Soul Reckoning

by Nancy E. Polin

  Breath rasping in his ears, he stepped forward, gaze secure on Rowan. She seemed unaware of his presence, the blows from the hammer continuing, evenly spaced. Those beautiful smoky eyes stayed distant, unfocused. Her hair was tucked behind one ear, but tumbled down past her shoulders in sleep-tousled waves.

  When he reached her, he gently took the hammer from her hand and placed it on the coffee table. Her arms dropped to her sides, but she continued to face the wall.

  “Rowan?” Was he even supposed to touch her? Was it a bad thing to touch a sleepwalker? He tried to remember but couldn’t. “Why don’t you go back to bed? It’s too early to get up.”

  She hesitated before turning and looking straight through him. Luke shivered at the emptiness of her eyes, remembering how full of mischief and passion they’d been just a short couple of hours earlier. Stepping past him, she returned to the bedroom.

  Luke followed in time to see her slip under the covers and curl on her side. Her soft breathing reached his ears a moment later, slow and steady.

  Perplexed but curious, he returned to the impressive hole she’d made. Dust and plaster littered the floor between the couch and the French doors, some powdered fragments still hanging in the air. On a hunch, he tried to peek inside but was only met with darkness.

  He knew Rowan had that big-ass flashlight in here somewhere and spent a few moments looking for a logical spot. Not under the sink in the kitchen. Not in the tiny pantry next to the fridge. Not braced in a corner somewhere. Where the hell would she put it? He had no clue.

  Returning to the hole, he took a chance and reached inside, hoping to hell he wouldn’t get bitten by a brown recluse spider or something. His fingertips brushed the corner of what felt like a book and he stretched a few millimeters more while the edge of the drywall pressed into his armpit. He caught it between his thumb and forefinger and managed to pull it up without dropping it.

  It was just a simple journal. The red cover was torn and battered but otherwise it seemed intact. For better or worse, somehow Rowan had been guided to it. Luke studied the book clenched in his hand, debating whether he should overstep and read it. Decided the next second he sure as hell would. It might piss her off, but he was willing to deal with her reaction.

  Fear for her became a twisting cold spot at the base of his spine and the need to protect her overshadowed everything.

  He stepped back into the bedroom to check on her, relieved to find her still sleeping deeply. Leaning down, he touched his lips to the top of her head before returning to the living room.

  Chapter Twenty

  Early-morning sun sifted through the blinds to warm her face. The blur of orange glowed from beyond her closed lids and she turned over, seeking muted darkness and a little bit more sleep. Somewhere in her sluggish brain, she contemplated the use of blackout shades. It would make sense. She did run a bar after all. With a soft sigh, Rowan reached out, craving contact. She cracked open her eyes when she didn’t find it.

  The sheets and blanket were cool.

  Disappointment and more hurt than she wanted to think about sunk into her chest. Just like that, he’d gone. Bastard obviously got what he wanted.

  She sat up, suddenly aware of the maroon Henley draped over her. His shirt. Way too large, it slid off her shoulder. She had no memory of pulling it on. The last thing she recollected was drifting off curled against him, the aroma of soap, sweat, and lovemaking heady in her nose.

  The prospect of more sleep gone, she climbed from bed, pausing to pull on a pair of shorts, and padded out into the living room. Blinking to clear her eyes, she had coffee in mind, but thoughts of Luke pushed to eclipse it. Pain of his desertion reverberated inside and she pressed her lips together, irritated that they’d begun to tremble. It surprised her to find her eyes stinging, and she blinked back the emotions with the tears.

  Rowan gasped and stumbled back when she found the man sitting on her couch in his boxer briefs, staring beyond the dark television. Exhaustion and tension pulled at his face, eyes faraway. His jaw throbbed when he tilted his head up toward her.

  “You startled me. I thought you left.” She rested a hand to her chest in emphasis, feeling a little guilty and a little stupid. What did they say about making assumptions? Maybe it was time to work on giving certain folks the benefit of the doubt. “Why are—” She cut herself off as she stared past him. “What the hell did you do to my wall?”

  The drywall caved into a dark hole a good eight or ten inches in circumference. Plaster, paint fragments, and dust formed an untidy pile at the baseboard.

  Luke squinted at her, expression blank.

  Bewildered, she glanced from him to the damage and back again. “What?”

  “Any dreams last night?”

  “What are you talking about?” She stepped toward the back wall, reaching out to touch the edge of the ragged hole. “Decide to redecorate or something?”

  “No.”

  Rowan shifted, gaze landing on him, falling a moment later to the coffee table. A hammer rested across a couple of dog-eared magazines, its head coated in white dust. A deep frigidity rose up from her blood, a wave of dizziness right behind. She searched her memory from the night before, but any dreams she may have had stayed out of reach, barely shadows skirting her subconscious. “I did that?”

  He watched her, rising when a second wave of dizziness made her reach out to steady herself against the wall. Luke curled an arm around her shoulders, bringing her down to the sofa, sitting beside her. “You were sleepwalking.”

  She frowned and stared down into her lap where her hands twisted around one another in war. Pulling them apart, she slid them under her thighs to still the incessant movement as she searched her memory. “I’ve never done that before.”

  “You were being directed. I think someone or something wanted you to find this.” He reached across to the coffee table to pick up a small red journal.

  She stared at it without recognition before her gaze rose to find his. The chill stayed inside, fear and confusion swirling through it. “I presume you read it.”

  Luke nodded. “I’m not going to apologize.”

  “I wouldn’t expect you to.” She took it from his hand, meeting his gaze. “Do I even want to know?”

  “You might consider fastening your seatbelt and leaving your structured reality at the door.”

  “That good, huh?”

  “Riveting.” The worry hadn’t left his face, but a new softness touched his eyes. He ran a hand over her hair, twisting a thick strand around his finger. “Honestly, I wish you wouldn’t read it, but I know you need to.”

  She smiled at him, but the frost inside had yet to dissipate. She expected it to get worse. Flipping through, she noted there were very few entries. The first was dated six months before his death.

  February 6

  There’s nowhere for me to turn. No one could possibly understand and I can’t bear the thought of my few friends looking at me as a monster. After all, I made my bed and all that. Writing this down won’t accomplish anything, other than maybe ease an old man’s conscience a little, so here it goes.

  When I met Marcus Ady, it was an innocent enough association. Of course, I didn’t know what he was or what he was capable of. I didn’t know he was the devil. Honestly, how could I? We met in the underground. The tourist shops are all bullshit and I was looking for something stronger. This bone thing was getting worse and some days I could barely move. I tried to hide it, but I can’t say how hard it’s been. The doctors are full of crap with their constant waffling. Maybe this. Maybe that. The only drugs I’m not allergic to hadn’t done squat so I decided to try something else.

  He offered to help me with his own form of treatment for free, at least at first. I suppose it was a try before you buy. At least that’s what I was thinking at the time. We began to meet in different locations with his little bag of tricks. He gave me something to take. It was some kind of powder under my tongue. He’d draw these symbols in the dirt, lig
ht candles, speak in some kind of foreign language. I’m not sure what it was, but it wasn’t anything I’d ever heard before. My head became muddled at first, but it wore off and I felt so light, almost like I was floating. My brain was so open, everything seemed clearer somehow. I swear I could practically hear bugs screwing. I felt young, invincible. And the best part is that the pain was gone. Completely gone.

  I go back to him now. I can’t help myself. It’s such a high. I’ve never felt so good in my life. My body and mind crave it like an addiction. In the beginning, I didn’t even think about payment. But he knew what he was doing. Oh yes. He’s gotten me hooked, so when he asked tonight, it made me sick, but I couldn’t say no.

  Turns out, the devil isn’t exactly immortal. At least not without help. And that’s what he wants from me.

  May 13

  I can’t keep doing this but the devil won’t let me go. I’m so damned scared. It’s not worth it anymore. All those innocents. Some little more than children. Street people. Mentally ill people. He tells me they’re suffering. Maybe they are, but it’s not for him to decide their fate. When I watch these people let go, I feel sick. I would have expected screams, but they’re quiet, almost peaceful. But it doesn’t matter. Their blood is on me just the same. He’s becoming stronger. I can feel it. He won’t need me soon.

  Sickness curled in her stomach, but Rowan forced herself to continue to read to the last.

  June 17

  Tonight it ends. He can’t get any stronger. Everyone should have a natural life span. Even him. He might kill me, and that’s okay. I’ve accepted it. As long as I can release all those people, let them find their final rest, it’ll be worth it. I’ve been watching, waiting. I think I know how to do it. It has to be the talismans. He believes my obedience, my need. He won’t expect it from me.

  August 2

  Even weakened, he’s after me. He’s so angry. Luckily, he avoids The Goose. I can’t understand it, but the spirits here try to protect me, or maybe it’s even something about the building. I don’t know for sure, but I do know there are some cracks in the defense. I stay inside, but he can still get in my head. Sometimes in dreams, sometimes when I’m awake. He makes me see things. Horrible things. I know he wants my energy. The link is too strong. The blood and soul of an enemy is a powerful elixir. It would heal him, and I can’t let that happen, for my sake, for anyone else’s. When I die, I need to take him with me. My friends and customers are starting to look at me funny now. Luke is concerned, but I can’t tell him what I’ve done. That’s the last thing the boy needs. I don’t know how long I can hold on…

  ****

  Luke watched the color drain from her face entry by entry. He wanted nothing more but to throw her on the back on his Harley and leave the city, leave the state and head for destinations unknown. But he instinctively knew that wouldn’t happen. Running couldn’t resolve this.

  “Marcus Ady. I haven’t heard the name before.”

  “Neither have I, but I’m going to look into it.”

  A weak smile tried to yank at her full lips, her perfect cupid’s bow twitching. “I guess the rest of this might make sense to you? Is forewarned, forearmed?”

  But it didn’t make sense to him. He’d believed the man haunting her was a bokor, but what Jimmy described seemed to be something more. Something worse. “It’ll make sense to Mrs. Leroux.” At least he hoped to hell it did.

  “How can you be so sure, Luke?” Her gaze fell from his before slowly returning, the question sounding tired.

  He hedged. “She’s an amazing lady. She knows her way around voodoo, sure, but she’s also a sensitive. And Dave’s a cop. Between all of us, we can figure this out.”

  Her brows drew into a frown of concentration, as if she were trying to remember something. “Sensitive.”

  “From the time she was a child. According to David, at least.” He removed the journal from her and placed it back on the coffee table. “They’ll be back tomorrow and we’ll do whatever needs to be done.”

  “What if nothing can be done?” She stared at him listlessly.

  He hated this. He hated what was happening. Allowing feigned annoyance to camouflage his fear and feelings for the woman, he scoffed at her. “What do you plan on doing? Are you going to wait around until the worst happens? Seriously, Rowan, what the fuck?”

  Startled, she stared at him until the stark white of her face colored in temper and she clenched her fists. Her eyes darkened into the color of thunderheads. “Well, excuse me for not knowing how to react when someone or something wants me dead. If it even wants me dead. Sounds like it might be even worse. Whatever that might be. I came to this damn city for a fresh start after getting screwed over and here I am living in a haunted bar and being hunted by something … otherworldly. Maybe this is status quo or a typical Tuesday for you, but it’s not exactly the norm for me.”

  Luke got to his feet and paced. “No, actually this is a typical Thursday for me. If it were Tuesday, the Rougarou would be stopping by for a beer, a bowl of Spanish peanuts, and a side order of redhead.”

  She’d stood up to follow in anger, but stopped, brow furrowing as her mouth dipped open. “What the hell is a Rougarou?”

  Bewilderment clouded her face, and he couldn’t hold the smile back. He stepped close and ran his hands up and down her arms. “Gotcha.”

  Sighing, she shook her head and leaned into him. “You’re right. Wallowing does nothing.”

  He wrapped his arms around her, one hand skimming beneath the over-sized shirt to stroke the smooth skin of her back. “No, wallowing does nothing. However, I can think of a couple other things that are much more … enjoyable.”

  She looked up at him, fear still in her eyes but not quite as stark. A budding smile pressed into her mouth. “Really.”

  “Um hmm.” Luke nuzzled her throat, enjoying the scent of her, the feel of goosebumps rising against her flesh. He wanted them both to shove the black cloud back into a pinpoint. At least for now. When he kissed her, she melted into it for a moment, but paused for the barest of seconds.

  “Seriously, Luke. What is a Rougarou?”

  “Cajun werewolf darlin’.” He swallowed her tiny laugh with the next kiss.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  When Luke opened the door, he took a quick tumble back to the age of twelve. He recalled feeling similar at his grandmother’s funeral. The presence of certain people seemed to hold that kind of power.

  Ruth Leroux hadn’t changed and he didn’t know whether to be impressed or a little frightened. He kept the conflict behind his mask as he stepped forward to kiss her on the cheek. “Bon jour, stranger.”

  “Hello, Lukas.” Her eyes probed his, face sobering from pleasure.

  Did she know? Or was she able to sense loss? Unnerved, he couldn’t say.

  “It’s been a long time.”

  “Grand-mere’s funeral.”

  The woman nodded, sober. “Yes. Wonderful woman. You must miss her. She would have helped you deal with your loss.”

  Luke frowned, staring at her. Something deep in his heart tore a little and his breath went raspy. “You know. How?”

  “You disappeared afterward.” Not answering, her gaze sought his, calm, understanding.

  A prickling of sweat itched at his hairline and he swiped it with the heel of his hand. “Not intentionally.”

  She nodded, squeezed his arm. “But now you’re back and ready for a fight, yes?”

  “I guess I am. Look.” Luke lowered his voice. “Rowan doesn’t know about Cate and McKenzie. I’m not ready for her to know.”

  Ruth smiled, sadness weaving through it. “She won’t learn anything for me. Speaking of your lady, we need to put this situation on the table and see what could be done.”

  He wasn’t surprised at her insinuation that there was more between Rowan and him than just an employer-employee relationship. As a young boy, he’d thought she was a benign witch. He still wasn’t sure. Especially the benign part.


  David Leroux held out a hand, clasping Luke’s firmly but with pleasure. He was a tall, slender man with close-clipped black hair and an angular face. He smiled, but it didn’t reach eyes clouded with sorrow. “How have you been doing, Luke?”

  He had no intention of going there. He couldn’t. “Concerned for my boss. She’s pretty shaken. This … situation … is beyond anything I’ve ever even heard of before.”

  Taking the hint, Dave nodded. “Well, you know as well as I do that Mama’s the person to talk to. Actually that’s why we were in Florida. Someone needed this kind of help in Tampa.”

  “What, she freelances?” Luke allowed a tiny smile.

  “Not exactly. Sometimes certain situations beckon her.” He shrugged. “Most of the time she stays close to home. As independent as she is, she’s nervous about traveling and I can’t always take time off.”

  “You still a cop?”

  “Until I’m dead. Or until I at least earn my pension.” He stepped into the cool interior. “I ran that name you gave me.”

  “And?”

  “And nothing. No criminal record, credit record, social security number, or anything for a man named Marcus Ady.”

  “Fuck.”

  “Yeah. But I’m not giving up.”

  Luke nodded, pulling the heavy door closed and pausing to lock it. “I really appreciate this. Well, let me get you a beer while you’re still off duty.”

  “I wouldn’t say no.”

  Luke crossed to the bar, shooting careful glances at Rowan as he pulled two drafts. As far as he could tell, there’d been no nightmares the previous night. He’d stayed awake far too long watching the woman sleep, cradled within his arms, emotions taut as wire. Crossing the line into lovers hadn’t been something he’d anticipated, but now he was in over his head. The thought of losing her left him raw, shaky, an ulcer on his soul. He couldn’t let it happen. Not a second time.