Black Heart Loa

by Adrian Phoenix

  “They tried,” Addie said in a near whisper. “The wards refused to be undone.”

  Divinity’s blood turned to ice in her veins. “Sweet Jesus.”

  “We’re having a meeting here at my place at ten tonight—as many hoodoos, conjurers, voodooists, and voodooiennes as I can round up—to see if we-all can’t come up with a solution before Evelyn drops in on us. Are you and Kallie going to need a ride? I’m sure I can find someone traveling through your neck of the woods to pick you up. Oh! And could you let Kallie’s friend know too? The mambo-in-training?”

  Divinity’s thoughts returned to her missing nephew. He’s out dere alone, maybe hurt, maybe trapped, and he ain’t got no hope but me and Kallie.

  As much as Divinity wanted to help Addie and the others, as much as she wanted to keep the hurricane from devastating the unprotected coastline, as much as she wanted to restore magic to its natural rhythms, blood came first. It always would.

  “I’d like to come,” she said finally, “but have me a patient to tend to, plus I have t’ings I need to take care of—t’ings dat won’t wait. Kallie and Belladonna are still at dat carnival o’ fools down in New Orleans,” she lied, “so I ain’t expecting dem back until tomorrow. But”—she paused and gave a frowning but listening Gabrielle an inquiring look, a lift of the eyebrows—“I’m sending a friend in my place in de meantime, a mambo from Lafayette by way of Haiti.”

  A muscle ticked in the mambo’s jaw, but she nodded.

  “Oh,” Addie replied, her tone somewhat surprised. “All right. But if anything changes—”

  “Den we’ll be dere as soon as we can,” Divinity assured her.

  After the call ended, Divinity filled Gabrielle in on the wards and the meeting. The mambo looked shaken. “Bon Dieu,” she whispered. “And they’re sure? About the wards?”

  “So Addie said.”

  Gabrielle nodded, then put the crushed gauze pads and medical tape down on the bedside table. Turning, she drew the blankets up over Layne. She sat down in the rocker angled beside the bed, closed her eyes, and rocked, furrows creasing her brow as though she were deep in thought—or praying.

  We can use all de prayers we can get—provided dey don’t backfire too.

  Divinity crossed to the shaded window facing the street. With a tug at the bottom of the shade, she rolled it up to the window’s midway point.

  Rain poured again, falling hard from a ragged gray sky, filling the gutters with leaf-littered streams and puddling on the pavement and sidewalks. Cars—few and far between—shushed along the glistening street. Even with an apartment as buffer between the botanica and the building’s roof, she heard the steady drum of rain against the shingles.

  She scrutinized the people hurrying along the sidewalks in front of the storefronts across the street—Irene’s Café, Rouses Market, Bayou Cyprés Noir Pharmacy, and, for what was truly ailing you, the Hair of the Dog Tavern—relief trickling through her when she didn’t see anyone who looked out of place like a goggle-eye perch in a banana tree.

  One thing Divinity knew for certain, her sister hadn’t acted alone; knew Sophie had lacked the strength to remove a soul and replace it with a loa—and a wild one at that—all by her lonesome.

  Thing was, Divinity had no idea who her sister’s partners in crime were. Or where they were. She’d intended to keep Kallie hidden from them as long as possible—preferably forever. But now she felt time slipping away from her.

  I will never forgive you, Sophie. Nor will I ever understand why you did it. What you hoped to gain.

  With a sigh that gusted up from the far reaches of her soul, Divinity drew the shade back down and walked over to her worktable. She’d never felt older or more tired.

  She reached into the pocket of her skirt and pulled out the unfinished poppet with its purple button eyes, then placed it carefully on the table among the leaves and herbs. The air was redolent with the smells of sage and sulfur and bitterweed.

  Divinity stroked the brown yarn hair between her fingers, smoothing it, remembering with a sharp pang brushing the thick, dark waves of Kallie’s hair when she was younger and how it had flowed like silk through her fingers.

  Back when I was first getting to know her, my sister’s daughter, dis wounded and angry fourteen-year-old girl, dis violet-eyed stranger. My Kallie.

  Divinity’s chest tightened. She drew in a deep breath, her fingers resting against the poppet as though for comfort, and considered her options one more time—which, with the magic misfires, had become extremely limited.

  Her original plan to bind Kallie and, hopefully, the loa to the poppet, chaining both to her will, now seemed impossible without the necessary spells to weave the binding.

  Another option would be to potion Kallie up and keep her unconscious until a method to remove the loa without harming her could be figured out. If such a method existed.

  Of course, the option Divinity hated to even entertain—Kallie’s death—would be a surefire way to remove the loa, since it would refuse to remain in a lifeless body. But right now, without the proper tricks to bind and contain the loa, killing Kallie would be senseless. At the moment, for better or worse, the loa was at least contained inside her niece’s flesh like the ghosts were inside of the nomad.

  Divinity stiffened. Sweet Jesus. Spinning around, she regarded Layne, a new possibility wheeling through her mind.

  The question was, would it work? A Vessel housed the dead and, as far as Divinity understood, the loa inside Kallie wasn’t one of the Gédé, wasn’t the spirit of someone who had once lived, then died.

  It was an elemental spirit. One born of darkness and strife and cruel intent. A black heart loa.

  Divinity padded across the room, stopping beside the nomad’s bed. She studied his relaxed and sleeping face—a handsome one, for true, with its sharp cheekbones and lips curved for kissing.

  He was designed by nature to take spirits in, then send them on. Could he do the same with a living loa? Tendrils of hope threaded through Divinity.

  She glanced over her shoulder at the poppet lying on the table. She might have to risk a binding spell if the nomad couldn’t take in the loa. Maybe if she reversed the spell—made it a freedom trick instead of a binding one—it would work.

  As soon as de nomad wakes up, we gonna have a nice long chat, us.

  Now to look for Jackson while Kallie rested. Divinity went to the front of the store to fetch her cards and shells. She had every hope a reading, a divination, would be accurate, since it wasn’t accomplished by magic or spell or potion.

  It was accomplished by intuition.

  A knowing that glittered liked stars in heart and mind.

  Once in the consultation room again, Divinity sat down at her worktable. She consecrated the cockleshells with blood and herbs, lit a candle and offered up prayers to the saints, then went to work.

  Boy, where are you?

  TWENTY-SIX

  EVERYTHING SHE LOVES

  Belladonna had been right. Not that Kallie had any in tention of telling her so.

  The hot shower had sluiced away her exhaustion, easing her taut muscles, and Belladonna’s flowery shampoo and conditioner had her hair smelling of jasmine and honey instead of swamp mud.

  With a bowl of Cap’n Crunch in her tummy, she felt more alert, and dressed in a pair of black leather shorts and a black tank top that hit her midriff—the only things of hers she’d been able to ferret out of Belladonna’s closet—she’d even stretched out on the sofa while running Layne’s clothes through the washer and dryer.

  But she hadn’t slept. Not after watching the news on TV.

  HURRICANE EVELYN NOW APPROACHING CATEGORY FOUR WITH WIND SPEEDS OF 130 MPH.

  With a new projected trajectory indicating that the storm was headed for the Louisiana coast, Kallie had a niggling suspicion that the wards were acting as beacons and/or magnets for the hurricane, guiding it straight to them. She also thought of Jackson howling in the wind, fists clenched and grieving, and
the cereal she’d eaten turned to stone in her belly.

  She texted him another message, hoping against hope that he would see it, wishing her messages to be a beacon for him, a night-light in the darkness.

  HOLD ON WE’RE GONNA FIND U.

  Eyes burning, Kallie decided to place a quick call to Lord Augustine’s assistant at the Prestige and check on Dallas’s condition. Maybe she’d get some good news there.

  When Felicity answered, even though their conversation was brief, Kallie received the good news she was hoping for—Dallas’s recovery was proceeding at an amazing pace.

  “I suspect the magic snafus might be responsible for it,” Felicity said, her normally smooth British tones clipped and rushed. “Just as they are for the change in the hurricane wards—I need to start evacuating the guests.”

  “You’ve heard about that, then,” Kallie said, surprised.

  “Indeed,” Felicity replied, her voice tinged with amusement. “The Hecatean Alliance has a wide information network. Magic is our business, after all. And with its current state of disarray, we’ve certainly had our hands full here, what with the carnival.”

  Thinking of all the magic practitioners attending the annual May Madness fest in News Orleans, Kallie could only imagine. Yikes.

  “Yeah, we’ve been having problems here too,” Kallie said. “My aunt thinks it’s due to a hex laid down by Doctor Heron. But …”

  “But you disagree?” Felicity asked quietly. “What do you believe is causing it?”

  “I don’t know,” Kallie lied, unable to give voice to her suspicions—or at least not to a woman she barely knew. “I hope we find out soon.”

  “As do I,” Felicity murmured. “I’m afraid I really must go, Ms. Rivière. It seems that a contingent of wands, dolls, and chalices have taken over the dealer’s room.”

  Kallie blinked. Yikes again.

  “But I’m sure Mr. Brûler would be very happy to hear from you.” Giving Kallie Dallas’s room number in the med center and a polite farewell, Felicity ended the conversation.

  When Kallie heard Dallas’s voice on the other end of the line, low and little rough like after a hard night of drinking, she said, “I’m sorry I punched you, Dallas. You were right all along and if you’d—”

  “Whoa. Stop right there. Who the hell is this?”

  Kallie paused, wondering if there was something Felicity hadn’t told her about the root doctor’s condition or if this was some aftereffect of whatever pain meds he’d been given; but before she could say anything, he continued speaking.

  “’Cause this sure as hell can’t be Kallie. The word sorry ain’t in her vocabulary.”

  “Goddammit, Dal, I’m trying to apologize here.”

  “Must be under a spell, then,” he teased. “You okay, hun?” he asked, all humor vanishing from his voice. “I heard about what happened, about Doctor Heron, and your goddamned aunt too.”

  “Me?” Kallie protested. “I’m fine. I ain’t the one lying in a hospital bed full of transfused blood. How the hell are you?”

  “Worried,” he admitted. “I been watching the news about the hurricane. They’re saying that landfall might be near Houma and might be as soon as thirty-six hours. They’re gonna evacuate me to a hospital in Baton Rouge. Just to be on the safe side.”

  Kallie puzzled over his sudden switch in subject. “I’m glad. I’ll breathe a little easier knowing you’re farther inland.” She paused a beat, then tackled the elephant in the airwaves. “Dal, about what Divinity did—”

  “Don’t wanna talk about it,” he said, cutting her off, voice flat. “Not yet. And I plan to talk to her first—who-ever she claims to be—when I do.”

  Kallie couldn’t blame Dallas. Divinity had lied to him too. And her lie had slashed a knife across his throat. “I hear you, cher,” she said softly.

  “I know you do, hun.”

  Kallie told Dallas about the tainted wards, but not about Jackson. Knowing how fond the root doctor was of her wayward cousin, she worried that he’d try to haul himself out of his hospital bed to aid in the search.

  In many ways, she, Jackson, and their aunt were Dallas’s family.

  “Y’all keep safe, y’hear?” Dallas said. “If the problem with the wards doesn’t get fixed, this blowdown is gonna be a motherfucker.”

  Kallie’s gut knotted. “I know. You keep safe too. I’ll talk to you later.”

  She stared at the ceiling for a long moment after the conversation ended, heart pounding, Felicity’s words rolling along the edge of her thoughts like a hurricane warning at the bottom of a newscast.

  What do you believe is causing it?

  The raucous and nerve-jarring buzz of the dryer brought Kallie to her feet. Hoping the damned thing hadn’t awakened Belladonna, she hurried down the hall. A quick glance into Belladonna’s room revealed her friend facedown and still drooling on her pillow. A smile twitched across Kallie’s lips.

  Stopping in the doorway, she used her cell phone to snap a picture of Drooling Beauty. After checking the screen to make sure she’d captured the moment, Kallie continued on to the dryer.

  But as she yanked Layne’s warm jeans, socks, and black Inferno T-shirt out of the dryer, her thoughts returned to the storm and her gut feeling—despite Divinity’s words to the contrary—that she, or rather the loa inside her, was somehow responsible for the magic misfires and the hurricane’s rapid approach.

  What do you believe is causing it?

  Me.

  Kallie couldn’t help but wonder if this was what her mama had tried to unleash when she’d pulled the trigger nine years ago.

  Sorry, baby. I ain’t got a choice.

  The old familiar anger seared the back of Kallie’s throat. Bullshit. Bullshit. Bullshit. Gathering up Layne’s clothes, pressing their lingering warmth against her chest, Kallie marched for the door, pondering her options.

  One: Do nothing. Allow the hurricane to destroy cities, ecosystems, and lives—both human and animal—and devastate the Louisiana coast and economy. Oh, and the best part of this particular option? More hurricanes would follow Evelyn, since the goddamned wards would still be broken and broadcasting a Welcome! signal. The fun would continue nonstop.

  Two: Summon Baron Samedi and hand herself over. Let him yank the loa out of her body and allow him to do whatever he needed to do to stop the hurricane, restore magic’s natural flow, and save everyone and everything she loves—people and land. The cost? Her own life.

  Three: Try to remove the loa herself. Of course, she would have less than thirty-six hours to accomplish it if she hoped to stop the hurricane. Otherwise, she’d have no choice but to summon the Baron. Provided he didn’t find her first.

  Kallie mentally exed out option number one, since it wasn’t even in the running. Do nothing. Yeah, right. But before she did anything, she needed to find Jackson, pull him out of the fire Doctor Heron and a mistaken identity had tossed him into.

  As she unlocked and opened the apartment’s front door, a sleepy voice asked, “Where you off to, Shug?”

  “I thought you were still droo—I mean, sleeping,” Kallie replied, swiveling around, her hand still resting on the doorknob. “I’m running Layne’s clothes downstairs and checking on his progress. You should go back to bed.”

  Belladonna eyed her dubiously. “Did you sleep?”

  Kallie never even blinked. “Yup. And I plan to come back up to get a little more.”

  “Oh. Okay.” Belladonna flapped a hand at her, dismissing her, then yawned. “Maybe another hour wouldn’t hurt.”

  As Belladonna shuffled back to bed, Kallie quietly left the apartment and headed downstairs to the botanica.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  FAMILY NEVER DOES

  “How is he?” Kallie asked as she walked into the darkened consultation room, Layne’s clothes in her arms.

  “Resting,” Gabrielle said with a smile. She sat in the rocker beside the bed.

  “He took a nasty knock to de head, him,” D
ivinity replied from where she sat at her worktable, her gaze focused on the table’s surface. Candlelight flickered against her face, casting shadows. “But his helmet saved him from a broken skull. Concussion, bruises, and road rash from his spill, but boy will be living to ride anudder day.”

  Kallie exhaled in relief, a smile warming her lips. “Ça c’est bon.”

  “Mmm-hmm. Dat it is. I always heard dat nomads got t’ick ol’ stubborn skulls. Must be true.”

  Kallie laughed, low in her throat. “Another good thing,” she said, then amended, “Except when he’s being man-stupid.”

  “Ain’t you supposed to be sleeping?” Divinity asked, voice sharp. “I t’ought we had an understanding, girl.”

  “I know, I know.” Kallie sighed. “But I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking of Jackson and I was watching the news about the hurricane and …” She shrugged. “I just couldn’t.”

  Divinity swiveled around on her stool and eyed Kallie in the dim light, arms folded underneath her breasts. “Mmm-hmmm.” Her tone of voice suggested that she intended to do something about that particular little problem.

  Kallie promised herself not to drink anything her tante offered. Resting the folded pile of clothes on the night-stand, she slowly sat down on the bed beside Layne, careful not to jostle the mattress and wake him.

  Layne’s face looked peaceful, the lines of pain that had tightened his features gone, his skin no longer chalk-white. He was half turned onto his side, facing the wall, one athletic arm draped along his hip, his long blond dreads trailing across the sheet and over his muscled bare shoulder.

  Like a sleeping Greek god or an enchanted Viking warrior awaiting the kiss that would open his eyes. Heat pulsed in Kallie’s veins.

  Leaning forward, Kallie breathed in the sandalwood and sweet orange scent of Layne’s thick, coiled hair. She also smelled sage and myrrh on his skin, mingled with something astringent.

  “Comfrey?” she asked, glancing at Divinity. “A health wash?”

  “Dat’s right, along with salve for his abrasions.”