by Apryl Baker
A small blue light starts to pulse at the edges of my mind. It glows brighter than the sun. I turn toward it, seek it, reach for it. I need that light. As soon as I touch it, it becomes a part of me, invading every cell and overwhelming my senses. It spreads out from my fingers, and as it does, I sense the death in the dog at my feet. I look farther, and I can feel the death all around me. I feel it in my bones. I am death.
I open my eyes.
Madame smiles like the Cheshire Cat, and Sabien takes a stumbling step backward. I have no idea what he sees when he looks at me, but it scares the hell out of him and excites Madame. Her glee frightens me more than anything else. There is something in her eyes. My senses scream danger, but what can I do? She is all the teacher I have.
“Now we must make our blood sacrifice,” she says. “You must cut the animal’s throat then walk a blood circle around us.”
I look down at the chicken, and my mind shies away from what it is being asked to do. The blue light pulsing inside me takes over, understanding the human part of me cannot do this. I watch myself make the cut then walk the blood circle. I come to a stop where I started and fall to my knees. I dip my fingers in the blood and smear it on my face, calling my dog to me as I do. Boco leans into me as I smear more of the blood on him. Madame drops to her knees beside me, and I repeat the action for her. No one told me to do that; it’s simply something I know to do.
“Now, child, you will repeat after me. Blood to blood, death to death, we offer up this soul to return to the earth from which it was taken.”
“Blood to blood, death to death, we offer up this soul to return to the earth from which it was taken.” I repeat softly. I feel…something…gather within me then bend outward toward Boco. He whines and stiffens, his back arching, and the growl that looses from him is terrifying. Whatever this is, he feels it too.
“Now, we have called the spirits here.” Madame’s voice brims with a power that slaps at me, demanding to be felt. “You must make one more sacrifice to appease the spirits and ease his journey.”
I pick up the knife from where I’d dropped it earlier and make a shallow cut along the inside of my left arm. The blood drips down onto my dog, and I stand, walking the circle again, letting drops of my blood fall and mix with the chicken blood. As soon as the last drops fall to complete the blood circle, a strong wind sweeps through me. I fight to stay on my feet when the same wind attacks Boco, and he lets out a low cry before falling over. The essence that had reanimated the dog frees itself and drifts away toward the strange energy that entered the circle earlier. The blue light inside me fades, and with it, so does my strength. I drop to my knees inches from Boco’s lifeless body. Drained doesn’t even begin to describe how I feel right now. I’m wiped out emotionally and physically. All I really want is a warm bath.
“You are a treasure,” Madame says, delighted. “You managed to do it on your first try and with so little prompting from me. Un naturel. Sabien, wherever did you find her?”
“She’s a friend of the family.” Sabien keeps his voice neutral, but there is no denying the threat in his eyes. “I trust you will make sure she comes to no harm while in your care?”
“Of course, mon chere.” The smile she offers chills me. “She will be as safe as a babe in the arms of her mere.”
Sabien’s eyes narrow, but he nods. I get the distinct feeling he doesn’t trust her either, which makes me worry all the more. Would he really leave me with someone he doesn’t trust? He might if it’s the only way he can help me.
I yelp when someone lifts me up. Not that I can walk at the moment, but I didn’t expect to be picked up without warning. Before I can say a word, we start back to the house. I glance over my ride’s massive shoulders to try to say goodbye to Sabien, but we are moving too fast. We’ve already left them behind.
“I think I can walk now,” I say. In truth, I’m dizzy, but the swiftness with which we’re moving only makes it worse. I’m better off attempting to walk myself.
He ignores me. Frowning, I look up into a face that is oddly familiar. He reminds me of someone, but I can’t put my finger on it. His face is lean, but sculpted in classic lines. The full mouth is set in a grim line, and he looks like he’d rather be doing anything but touching me, if the grimace he’s wearing is any indication. I know I smell, but hey, I did offer to walk.
He takes the stairs two at a time once we’re back inside then dumps me unceremoniously onto the floor upon reaching what I assume is my room. Without a word, he leaves, closing the door behind him. I stand and dust myself off.
What a jerk. I take a good sniff and scrunch up my nose. I reek. I can understand his need to get away from the smell, but he didn’t need to be so rude. Did his mother not teach him simple manners?
I make my way over to the door and flip on the light switch and gasp in sheer delight. The walls are done in a pretty rose, and the maple floors highlight the softness of the color. The ornate wardrobe is an antique and compliments the massive four-poster bed that dominates the room. A dresser in the same rich wood rests against one wall, and two white, cushy chairs are in front of the massive window overlooking the gardens. A gorgeous fireplace resides on the wall opposite the bed with a white sofa in front of it. I am in heaven, if only for a minute.
Then the stink invades and I curl my own lip in disgust. I check the two doors in the room, hoping I have my own bathroom, and sure enough, I do! The bathroom is done up in shades of white with soft accents of the same rose of the bedroom walls. Normally, any pinkish color in a bathroom doesn’t work, but here it does. It’s done in a classy way, just subtle hints here and there. The room is big and gorgeous. The large claw foot tub beckons me, but I decide to take a quick shower first. No way do I want to sit in this filth. Better to spray it off first and then soak.
I go back into the bedroom and throw my luggage onto the white comforter. As I gather my things, I pause. Maybe I should wait for a few minutes to see if Madame comes back or not? I do stink to high heaven, but I don’t want to seem rude either. I mean, I am staying in her house, after all. Being from the south, manners had been force fed into me at an early age. My mama’s voice in my head berating me wins. I’ll stand in the room for a few minutes to make sure Madame isn’t on her way up here.
Waiting only does one thing. It lets me think about the last hour or so. Not something I want to do, mind you, but my poor shell-shocked brain has no control over anything today. In all my twenty years, I’ve never, ever hurt an animal, and there I went and hacked that poor chicken’s head right off. Without so much as a thought. What is wrong with me?
Not wanting to get anything dirty, I flop down on the floor and tears prick my eyes. How can I have done something so cruel? My hands are covered in blood, my own and the chicken’s. I stare at them, stupefied at what I’d done. The door opens, startling me from my morose thoughts, and the guy who had brought me upstairs stands there glowering at me. The frown on his face deepens and he shakes his head. He walks past me into the bathroom, and I hear the shower turn on. He comes back out and rummages in one of my suitcases then takes what he’s collected to the bathroom.
“Do you need me to undress you too, chere?” The scorn in his voice is as thick as his accent and serves to snap me out of my funk.
I push up slowly and turn to stare at him. The light coming from the bathroom frames his figure, and for a moment my mouth waters. I can’t tell how old he is. Mid-twenties, maybe? He’s tall, his muscles well defined, and in the soft light, a heart attack waiting to happen to some poor, unsuspecting woman.
Alex once told me Luka made her think of a fallen angel, and I finally understand what she meant. The man sneering at me has that beautiful, dangerous, and deadly look to him. Add in his Cajun accent, and he could literally make a girl stop breathing. I’m having to force air into my lungs myself. The sneer on those very kissable lips helps to remind me he isn’t nice.
“No, I can do that myself.” I do my best to sound more confident than
I feel. All I really want to do is curl up and die of shame at what I’d done earlier. “Thank you for turning on the shower for me.”
“I didn’t do it for you, chere. Madame tol’ me to get you cleaned up and bring you to her.”
His voice sends tiny shivers up and down my spine. The sensation reminds me of warm chocolate melting on my tongue. His accent, while thicker than Madame’s, isn’t nearly as thick as I’d expected it to be. There’s something else in his voice, but I can’t place it. Did he grow up somewhere else and only picked up the dialect here?
“I’m Saidie.” I decide to ignore his less than welcoming hospitality. “And thank you anyway.”
“You goan make me put you in dat shower, jeune fille?”
“If you’ll move out of the way, I’ll do my best to hurry.” Did he just call me a wench? My French might not be that good, but I’m pretty sure that’s what jeune fille means.
He steps aside, and I go in and close the door. He really is as rude as I’d thought he was to begin with. Extremely gorgeous eye candy, but rude, nonetheless. I’m going to have to tell Alex all about my new eye candy as soon as I stop being mad at her.
The hot water is delicious. I’ve been sitting in a car all day listening to some of the most Godawful music ever invented to torture the minds of today’s youth alongside a rotting dog. The jasmine scented soap helps to wash the stink away, and I scrub at my skin viciously. I have the hot water on full blast, but it takes me forever to get warm. For just a moment, I try to forget the day.
The pounding on the door interrupts my moment.
“I doan have all day, ma petite sorcière de mort.”
Damn him, can’t the jerk give me more than ten minutes in the shower? And what did he say, anyway? I sigh. My old high school French teacher would be smirking right now. He was forever telling me to pay attention in class when I was texting instead of listening.
I grudgingly turn the shower off and jump out. The towels are soft and fluffy against my skin. Once done, I pull on the clothes that sit waiting. At least he’d brought me my favorite pajama bottoms and tank top. Even pulling on the warm pants, I’m freezing. Maybe it’s a side-effect of the ritual. Definitely a question I need to ask Madame. I towel dry my hair as best I can then push it back behind my ears before opening the door.
He’s sprawled in one of the chairs waiting for me. My breath catches at the sight. Good Lord, but he’s a beautiful sight. Then he has to ruin it by opening his mouth.
“’Bout time, bon fille,” he snarls. “I was goan to come in and get you if anoa’der minute passed.”
I roll my eyes. “I was only in there for fifteen minutes.”
His green eyes narrow dangerously. “Doan ever keep Madame waitin’, chere. It ain’t good for you.”
His warning heightens my own unease. There is just something about that woman that makes my skin crawl.
“Well, then, let’s not keep her waiting any longer.”
I follow him out the door and downstairs, toward Madame’s office. My unease grows with every step. What have I gotten into?
Time to find out.
Chapter Three
Madame waits in a chair in front of a massive fireplace that holds a blazing fire. I want nothing more than to run over to it and soak up the heat, but I refrain. She looks so young sitting there in the mammoth chair. Her hair is piled loosely atop her head, and the white gown only makes her youthful appearance more pronounced. There is no way she can be older than thirty, tops.
“Madame, j’ai livrés à votre invité comme l’a demandé.”
I am so going to have to find a French English dictionary or I’ll end up being so frustrated, I might hurt someone.
Madame stands and nods to the guy at my side. “Thank you.” Then she turns her attention to me. Her gaze makes me want to hide behind my rude escort. I stand my ground, though, and look her in the eye. Saidie Walker does not hide from anyone or anything. At least not for long.
She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. I think she meant to put me at ease, but all it does is make me even more nervous. I take a step closer to my escort. He glances at me, surprised. He seems the lesser threat, at least to me.
“Child, I know you must be very tired, but I wanted to speak to you before you retired for the evening.” She walks over to her desk, picking up an old leather bound book that looks like some kind of journal. Her hands caress its worn skin. “Do you speak Romani?”
“No.”
She nods and gives me the book. It feels so heavy for something so small. “Aleric speaks the language. He will translate for you.”
“I can just use Google Translate,” I offer. The guy has stiffened up straighter than a board beside me. I don’t think translating is high on his list of things to do.
She laughs. “Non, cherie, Google won’t be able to decipher the dialects in that little book of secrets. The book you hold was written by one of the most powerful necromancers ever to walk the Earth. It will teach you about our beginnings, about what we can do, and will help you learn to love your gift. I know you see it as a curse, but it is so much more than that.”
“You think?” I can no more stop the harsh laughter that bubbles out than I can the sun from rising. “I went to bed a normal girl, and I woke up with my dead dog in the room. How is that a gift? It’s not something I want to be able to do. It’s wrong to pull something from its resting place just because you can.”
Madame purses her lips and her eyes harden. “It’s hard right now, cherie, I know. I remember what you are going through. All I wanted was to be normal, but we’re not normal. We’ll never be normal, and wishing otherwise is a useless and pointless endeavor. Thoughts like that will only bring you pain. Have Aleric read the book to you. It will help, I promise.”
A sigh stumbles past my lips. Maybe she’s right. I do feel overwhelmed.
“Now, while you are here, my home is your home. There is only one place you are forbidden to go, and that is to the basement. You may only go there when accompanied by me. The things down there are beyond your abilities at the moment. You would not survive them.”
Alarm bells go off. This beautiful mulatto woman might be the strange crazy voodoo lady I imagined after all. Things in the basement? So not going down there.
“You will be practicing your abilities not only to summon and put the dead back to rest, but to control them as well,” Madame continues. “The easiest way for you to learn your craft is to use it, to practice on the dead.”
My eyes go a little round. Control the dead? Why on God’s green earth would I want to control the dead? I only want to learn enough to keep from accidentally summoning the neighborhood pets who’d died.
Madame laughs at my expression. “Oh, child, you are a treasure. Trust me, you will learn to love the power that courses through you, love what you can do with it. It is truly a gift, and eventually, you will come to see it as such, I promise. Now, you will need something to practice on. I have decided that you may use Aleric.”
Aleric becomes even more rigid, if that’s possible, but he doesn’t say a word. I stare at Madame in horror. Is she suggesting I kill him and use his dead body to practice? No way in hell am I doing that. Nope, not happening.
“No.”
The word leaves my mouth with a determination I didn’t know I had.
“No?” Madame’s eyebrows shoot up.
“No,” I reply, putting enough steel in my voice to make Luka proud. “I will not kill someone just to play Frankenstein on them.”
Madame lets out a peal of laughter that shakes her small frame. She gasps and sits back down, bending over, and tries to catch her breath. I frown, disgusted. She thinks killing someone is funny? My hinky feeling ratchets a notch higher. This is one crazy lady. Maybe I should call Sabien back and tell him to come get me. I’d rather take my chances with accidentally raising the dead than commit murder.
“Aleric, tell ma fille why I am laughing.”
“Because I
’m already dead,” he says, his voice flat and hard.
I turn slowly to look at him. He so does not look like a zombie. I mean, there is no rotting flesh, no foul odor. No, he smells divine, actually. Intoxicating. He appears normal, like any cute guy I’d drool over. If I can get past the downright mean expression fixed on his absolutely swoon-worthy face.
“So, you see, chere, you need not worry about him. He is yours to use as you will.”
“But, I don’t want…”
“Nonsense,” Madame cuts me off. “You just need to sleep, child. You must be exhausted after such a long drive and putting your poor pet back to rest. Aleric, please escort her back to her room and see she has everything she requires.”
He grips my arm and drags me from the room, hauling me along as he speeds up the stairs. I nearly break my ankle trying to keep up with him. When we finally reach my room, he shoves me ahead of him, and I fall on my butt. This is the second time he’s thrown me on the floor. The glare I give him is hot enough to scorch hell itself. I know he’s in a bad place after hearing Madame give him to me to play Doctor Frankenstein on, but he could show some manners.
“Wha’ else you require?” he spits out, his accent thicker in his anger.
I push myself up off the ground and take several steps away from him. I’ve never seen anyone this angry except for once. A few months ago, when Luka found out about my heritage, he wanted to kill me on the spot. Necromancers were typically put to death when they were born in his homeland. The fury in Luka’s eyes that day scared the crap out of me. Alex got right up in his face and refused to let him kill me. She’d stood up to a crazy cursed Gypsy who could kill her as soon as look at her. For me. She’d done that for me. As mad as I am at her, I realize something. She is my best friend and has gone to the mat for me. I’ll call her tonight. I know she thinks I’m angry at her, and I was, but she deserves my forgiveness, and she’s earned my friendship more than any other friend I’ve ever had.