The Seventh Night

by Amanda Stevens

  But right now I was more interested in what Reid might be finding out about my father. He was still wearing the suit he’d had on earlier, and his polished appearance should have been completely incongruous with the primitive surroundings. But for some reason I couldn’t define, he didn’t look at all out of place. In fact, the ease with which he blended with the others made me slightly uneasy.

  There was the sound of a rattle, and the participants drew together in a semicircle around the fire. Reid seemed to vanish into the shadows, and then I forgot about him as my attention was drawn to a white-robed figure walking out of the darkness of the woods. He placed a candle on the ground and lit it, then picked up a clay jar and scattered its contents on the ground to form a symbol that looked like a snake.

  Libations were offered to the center post, the poteau mitan, of the peristyle and then to the drums. The priest led the assembled group into the peristyle and around the center post. They knelt, and the priest led them in prayer, an elaborate invocation that conjured up all the deep, dark mysteries of an ancient religion.

  Then the drums started again. The priest’s voice ripped through the night, tearing away the last shreds of reality. Against the rising chants of his prayer, the drummers beat a relentless barrage of sound, a rhythm so forceful and focused I felt my senses reeling from the assault. The dance of the initiates was a powerful, almost brutal attack. But it was also a dance of endurance and resolution, a dance whose origin could be traced back to Africa, whose age could be measured in millennia, not mere years.

  On and on the ceremony went. The drums pounded continuously. The dancers’ movements became more frenzied as they chanted one word over and over: Damballah. Damballah. Damballah.

  A goat was lead to the stone altar near the back of the peristyle. Its terrified bleating rose over the chanting, and for the first time that evening, I began to feel the horror of what was to come.

  I looked around, frantic now to find Reid, but I couldn’t see him in the darkness.

  The white-robed priest disappeared into the shadows of the peristyle, then returned with an intricately carved wooden box. He opened the lid, and a huge snake rose up from the depths of the box. The priest took the snake in both hands and held it up to the sky. In the glow of the fire, I could see the reptilian eyes shining like obsidian.

  With dire purpose, the priest advanced toward the goat. The drums ceased, and the quiet that followed was excruciatingly tense. The snake’s head was pointed toward the helpless animal, and the priest relaxed his grip.

  Instantly the snake sprang forward, striking the goat just below the mouth. The creature screamed in pain and terror, trying to back away. The snake struck again, and then the priest withdrew it, holding it skyward in triumph. He returned it to the wooden box, and the snake coiled itself back into the shadows of its confinement.

  Within minutes the goat had fallen as the poison invaded its bloodstream, but valiantly the poor animal continued to struggle. The priest withdrew a dagger from his robe, and in the blink of an eye, slashed the animal’s throat.

  Blood spurted freely, spattering the priest’s white robe like globs of red paint on a pristine canvas. And then the drums started again, and my scream of protest was drowned out by the thunderous sound.

  I felt stunned, sickened by what I’d witnessed. I think I tried to scream again, but a hand clamped over my mouth and all I could think was that I would be next! Soon my own blood would be running freely over the inscribed ground….

  For just a split second, I struggled, and had almost managed to free myself, when I recognized the sleeve of Reid’s suit. I relaxed slightly, but apparently not enough to reassure him, for he kept his hand over my mouth as he bent and whispered in my ear, “Don’t scream. Understand?”

  I nodded, still in shock. When he let me go I spun around, the horror, I was sure, still very much on my face. “Why didn’t you stop that? My God, what kind of place is this?” I was speaking in a sort of furious whisper, my voice rising with each word. “Did you see what they did?”

  “Will you shut up?” he said, just as furious, grabbing my arm as I tried to move away. “This is a private ceremony. We weren’t invited, and I’d just as soon not have to explain your presence here. Now, let’s try to leave here as quietly as we came.”

  “But…will they do that again?” I asked desperately. “That poor animal! Isn’t there some way to stop them?”

  “Not unless you want to change places with the next goat,” Reid said brutally, his grip tightening on my arm.

  I gasped, not from pain but from what he’d said. “They wouldn’t…you can’t mean…human sacrifices?”

  In the shadows his eyes glittered like sapphires. And they were just as cold, I thought, shivering, just as hard. “This country is still primitive in a lot of ways, Christine. I told you that a long time ago. These rituals have been around long before you and I were born, and they’ll be here long after we’re gone. If you can’t accept that, then you’d better get on the first plane back to Chicago.”

  We were walking back through the woods now, toward the cabin. Reid still held my arm, and if it hadn’t grown so dark, if I hadn’t needed his guidance, I would never have tolerated his touch. As it was, even with his help, I was still tripping and stumbling over fallen tree limbs and exposed roots.

  “What did you find out about my father? Has anyone seen him?”

  “One of the women said she saw him last week at the cabin, but not since,” Reid said, his expression still dark.

  I shuddered, unable to shake the bloody scene from my mind. “I can’t believe my father condones that…slaughter.”

  “Even if he doesn’t, what do you think he could do? Vodun is a way of life in Columbé, Christine. It’s a religion, just as important as Catholicism. The two go hand in hand here. Christopher may have had a hard time dealing with some of the aspects of the island in the beginning, but he learned to accept it—or ignore it. I suggest you do the same while you’re here. And watch what you say. A lot of people on the island don’t take kindly to strangers meddling in their affairs.”

  “Is that a warning?”

  We’d come out of the woods, and were in the clearing next to the cabin. The moon was rising over the treetops, and I could see Reid’s face glaring down at me. He looked taller somehow. Taller and infinitely more forbidding.

  His hand was still on my arm even though we’d stopped walking and were standing facing each other. I could feel the strength of his fingers through my sweater sleeve. Our gazes locked in the moonlight, and something stirred within me, a pulsing of tension that shortened my breath and weakened my knees. He moved closer, just barely, but enough to send my heart pumping like a piston.

  “Well, is it?” My voice sounded far more breathless than the walk through the woods warranted.

  Reid smiled. “Just call it a piece of brotherly advice,” he said softly.

  “You’re not my brother,” I blurted out, then blushed when I saw his smile deepen. His fingers glided up my arm, a mere whisper of a touch, but I shivered in anticipation.

  “Well, then,” he said, his voice low and intimate. “We’ll have to redefine our relationship, won’t we?”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The Second Night

  Redefine our relationship? “I don’t know what you mean.”

  He grinned, and my heart turned over. “You’re smarter than you give yourself credit for, Christine.”

  I was certainly smart enough to know when I was getting in over my head. I was starting to glimpse a bit of the charm that had been so lethal in Chicago, and I knew, if I wasn’t careful, I’d forget all about why I’d come to Columbé.

  My father…I had to find my father.

  “Is there any place else you can think of where we might look for him?”

  Reid’s gaze challenged me. For a moment, I thought he wasn’t going to let me ignore his comment. Then his eyes grew cool again, and he glanced away. “No. There’s no place else to l
ook. We may as well go home.”

  “What do you make of all this, Reid?” It still seemed strange saying his name aloud. It made us seem closer somehow. More intimate. Especially with moonlight spilling over us, and the sound of the drums filling the air with their faint echo. “Why would he disappear like this? Why would he go away without telling anyone?”

  Reid shrugged. “I told you. Christopher rarely confided in me.”

  “You have no idea whether or not something was bothering him?”

  “No” was all he said, but something in his tone made me wonder if he was telling me the whole truth.

  I glanced at his rigid profile as we followed the trail back out to the car. His flashlight lit the path in front of us, but I could barely make out his features. His stern countenance might have been chiseled from stone, so inscrutable it seemed.

  I struggled to keep up with his long strides. “Were…the two of you having problems at the hotel?”

  His gaze swept over me. “What makes you ask that?”

  “A few things you’ve said—or more the way you’ve said them—leads me to believe you two weren’t getting along. What happened?”

  “Nothing happened, Christine.” He scowled at the path, his expression reflecting his exasperation. “There are always problems in business. A partnership is a difficult arrangement. The two parties can’t always see eye to eye. It’s human nature.”

  It was a logical explanation, but I wasn’t wholly convinced. Reid was hiding something. I’d almost have staked my life on it. But what? And what, if anything, did it have to do with my father’s disappearance?

  I pondered those questions as we drove down the mountain in silence. We neared the cemetery once again, but Reid made a sharp turn onto another road, and we followed the coast this time. This road ascended, too, but the mountains and terrain here were somehow less formidable, less primitive.

  Reid pointed out the entrance to the St. Pierre Hotel as we passed by—the first words he’d volunteered in several minutes. The sprawling white structure was brilliantly lit against the night, but I could make out very little definition as we whipped by.

  “I could have stayed at the hotel, you know,” I said anxiously. “I don’t want to inconvenience anyone.”

  “As I said earlier, you’ve had a bad shock. You shouldn’t be alone.”

  Or was it simply that he didn’t want me to be alone? The uneasy notion crossed my mind again that there might be more than one reason why Reid would want to keep an eye on me. What if I learned something he didn’t want me to? What if—

  Stop it! I admonished myself sternly. Don’t let your imagination get the better of you. In his own way, he was probably trying to be kind and considerate.

  But kind and considerate were two words I found hard to associate with Reid St. Pierre.

  “I just hate to impose.”

  “It’s no imposition, and besides, it won’t be for long. Just until you feel well enough to travel.”

  I glanced up. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean until you’re ready to go home. Back to Chicago.”

  I looked at him in astonishment. “You don’t actually expect me to leave Columbé until I hear from my father, do you?”

  “What if you do hear from him?” His tone sounded grim. “What then?”

  “Then I guess it’ll depend on what he says, won’t it?” I studied his silent profile for a moment, then said abruptly, before losing my nerve, “Why do I get the impression you want me to leave the island, Reid? Why do you act like you distrust me? What have I ever done to you?”

  “Nothing.” Then, under his breath, “Yet.”

  As quick as lightning the suspicion was back in his voice. The tension crackled in the car between us, and neither of us spoke again until Reid pulled into a long, palm-lined driveway.

  The house surprised me—a Victorian mansion on a tropical island. Nestled amongst palm, banyan and eucalyptus trees, it was a gingerbread creation complete with turrets and towers and lacy filigree—not at all what I’d expected.

  Reid brought the car to a stop in the circular drive in front of the house, and we got out. We crossed the garden and stepped up on the wide veranda that wrapped around the front and sides of the house. Reid pushed open the front door and stepped aside for me to enter.

  The foyer was wide and spacious, and a dramatic arrangement of bird-of-paradise blossoms sat atop a gleaming, ironwood table. The floor was black-and-white mosaic tile, with a strange-looking symbol inlaid in the center.

  Reid must have sensed my fascination, for he said behind me, “That’s a vévé, a symbol used to invoke the loa. Spirits,” he translated, his eyes holding just a hint of amusement when I looked at him in surprise. “That’s what the priest traced on the ground at the ceremony earlier.”

  “Which spirit is this a symbol for?” I asked with studied casualness.

  The dark eyes gleamed. “Damballah Wedo. His image is the snake. But I’m sure you gathered that much for yourself.”

  “Is he sort of the patron saint of Columbé?” I asked dryly. “I assume that’s why everyone wears those rings here on the island.”

  “Don’t assume anything in Columbé, Christine. Things are often not what they seem.”

  I frowned at his obscurity. “You used to wear one of those rings, as I recall.”

  “So you do remember that first meeting.” His tone was faintly mocking. “And I was so sure you’d forgotten all about me.”

  “Well,” I said defensively, “I remember that ring. Why don’t you still wear it?”

  “I lost it years ago. Besides, I’m not a serviteur, one who serves the loa. Some might consider it a sacrilege for me to wear it.” His voice lowered, and I thought I detected a hint of real concern. “Make no mistake, Christine. There are many on the island who are true believers, and they take their religion very seriously. That’s why I didn’t want you to interrupt the ceremony earlier.”

  “What would they have done to me?”

  He hesitated, a brief shadow gathering in the blue depths of his eyes. Then he shrugged and smiled, “Who knows? Maybe they would have convinced you to become an initiate, a devotee. Voodooists can be quite persuasive. Their methods can be very cunning and subtle. You’d find yourself falling under the spell before you knew what had hit you.”

  He was teasing me, I knew, but I didn’t find it amusing. Not after everything I’d been through. “What about the police?” I asked, shivering in the gloom of the foyer. “Are they true believers as well? I noticed Captain Baptiste wore one of the rings—”

  “That’s a question only Captain Baptiste can answer.”

  Before I could query him further, a movement on the landing drew my gaze upward. A woman stood at the top of the stairs looking down at us. She remained motionless for a moment, then slowly descended the steps toward us.

  She was in her fifties, I judged, but still a handsome woman, tall and slender, with an arrow-straight bearing. Her dark hair was streaked with gray, and she wore it pulled straight back from her face. Her plain gray dress looked something like a uniform, and her shoes were crepe-soled and soundless.

  “I was beginning to worry…” she began, then trailed off as she reached the bottom of the stairs. She gazed at me for a long moment, her eyes scanning my features with an almost apologetic precision.

  “Mrs. DuPrae, I’d like you to meet Christine Greggory,” Reid said. “Mrs. DuPrae keeps the household running far more efficiently than some of our departments at the St. Pierre,” he added.

  Mrs. DuPrae acknowledged his compliment with a graceful inclination of her head. She had beautiful eyes, I noticed as she moved closer to us. They were dark brown flecked with gold, and they tilted up at the corners, giving her an exotic, almost feline expression. I smiled tentatively and extended my hand. It took her a moment to respond, then she clasped my hand in her surprisingly strong one and smiled with warmth.

  “Christine. Please forgive me for staring, but the re
semblance to your father is striking. I’ll have to get used to it, though, since Reid informed me that you’ll be staying here with us.”

  No inflection of annoyance from her, I decided, merely an observation. “Only for a few days,” I hurried to assure her. “I feel I’m putting you to a great deal of trouble. I could easily stay at the hotel.”

  “Nonsense. We have plenty of room. Christopher would want you here with the family. I’ve made up the guest house out back for you. I thought you might want your privacy, but if it isn’t suitable…” Again she trailed off, twisting the top button of her high-necked dress as though afflicted by some internal agitation. Or perhaps she was just a worrier, I thought. Someone who tried a little too hard to please.

  “It’ll be fine, I’m sure. Thank you for your thoughtfulness.”

  “We’ve held dinner for you.” This she said to Reid. “We were becoming quite concerned. You said you’d be here hours ago.”

  “Our plans changed,” Reid said, not bothering to explain. “Where are Angelique and Rachel?”

  “In the living room.” She made a vague motion with her hand, but her eyes never left mine. “I’m sure they’ll be anxious to meet Christine, but first I’d like to know…” She hesitated, the fingers still working at the button as her dark eyes flashed almost reluctantly to Reid again. “Has there been any word?”

  “No,” Reid replied. “I was hoping you might have heard something.”

  “Nothing. This is all very awkward, I’m afraid.” She smiled at me, her eyes misty with concern. “It hasn’t been much of a welcome for you, has it, my dear?”

  “I’m very worried about my father.”

  She reached out and patted my hand. I was touched by the gesture because I had the impression she was a woman who normally restrained her emotions. “I’m sure there’s no need to worry. Christopher can be quite impulsive.” But even as she said the words, a veil dropped over her eyes, as if she were afraid of revealing her true emotions.

  She was worried about my father, too, and that fact alone drew me closer to her. No one else had shown the slightest concern, not even the police—and certainly not Reid. If anything, I could almost believe he was relieved my father was gone.