Dark Sacrifice

by Angie Sandro

  I look toward Acker. He’s already moving toward his daughter. If I don’t act fast, it’ll be too late. But what if I do it wrong? What if she turns out like Etienne? Would Dena want to live like that?

  “All things die, Mala LaCroix. It’s the natural order of the world,” Gaston says. “Let her be at peace.”

  “No!” I glare at Red. He killed Dena. It’s not fair. He can take her place.

  I focus on my hate…

  Red screams.

  CHAPTER 31

  LANDRY

  Sipping Chardonnay

  Déjà vu rushes over me when I open my eye and see the man standing above my bed. I even pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming—that all the horrible things I remember happening aren’t just a product of a fucked-up nightmare.

  If this is a dream, then I never got released from jail. District Attorney Mitchell Cready never asked me to protect Mala. Dena never got kidnapped and shot while protecting me. And I never lost control of the demon and allowed it to go on a rampage. Or got kicked in the face by Mala.

  My jaw aches when I ask, “Why are you here?”

  Cready flicks a piece of fluff off his shoulder, and the feeling of déjà vu increases. My hands begin to sweat. Is he sending me back to jail?

  He studies my expression for a long, drawn-out moment then says, “You did well, Mr. Prince. I didn’t think you had it in you, but I’ll eat my words.”

  “Are you shittin’ me?”

  He sits on the edge of the hospital bed. “Don’t beat yourself up. The situation would’ve been much worse if you hadn’t intervened. We had no idea about Redford and Clarice Delahoussaye being involved in Jasmine LaCroix’s murder. We’ve been trying to interrogate Clarice, but that girl’s insane.”

  Mala will blame herself. She’ll say that if she hadn’t cursed Clarice, none of this would have happened, but that girl hasn’t been right in the head since she hit puberty. Nobody could’ve predicted she’d go so far.

  “What about Red?”

  “He is still unconscious. It’s the strangest thing, him and Waydene Acker both being in a coma. We’re keeping an eye on him so he doesn’t pull a Houdini like your father did when he escaped.”

  A rush of relief fills me. “So Dena didn’t die?”

  “I’m sorry, but the prognosis isn’t good. Technically the machines are the only things keeping her alive. Red will go to prison for murder if he wakes up.” Cready leans over and pats my shoulder. “Thank you for your help. I’ll let you go. I’m sure there’s folk who want to visit now that you’re conscious.”

  I watch him walk out the door, then close my eye. My skin ripples. I concentrate on pressing the demon back down and building up a wall between myself and the otherness. The problem is that the fragile wall is made of glass, and it’s cracking.

  The door opens then clicks shut. Footsteps cross the room, pausing beside the bed. Hot breath blows across my cheek. “I know you’re awake.”

  My eye pops open, and I see Carl’s downturned lips only inches from mine. “Hey, I know you’re grateful, but no kissing.”

  The kid huffs and throws himself onto the bed. I barely move my legs in time. “It’s only been one day, and I’m already sick of this place,” he says, staring at the ceiling with red-rimmed, puffy eyes. “They told me you’ll be released soon.”

  “Have they let you in to see Dena?” I ask softly.

  “What’s the point? I overheard the doctor telling Bessie Caine that my sister’s brain dead. They want permission to pull the plug and donate her organs.” He glares over at me. “I’m the oldest. It should be my decision.”

  He looks back at the ceiling. “Bessie took Daryl, Jonjovi, and Axle to her house.” His lip quivers. “She can’t keep us forever, but I’m grateful she didn’t ship us off to a foster home. With Dad being dead and Dena here, Mala’s our closet kin. She’ll take us in, right?”

  “Uh, yeah.” What the hell?

  The door opens again, and Nurse Oliver wheels Dad into the room. He sees us sitting on the bed and waves the hovering nurse aside. “Okay, I’ll take it from here. You go on about your duties.”

  “Reverend Prince, you’ve lost a lot of blood. You should still be in bed.”

  “If I didn’t die from being shot, I am not about to now.”

  Nurse Oliver scowls in my direction like she blames me. I shrug. She rolls her baby blues and, after checking his IV line, storms from the room.

  Carl gives Dad a wide-eyed grimace. “Hey, Rev, Landry just said the kids and I can live with him and Mala. You gonna stay with us too?”

  Dad rubs his bandaged shoulder. “Where my son goes, I go. Besides, the church took possession of our house. Between the bills for the lawyers and doctors, my savings are pretty much depleted.”

  I swallow hard. “You could stay at the Ackers’ house. Mala’s place is a little small for—”

  “We’ll stick together.” It was his no-discussion voice.

  Moving on. “Have you heard about Dena? Carl overheard her doctor saying she’s brain dead. They want to pull the plug. Can they do that without permission?”

  “I don’t know the legalities.” Dad rubs his shoulder and sighs. “I tried to see Mala, but she’s been at Dena’s bedside ever since they allowed visitors. George wouldn’t let me in the room. He claims she asked to be alone with her cousin.”

  I crawl out of the bed. Where’s my robe? Stupid hospital gown flaps open to show off my assets to anyone who walks by. My jaw flexes, sending shooting pain through my neck. I’m lucky not to be sucking my food through a straw. Mala didn’t hold back with her kick. And while I’m grateful she did what she had to do to protect everyone, my head hurts.

  I slam face-first into the wall so Dad donates his wheelchair to my cause. With my blurry vision and shitty depth perception, I’d be safer walking around the hospital with my eye closed.

  “Tell Mala I said to find me if she needs counsel,” Dad mumbles around a yawn. He then crawls into my hospital bed and proceeds to flip through the television stations. My mouth opens in protest when he reaches for my pudding cup, but if anyone deserves extra pudding, it’s Dad.

  Carl pushes the wheelchair with a vengeance bordering on recklessness. His pace slows once we reach the intensive care unit. He opens the doors and pushes me through, then backs off. “I can’t go in. You can handle the chair on your own, right?”

  I nod, pitying the kid. I’ve got an idea of how he feels. I saw Lainey on the autopsy table. The image of her lifeless body haunts my dreams. It’s better that he doesn’t see Dena lying in the bed, hooked up to machines, waiting to die. His last memories should be of her full of life and fire.

  I leave Carl and wheel forward. The hall stretches before me and looks like a distorted tunnel. A sheriff’s deputy stands guard in front of one of the doors, but I’m careful to keep my gaze locked on George, who’s reading a newspaper in front of a room at the end of the hall. I don’t want to see Red, ’cause I’m afraid I might feel sympathy for him. I choked him or, rather, the demon inside did, until he lost consciousness. It’s a miracle I didn’t get arrested for putting him into the coma, but George vouched for me, saying I attacked Red in self-defense.

  George shakes the newspaper in front of his face as I wheel over, not bothering to acknowledge my presence. Rather than confront him, I tilt my head and squint so I can read the front page of the Bertrand Tribune. The headline reads “Murder and Mayhem in Paradise.” Catchy. I study the wide view, black-and-white photo of the crime scene. Two deputies drag a handcuffed Clarice toward a patrol car. She has her half-bald head thrown back and one leg in the air. I can almost hear the curses coming from her open mouth. George and Bessie stand in front of an ambulance, speaking to a blanket-wrapped Mala.

  “She was going into shock.”

  I lean back and focus on George. “Huh?”

  He snaps the newspaper closed. “You asked why the blanket.”

  I didn’t realize I’d spoken out loud.
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  “Mala handled the situation better than many trained law enforcement officers. She kept her head in the game and handled the crisis. It was only after the situation stabilized that she collapsed from shock.”

  “’Cause of Dena?”

  “And you.” His lips pucker as if he’s sucking on a lemon. “Mala told me you were possessed by a demon when you died in prison.”

  My heart thuds. I suck in a breath and hold it.

  George gives a sickly grimace. “Yeah, okay. So it really is true. Geesh! I guess I’d be a fool to deny such a thing is possible after witnessing Acker’s ghost attacking Mala, but a demon? Like in The Exorcist?”

  “Mala’s Aunt Magnolia said a demon crawled out of the void and infected me. I don’t know for sure what it is or care to have a deep bonding session with the thing. I just want to rip it out before it destroys me.”

  “And you can’t control it?” He leans forward, studying my face like he’s a human lie detector, searching for clues to my honesty by the direction my eye moves or my microexpressions. Even if I wanted to avoid the truth, I can’t.

  “I could in the beginning. I mean, it hurt—a lot.” I swallow hard. “I think Lainey came to me while I was trapped on the other side. Technically, I was DOA so I’m not positive, but I remember her. She helped me build a wall between the creature and myself, blocking it from completely taking over my body. Only every day it gets harder to keep the wall from crumbling.”

  George leans back in his chair and stares at the ceiling. “I almost shot you.”

  I blink at him.

  “You went after Mala. I pulled my gun and aimed it at your head. If she hadn’t knocked you out…” He heaves a sigh. When his eyes find mine again, they’re hard as bottle glass. “I don’t want you around her.”

  Anger rises. “It’s not your decision. It’s Mala’s.”

  “You’re a danger—”

  I know. I wrap my hands around the wheels so he can’t see them tremble. I hate him for saying what I’m trying my damnedest to deny. Whenever the thought pops up, I shove it into the deep recesses of my mind. It’s not so much denial as avoidance. The time when I’ll lose the ability to control the demon rushes toward me. It’s unavoidable. It’s what I’ll have to do then that I’m afraid to confront.

  Someday I’ll have to get far, far away from her. And it’ll feel like I’m ripping my heart out. But that day isn’t right now. After what happened to Dena, Mala needs me. And I need her.

  “I won’t hurt her, George. I swear.” I’ll kill myself first. I jerk my chin toward the closed door. “Is she inside with Dena? I need to speak with her.”

  George shakes his head. “She asked not to be disturbed.”

  “Bullshit. You listened to her? She acts tough, but she shouldn’t be alone, especially now.” I push up out of the wheelchair, placing a hand on the door to keep my balance. “Move.”

  “I said no.” He squares his jaw, but doubt flickers in his green eyes.

  “Mala, open up!” I yell, banging on the door with my fist while at the same time daring George to stop me. He doesn’t make a scene, but I can tell his fingers itch to slap handcuffs on my wrists and drag me out. A nurse leaves the station down the hall and runs toward us. George intercepts her at the same time the door opens.

  Mala stands in the doorway with her puffy eyes downcast. When she glances up and sees me, she throws herself into my arms, almost taking us both to the ground. I hug her tightly, feeling her trembling. She seems so fragile that I’m afraid she’ll break.

  Over her shoulder, I see Dena lying in the bed. She has a breathing tube forcing air into her lungs and a heart monitor showing the steady beats of her heart. A sickly green shine coats her skin, and I let out a thick, horrified breath. “No…”

  Mala avoids my gaze by keeping her eyes focused on the wall. I maneuver her backward, then shut the door behind us. “Dena’s shining,” she says. Her hands grip my robe.

  The lump in my throat makes it hard to speak, but I force out the words. “Tell me it wasn’t you. That you didn’t try to bring her back.”

  “I did bring her back. Sort of.” Mala twists out of my arms. She walks jerkily toward the bed and falls into the chair. “I-I messed up, Landry.” She chokes on a sob. “I couldn’t kill Red. God knows, I tried. But his scream sent chills down my spine.”

  I crouch down next to her. She gathers up my hands and presses her wet cheeks against my palms. “Gaston and Mama told me to stop. That raising the dead was black magic, and I was abusing the natural order of the universe. Like I give a fuck about consequences. Dena didn’t deserve to die. It’s not right!”

  The chill moves from my spine to settle deep in my bones. “No, it’s not…”

  “But stuffing her into this shell. Leaving her in limbo. That’s not right either, Landry. And I don’t know how to fix this.”

  “Yeah.” There has to be a way.

  Mala leans forward, staring deep into my eye. “What do I do? If I bring her all the way back, I kill Red. But if I-I bring that prick Red back, then Dena dies. If I do nothing, they both stay like…this.”

  I pull her into a hug. “This isn’t a decision we’ve got to make today. We need an expert. We need Magnolia.”

  “I already know what Magnolia will say. She’s the one who showed me how to do this. It’s her fault for even tempting me with this power.”

  “But you chose to use it, Mala.”

  “Are you blaming me for this?” She shoves free of my arms. “Go, I don’t need you. I’ll figure this out on my own.”

  I block her path to the door. “I don’t blame you for the choice you made. If I was in your position, I can’t say I would’ve made a different one.”

  “But you said—”

  “I never once said I didn’t understand. Hell, I would’ve taken a bullet for Dena if I could’ve, but she saved me instead. She chose to die for me. It burns me up inside that she did that. But she made her choice. And so did you.”

  “Landry…”

  I want to pull her into my arms, but I hold fast. “Mala, what happens next is too important. Your decision can’t be based on guilt.” I put my hand beneath her chin when she tries to drop her gaze. “I can’t lose you, Mala. We’ve been through too much and fought too hard to be together. I love you.”

  Tears well up in her eyes, but she shakes her head. “How can you say that after what I’ve done?” She grabs onto the front of my robe, pulling me close. “Don’t you get it? I’m evil, Landry.”

  “Baby, I’ve got a demon sipping at my soul like it’s a bottle of chardonnay. If anyone’s evil, it’s me.”

  Mala sniffs, but she also loosens her grip on my robe. “That’s not funny.”

  “I wasn’t joking. I said it to put this situation into perspective. You may not have listened to Magnolia, but I did. Magic isn’t evil or good, it’s the intentions of the person using it. Your intentions weren’t evil.” Only a little confused. “You didn’t kill Red. I’m not even upset about the demon trying to take him out. He deserves to suffer after all the people he’s murdered. I’m just glad you weren’t the one to kill him. Not ’cause he deserves to live, but ’cause you don’t deserve to live with the guilt of his death.”

  “Oh, Mother Mary, I almost murdered Red.”

  “But you didn’t. You stopped. Now we’ll figure out a way to fix this mess. I promise.” If there is a way to save Mala from the consequences of her actions, I’ll find it before I die. Whether that’s bringing Dena back or letting her go, I don’t know. But whatever it is, we’ll figure it out together.

  She’s shaking her head. “You really mean this, don’t you? I don’t have to deal with this alone.”

  “You’re my girl. My heart, my incredible sexy body—everything I am or will be—is yours, Mala LaCroix. You’ll never be alone again.” In more ways than one. I take a deep breath before spilling the rest of the news. “I told the Acker boys that you’ll apply for guardianship. They’re moving in wi
th us.”

  Mala blinks. “Say what?”

  “Dad too. We’re all going to be one big happy family. Isn’t that great?”

  Did you miss the beginning of Mala and Landry’s love story?

  See the next page for an excerpt from Dark Paradise.

  CHAPTER 1

  MALA

  Floater

  Black mud oozes between my toes as I shift my weight and jerk on the rope, sending up a cloud of midges and the rotten-egg stench of stagnant swamp water. The edge of the damn crawfish trap lifts out of the water—like it’s sticking its mesh tongue out at me—and refuses to tear loose from the twisted roots of the cypress tree. It’s the same fight each and every time, only now the frayed rope will snap if I pull on it any harder. I have to decide whether to abandon what amounts to two days’ worth of suppers crawling along the bottom of that trap or wade deeper into the bayou and stick my hand in the dark, underwater crevice to pry it free.

  Gators eat fingers. A cold chill runs down my spine at the thought, and I shiver, rubbing my arms. I search the algae-coated surface for ripples. The stagnant water appears calm. I didn’t have a problem wading into the bayou to set the trap. I’ve trapped and hunted in this bayou my entire life. Sure it’s smart to pay attention to my instincts, doing so has saved my life more times than I can count, but this soul-sucking fear is ridiculous.

  I take a deep breath and pat the sheathed fillet knife attached to my belt. My motto is: Eat or be eaten. I personally like the last part. A growling belly tends to make me take all kinds of stupid risks, but this isn’t one. If I’m careful, a gator will find my bite cuts deeper than teeth if it tries to make me into a four-course meal. Grandmère Cora tried to teach her daughter that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. Since Mama would rather fuck ’em than feed ’em, I inherited all the LaCroix family recipes, including a killer gator gumbo.