“Don’t let anything happen to him,” she whispered.
“I won’t.”
She took a deep breath. “I’d like to believe you Shadow,” she said. “But it seems like whatever road you take, you have a habit of leaving a trail of dead bodies.”
Chapter Eighteen
Aria
Isadora led us back to her store, a small little shop situated around the corner from Bourbon Street. When she told us she sold magic, I had pictured a shop straight out of J.K. Rowling’s imagination, filled with wands and wizard hats, books with spells, and other magical oddities.
I pictured something cute.
But this was New Orleans, where magic had a different identity. The magic here was dark. It was voodoo.
She opened the door to the store and ushered us in. Inside was a pretty woman, a poster child for the ‘girl next door’ look, with long black hair brushed to one side and an elegant rosy face. She smiled from the moment we entered the Voodoo shop, which was appropriately named “The Voodoo Shop.”
“Hello hello,” she said. “Welcome to the Voodoo Shop.”
Isadora gave her a wink. “They’re not customers, Delilah,” she said.
“Oh, I figured that much out,” Delilah said. “They don’t look like tourists.”
Isadora turned to us. “I’ll need a minute to myself, and then I’ll introduce you to Mr. Friday,” she said.
“Mr. Friday is here?” Beau asked, in disbelief.
“Why yes, of course,” Isadora replied. “I believe the message delivered was that you’d speak to him today.”
“It was,” Beau replied. “I just never thought Mr. Friday would agree to a face-to-face. I thought he’d use a proxy or something.”
“Mr. Friday has high regard for the Midnight Society,” Isadora replied. “He thought a face-to-face meeting was in order.”
“I thought you said you did business with Mr. Friday before?” Lincoln whispered to Beau.
“Oh, don’t get me wrong, I did do business with him, but always through a middleman,” Beau said. “Much like how Shadow and the high ups would never dig in the trenches of the Midnight Society’s shadier businesses.”
“You’d be surprised how dirty some elite members of the Midnight Society get,” Lincoln said.
“Maybe so, but I haven’t seen any of those rich shits this far down the hole yet, so I have my reservations.”
I gave Lincoln a coy glance.
“You’ll meet Mr. Friday today,” Isadora repeated, interrupting the private conversation Beau and Lincoln were having.
“I hate to say it, but I’m kinda nervous,” Beau said as he leaned in closer to Isadora. “I heard he has a vicious bite to him.”
“Only if he’s angered,” Isadora replied. “You three better be on your best behavior. He’s not a forgiving man. Get on his good side though and his generosity knows no bounds.”
I watched as Isadora disappeared through a beaded curtain and entered into the back of the shop.
“Please, feel free to look around,” Delilah said. “I’m here if you have any questions.”
I wandered over to a row of shrunken heads that lined up the insides of a display case. They were hideous little things. Their eyes and mouths were stitched shut with twine, and their long dark hair was coarse and scraggly.
I scrunched my face, trying to not look too disgusted by those terrible things. “Are those real?” I asked, pointing to a head.
Delilah laughed. “Good heavens, no,” she said. “They’re composed of paper, dried fruit, paint and some animal skin for texture. The only thing sinister about them is the ridiculous prices we can charge for them.”
I bent down and looked at the price tag for one of those things. Five hundred dollars.
“Holy smokes, someone actually pays that much money for something so ugly?”
She nodded. “They sure do. It’s amazing what you can sell with a good story behind it.”
I couldn’t dispute her on that one. I thought of Calisto, and all the stories she spun to draw me into the Midnight Society.
“The cops never ask about why you’re selling fake heads?” I asked.
Delilah shook her head. “As long as we pay our taxes and keep the tourists happy, we don’t get hassled. Besides they know this establishment is under Mr. Friday’s protection and in terms of pay-offs, Mr. Friday has been very good to the police.”
I walked over to some other displays of pagan nature. On the far wall, skulls of various animal heads were mounted. Many of them looked to be inspired right out of a horror movie. Another shelf had an assortment of voodoo dolls, some sinister and some cute looking.
I stopped in front of a tall, black bookcase housing different editions of voodoo bibles.
“So is any of this real?” I asked.
“Voodoo itself is real,” Delilah said. “All you see in this store are trinkets for tourists and wannabe witch doctors who want to put on a good show. Our top customers are a cult of wealthy teens who believe they’re vampires. I try to squeeze them for every last penny.”
“So this store is nothing but a sham?”
Delilah shrugged. “The only thing in this store that’s real voodoo is Isadora,” she replied. “She herself is a living, breathing mojo. She has revolutionized voodoo and redefined the laws and limitations of this religion.”
“So you believe in voodoo as well?”
She smiled. “You can’t possibly live in New Orleans without stumbling upon a bit of magic here and there.”
“Makes sense,” I said, to appease her. I still wasn’t sold on the idea of magic. I walked over to Lincoln who was flipping through one of the books on the shelves.
“Find anything interesting?”
He showed me the cover.
“The Spiritual Magic of Sex,” I read aloud.
“I was wondering if it could teach me a few moves,” he said. He opened up to a page he had thumbed. There was a drawing of a woman, her hands and legs bound to two adjacent trees, completely spreading her body wide open in the shape of an X. Meanwhile, a man was on his knees, performing oral sex on her while his hands reached up and pinched her nipples.
“Is this turning you on?” he asked me in jest.
I pictured myself being tied up while Lincoln licked me. The thought of his lips and tongue brushing against my pussy folds made me hot.
I thought of Shadow, his hard cock sheathing inside me while I was physically bound and helpless to his desires, and let out a gasp.
“Are you alright, Aria?” Lincoln asked as he closed the book and placed it back on the shelf.
I nodded. Get a hold of yourself girl. Now wasn’t the time to have fifty shades of fantasies.
“Just a little anxious, that’s all,” I replied.
Isadora emerged from the curtains, this time wearing a low cut crimson dress that fit snug against her skin. Her cleavage was fully on display and judging by the seedy grin on Beau’s face, he was enjoying the view.
“Mr. Friday is ready to meet with you,” she said. “Please follow me.”
We stepped through the beaded curtain and traversed through a narrow hallway. The wooden paneled walls were lined with faded yellow pictures of various people engaged in ritualistic acts. I shuddered. It was creepy as hell.
The lighting in the hallway was dim. The bulbs that hung from a rusted iron chandelier emitted a faint orange glow while the light cast dark shadows along the wall that moved to the beat of our echoing footsteps. I couldn’t walk through this hallway fast enough.
At the end of the corridor was a faded red, wooden door. Isadora opened it and gestured for us to enter.
Inside was a normal looking study with a clean desk, shelves filled with books, a liquor cabinet, and most surprisingly a framed university certificate hanging against the back wall. I looked at it with keen interest.
Isadora Lalande, graduated from the University of New Orleans in theological studies with first honors.
“I stil
l don’t see Mr. Friday anywhere,” Beau said as he examined the liquor cabinet. “But you do have a vintage scotch in here that I’d be interested to try, that is if you’re willing to offer your esteemed guests a drink.”
“Once business is done,” Isadora said, as she took a seat behind the desk as crossed her legs.
I looked at the way she was sitting, in an authoritative stance with an amused look on her face, and an idea dawned on me.
“There is no Mr. Friday, is there?” I asked. “It’s only you.”
“There are partial truths in your words,” Isadora said. “There was a Mr. Friday, and he was a great man that deserved be feared as well as respected. He died over two years ago.”
“And you’ve been running the show since, behind the scenes?” Lincoln asked.
“Any successful partnership must begin with trust,” Isadora said, “And so I have trusted you with the greatest secret amongst my organization. I trust you will keep it?”
Lincoln nodded. “Of course,” he said. “The Midnight Society keeps the secrets of everyone they’re in bed with.”
“I figured nothing less from the Midnight Society.”
“How did Mr. Friday die?” Lincoln asked.
“Does that matter?”
“I’m just curious to know how a man so great met his end.”
Isadora sighed. “Mr. Friday was a man who enjoyed many vices. One of them ended up being the death of him.”
Beau’s mind looked boggled. “So for two years, a voodoo witch has been running the show?” he asked. “The person I’ve been dealing with all this time was you?”
Isadora shrugged. “Is it so hard to believe that a woman can run an entire empire by herself?”
Beau shook his head. “I don’t question your abilities,” he said. “I’m just surprised that behind all the vicious murders and acts of violence over the past couple of years, is a beautiful woman such as you.”
“Bite your tongue you ape,” Isadora warned. “You don’t have any evidence to prove I murdered anyone.”
“It’s no secret that Mr. Friday has been more ruthless to his enemies over the past couple of years,” Beau said.
I could tell Isadora was starting to get annoyed.
Lincoln must have sensed it too as he was quick to interject into their discussion. “Isadora, has Beau told you why we’re here?”
She nodded. “You want the Midnight Society’s investment back.”
“And our stash of weapons as well,” he replied. “The money that Beau gave you was not meant for investment purposes.”
Beau seemed to take offense to Lincoln’s words. “Don’t be a sour puss about it,” he said. “The investment decisions I made have more than doubled the Midnight Society’s money. I’m not gaining a cent from any of this.”
“If you gained nothing out of your business dealings with me, why do it in the first place?” Isadora asked.
“Heck, why does anyone do anything these days? I was bored.”
“So you decided to play with our money?” Lincoln asked, still composed.
“It was a safe bet,” Beau said. “I never gamble unless I know I’m coming out a winner.”
Isadora smiled. “It’s true. I’ve made a lot of money for the Midnight Society through the initial investment.” She pulled out a notebook from the desk and flipped through the pages casually. “Ah, here we are. Last year’s earnings.”
“And?” Lincoln asked.
“A net profit gain of three million dollars, cash, from what you put in.”
Lincoln looked at Beau and shrugged. “I give you credit, you’re not a bad investor. What did you invest in?”
“The surefire money maker around these parts,” Beau said, “Crystal meth. The drug has gotten quite popular after a wonderful TV show put it in the spotlight.”
Great, our future relied on the business decisions from a sex-obsessed TV junkie who exchanged his television for a mirror.
“Can we have our money and weapons then?” Lincoln asked.
Isadora shook her head. “Weapons are not a problem. The money however…when Beau first gave us money to use as investment for the crystal business, it was understood that the investment had a three year locked-in period,” she replied. “Currently we are in year two. To shift the funds around now would leave us both at a loss.”
“You said we made three mil from this,” Lincoln said. “You’re telling me none of that money is available to us?”
“That is correct,” Isadora said. “Delilah is a genius when it comes to business ventures, and dare I say prophetic. Any profits made are reinvested in other channels of our business to maximize profits. My estimates are that by the end of year three, you’ll have a return of close to five million dollars.”
“Three million will do just fine,” Lincoln said, “And we’ll take it now. Please.”
Isadora shook her head. “No.”
“Then this is a problem,” Lincoln said. “Once again, that money was not for Beau to invest in this business venture.”
“It is a problem,” Isadora agreed. “But it’s not my problem.”
“What if we were to take back the initial investment of one million only?” Lincoln asked.
“You nuts boss?” Beau chimed in. “You’d leave two million on the table?”
Lincoln nodded as he shot Beau a scathing look. “Yes. We need the money now,” he said, coldly.
He turned his attention back to Isadora who seemed to take pleasure in our situation. She had a smirk on her face.
“Mr. Sparrow, I cannot return the three million to you that is currently in play. It was the agreement I had with Beau.” Isadora said. “However I can give you three million out of my own pocket.”
“That’d be most gracious of you,” Lincoln said. “But I assume there’s a catch to this.”
“Isn’t there always?” Isadora replied.
He let out an exasperated sigh and nodded. “What do you want?”
“A business partnership with the Midnight Society,” she replied. “I have a new business venture starting up, and I would like to have your organization’s influence in helping me get it off the ground.”
Lincoln shook his head. “We have nothing to contribute right now, as you can see,” he said. “We’re scraping pennies off the sidewalk here.”
“This is a temporary setback,” she replied. “I’m confident that in few years, you’ll be the world-influencing empire that you once were. I’d love nothing more than to have your organization back my new business in both social and financial influence.”
“What are you selling?” Lincoln asked.
Her smile was full of mischief, one that made me think she was serving up a big slice of trouble pie for us to eat.
“The greatest profit turning business in the world,” she replied, “Faith. I want to sell my voodoo to the world. But first, I need one of you to believe. I need one of you to get in bed with your ghosts.”
Chapter Nineteen
Aria
Sleep with my ghosts? This chick had read one-too-many paranormal romance books. From the amused look on Lincoln’s face, it seemed like he agreed with me.
“Look, I appreciate the offer of you giving us the cash out of your own wallet but—”
“Do you think voodoo is a joke?” Isadora asked.
Beau spoke up. “No ma’am,” he replied. “I’ve seen enough shit in this life to know that sometimes black is white and up is down. I’d be damned if the cause of that didn’t come from something existential—something spiritual.”
I couldn’t help but suspect Beau was kissing her ass just so he could tap it later.
Isadora looked at Lincoln. “What about you?”
Lincoln shrugged his shoulders. “I’ll believe in anything that ends up with money in my pocket.”
Isadora shook her head. “That’s not enough.”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. Don’t get me wrong, I do believe in the existence of spiritual entities and
higher order,” Lincoln began, “But if you expect me to suddenly put all my faith into voodoo and magic, it’s a stretch for me. I’m being realistic here.”
She didn’t seem to like his answer and was quick to brush him off, turning her attention to me instead. “What about you?” she asked. “Do you believe in spirits?”
It sounded preposterous.
“Yes,” I lied.
“Do you believe in my magic?”
I shrugged. “Sure, why not.”
Isadora smiled. “Are you willing to prove your belief then?”
“What do I have to do?”
“Take a leap of faith,” she replied, “And allow yourself to succumb to the spirits. It’s the spirits that are the true essence of voodoo.”
I didn’t see the harm in playing along. It was all just a bunch of smoke and mirrors anyway.
“Lucy—” Lincoln began.
Isadora was quick to cut him off. “Tomorrow night, there will be a wedding,” she said. “I’d like for all of you to attend. It will be a wonderful celebration filled with food, music, alcohol, and of course magic.” She turned and looked at me. “Before the ceremony, I’d like you to meet with me privately and experience my brand of voodoo. Only once you’ve experienced it can you truly believe.”
She turned to Lincoln. “Tell your boss I do not expect any of you to convert to the religion in which I offer,” Isadora said. “But I do want him to acknowledge its existence, to know that what I do is real. Once Lucy has experienced the spirituality of my beliefs, I want the Midnight Society to endorse the Lalonde branch of voodoo as a respected form of religion.”
“So, all you want is to be acknowledged as a legitimate faith?”
Isadora nodded. “Yes,” she replied. “And for that I need social influence and political backing, both of which the Midnight Society once had.”
“Had is the key word,” Lincoln replied. “As you mentioned, it’ll be a while before we can regain all that back. We are starting at ground zero.”
“I am very patient,” Isadora said, unconcerned.
“Religion is also a very tough sell,” Lincoln replied. “Especially since the entire concept of voodoo is based around ghosts and spirits and other creatures of the night.”
Penumbra (The Midnight Society #2) Page 16