by Amanda Rose
I stand there in shock, mouth to mouth with a beautiful stranger for several heartbeats before I register what exactly is happening.
“What the fuck?” I gasp with a hard shove. I wipe at my mouth like it can make me forget the feeling of his soft lips on mine. “If you ever touch me without my permission again, I swear I’ll cut it off.” I point in the general direction of his dick, and his eyes widen with disbelief. This is not the reaction this guy is used to getting. Maybe he's used to girls just swooning at the sight of him? He purses his lips in anger, violence seething just below the surface. Maybe I should be scared, but I'm not.
“Are you always this infuriating, Princess?” He spits the last word. Princess, huh? That condescending sack of shit. Now I'm really pissed off. If I disliked the guy before, I loathe him now.
“Are you such a narcissistic twat that you're shocked when someone isn't charmed by you, you cocky douchebag?” I snarl, shoving past him. He clenches his jaw as I start to walk away then follows me down the sidewalk; his long legs make it easy for him to keep pace with me.
“It's a shame le rôdeur didn't kill you when the wards failed. Then I wouldn't have to put up with this shit.” How the hell does he know about the wards? I might not like the guy, but if he knows about my magic then he could have useful information. He could be the conjurer who wants me dead, says a little voice in my head. At this point though, I'm too angry to care.
“Put up with what? Being turned down? Newsflash dude, you might be hot, but your attitude is revolting.” By this point in the conversation, we’re halfway down the block. “And stop following me.”
“Trust me your majesty: if I wasn't bound to protect you, I would.”
“What the hell are you even talking about?” I ask, whirling around to face him, my teal-tipped-brown curls bouncing with the movement.
“You mean you don't know?” He laughs, but it isn't carefree like Zandor's or comforting like Sebastian’s. Instead, it's filled with cruel disbelief. “As a guardian, I can't leave you unprotected no matter how much I want to.” I have no idea what he’s talking about. I guess the look of confusion on my face is enough to make him explain further. “Anytime you're not with the other guardians or behind protective wards, we're stuck together.” When he says other guardians, my stomach drops. Zandor's words ring in my ears.
'Be prepared because Sam is a huge flirt. And Krim, he's an asshole.'
No. He can't be. Anyone but him.
“You're Krim, aren't you?” I ask, heart sinking even though I already know the answer.
“Yes. Kriminal is one of my many names.” He says this with a sigh, his storm gray eyes narrowed in irritation. “Can we can make small talk later, your majesty? We have a lot of shopping to do before it gets dark.” Krim gestures at a red and black Indian motorcycle. Of course he has a motorcycle. Like he isn't already a bad boy cliché with his leather jacket and tattoos. I bet he smokes, too.
“Shopping?” I ask, not exactly sure what we would need to go shopping for exactly.
Krim tosses me the leather jacket and helmet that were hanging off the handle bars of his bike before kicking his leg over the motorcycle and sitting down. He slides the strap of his bloodred messenger bag across his muscular chest.
“Just get on?” he quips as the engine roars to life. “Unless you're too scared, Princess?” Krim taunts. That wicked cruel smile of his is back and it pisses me off. I know I'm falling for really obvious reverse psychology, but I can't seem to help myself. Angrily, I slip on the jacket and helmet and kick my leg over the motorcycle like I've done it a million times before, even though I've never ridden one in my life. It smells like him, like leather and jasmine.
“Put your board in the bag behind you.” I can barely hear him through the noise of the motor. With a roll of my eyes, I turn back around and fasten my skateboard on the back.
“Hold on tight,” Krim growls, reaching back and grabbing my right hand and putting it around his waist. “I ride hard and fast.”
As we take off down the street, I try to tell myself not to be attracted to the arrogant jerk, but with my chest pressed against the warmth of his firm muscular back and the scent of jasmine and leather from his helmet filling my lungs, I get butterflies and my heart beats a frantic rhythm in my chest.
Krim takes us over an hour outside the city through back roads, deep into the swamp. It's gorgeous in a mysterious sort of way. It's hard to explain, but I sort of feel like I belong here. After only a few days, Louisiana is more home to me than Alaska ever was. The spindly trunks of cypress trees poke up out of the tepid green and brown water of the swamp, what little light there is filtering through moss as we get deeper into the bayou. The air itself seems to give me energy.
When I don't think we could get any farther from civilization, Krim slows down, taking a creepy dirt road. The tract of dirt is so narrow no car could drive it. And the trees bend down unnaturally, creating a dark tunnel of sorts. At the base of every tree and hanging from almost every inch of every moss-covered branch are dozens of tiny ornaments: hundreds of bones, cloth dolls, coins, cigarettes, carvings, bottles of alcohol both big and small, as well as a random assortment of other weird things. This reminds me of the cave/room from the movie Howl's Moving Castle, only way creepier. Plus, I’d so much rather be stuck with Howl than Kriminal LaCoste. Bleh.
We continue on, crossing several very rickety bridges. In the murky water, several sets of curious gator gazes watch us, making me shiver. Their eyes follow our every movement. There’s something not normal about the way they’re looking at us, I think, refocusing my attention on Krim’s dark hair as it whips wildly in the wind.
After a while, the darkness of the tunnel ends and we cross one final bridge. There’s a small circular island of dry dirt surrounded by the darkness of a seemingly endless swamp with a simple wooden shack with a rusty tin roof sitting atop it.
I get a sudden sense of déjà vu. I've been here before, I think to myself as Krim pulls the motorcycle to a stop and cuts the engine. I brush off the thought. That's impossible; I've never even been to Louisiana before. But a little voice in my head says if magic and monsters are real then maybe my déjà vu is, too.
Without the roar of the motor, silence sits heavy in this sacred space. I take off the helmet slowly, not wanting to make any sudden movements or loud noises. Hell, I don’t even want to speak. It feels like I just entered church in the middle of mass or something. Apparently, Krim has no such hang-ups. He gets off the bike, the heavy souls of his boots leaving tracks in the soft dirt as he readjusts his red bag. His cold as concrete eyes watch me just sitting there, unsure of what to do next.
“Let's go, Princess; we don't have all night,” he says, heading toward the shack. He doesn't bother to wait for me. I clench my jaw in irritation not only at his words, but at his disrespect towards the magic of this place. I climb off the motorcycle and start to follow him, but apparently I'm not moving fast enough because the stupid prick keeps talking.
“I thought you could handle this simple task, but if not, I can always hold your hand and walk you through it,” he adds with a smug smirk. The look on his face tells me he’s trying to get a rise out of me. Saying things to purposely piss me off.
And it's working.
“Less than a day with you and already death doesn't seem like such a terrible option,” I retort, breezing past him up to the building and right through the front door. Holy crap.
Inside the small one room cabin, sitting in the middle of the floor, is a giant bullfrog. I blink several times, pretty sure my mouth is hanging open in shock at the sheer magnitude of it. It’s the size and shape of an extra-large beanbag, like the kind a grown adult can lounge on. It stays impossibly still for several long seconds before it opens its mouth wide and just sits there waiting for me to do … I have no freaking idea. This is like something straight out of a video game or whatever. Not sure what I'm supposed to do next, I turn around, giving Krim a look.
; “Present him an offering,” he drawls, leaning against the doorjamb and crossing his muscular arms over his chest. The movement gives me a good view of the zombie and ghost tattoos that cover the generous swells of muscle from shoulder to forearm.
“I don't have anything to give him,” I angrily whisper-yell in his direction.
“Blood. Duh.” Krim says this with a dramatic eye roll then reaches into his pocket and holds out a small knife.
“How the hell am I supposed to know that?” I ignore the knife in his hand, reaching into my own pocket and pulling out the multitool I have attached to my key chain. “How much?” I ask, pulling open the small knife. Krim's eyebrows raise in surprise.
“Just a drop or two.” I don't wait for him to elaborate, poking my right ring finger and figuring this’ll be the least painful spot for a cut. The crimson liquid begins to well from the small wound. I reach out, letting one drop fall into the monster frog’s mouth. As soon as the blood reaches its slimy pink tongue, it speaks.
“It's nice to meet you, Madame Laveau. And as always, it’s a pleasure, Captain,” the toad says in a heavy French accent, bowing his head slightly as he speaks. He tips an imaginary hat at me with his tiny front leg. Then I blink, and the massive creature is just gone—how does this keep happening to me?!—and in his place is a pillow-sized sack filled light gray powder.
I have a ton of questions I want to ask, but the frog could still be listening and I really don't want to offend a magical creature that can vanish in the blink of an eye. So, I file my questions away for later, figuring Sebastian or Zandor are more likely to give me actual answers than the sexy douche bag I'm currently with.
“What next? A spider’s nest? Cause if it's spiders, you better give me a heads-up,” I say, pointing at Krim. My tone is light since I am half-joking. He gives me just a hint of a smile before it disappears back into an arrogant smirk. “But seriously, I can handle anything but spiders.”
“We only have one more stop and lucky for you, this one is in town.” Kriminal walks over and grabs the bag. As he passes by, he leans down and whispers in my ear, his breath like ice, a cold shock to the system that sends a violent shiver down my spine. “Don't worry, your majesty. I'll protect you from anything—even tiny, helpless little insects.” I blush. He has a point, but I’m not about to let him get one up on me.
“Spiders aren't insects; they’re arachnids,” I quip as I head toward the motorcycle.
I don't need to see him to know I succeed in wiping that smug look off his gorgeous face.
#
“Why are we in a graveyard?” I say to Krim as soon as we get off the motorcycle. “When you said town, I sort of assumed we were going to an actual store or something.” The sun is setting which means I need to get home ASAP. If my dad gets there before I do, he’ll freak, and I'll be grounded for like a month at least.
“In general, it's a bad idea to make assumptions.” It's my turn to roll my eyes.
“Are you an asshole to everybody, or just to me?” I reply. Instead of the slouchy bad boy swagger, Krim is suddenly standing rigid and alert. His storm gray eyes are narrowed and he’s scanning the cemetery grounds like he senses something I don’t. More evil loa? Because those things were scary enough at home; the last thing I need is to have them chasing after me in a graveyard.
“We need to hurry; the sun is setting. It's not safe in the dark with you as useless as you are right now. I will get the knuckle bones; you need to go over there.” Krim points to the center of the cemetery, a few yards from where we’re standing. Knuckle Bones? He can't be serious. “Where the two main paths cross. Fill this all the way to the top with crossroad dirt,” Krim continues, handing me a small glass jar. Dirt, I think with a sigh of relief, because there is no way in hell I'm digging up a body. “Stay close to me. If you see or hear something, anything at all, tell me immediately.” His tone is so serious, I don't argue … even though I sort of want to, just for fun. He seems really anxious which freaks me out a little bit. Okay, a lot. Krim has been nothing but cocky and overconfident for hours on end. To be honest, it’s making me want to wring his perfect tattooed neck. But, if something is stressing him out, it's gotta be seriously fucking scary.
I never thought in a million years I would want that annoying attitude back.
“Okay fine. I need to get home before my dad does.” I say to him as I start walking to where the cemetery paths meet. Krim goes towards the back corner where the oldest graves are. He rests his hand on a headstone. The way he stares into the distance with those cold gray eyes it is clear his mind is elsewhere. Focus Sera and just get the dirt so we can leave. I drop to my knees and start scooping up mud from the path using the edge of the jar as a shovel of sorts. I can feel the wet earth soaking into the fabric of my jeans. As soon as I finish filling the container I put the lid back on and stand up. I wipe my hands off on my jeans figuring they are already covered in brown stains. I scan the graveyard for Kriminal. I finally spot him about 15 yards away standing near one of a couple large mausoleums. I can vaguely make out the silhouettes of at least a dozen figures surrounding him. He stands there stone still while one by one they come up to him and lay something at his feet. Weird I never heard anyone come into the cemetery. As decide to head towards him to get a better look at these mystery people I hear a man’s voice from behind me.
“Serefine Laveau.” The voice says. I turn around. Behind me only a few feet away is a frail old African man with skin the color of deep rich mahogany and wise eyes. He is bent with age and wearing a long red robe that pools on the ground at his feet. Long bony fingers cling to a long wooden staff like it is the only thing keeping him upright. He looks like a wizard. The thought is so stupid I smile. He takes the smile as an invitation to continue.
“Papa Legba has gift for you child.” He says. Papa Legba? Is he talking about himself or someone else? The man looks to weak and frail to hurt anybody and he hasn't done anything wrong. He is even smiling at me big and wide and friendly, but I just don't trust him. When I don't move to come closer something flashes behind his eyes and the hair on the back of my neck stands on send. No one has to tell me this guy is bad news and I need to get the hell away from him. I don't say a word I start backing up as quick as I can without taking my eyes off the stranger. Formless shadows are leaking out from under his robe. When he sees I haven't fallen for the ruse he stands up straight. His back which seemed bent with age only a moment ago straightens. I keep backing up not wanting to take my eyes off whatever this guy is. Behind him buried in the branches of one of the giant oaks I see hundreds of red slanted eyes and they are all looking at me. Fuck. I send a silent prayer to whoever might be out there. Please don't let me die tonight.
“Krim” I call as loud as I can my voice coming out just a little bit shaky. Less than a second later his voice booms louder than humanly possible.
“Run.” He screams at me. The fear panic changes his velvety voice into something almost unrecognizable. In same moment the nasty spooks in the tree start screeching. The myriad of voices blending together into a single ghastly wail. I turn tail and run as fast as I can in Kriminal's general direction. The jar of dirt is still clutched in my hand. Jumping over headstones praying I don't trip and break my ankle. Don't look back. Looking back never helped anyone. I tell myself. I can hear the scurrying of hundreds of tiny feet gaining on me. Then Krim is just there he grabs my hand. The warmth of his firm grip in my hand encourages me to push a little harder. I struggle to keep up as he pulls me along in an attempt to escape whatever horrible creatures are trying to kill me. His motorcycle is back in the opposite direction parked near the front gate. If we want to get out of here we're gonna have to get past whatever is chasing us. My mind is frantically trying to find some way to get out of here without dying but there doesn't appear to be any obvious means of escape. We jump over a particularly large grave stone. He yanks me to the ground drawing a small circle around us in the mud. I'm panting from the exertion.
/> For the first time I get a look at what was following us. There are hundreds of glowing red eyes otherwise there is no discernible separation between individuals. Like the many have melded into a single being made entirely of shadows. Moving in unison like a school of fish or a swarm of bees. They surround us. But they make no attempt to cross through the circle.
“I need your strength to get us out of here. On the count of three bite your lip or your tongue hard enough to bleed.” The ground below us is trembling. Oh no what now.
“One.” His he says his eyes are glowing now and all around us the dirt is rising.
“Two.” I hear his voice say but his mouth is moving really fast and he is whispering something under his breath. I feel like I'm watching an old Kungfu move with the really bad voiceovers. Tombstones all over the cemetery start to fall. The circle of red eyed shadows begins to part, and I can hear the old man chanting in a language I've never heard before. He seems to float towards us instead of walk. I get ready bite my lower lip knowing it's really gonna hurt.
“Three.” His voice is strained. It comes out so quiet it's barely a whisper. I bite down as hard as I can. Blood starts to well in my mouth.
“I have to princess.” He says right before he presses the softness of his lips to mine. His right hand sliding forward along my jawline to and into my hair encouraging me to kiss him back. I can't believe I'm doing this. Before I can think too hard about it I do. Not wanting him to have the upper hand I take it a little further touching his tongue to mine. All around us there is chaos but for me time seems to stand still and I feel almost weightless. At first Krim is cold as death but my kiss, my touch seems give him life, power. By the time our tongues meet his mouth is hot with desire. His silver eyes stare into mine as he slowly increases the pressure of the kiss. I can feel my magic, my life force if you will, being shared with him. I don't know how we long stay embraced his mouth on mine. When he finally pulls away there is an explosion of sorts. Like a hundred landmines all over the graveyard detonate at once. All around us people crawl out of the moist grave dirt all in varying states of decay. I gag. I barely resist the urge to vomit. The smell of putrefying bodies is everywhere. Zombies. I'm surrounded by freaking zombies. They don't make sounds like they do in the movies instead they are like silent puppets controlled by some unseen force. My vision blurs and I almost lose consciousness. I slump forward but Krim catches me.