs. Hart?”
She uttered a deep rich laugh. “Took you long enough to discover the truth. Some shaman you are.”
“How?” I finally managed to say. “Where? When?” I stared suspiciously at the little terrier next to me sporting the happy doggy grin. “Who?”
“Delphine is gone for good. Honey Bun has returned to normal, too—all thanks to Odile.”
“What?” I croaked weakly, too stunned to say much else.
“You covered all the pertinent questions,” Mrs. Hart chuckled, “but complete answers will take a while. Much has happened since the fight in the bayou.” She gently placed a cool hand to my cheek. “You’ve been unconscious over a week. Odile worked her healing magic, insisting you were too stubborn to die.” Her voice grew somber. “We were all very worried, especially Amelie.”
My ears pricked up. “She was?”
“Peter!” An excited squeal issued from the doorway. Esther took a bounding leap and hopped onto the bed. The aftershock echoed through my aching body. “Peter! Peter! Peter! You’re awake.” Honey Bun yelped as Esther squashed her tail. “Sorry, Honey Bun,” she chirped in remorse.
Mrs. Hart removed Esther from the bed, planting her firmly on the floor. “That will be enough of that, young lady. Peter is not well enough for your gymnastics.”
“I’ve got so much to tell him.” she whined.
Whatever Esther meant to say would have to wait as the sound of running footsteps interrupted her plea. Renny and Clovis each tried to shoulder their way first through the door, before Renny graciously stepped aside.
Clovis beamed. “Quite some feat, my boy, quite some feat. Turning the conjuror into gator bait—very clever. Oh, yes, I know all about the spell. The residual magic lingered in the air. Not to mention a part or two of Pike floated on the water.”
“You found me?”
“Not exactly. Renny turned back after hearing Delphine’s gunshots. He arrived right after Odile. As she tended to Mrs. Hart, he and I left to offer assistance. Amelie discovered you after subduing Delphine and was already by your side. You were unconscious, so Renny carried you to the cabin.”
“Thanks,” I said with heartfelt gratitude. “By the way, where am I?”
Renny perched on the foot of the bed, casually ruffling Honey Bun’s fur. “You’re in my father’s old room at our house. Once at the Benoit’s, Odile determined you were in for a long convalescence. Since Amelie and I needed to clear matters
in New Orleans, we all returned.”
Renny made the events sound routine. My head pounded with all the unanswered questions. “What happened? Are you still wanted for kidnapping? How did Mrs. Hart end up in Delphine? Are the Benoit’s all right? What about the rats?” My face reddened at the question I really wanted answered. Where was Amelie?
“See,” Esther noted with a know-it-all tone, “I told you I had lots to tell him.”
“Aha!” Odile stormed in carrying a glass vial. All those who hovered around the bed exchanged guilty looks except Esther, who never felt guilty—period. “I knew you would disregard my orders as soon as Peter awakened. He is not to be bothered and needs rest. Everyone out this instant.” She glared at them, daring anyone to argue. No one did, not even Esther. Such was the power of Odile Benoit.
They contritely left the room and Mrs. Hart shut the door. Odile sized me up in a glance. “Eh bien, you have decided not to die.”
“Apparently.” I shrugged intending to appear nonchalant, but the slight movement brought a grimace.
“You are in much pain.”
“No.”
“Bon,” she quipped. “You spoke very manly and merely turned slightly green. Amelie would be impressed.”
I cleared my throat at the mention of her name. “Is she around? I mean, I didn’t see her. Is she all right?”
“Of course. I simply sent her to the apothecary for more herbs for my healing. She spent entirely too much time brooding in this room. A very unhealthy activity for a girl her age. She became almost as pale as you.”
“She is…I mean she was…I mean,” I cleared my throat again. “When will she return?”
“Soon.” She presented a vial. “Drink. The potion will knock you out so I can change the bandages.”
“I just woke,” I protested, not wanting to miss Amelie. “Go ahead and change them. I’ll be fine.”