THE TEMPTING

by D. M. Pratt

  To save the village her father performed an ancient ritual with a name she’d never heard before or since. He drank the most powerful of the South American holy hallucinogens, Ayahuasca. Under its influence, he sent his spirit from this world into one of the other worlds. Because of the fear that filled his heart, the journey led his soul into the darkest of the realms. Zamara saw the flames rise up and engulf his body; how they turned a bloody and fiery red but never burned his flesh. She watched as first his breathing stopped, then his heart and finally, his entire body vanished. What happened next, only Keke knows for sure. When he returned, nine hours later, he wept, telling Zamara he’d made a deal with a dark demon named Kirakin and she was the price of their salvation. The people of the villages were to cover their windows, mark their doors with menstrual blood and stay inside. Kirakin kept his word; he appeared inside a great black mist and the Zombies fell. Their bodies were taken by the earth, sucked down into the dirt to rest in silence until the final resurrection came to take all who didn’t know the great mystery of how to never die.

  Zamara, once young and beautiful, had hoped her father would make her Oya keeper of the ancient secrets and the mysteries. Now, she was no more than a slave to be taken and used at the will of Kirakin and his dark demon children who roamed the earth as incubi and succubi. She escaped from Cuba, running from her past, running from Kirakin, but he found her in Florida and sent her to Louisiana.

  Zamara was sent to live in a house in the Latin Quarter. She filled it with colorful candles that burned in even more colorful glass jars, each laced with scents—lavender, oregano, myrrh and frankincense. There were plastic and porcelain statues of the great ancient master, Jesus the Christ, his wife Mary Magdalene and his Mother Mary. There were a host of Saints, so many she had forgotten their names, but she prayed to them every day to free her from the bondage of her curse. The walls of her bedroom were covered with velvet paintings, a dozen frightening African tribal masks and thousands of crosses. Her room was her sanctuary. The one place Kirakin hated, but it wasn’t powerful enough to keep him out if he chose to defy her. Each night she would look up at Jesus the Christ bleeding from the crown of thorns that pierced into the skin above his tortured eyes and ask him for help. At the far end of the room, draped in shadows, the glow of incense swirled into curls of ghostly smoke that danced in the candle light. It gave her peace and let her drift into sleep, where she hoped he would not come to take her.

  He’d left her alone since she’d started working for Miss Cora … mostly. There was the time in Delia’s room when she showed Cora the trick of how to calm her daughter that he slipped beneath Zamara’s skin and took Cora for his pleasure. He planted in Cora the passion that would be her undoing. It was easy for Kirakin to open her when he stepped inside Beau to seduce Cora. When she resisted, he sent one of his golden demons into her and she could no longer deny the pleasure that took over her.

  “I need to weaken her for what’s to come,” Kirakin had said.

  Zamara shuddered at the thought of what that meant. She felt the fear rush up her spine and grab hold of her heart. Zamara shook it away. Fear was what made her most vulnerable to him. She knew that and so did he.

  “No,” she said out loud. “I won’t fear you. I’ll hate you and someday …”

  Zamara stopped. She dare not speak the words out loud or even think them. He could hear her thoughts. So she pushed them deep inside the way her father had shown her and waited for the day when she would exact her revenge.

  Zamara knew what she had to do next. She had to go downstairs and wake Beau and Cora. She had to tell them that Eve had come in and seen them in their passion. Zamara would watch as their feelings of guilt destroyed their love for each other, while their remorse would crush any small ability they might have left to resist Kirakin when he finally came for them. Worst of all, she would tell them their children were gone, taken by Eve. Zamara wasn’t sure if Eve was strong enough to stop what was coming or Aria was powerful enough to help her. She knew only one thing – she needed to survive, prepare, and be ready for the final shift, Zamara thought. She straightened her dress and left the room.

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Mac had taken her call, given her directions and opened his home to Eve and her refugee children, who had stolen away in the night and sought sanctuary from a storm of confusion and unearthly things; unspeakable things Eve had still not yet wrapped her mind around.

  Inside the small, wood-frame house just off the seventh district on Granville Street, Eve was given a short tour of Mac’s old family home. The little Victorian had three tiny bedrooms and one bath on the second floor with a small entry, parlor, dining room, wonderful kitchen and an added half bath off the back mud porch. The third floor was an oddity found only in older homes. It was a single room with its ceiling and walls in the shape of a coffin. Eve had heard about, but never seen, this strange morbid little room where in years gone by families gathered to mourn the loss of loved ones and hold funeral services. The tiny room had one window that faced the neighborhood church and the shadow of the steeple and cross, when the moon or sun aligned with it, reached into the room and fell precisely on the center of the floor where the coffin would be placed. It would sit on velvet covered saw horses with just enough room for a few chairs around one side and for people to come, sit, pray, weep, file around and say their last good-byes. Now it was only an oddly shaped room filled with dusty boxes and old cloth-covered trunks. Eve wondered what kinds of family treasures and memories left over from the past lay inside.

  Mac said the house belonged to his mother’s family and he’d inherited it when she and his great grandfather, Papou died. The pictures that sat on the parlor mantle, hung on the walls down the wood-paneled entry hall and climbed up the stairs, told the stories of multiple generations of Macklins who’d lived, loved and died there. He’d changed very few things since their passing, but he’d added the few creature comforts he could on his detective’s salary. The minute changes made his home feel like it was his. Eve found it very male, with its ox blood leather chairs and tuck-pointed couches. Dark stained cherry wood tables and chairs filled the dining room. He was the neatest bachelor she’d ever met.

  When Eve and the children arrived, he asked no questions. He could see she was upset. He led her to his room where she undressed the children down to their undies and tucked them, upon his insistence, into his queen size bed. Eve lay with them until they fell into a sweet repose obviously unfazed by their new surroundings. The bed felt comfortable, soft and welcoming. It seemed to make her problems melt away and for the first time in a long while she relaxed. Just as she drifted off, she felt Mac standing by the door, watching over them like some guardian angel. His presence filled her with a kind of peace and that same feeling of safety she had experienced at the hospital when she and Mac first talked, then the day he came to the estate, in his arms at Dr. Honoré’s, and finally earlier that night at Evine’s. That was the feeling of tranquility that enveloped and lulled her into a welcomed, dreamless sleep. Safe.

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Beau and Cora woke, stilled tangled in each other’s arms, flesh against flesh, her hair blossoming into matted curls across his chest. Her vulva ached, her nipples became erect as the scent of their passion filled her nostrils and seeped from their skin. She wanted him again. His taste lingered on her lips as sweet as expensive wine laced with honey. They should have languished in the warmth of a thousand suns glowing powerful enough to unwind time and make the world fresh and good and new. Instead, the realization of what had happened turned her world black. Shame rushed over her, dragging her into the present. In silence they slowly unwound themselves and like Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden after they’d eaten the forbidden fruit, they covered their nakedness in abject embarrassment. Unable to look into each other’s eyes or speak a single word, they gathered their clothes that lay in colored puddles around the parlor and dressed. She and Beau had fallen from grace; fallen into the
depths of forbidden, carnal knowledge. They realized that because they had sinned, they would forever be punished and exorcized from paradise. Cora found and slipped into her dress. Her legs trembled, weak from the intensity of their intercourse. Unhinged, both physically and emotionally, she wept. She let out deep sobs, the kind a child experiences when something precious dies and is lost forever. She wasn’t sure if her tears were for the treachery of betraying her best friend or the sadness that she could not ever allow herself the pleasure of loving Beau again.

  Beau, tormented by the sound of her sobs, turned to look at her. He wanted to console her. He too was feeling this same deluge of emotions that pummeled her. In her heart of hearts Cora knew he didn’t dare cross the room. She could see him through the tears that blurred her vision as he turned away. Beau gathered his things and dressed.

  “The children are gone,” Zamara said from the entry. “So is Miss Eve.”

  The words stabbed into Cora’s heart. Beau rushed from the room and raced upstairs to search for his son as if Zamara had been lying and he alone could find them. Beau rounded the door to Philip’s room. It was empty. His future wife and baby son gone! She had seen him with Cora. She saw. She saw. How could he explain?

  Downstairs, Cora was having the same thoughts. How could this unthinkable thing have happened? How can I explain my own actions to the woman I trust and love and call my friend? Why does she always win? Cora thought.

  They had been concerned for her, just like the first time they had slipped into each other’s arms. The first time, Cora thought and now this had to be the last.

  “Where’s Delia?” Cora asked as Beau came down the stairs. Her voice raspy, dry from the tears that rung her out and left her parched.

  “Gone,” Beau said clinging to the wall as if it held him up.

  Cora didn’t remember crossing the room or stepping into the entry, but there she was facing Beau as he stood halfway down the stairs.

  “What do you mean? Where?” Cora demanded.

  “She took Mister Beau’s car, Miss Cora. Miss Eve’s car is out front,” Zamara said.

  For the first time Beau and Cora looked into each other’s eyes. She knows.

  “I called her cell phone a hundred times,” Aria said stepping in from the kitchen.

  Beau and Cora turned to Eve’s phone, mute on the desk in the parlor … the battery dead … forgotten … abandoned.

  “She took my car. The Blackberry’s in it,” Beau said.

  He crossed to his phone, picked up and dialed. They held a collective breath while it rang and rang and rang.

  “She’s upset. She’ll calm down and call us. Right?” Beau asked Cora.

  Cora had only been on the receiving side of Eve’s anger once. Then they didn’t speak for three weeks.

  “I don’t know. She’s a northerner. Maybe she doesn’t hold anger like … Beau, she has our children. Is this punishment for …” Cora stopped speaking, the tears welling back in her eyes, the words choking in her throat.

  “Get some coffee,” Beau said to Aria. “Please.”

  Aria and Zamara left as Beau crossed to a distraught Cora. He started to put his arms around her and stopped.

  “We’ll find her, Cora. I need you to calm down and help me think of where she might have gone. We’ll call Doctor Honoré and—” Beau stopped.

  “I was her friend. She would have come to me,” Cora said.

  Tears beat against her eyes, choking her into sobs that caught her breath and strangled her, driving her into a panic attack.

  “I would never hurt her,” Cora cried.

  Beau fought himself. He was a good man. A kind man and her friend. He wanted to go to her and fold her in his arms, to comfort her and for her to comfort him. She had become like the sister he’d lost and yet after last night they’d crossed a line of trust, and almost as an act of incest, they transferred between them the unspeakable. The act of loving one another had corrupted the innocence they’d worked so hard to bend back from darkness. They had held and loved each other because of fearing they would lose Eve that first time in the hospital. They had been honest and truthful and Eve had forgiven them. She’d even offered to step aside and they declined. Together they walked into the light of love and trust and friendship and now it was destroyed. The punishment had been that Eve, in her pain and anger, had taken their children from them.

  “Oh, God. Oh, God! Oh God!” Cora shouted.

  “We’ll find her, Cora, and we’ll explain,” Beau said.

  “Explain what? Do you understand what happened?” Cora shouted through the tears.

  “We … had too much wine and—” Beau started to say, but Cora cut him off.

  “Bullshit! I won’t lie to myself and I won’t lie to you or Eve anymore. I love you. I have loved you from the first time I saw you at the hospital. You have a power over me. I thought I could control what I felt and what I know you felt. Eve saw it. She may not have wanted to, but she saw it. We made her believe we were better and stronger and could hold this tsunami at bay, but we can’t. It took us over the edge to a place I never knew existed and I want it. Look at me and tell me you don’t love me! Tell me!” She screamed.

  Beau was silent. He looked at her. She could see the storm brewing in his eyes that changed them from warm sky blue to an icy gray sea. She could see the emotions flash inside him between anger and sorrow.

  “I love Eve, Cora. Yes, I love you, but …” Beau started to say.

  Cora trembled. Rage, pain, sorrow, a barrage of feelings soaked in confusion, ripped through her. She grabbed her purse and keys and stormed out the door.

  “Cora! Where are you going?”

  “To find my goddamn daughter!” Cora screamed at him. “And you tell that BITCH if she hurts one hair of Delia’s head, I’ll crush her and you both!”

  Cora vanished out the front door. Beau, in a rush of brutish fury, was on her heels. They spilled out onto the gravel and grass car park, Cora striding like a cheetah, Beau, a lion reaching his claws out to bring her down.

  “Stop!” he commanded.

  Cora never missed a step. She reached her Vantage and ripped the door open. Beau grabbed her and spun her around. There was a moment when their eyes connected and time split. Cora reached up and shoved her fingers into his hair and pulled his face to hers. She kissed him in an act of perfect passion. The kiss was hard and rooted in voracious anger and irresistible lust. They crashed into each other. She felt his body press her against the car. She felt his cock turn stiff. Her hands searched down his pants. His hands dove up under her dress. His touch felt like fire against her flesh. Her nipples shot to attention. He spun her, pressing her forward onto the roof of the car. He pushed her legs apart. Cora stepped one foot up on the car’s running board and with a thrust he stabbed himself inside her. His fingers curled into her hair, pulling her head so she arched her ass back and into him. His hips pumped, fucking her with all the anger and lust that twisted between, around them, inside them. They were drowning in their passion.

  “No,” Cora murmured through her moans of pain and pleasure. “No!”

  Suddenly Cora pushed him back. She spun and slapped him. “Stop!”

  But it wasn’t Beau she slapped, it was Kirakin. He stood where Beau had just been standing moment before.

  Stunned, Cora looked back at the house and saw Beau standing in the parlor window talking to Zamara. He walked away from Zamara oblivious to what was unfolding outside. Cora turned back to face the Nephilim and opened her mouth to scream, but his huge, glowing red hands covered her face. He threw Cora down on the gravel and ravaged her.

  Aria heard the argument in the entry. She heard Cora leave, looked out the window and saw Beau follow her out. Aria froze at the kitchen entry unsure what to do. They stood silent for a long moment listening. She crept closer into the entry. Zamara saw Aria and crossed to see what she was looking at. Aria could see the car, but it was empty.

  “He’s got her!” Aria said.

&
nbsp; Zamara understood instantly what Aria was talking about.

  “Check on Beau!” Zamara commanded.

  Aria ran upstairs and Zamara raced out of the house and across the car park. She froze when she saw Kirakin crushing Cora into the ground. She wanted to hit him. Stop him. Do something to help Cora. The closer she came, the harder he fucked Cora. Zamara could hear Cora’s muffled screams through his fingers as they covered her face.

  “Please,” Zamara whispered. It was a desperate prayer that fell helpless from her lips.

  Kirakin turned his face to Zamara. His features, twisted in lust and rage, made Zamara step back. That’s when Aria came out of the house.

  “Grab her!” Aria shouted as she strode past Zamara.

  As Aria moved past a petrified Zamara, she ripped the leather pouch from around her neck. Tearing it open, Aria spilled the black, red and white powder and small, sparkling crystals out all over Kirakin. They ignited and set Kirakin on fire. The night shattered with his scream.

  Zamara grabbed Cora and dragged her from beneath him.

  Behind Kirakin the air split open, creating a fissure into an alternate dimension; a gaping hole, whipped by wild winds sucked him inside. Kirakin, furious, fought the devouring wind. The flames licked his skin as he flailed, cursing in pain until the fissure swallowed him whole and sealed itself with a reverberating CRACK.

  Zamara stared at Aria as she held a now unconscious Cora.