by JoAnn Ross
Téo glanced over at Nick. "Can you talk her out of this foolishness."
"Believe me, if I could, we wouldn't be here."
"There is something you should understand," Téo told Kate. "Besides the lwa, there is another category of supernatural beings in Voodoo, endowed with great powers."
She paused.
Kate, who'd always prided herself on being able to read people, couldn't tell if Téo was taking time to carefully choose her words, or if she was being overly dramatic. "And that would be?"
"Twins."
Although she'd been trying to be respectful of this woman's belief system, Kate couldn't help rolling her eyes.
"You may choose to disbelieve. But because you are a twin, my religion considers you sacred."
"Sacred." They'd now gone so far beyond her ability to suspend disbelief.
"Because you are the living, breathing representalion of the balance of forces that is the bedrock of Voodoo belief. Together you and your sister form the human and the divine, the mortal and immortal. There nre even those who believe that twins are more power-I nl than the lwa because of their union and that they always become lwa after death."
"So, what you're saying is my twin sister is now a god?" Next she'd be suggesting Tara was not really dead at all, but only zombietized, or whatever it was called.
"A supernatural being," T£o corrected. "I understand how you, who've not been properly trained in the religion, might doubt this. But if you're going to enter this world, you must realize that there is a much-used Haitian saying: Maraso yo rasiab."
"Which means?"
"Twins don't get along. It's considered normal for twins to hate each other. Which is why when one dies, there are many who will believe it was at the hand of the other."
"My sister and I may not have been close for many years. But there's no way I'd want any harm to come to her. Besides, I was in Chicago when she was killed."
"It wouldn't have been necessary for you to be here."
"Right. Being like some supernatural powerful winder Voodoo goddess, I could have sent my minions, or flying monkeys, to do my evil work for me."
"I don't believe you could do such a thing."
"You're right. I couldn't." Wouldn't.
"But others might. Others who cared for your sister."
"You happen to have any names of some of these others? " Nick asked. ,
"I'm afraid not. Desiree had not been a member of out community all that long. I don't know who she'd made friends with."
"Maybe you can give us the name of some of these dark-hand folks?"
"There is a man in Algiers." She took out a pad of paper and wrote down a name and address.
"Did you tell my sister about him?" Kate asked.
Téo sighed. "I'm afraid I did... She was so insistent." A sheen of tears brightened her dark eyes. "So... needy."
"Thanks, sweetheart." Nick folded the piece of paper and stuck it into a front pocket of his jeans.
"Be careful," she said, then turned her attention back to Kate. "I understand that you'd probably be uncomfortable having a desounen, death ritual, performed for Desiree."
"Uh, yeah. You'd be right."
"I know Desiree was raised Roman Catholic. Will you be having a funeral mass for her?"
The question came from left field. "I haven't given it any thought."
"It would be a good thing. All Voodoo death ceremonies begin with a formal mass. But even so, your sister's journey to Ginen, the mythical homeland of the spirits beneath the primordial waters, can be fraught with danger. For you both.
"Without the proper ritual, a soul can become trapped in the physical realm, forced to wander the earth forever, never finding a permanent home. When that happens, the soul can take revenge on family members for not properly putting it to rest.
"What I said about twins not getting along? There is more you need to be aware of."
She took a small purple satin beaded bag from the ihelf and pressed it into Kate's hands. "This is a Paket Kongo. Think of it as a powerful magnet, gathering and concentrating the power of the lwa's protection. This blend of herbs is favored by the Gédé, who oversee everything connected with death.
"Desiree may be angry at you not just because of the lack of burial ritual, but also because of your estrangement before her death."
"Did she tell you that we were estranged?"
"Were you not?"
Kate really, really hated it when people responded to a question with another question. "It had been a while since we'd spoken." And wasn't that a major understatement? "But estrangement might be a bit harsh."
"Nevertheless, with her death your sister automatically became a lwa known as a marasa. Not only are they very powerful, they can also be very temperamental and tyrannical at the best of times. And dangerous. You must keep this packet with you at all times."
The bag, smelling of coffee and tobacco, and something else that teased at Kate's memory, creeped her out. And that was before she turned it over and saw the skull embroidered on the purple satin.
But not wanting to be rude, since Téo had given them the first real lead of their case, she reached intt her bag for her billfold.
"It is a gift," Téo said. "And the least I can do for the sister of a woman whom I felt would've become a close friend. May I also offer you a few more words of advice before you go?"
"Sure."
"You must honor Desiree with a period of mourning. During this time you should wear purple. Or black."
"Black probably won't be a problem," Nick said.
Kate shot him a sharp look to let him know she was not amused.
"This is important. It shows your love and respect for your sister, and if you neglect this duty, she can bring you great harm." She crossed the room, opened a cabinet, and took out a small, leafy-green plant.
"But even without the ritual, you can still do something to protect your sister, whom I can tell you loved, by putting this sesame plant in her casket. If a blacks sorcerer digs it up, he'll be compelled to count all the seeds before beginning his magic. But he can only perform his spells at night. And there are far too many seeds to count before daylight."
"Clever."
"There is one final thing."
"What's that?"
"When you meet with the bokor, do not accept any gifts from him. Especially a small jar or bottle. This is where he keeps the souls he's captured. Souls he uses to perform his evil tasks for him."
Kate blew out a long breath. "Well, thanks a lot. I appreciated all the information and think we've got it covered. I know Desiree would be grateful."
She handed the potted plant to Nick and shook Téo's hand. Then escaped before the woman could dig some livestock out of one of those crayon-bright cupboards.
17
"ANOTHER OLD FRIEND?" KATE ASKED AFTER another dash through the rain to the Hummer parked at the curb.
"Sort of," he said mildly. "She and my sisters used to play Barbie dolls together. Every so often, they'd have sleepovers."
Kate had no trouble imagining Téophine Jannise mooning over her friends' big brother. She certainly would've.
If she'd felt safe inviting any friends over to the house. Which, of course, she never had. She could still remember the time in the third grade when one of the richer kids had come over after school to work on a joint science project, "Do Rocks Float?"
As it turned out, they did if they were lava, but the project nearly didn't get finished because Antoinette, always looking for a potential mark, had spent so much time grilling the poor girl about her family. Needless to say, she did not come back.
Kate shook off the unpleasant memory. "I realize it's not polite to make fun of othev people's religions, but I'm surprised she didn't give me a rooster or goat to sacrifice."
"Never know," Nick said easily. "Maybe that's where the tradition of a funeral supper first came from."
"I'm going to have to do something about a funeral, too, aren't I?"
<
br /> The thought hadn't occurred to her until the woman had brought it up. But with their mother off who knows where, it looked as if the job was going to fall to her.
"I can help you with that, if you want. I know this priest who works at a shelter in the Quarter who's a pretty good guy. And a Desert Storm vet."
"He was an army chaplin?"
"A surgeon, actually."
"How does that work? Being a priest and a surgeon?"
"I don't know. He's never shared the particulars."
And, being a guy, and a veteran himself, Nick had probably never asked, Kate decided. "So, how far away is Algiers?"
"It's the part of the city across the river on the west bank. Maybe fifteen, twenty minutes. We'll check it out first thing in the morning."
"Why not now?"
"Because it's late, the neighborhood's dicey ..."
Kate tossed up her chin. "Like I can't handle a dicey neighborhood? I'm a cop."
"Yeah, I seem to recall you mentioning that a time or two. So, if it makes you feel any better, blame me for not wanting to go there this late at night without a SWAT team backin'us up."
"I think you're forgetting who hired whom,"
"That's where, you're wrong." He stopped for a red, light. "But the thing is, if I let you get yourself killed or maybe drop dead from exhaustion, I don't get paid."
"That's a major exaggeration."
"Is it?"
"Absolutely." No way was she going to admit that the burst of energy the dinner and coffee had given her was wearing off, leaving her feeling on the verge of crashing.
Reaching across the space between them, he skimmed a finger along the soft purple smudges beneath her eye that no amount of concealer had been able to hide. "You're carrying an awful lot of baggage here, chère."
She rolled her shoulders, trying to shrug off an unwanted sizzle of awareness. "I told you, life's been stressful lately. And the light's turned green," she pointed out. "You can go now."
He glanced up into the rearview mirror. "There's no one behind us. How about a compromise," he suggested. "You have heard the word, haven't you, Detective?"
Kate angled her head and kept her eyes on his as she answered. "Of course I've heard of it. I'm just not overly fond of the concept."
His lips curved in a smile so devastating, the State of Louisiana should require it to be registered as a lethal weapon. "You ought to give it a try. You give a little, I give a little, and we both get what we want."
His wickedly devilish wink told her exactly what he wanted. Well, this Cajun Casanova was just going to have to learn that he couldn't always have every damn thing—and every woman—he wanted.
But while she'd never admit it to him, the idea of starting out again in the morning was appealing. Even if she was afraid she'd be kept awake by nightmares of Tara's death.
"Oh, hell, I'm getting a headache from all the damn incense, anyway." She jerked away from his light hold. "But I want to start first thing in the morning."
"Absolutely." He was smart enough not to smirk, now that he'd gotten his way.
Téo watched the man she'd once had a raging crush on and Desiree's twin turn the corner and disappear from view. Then she locked the door and—although Mardi Gras was her busiest time of year, thanks to curious tourists—she flipped the window sign to "closed."
She pressed her fingertips against her eyes, as if she could erase the images flashing behind her closed lids. Took a deep breath.
Then crossed herself, which may have seemed surprising to some people not familiar with her religion, but she'd never believed one had to choose either Voodoo or Catholicism, and neither did the philosophy of Voodoo.
After all, Marie Laveau, New Orleans's famed nineteenth-century Voodoo queen, who served as both hairdresser and spiritual advisor to the city's wealthy whites and Creoles, had not only been born Catholic, she'd gotten married in St. Louis Cathedral, and Father Mignot himself had celebrated her funeral mass.
If only Marie were here today to advise her.
Afraid that there might not be enough magic in Newi Orleans to protect them all from the storms she feared were coming, Téo went through the beaded curtain into the back room.
"You heard?" she asked.
"Oui."
"And?"
"And?" the man repeated, a bit mockingly, she; thought.
"What do you intend to do?"
Toussaint Jannise shrugged and held out his hands, palms up. "It is out of my hands now."
"I warned you."
"You did."
He seemed unreasonably calm for someone whose life was hanging by a very thin thread. Then again, that was always one of the things that frustrated her so. Especially during those times, like now, when he'd get himself into terrible trouble.
He rose from the red velvet settee. Placed his broad hands on her shoulders and pressed his lips against her forehead.
She allowed herself to lean against him. Just for a moment.
As always, his calm soothed.
Was this how it had been for Desiree? she wondered as she felt her heart slow to match the rhythm of his far steadier one. Had she received some comfort before plunging to her death?
"I have to go." He put her a little away from him.
"To Algiers?" She had to push the words past the lump in her throat.
"Everything will be all right." His turquoise eyes, which were such a riveting contrast to a complexion the hue of burnished copper, were tender. "You'll see."
He skimmed the back of his fingers down her cheek.
Téo turned her back, unable to watch him leave. How she wished Desiree hadn't involved her half-brother in her dangerous scheme!
The beaded curtain rattled behind him. She heard the click of the lock opening. Then the door opening. The sound of the rain hammering on the sidewalk outside the store.
Then there was nothing but silence.
And the beating of her blood in her ears.
"Hello?" a deep male voice called out.
Oh, hell. Would it have been so difficult for him to have locked the damn door behind him? She welcomed the flash of irritation; it burned away a bit of her fear.
"NOPD. Is anyone there?"
"I'll be right out."
And weren't the police just what she needed?
Still, it could have been worse. The officer couldVe come while Toussaint had still been here. And wouldn't that have been a pretty mess?
Téo scrubbed at her wet cheeks with the backs of her hands. Took another deep breath. Said a short prayer to Ogou Fer, the warrior lwa asking him to empower all those who'd been drawn into this trouble.
Then, although it was a challenge, she pasted a bright, welcoming smile on her face.
"Good afternoon, Detective," she said as she swept through "the beads with the grace and power of the runway model she'd once been. "How may I help you?"
18
"SO," KATE SAID, "I SUPPOSE THE NEXT ORDER of business is to find a hotel."
She still couldn't believe she'd just taken off to New Orleans without taking care of that basic bit of business. Which went to show how upset and distracted she'd been lately.
"You're not staying at a hotel."
"Why not?"
"Because unless what happened earlier was just a random act of urban, post-Katrina violence, someone's gunnin' for you. If you think I'm going to leave you alone to let whoever took a shot at you try again, you need to raise your expectation of what you want in a hired gun."
"I'm not hiring your gun. Just your investigation skills."
"Well, lucky for you, you're getting both," he said as he headed back to the marina. "Consider my quick draw a lagniappe. That's—"
"Something for free. I read it in an article in the inflight magazine."
"There you go. So, until we figure out who's gunning for you, you're staying on The Hoo-yah. And while we both know how hot you are to get in my pants, the boat's got two bedrooms. So, unless you decide you want to
pay me a little midnight visit, you're perfectly safe."
"Could you be any more arrogant?"
She didn't want in his damn pants. Okay. Maybe the thought had occurred to her. But that didn't mean she was going to act on it.
She rubbed her temples. God, she was so tired. "Okay. But just don't think, because you've won two arguments in a row, that I'm always this easy."
"The thought never crossed my mind," Nick said dryly as he pulled into the parking lot.
"On another topic," he said as they walked down the dock toward the ketch, "that thing that happened earlier?"
"The shooting?"
"No. The other thing. When I was lying on top of you."
"Oh." Kate nodded. "That thing." That supersize erection that had felt much too good for comfort.
"Danger has been proven to be an aphrodisiac."
"So I've heard." She'd always wondered exactly how those clinical studies were carried out.
"I just didn't want you to take it personally."
"Don't worry, I didn't."
"Take one reasonably good-looking male and one gorgeous, drop-dead gorgeous female, toss in gunshots zinging overhead, shake vigorously, and it's a guaranteed recipe for what happened."
Kate wondered which of them he was trying to convince. "I'll keep that in mind."
His explanation was logical. And Kate had always prided herself on her logic.
"Want a drink?" he asked as they entered the be-lowdeck salon.
She looked dead on her feet. Nick knew all too well how the rush of adrenaline could drain away and leave you feeling like a wet rag. But still edgy and unable to sleep.
He went into the galley adjoining the salon and opened the refrigerator.
"I've got beer . . . and beer . . . and hey, look at that, more beer. Or, I think I've got a bottle of brandy squirreled away somewhere."
Bingo. There, in the cabinet over the sink, was the bottle of Courvoisier Remy had shown up with the day Nick had opened the agency.
"I wouldn't turn down some brandy," she decided. "But just a bit. Otherwise I'll pass out."
He poured the brandy into the two balloon glasses his longtime friend had also shown up with.
"Passing out might not be such a bad idea, after what you've been through in the past twenty-four hours." He handed one of the glasses to her and sat down in a leather chair facing the sofa.