Black Heart Loa

by Adrian Phoenix

  “Tell me,” Kallie said softly, pushing back her own wet tresses. “What happened that day, cher? How come y’all didn’t get out in time?”

  Jackson stared at her for a long moment, his back against the shuddering door. Water dripped from his face. A muscle in his jaw snapped taut. “We were only supposed to get the edge of the storm,” he said, his tone flat. “But Gaspard shifted course from Texas to Louisiana. We didn’t find out until it was too late. When Mama realized what was happening, she loaded us into the pickup.”

  Jackson slid down the door to sit on the rain-puddled floor and wrapped his arms around his upraised knees. He continued speaking, and tears stung Kallie’s eyes as she sat down beside him and listened to his heartbreaking monotone words.

  The pile-driving wind refuses to allow Papa to open the truck’s door, so Papa pulls them from the truck through the driver’s-side window after Mama manages to it roll down. Jackson is lifted out last. He scoops Jeanette up and she locks her arms around his neck in a near stranglehold and scissors her legs around her waist. He feels her trembling against him.

  “Tout va bien,” he promises her. “Everything’s gonna be okay, p’tite. Just hold on tight.”

  “It’s too late to drive outta here!” Papa yells, gathering Junalee into his arms. “Head back to the house!”

  They race back home through horizontal sheets of rain and caterwauling wind, fighting to keep upright every step of the way. Once inside, Jackson coaxes his baby sister into releasing her death grip around his neck and eases her onto the sofa.

  Even though it is still daylight, Mama busies herself with lighting lanterns and handing out flashlights. With the windows boarded up against the storm, the house is full of shadows and gloom. The girls sit huddled together on the sofa, eyes wide and faces pale as things thump and thud against the roof and exterior walls.

  Jackson fetches Monopoly out of the hall closet and sets the game up on the coffee table. Papa claims the top hat, and Mama the iron. It takes some coaxing, but finally Junalee picks the thimble and Jeanette the dog, leaving Jackson the roadster.

  They’re in the middle of the second game—Junalee has hotels on Boardwalk and Park Place—when the sound of splintering wood and screeching nails from overhead suggest that parts of the roof are being peeled away. Jackson’s heart launches into a frantic rhythm.

  Everyone looks up.

  “What’s that, Papa?” Jeanette asks in a small voice.

  Papa rises to his feet, his gaze on the ceiling. “Just the wind, p’tite.”

  Something large crashes against the outside wall and the house sways as though no longer anchored to the pilings or the foundation, then shifts. Cracks zigzag along the walls, the ceiling. Plaster dusts the hardwood.

  Jackson stands and reaches for Jeanette. The house is starting to disintegrate beneath the howling wind’s ferocious onslaught. Just as he scoops his baby sister into his arms, the front door slams open and a brown wall of churning water a good eight feet high surges into the house, knocking Jackson off his feet and sucking him and Jeanette under.

  In the dark, tumultuous water Jackson can’t tell up from down. Debris and furniture swirl along in the briny tide, crashing into him with bruising force. Arms locked around his sister, he kicks upward—or at least what he hopes is upward—and breaches the water’s surface.

  He has a split second to realize that the house has vanished before something massive—maybe an uprooted oak—smashes into him. Pain knifes his ribs. His vision grays. By the time the tree sweeps past him, Jackson realizes his arms are empty.

  Jeanette is gone.

  “I lost her,” Jackson said, voice low and tight. “I let go. She was counting on me to keep her safe and somehow I let go.”

  “No, that’s bullshit,” Kallie said fiercely, blinking back tears. “You never let her go. She was ripped from your arms, but you didn’t let go.”

  Jackson met her gaze and held it. “You don’t know that.”

  “Neither do you,” Kallie retorted.

  “Yeah, I do. I was there.”

  “Doesn’t mean you know what happened.”

  “Christ,” Jackson muttered. “Let’s just drop it.”

  A sharp, splintering crack cut through the wind’s howl, followed by a hard thump. Another tree, Kallie figured—or part of one, anyway. “The wards must be working,” she said, “because this sure as hell ain’t a category five storm.”

  Jackson nodded. “It ain’t.”

  “Oh, wait. Speaking of wards.” Kallie pulled Jackson’s mojo bag from the pocket of her shorts and handed it to him. “I found this in the yard. That’s when I knew something bad had happened to you.”

  “Merci, Kall.” Jackson knotted the leather strap around his neck, then tucked the small red flannel bag into the neck of his T-shirt. The woodsy scents of dog rose and sandalwood curled into the air. He draped a companionable arm across Kallie’s shoulders and she snuggled in against him.

  “You’re wet,” she complained.

  “Whiner.” After a moment, he said, “Thanks for not giving up on me.”

  Kallie looked at him and smiled. “Family never does.”

  FORTY-THREE

  AFTERMATH

  Sitting in the porch swing at home, cold glass of iced tea in one hand and a PBJ sandwich in the other, Kallie watched Jackson trot down the steps and return to work clearing the yard of tree branches and other debris left by the hurricane.

  He swiveled around, shading his eyes against the sun with the edge of his hand, and looked at Kallie. “You gonna laze about like some bonbon-eating hoodoo diva or are you gonna get your ass back down here?”

  “Whiner,” Kallie said. “I’ll be there in a minute. I need to finish my sandwich. Some of us actually chew our food instead of inhaling it.”

  “Chewing is overrated.”

  “Said the wolf. Go away.”

  Puckering his lips and patting his ass—very clear message—Jackson grabbed the wheelbarrow and rolled it across the yard to what remained of a young dogwood tree.

  “He took de news pretty well,” Divinity commented.

  Kallie agreed. In fact, her cousin hadn’t seemed fazed at all by Divinity’s new identity or by her theft of Gabrielle’s. Had taken the revelation of Kallie’s missing soul and the loa nestled in its place equally in stride.

  “You did what you had to, Ti-tante,” Jackson had said. “And you did it for us—for Kallie in particular. Ain’t gonna get no complaints from me.”

  “Well, he is a pirate,” Kallie murmured. She shifted her attention to her aunt, met her gaze. “But he’s right, y’know. Everything you did—right or wrong—you did for us. You took us in, cared for us, and educated us. And we both appreciate that more than we can say.”

  Surprise flickered in Divinity’s eyes. “You be feeling all right, girl?”

  “Fine. I’m feeling fine,” Kallie said. “I’ve just had time to think about the value of family, about what’s important and what isn’t. I wish you would’ve told me about the loa from the start, wish you would’ve trusted me with the truth. But trust shouldn’t be an issue now, right?”

  “Shouldn’t be,” Divinity agreed.

  Kallie’s eyes narrowed as she realized her aunt hadn’t actually answered the question. Placing her empty tea glass on the porch railing, she was about to point that little lapse out when she heard the low rumble of a motorcycle thundering up the dirt drive. And, yup, it looked like Belladonna’s Dodge Dart was right behind him.

  Kallie smiled. Layne’s Harley had survived both wreck and storm. The wards had managed to diminish Evelyn’s ferocity from a catastrophic category five to a category one by the time she made landfall near Houma. After that, she had weakened even more. The damage to land and property had been minimal—all things considered.

  It’d been a goddamned close call.

  “We’re gonna continue with this later,” Kallie said.

  “Mais oui,” Divinity replied, then flapped a hand at
her. “Shoo.”

  Kallie pulled off her work gloves, tossed them onto the porch railing, then went to meet the pair stopping in front of the house. Belladonna was there to pick her up so they could fetch Dallas from the hospital in Baton Rouge and bring him to Bayou Cyprés Noir to finish his recuperation.

  Layne was there to say good-bye.

  Kallie drew in a deep breath of clean, storm-scrubbed air, hoping it would help ease the ache in her heart. She wasn’t sure if what she felt for the sexy nomad was love or gratitude or hot-blooded lust. Or even a combination of the three—especially after their impassioned hours together.

  One thing she’d never forget—the feel of his body against hers, a perfect fit.

  She knew she cared for Layne—a lot. And she knew he would always be welcome in her bed. But she couldn’t ask him to stay any more than he could ask her to ride with him.

  At least, not yet.

  Belladonna slid out of her car, her slim frame draped in a purple minidress, black tights, and platform boots. Kallie pursed her lips. Had Belladonna mistaken their trip to Baton Rouge to pick up a certain grumpy and restless root doctor for an audition gig on America’s Next Top Model?

  As if reading her mind—again—Belladonna winked. “Thought I’d give Dallas something to think about other than his anger at Divinity. Distract him.”

  “That’ll do the trick, hun,” Jackson said, admiration glinting in his eyes. He circled a finger in the air. “Twirl around.”

  With a coy smile, Belladonna did just that, her skirt lifting just enough to entice.

  Kallie rolled her eyes. The pair had been flirting shamelessly ever since Le Nique, even though they’d known each other for years. Maybe it was the wolf musk.…

  “Hey, sunshine,” Layne said as Kallie stopped beside his Harley, a warm smile curving his lips. He swung his leg over the Harley and stood. Closed the small distance between them. The backs of his fingers brushed her cheek. Kallie looked up into his eyes, and a shock rippled through her, as always.

  “What are your plans after Gage’s cremation?” she asked, fingering one of his honey-blond dreads.

  “Going to New Orleans to unload Augustine.”

  “And after that?”

  “Dunno. You got something in mind?”

  “I was wondering if you’d go to Shreveport with me. I think it’s time I got a few answers from my mother—like where the hell she hid my soul.”

  Layne’s road-rough hands cupped Kallie’s face. Then his head dipped and his lips—warm and firm—kissed hers. His kiss tasted of coffee and peppermint schnapps and bitter grief, and she knew it was Gage he was thinking of.

  “When do you want to go?” Layne asked against her lips when the kiss ended.

  “How about in four days? Will that be enough time?”

  “I’ll meet you here in four days, then, sunshine.”

  Kallie smiled. “It’s a date, cher.”

  Another quick kiss, then Layne lifted his head. His dread slithered free of her grasp, taking the scent of sandalwood and orange blossom with it. “See you then.” He straddled his Harley, gunned the engine.

  Kallie watched him ride away up the dirt road and felt a sharp pang as she wondered if she would always be watching him ride away.

  “You ready to go, Shug?” Belladonna asked. “I don’t want Dallas to think we’ve forgotten about him.”

  “He should know better,” Kallie said as she walked around to the Dodge Dart’s passenger door. “Family never does.”

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