Sweet Jesus, you could buy that? The life he’d lived, he ought to bathe in the stuff.
He had been to New Orleans many times, but he’d never seen anything like this.
A gigantic African-American woman stepped through a curtain in the back. She eyed Remy and Gabby. “What you want here? You tourists belong on Bourbon Street. That’s where you find the shops with all the pretty-colored beads and tarot cards.”
Remy hesitated, unsure how much to say, but Gabby beseeched him with pleading eyes.
His heart lurched. There wasn’t anything he would refuse her, but even if he believed in this self-styled priestess, he had no idea where to start.
The woman pinned him with eyes darker than the depths of hell. “You there, tell Eva what it is scares you so. That thing what brought you to my door.”
“We came to learn about dark voodoo.” The words felt foreign on his tongue, as if they came from someone else.
Priestess Eva stared at him until his blood turned to ice. “We don’t allow that shit here. You scram now. This ain’t the place for you.”
Gabby took a step closer. “Please, we need your help.” Before he could stop her, she poured out the whole story of Adrienne’s disappearance.
Priestess Eva’s gaze softened. Without a word, she pivoted and disappeared behind the curtain and the shop fell silent.
They waited, sniffing various roots and picking up strange bottles, until he considered leaving. The only thing that stopped him was the look of hope on Gabby’s face.
A breeze on the back of his neck warned him to turn around. Priestess Eva stood behind him, holding the arm of the oldest woman he’d ever seen.
Most of her hair, and all of her teeth, were missing. Her skin had weathered to the shade of an old saddle, left in the sun too long. She was stooped almost double. But her eyes held a spark that couldn’t be denied.
“I’ve been waiting for you. I knew you were coming,” she said before Gabby opened her mouth.
After that, Gabby was hooked, believing every word. He wasn’t that gullible.
Gabby put her hand out and clutched Remy’s arm. “Are you sure this is the place? It looks kind of . . . deserted.”
He didn’t blame her for being nervous, so was he. Comueax was dark at night, but you could always see someone’s porch light or the glow from the Supermart’s neon sign.
They had left New Orleans behind an hour ago and the road had steadily narrowed. Now not a glimmer of light made it through the overhanging oaks.
Remy’s headlights illuminated a few feet ahead, but ruts and washouts blended with the dirt lane. They hadn’t passed a house, farm, or business of any kind in ten or fifteen minutes.
He’d slowed to no more than walking speed, but if he blew a tire or broke an axle, they were stuck until morning. Even then, they faced a long hike.
“I’m sure this is the place she told us to come but I’m not sure it’s anyplace that can help us.” And I’m definitely worried it might be the place someone plans to knock us over the head, steal the car and our money, and leave us for dead.
But he couldn’t tell that to Gabby. She had believed every word that old woman told them. She’d even paid top dollar for three vials of Holy Water. When he’d suggested the water came from the shopkeeper’s tap, he’d seen the disappointment on Gabby’s face.
What hurt the most was that the look had seemed directed at him. After that, he’d kept his mouth shut. But he had his Glock ready, just in case.
Gabby’s heart pounded as if trying to escape her chest. The flickering lights ahead had to be the spot.
When Eva had brought out her mother, Evangeline, Gabby had instantly known this was the person who could send them in the right direction.
Evangeline knew all about Papa Legba, how the old man held the keys to Heaven. When she saw the drawing Remy had made, she pointed to the quarter moon, crossed herself, and spit on the floor.
“Blasphemers. Devil worshipers. This isn’t Papa Legba. With this symbol, they’ve turned that old man on his ear. They idolize the one who guards the gates of Hell. The one who protects evildoers. They get their power from spilled blood, not from prayer. Only those who have nothing to hide worship the full moon. Those who follow the dark path, hide from the light.”
Remy had been skeptical, but she’d arranged for them to witness a ceremony of the black arts.
“They’ll be dancing for the next three nights, celebrating the waxing crescent moon.”
Remy had knitted his brows so Gabby leaned over to whisper in his ear. “Waxing is growing bigger, waning is growing smaller. Don’t you remember Sister Cornelia and our science class?”
A corner of his mouth had curved up. “No, as usual I was probably only paying attention to you.”
Evangeline had frowned at them, but continued. “This is the time their mojo is the strongest, before they lose their power to the light. Any time between the waning crescent and the waxing crescent is their time, but just as the lunar orbit starts its path to full, they celebrate the moon’s power. This is the first night, so visitors are allowed. After tonight, the group gets tighter. By Friday night, everyone stays home and worships on their own.”
The meeting had obviously exhausted her. Her breath sounded shallow and her eyes lost their luster. Before she allowed Eva to lead her out of the room, she’d twisted back. “Watch yourself. It’s easy to get drawn in. To feel the power. You must remain true to yourself.”
From behind the curtain, her voice sounded one more time, a faint whisper. “Hallelujah, Lord. I can go now.”
Now, Remy drove toward the firelight, and she clasped his arm tighter. He circled the car around and parked facing the road. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked. “There’s no guarantee we’ll learn anything that can help us, and these aren’t going to be the type of voodoo practitioners you’re used to.”
Her heart clutched at the worry in his voice, but she couldn’t turn back now. “We have to. If there’s one chance in a thousand, one in a million, that Adrienne will be here or that we’ll find someone who can help us, we have try.”
They approached the gathering hand-in-hand, and Remy’s strength flowed up her arm. Two dozen people, perhaps more, circled a large bonfire. Some were black, some white, some Latino or other minorities. Some held hands, some swayed. A drum beat softly in the background. The moon had expanded to the sliver portrayed in Remy’s drawing of the tattoo. It even faced toward the left, indicating it was growing, as the old woman had explained.
Torches lit an area to the side and children ran in circles and played. What were they doing up at this hour of the night? It had to be one in the morning.
No one glanced up as they approached, but somehow a space was made for them around the fire. The drumbeat grew louder, and she felt the rhythm surge through her.
Several people, mostly women, but not all, drew nearer to the fire. Their swaying became more pronounced and their eyes glazed over. Soon the tempo increased and the dancers threw themselves into the beat.
One woman grabbed her hand to draw her forward and Gabby realized she’d been swaying to the music. What could it hurt to join them? She and Remy wanted to blend in, and she hadn’t been dancing in years.
Remy tightened his grip on her hand, but she yanked away from him. Soon she was tossing her hair and shaking her body. That old lady was crazy. This was fun. There was no evil here, only a release of tension.
More drums joined in and the air pulsed with their beat.
Heat filled the night and she danced until sweat covered her body. Occasionally she saw Remy, frowning. What an old stick-in-the-mud.
All the other non-dancers swayed and clapped their hands. They called out encouragement or sang a song without words.
Gabby danced with abandon. Remy
had never understood her, or her love for Louisiana. All he had ever done was worry, worry, worry. Where would they get the money to live? How would they support Adrienne?
No wonder she had grown tired of him. They could have brought Adrienne to something like this. Other children were here and they seemed okay.
She wanted to keep dancing, but she was so thirsty. Her throat felt on fire.
The woman who had lured her into the dance stood next to her. She held a chicken high over her head then slit its throat. The blood poured downward, and Gabby opened her mouth. Ahh, relief.
She felt the power fill her. She could dance all night. She could live forever.
What the fuck had just happened?
The whole scene around the fire gave Remy the creeps. When the woman had urged Gabby to dance, he’d resisted. He understood her need to help in the search for Adrienne. He even agreed that she shouldn’t make a scene and that dancing helped them blend in, but separating at a time like that was dangerous.
They didn’t know anything about those people except that they worshiped the devil. Not a safe place to be.
When Gabby threw herself into the dancing, imitating the others, something about her had changed as he watched. Her dancing became more sensual. She licked her lips and let her head fall back. The top button of her blouse came undone. He couldn’t hear her over the noise, but she seemed to moan.
The drumbeat shook the earth, and its vibrations traveled up his legs and filled his mind. She was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. And he wanted to have her, now.
Other dancers were breaking off and coupling just outside the circle of light. His breath grew heavier. The beginnings of an erection pushed against his jeans.
Then the woman slit the chicken’s throat and it was like someone threw cold water on him.
He had to get Gabby out of there and to safety.
Gabby jerked around to find Remy beside her, tugging on her hand. “Go away.” She had to shout over the drumbeat. The dancers continued to circle around them. “Don’t be a spoilsport. I want to have some fun for once in my life.”
Her cheek stung and she gasped in surprise.
Remy had actually slapped her. Shocked, she stopped dancing. He threw her over his shoulder and started for the car.
She lifted her head and reached out toward the fire. The dancing slowed as people began to notice her. Her new friends would save her. They wouldn’t let Remy take her like this.
First one, then two, then ten surged her way as Remy tossed her into the car and raced to the other side.
Gabby tried the door handle. Locked.
Remy had the motor running and burned rubber onto the road as the first man hammered on the back window.
Gabby dropped her face into her hands and sobbed. How could Remy? He always ruined everything.
Chapter 20
Remy neared the hotel and glanced at Gabby. She hadn’t spoken a word since he’d dragged her from the dance. She had cried for the first few minutes, then stared out the window. He’d reached for her hand once, but she yanked it away and refused to answer when he spoke to her.
The French Quarter seemed deserted as he parked on a side street, a block from the hotel. The area was pitch black, even the sliver of moon had disappeared behind clouds, but he couldn’t risk the valet attendants seeing her, if any place in the Quarter was still open at this hour.
He rushed to the trunk of his car and dug around until he found a towel in his gym bag. He grabbed a bottle of water and dampened the cloth.
Gabby didn’t move as he tried to clean the dried blood off her face.
“Come on. Let’s get you into the hotel.” Relief flooded him when she stepped out of the car as he tugged on her hand.
But how was he going to get her through the lobby? Her blouse was covered in blood. Even his shirt had blood on the shoulder. He wasn’t sure about the back.
He checked his gym bag again and found an old HPD sweatshirt, which he eased over her head. She didn’t resist, but she didn’t help either. He yanked off his own shirt and tossed it into the trunk. His T-shirt seemed okay, if no one looked too close.
The slam of the trunk lid echoed through the silent night, and he was sure the sound alerted every scumbag in the area. He’d be lucky to ever see his car again. Fine, as long as they could walk the deserted block in safety. He could take care of himself if alone, but with Gabby the way she was? He had his doubts.
In the hotel lobby, the night-manager snored behind the counter. Still, Remy led Gabby up two flights of stairs rather than risk having the elevator ding and wake the man.
Gabby followed his lead, but he never let go of her hand. The door lock clicked softly as the stepped inside the room. Remy flipped the deadbolt and led Gabby into the bathroom.
The overhead lights flickered on, and he blinked at the brightness after so long in the dark. Not Gabby. She stood like a statue while he filled the tub with warm water.
He tried to be gentle as he removed her clothes, but she might as well have been one of those dolls Adrienne used to change outfits on every fifteen minutes.
Gabby didn’t resist, but she didn’t cooperate either. He looked into her eyes. Was she even in there?
On the counter sat an array of toiletries the hotel had provided. He took the bath oil and emptied it into the quickly filling tub. Maybe the lavender would overcome the stench of blood that still surrounded her and help bring her out to the trance she seemed to be in.
“Mon chère, can you step into the tub? I think it will make you feel better.”
She stepped into the tub without a word, lowered herself when he told her to, but never looked at him. Now what? He lathered a washcloth and washed her as he would a baby, as he had Adrienne so many years ago.
When he finished, nothing had changed except that Gabby smelled better. He sat back on the cold floor, moisture building behind his eyes. Should he take her to the doctor? Call an ambulance?
Had he lost both Adrienne and Gabby?
His eyes shifted to the pile of clothes he’d dropped on the floor. On top sat the package she had clutched since they’d left the ceremony. What was in there?
Only one way to be sure. The knot resisted his clumsy fingers, and he used his teeth to untie the string. Inside were the three vials of Holy Water. In desperation, he plucked the stopper from one vial and dampened his finger.
When he made the sign of the cross on Gabby’s forehead, she shivered. The first voluntary move she’d made since he’d slapped her. He dampened his finger again and put some behind her ears.
She leaned forward and blood-colored vomit spewed onto the tile floor. What the hell had just happened? His hands shook as he placed some of the Holy Water on the base of her throat. She vomited again.
The rancid stench made him want to gag, but he couldn’t afford to give in.
He poured the rest of the vial over her head and she shivered violently, vomiting until nothing more came out. She still didn’t look at him, but tears coursed down her face.
Did this mean she was better or worse?
Only one drop remained in the vial, and he used it to make the sign of the cross on his own forehead. The music had gotten to him too, after all. The slightly oily liquid felt hot and cold at the same time. How was that possible?
The bathwater now had a pink tinge and he drained the contents, then filled the tub again with water as hot as he thought Gabby could bear. Steam filled the room and coated the mirror, but she still shivered.
After washing her a second time, he dried her thoroughly and carried her to the bed. She clutched his neck and buried her face in his chest, tiny sobs escaping like hiccups.
He kept his arms around her, stroking her back and hair, murmuring soothing words.
After an hour, she
dozed off, only to wake a few minutes later, holding him so tight her fingernails dug into his bare skin.
But she still didn’t speak.
She continued to doze, then wake several times, clutching him as if afraid he’d leave her, until her breath finally evened out.
Morning light seeped around the edges of the heavy brocade curtains before he could relax. Gabby appeared to be asleep. But would she be all right when she woke up?
The bed creaked and the mattress dipped. Remy opened his eyes to see Gabby, fully dressed, sitting on the edge, watching him.
Her skin seemed pale under her makeup and dark circles hollowed her eyes. “I ordered room service for breakfast. Do you want to get dressed before they get here?”
He glanced at the clock on the nightstand. 11:25. Not quite three hours of sleep.
When he sat up, his entire body protested. One arm screamed. Pins and needles danced its length. Had she lain on top of it the whole night?
He reached for her hand and noticed a neat row of four half-moon circles on his arm. Fingernail marks. From the way his back felt, that, too, had a matching set.
“Hurry up.” Gabby scooted off the bed and avoided his eyes. “Breakfast will be here any minute.”
He groped around for the clothes he’d dropped beside the bed. Christ, they smelled bad. Blood, vomit, smoke, and something else, something he couldn’t put his finger on. He yanked up his jeans just as a knock sounded on the door.
“Room service.”
Gabby started for the door, but he stopped her. “Let me,” he whispered, grabbing his Glock.
The only thing he could see through the peephole was the face of a young kid: thin, limp blond hair, pale blue eyes, acne, and a white waiter’s coat. How was he supposed to tell anything from that?
He stepped back and motioned Gabby to open the door, his hand on his weapon, out of sight.
Voodoo on Bayou Lafonte Page 15