by Chanel Smith
“That ends today,” Archie countered. “You will no longer keep her away from me.”
“Perhaps not, but I’ll have the very distinct pleasure of keeping both of your souls trapped here in this darkness for eternity.” He began to laugh. It was a sound that sounded like it was coming from a hollow barrel or a tunnel, but it was also deep and terrifying to hear.
“I’m afraid you give yourself too much credit and vastly overestimate your strength.” Something told me that those words had come from Ellen rather than from Archie. “Look toward the veil. Look toward the flickering flames on the other side. You’ll be going there alone.”
For the first time, the possibility of what Archie said being true, struck home with him. I could see worry begin to spread across his face. His mocking and mirth was gone. He must have begun to feel either his power fading or the overwhelming force of the united spirits of myself, Ellen, Prince John, Archie and even a part of Mildred, who had long since given up fighting against her captor, but had suddenly begun to feel that there was hope of escape. I remained focused on Ellen, feeling the strength of our bond continuing to grow.
“Release Mildred and I will let you leave this place.” It was an empty bargain. For the first time, I could see that he was beginning to weaken, though he was still extremely formidable, at least where his grip upon Mildred was concerned. However, the fact that he was attempting to strike a bargain rather than continuing his threat of holding them both was telling.
“Truss dis woman. Truss dis woman.” I repeated the phrase over and over in my mind, not even realizing that I was pronouncing the words with the Creole accent of Prince John.
Chapter Seventeen
Locked in a desperate, spiritual tug of war, my mind was entirely focused on Ellen and the thin connection that held me to her and prevented the powerful spirit of Edward Fontaine from tugging both of us deeper into the darkness where he would be able to hold us forever. When the voice of Prince John interrupted, it startled me.
“Mister Drew, you be forgettin’ a power dat you hol’ in all o’ dis.”
“What?” My distracted mind stopped focusing on Ellen for a moment and turned toward the words that Prince John had spoken.
“You go’ de powd’ in you pocket, Monty,” he repeated.
“Powder? What powder?” I had completely forgotten all about the small leather pouch with the drawstrings that he had handed me along with the voodoo doll.
A vague thought of the research that I had done on the private jet while Ellen and I were flying to New Orleans crossed my mind. It seemed like another lifetime ago, given the situation that I found myself in. I remembered having read that the powder was made from the roots of the figuier maudit tree, which I had gone on to learn was another name for the fig tree that Christ cursed and caused to instantly wither when he was hungry and it was void of fruit. I had wondered how they had gotten even a small portion of the actual root of that tree in southern Louisiana in order to make the charm.
The root was often mixed with sacred bones of a saint or other holy thing, like water that had been blessed by a priest. It depended on how it was to be used or applied. When I had learned about voodoo priests and priestesses using the charm to ward off evil, I had laughed it off as being hokum. I was about to rely on that hokum to get me out of a struggle that was apt to lock my soul away in darkness forever if it failed.
I reached into my pocket, not fully understanding how my body, with my pockets, could be separated from my spirit and yet connected enough to draw out the pouch and hold it in my or Mildred’s hand, I wasn’t sure which.
“You see, der it is. You use dis now an’ we sen’ dis evil spirit to de devil.”
“How? How do I use it? What do I do?”
“Open de pouch an’ pu’ de powd’ in you han’,” he directed.
I glanced at him, wondering how I was going to pour the powder into a spiritual hand and hold it there.
“Truss me, Monty.”
I poured the powder into my hand, amazed that it didn’t sift right on through. “Okay, now what?”
“You turn you head to de side, drew in de deep breat’ like you goin’ under de water.”
I did as he asked and then looked at him with my cheeks puffed out.
“Now blew de powd’ in de face o’ Fontaine. Do it hard!”
The way he bellowed the last command frightened me a bit, but I turned toward a completely unsuspecting Fontaine and put all of the power that I had in me into blowing the powder into his face.
What happened after that was a swirling flash of images, emotions, sounds and feelings. Fontaine screamed like a banshee and backed away, raising his hands to his face. I felt his power over Mildred release and Ellen’s presence suddenly become much stronger than it had been before. I felt myself being drawn backward while the scene played out in front of me.
While Fontaine was being rapidly sucked through the veil and toward the flickering flames beyond, Mildred, suddenly free, was instantly drawn to Archibald’s side. In the next flash, a bright light suddenly appeared and the two began to ascend upward toward it. A part of me wanted to follow them, but Ellen’s grip upon me was much too strong and I could not resist being pulled backward.
In the next moment, I felt myself beginning to sink and I struggled against whatever it was that was drawing me downward. My consciousness came rushing back to me from beyond the spiritual mist and I knew that I was under water. Fighting upward, toward the pale moonlight, my face broke the surface of the murky bayou water and I gasped to grab my first breath and then gulped for several more.
I had no idea how I had ended up in the nasty, rotten-smelling water of the bayou, but I was alive and conscious and knew that that was exactly where I was. I looked around for Ellen and Prince John. They were nowhere to be found. There was no Spanish mission, no cemetery, no Archie, no Mildred and, thank God, no Fontaine or flames behind a veil. As good as it was to be away from the latter, it was little comfort to me. I was alone in the dark waters of the bayou beneath a pale moon with whispers of fog passing over it.
Treading water, I had no idea where I was or in which direction I should go; however, I realized that floating along in the bayou wasn’t a very good place for me to be. The shore would at least lend relative safety, but I had no idea which direction to swim in order to reach it. I listened for a few moments, hoping to find something that would offer a clue, but finally determined that I simply had to swim until I reached solid ground.
As I started swimming the thought occurred to me that even if I found solid ground, I could be anywhere in a vast area that covered thousands of square miles in southern Louisiana. Then I remembered how Ellen had guided us through the fog, keeping us perfectly on course by using her spiritual gift. If she could do that to guide the boat, perhaps she could find me too.
With all of the concentration that I wasn’t using for swimming, I focused my thoughts on Ellen just like I had when I was trapped in the darkness. I wasn’t certain if I could feel her or not, but I began to repeat the words that I’d used earlier. “Truss dis woman. Truss dis woman.”
After I had been swimming for quite some time and was beginning to feel the lactic acid build up in my body, I began to wonder if I was ever going to find the shore or if I was simply swimming around in circles. I paused for a moment to listen once more. Off to my left, I heard the faintest splash and recalled hearing the very same thing through the fog.
“Dat is a gator’ dropping in. We close to de shore.” Prince John’s words penetrated through my exhausted mind.
I turned to swim in that direction. Though I questioned the wisdom of swimming toward the sound of an alligator dropping into the water, the idea that the shore and safety certainly lay in that direction pushed me forward.
Drawing closer to the shore, which suddenly began to present itself as a dim shadow in front of me, I tried to recall what Prince John had told me about cottonmouths and alligators. “You don’ go bein’ ‘fraid
o’ dos creature, God make dem same as you an’ me. When you go bein’ ‘fraid, dey smell dat fear an’ de tink you is dey dinner. Tranquil, Monty, ain’ no serpen’ or no gator’ gonna harm you.” I wasn’t sure how I was going to keep from being afraid of snakes and alligators, but I was in no position to do anything else but trust, so I did the best I could to swim, though the going was slow, concentrate on Ellen, and fight back my fear all at the same time.
It suddenly occurred to me that escaping Edward Fontaine’s power had been the least of my worries. The stack of worries and feats that I would have to accomplish in order to continue to survive was far more challenging, especially since, for the most part, I was facing those things alone.
I paused a moment to take a breath and see how far I had left to swim before reaching the shore and at that moment, I happened to glance over my shoulder. Above the water several dozen yards away, the moon glinted off of the snout of an alligator which was pointed in my direction. Forgetting that I was not supposed to be afraid, I began swimming frantically and with all of the force that I could draw out of my tired body.
With my breath coming to me in ragged gasps, I tried not to look back toward the inevitable attack that I knew was coming. No man could out-swim an alligator. I knew it was true, but I certainly wasn’t going to give up without trying. The shore was only a couple dozen yards in front of me. Stay focused, Monty, don’t give up. Swim. Swim. Swim. And then I felt a firm grip clamp onto one of my arms and I knew that I’d lost the race.
Chapter Eighteen
Sitting back and sipping the strong Creole coffee after four courses of Madame LaRue’s finest cuisine, the uncomfortable tightness in my gut had nothing at all to do with nerves, but everything to do with overeating rich food that was topped off by fluffy cream cheese stuffed chocolate crepes.
The jazz band had picked up the pace after playing their quieter dinner music and I felt my toe begin to tap involuntarily as Ellen reached out to take hold of my hand as she winked at me. It was a knowing glance that we shared; given the fact that we knew there would be no violent interruption of the festivities that evening.
A warm shower to wash off the stench of the bayou that had been caked upon my body, an hour or so of some of the most passionate lovemaking that Ellen and I had done since our honeymoon and a long nap had made an enormous difference in my mood, even to the point that I was willing to put on a jacket and tie to attend dinner with the wedding party of LaBeaux’s wealthy client, ironically, Archibald Fontaine.
Listening to the music and sipping the coffee as I tried to relax took my mind back to my frantic race with a hungry alligator toward a shore that was just beyond my reach. When I felt the tight grip on my arm, I had no idea that instead of it being the powerful jaws of the alligator closing down upon me, ready to drag me under, it was the strong hand of Prince John pulling me from the water and into the safety of the jon boat.
With the noise that I was making swimming for my life, I had not heard the approach of the jon boat or the soft buzz of the trolling motor and I had no idea that my rescue was drawing very near. Once inside the flat bottom of the boat, I collapsed with exhaustion and it took several minutes before I could take normal breaths again.
Ellen was sitting over me, stroking my head and whispering to me and I was pretty certain that she had never appeared more angelic in all of the days that I’d known her. The lantern light lit her face in a way that highlighted the softness of every feature and the twinkle in her eyes let me know that whether I were alive or dead, I was certainly going to be with her always. Once the normal breathes arrived, she even leaned down and placed a soft kiss upon my lips and that instant reassurance let me know that everything was going to be okay.
The thundering of my heart continued for a much longer period of time, even after I caught my breath. When I was beginning to calm myself a bit more, I looked up at the stoic figure of Prince John, dimly lit by the lantern at the front of the boat. His crazy eyes didn’t seem to be focused on anything and I could see the dark gaps where he was missing teeth. I still wondered at the strength that allowed such a slight form to be able to lift my large body up out of the water with such ease, but I’d grown to trust in that strength, as well as the other strengths, he had demonstrated on so many recent occasions.
“I tried not to be afraid of the alligator,” I confessed. “I tried as hard as I could to remember your words, but I swear to you, Prince John, that alligator was bent on having me for his dinner.”
“Mister Drew, I tink you right. If me an’ Missus Drew hadn’t come by in de momen’ dat we do, I tink you be dat alligator dinner too.”
“But you said that I wasn’t going to be the dinner of any serpent or alligator.”
“An’ see, you safe an’ soun’ right der en de bottom o’ dis pirogue wit all you arm an’ leg too.”
“But…” I started to protest that there was absolutely no way that he could possibly know that I’d wind up in the Lost Lake not far from the mouth of the secret cove where we had discovered Archibald again after the fog. There was also no way that he could have known that he and Ellen would have made it in time to rescue me before I’d become the alligator’s dinner. It just wasn’t possible for him to prophesy such a thing; was it?
With the trolling motor humming the entire distance back to the pond beside the Bordeaux mansion, it seemed like only minutes had passed rather than the hours that it had taken to pole our way through the channels that lead to the old Spanish mission. As the boat thumped against one of the pilings of the dock, I glanced up at the mansion and saw that the soft glow of sunrise was beginning to spread across the eastern sky beyond.
With my feet on the solid boards of the pier, I turned back toward Prince John, who had taken a couple of wraps with his rope to secure the boat and joined us on the dock.
“I don’t know how I will ever be able to thank you.”
He shrugged his shoulders and brought both of his eyes in focus as he looked deeply into mine and then he cracked a toothy grin that highlighted the gaps even more prominently.
“Thank you, Prince John,” Ellen said. “We couldn’t have helped them without you.”
“You is a bless’ woman,” he replied. “An’ dis man is a good man. Truss dis man.”
“I already do,” she replied in a whisper. “With my life.”
Having said our goodbyes, Prince John hopped back in the boat, unwrapped the rope from around the pier and started to push back from the dock. Ellen and I stood arm in arm watching him.
“Mister Drew,” he called out after he had poled the pirogue several dozen yards away. “Don’ go believin’ crook-eye ol’ voodoo men too much. Dey some time jus’ a lil bit crazy.” The deep, chesty chuckle rang out over the bayou. Ellen and I watched as he poled the boat between the two cypress trees and disappeared into the bayou beyond.
I was hanging onto the memory of those last moments with Prince John and tapping my toe to the music when it suddenly stopped. I expected to see dishes flying and smashing against the wall, while diners scrambled in every direction screaming in terror. It had happened often enough for me to think that it was normal and I sat up and looked around at a tranquil dining room. I looked over at Ellen, wondering what was going on, after having been lost for a few minutes in my own thoughts.
“AAAAAAAAEEEEEYYYYYYYY!” The scream over the amplified sound system brought me to my feet and I spun around to look at the stage. Most of the members of the jazz band had faded into the back of the stage and two men with fiddles had begun to attack their instruments with such vigor that the poor things began to scream out as though they had been scalded. In that instant, I knew that the dancing was about to start and in the next, I was pulled out onto the dance floor by Ellen and quickly surrounded by the partygoers.
Though dancing isn’t one of my particularly strong talents, being with Ellen, the upbeat rhythm of the twin fiddles and the joy of being alive made me forget all of that. After all that I’d been thro
ugh in the bayou, I was alive, I was in one piece and I was dancing with my beloved. De ain’ no better reason to be celebrate’, I gaurontee.
So as they say rather often in the great state of Louisiana and particularly in New Orleans: Lassaiz le bon temps rouler.
The End
Monty and Ellen will return in:
Ghost Writer
The Ghost Files #7
Coming soon!
Also available:
The Vampire With the Golden Gun
The Huntress Trilogy Book ##1
by Chanel Smith
(read on for a sample)
Prologue
The breeze was cool and moist and it felt fresh on Veronica’s face, bringing with it the faint smell of orange blossoms and Californian buckwheat; both of which she loved. It was somehow the perfect requiem to the purpose of her visit to the cemetery yard in Whittier that night and as she sat perched atop the steeple of the mission-style building staking out the grounds below her, she felt a wave of purposefulness sweep over her.
There was no way of her knowing how long she would be waiting out there in the night air and the darkness, so she had been sure to feed early and feed well on the fresh supply of hemoglobin that she had picked up from a local supplier a few days before. He was a good, reliable source. A conscientious old Chinese vampire in San Francisco’s Chinatown, he ran a few of the last remaining underground blood dens in the western hemisphere. Once a week, Veronica took a quick trip north to collect her supplies and indulge in a little of the secretive ‘Chinese Tong’ atmosphere that existed in Mr. Tan’s many opium rooms.
Veronica loved the dark underbelly of San Francisco’s trendy sub-culture; the drug scene, the music scene, the gothic supernatural scene that didn’t seem to exist anywhere else in that magnitude besides New Orleans. She felt at home there entwined with strangers dressed in black vinyl on the low leather settees in the darkened basements. While some made love, others got high, and while some fed, many were fed upon. It was symbiotic and undemanding and it drew her in constantly. But her time with Mr. Tan was done for the week and here she was staking out a cemetery, waiting to attend to her latest mission.