That Voodoo You Do: That Old Black Magic, Book 1

by Jodi Redford

  “Welcome to the uprising, precious Jemma.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Griffin uncapped the cobalt vial he’d fetched from Gloria’s magical cache of potions and poured its contents into the waiting goblet. He stirred the liquid until the mixture bubbled and fizzed, hoping like hell he’d gotten Clarissa’s slurred instructions right. Otherwise there was a good chance he was about to poison his boss. Chanting the incantation she’d provided, he carried the foaming brew to the table. He tipped Clarissa’s chin up, supporting her lolling head with one hand while he pinched her mouth open with his fingers, forcing the spell breaker past her lips. A massive shudder shook her and she sputtered once before hiccupping a nebula of black sparkles.

  She scrambled to her feet, apparently cured. “Take care of Logan and Peach while I deconstruct the ward.”

  Leaving her to work her magic, Griffin turned his focus to doling out the remainder of the spell breaker. By the time Logan and Ms. Peach regained consciousness, Clarissa had weakened the ward but not eliminated it, despite cursing and throwing whammies like a madwoman. She swayed in exhaustion, rivers of sweat plastering her hair to her face.

  Griffin read the helpless anguish in her eyes and joined her side. “You can do it.”

  She gave an anemic laugh. “I appreciate the cheerleading, but it’s not enough. My battery is drained. I don’t think there’s anything left—” She broke off with a grunt when Logan whirled her into his arms. With zero preamble, the werewolf tugged Clarissa close and slammed his mouth against hers, corking her startled gasp. His tongue disappeared beyond the barrier of her lips and suddenly she lit up like a sea of sparklers at a Fourth of July parade. A snow cloud of lavender shimmers swirling around them, Logan reluctantly released Clarissa and stepped back. She wobbled precariously for a moment, her dazed focus locked on Logan. “Th—that was…” She licked her lips and ran shaky fingers through a damp lock of hair. “Thank you.”

  For once the werewolf didn’t offer a smartass comment and instead sat silently at the table while Clarissa busted through the ward’s last fortification. With that obstacle defeated, Griffin dashed toward the mansion’s front entrance. Clarissa caught up with him outside. “Is the shotgun and bag of rock salt still in your car?” He nodded and she grabbed his arm. “Then let’s go.”

  They raced to the Pathfinder, and he cranked on the engine just as Logan and Ms. Peach yanked open the rear passenger doors. Griffin glanced over his shoulder and met Logan’s gaze as the werewolf settled in place. A rare instance of shared purpose passed between them, and Griffin nodded before shifting out of park. He sped toward the road and experienced a momentary twinge of panic when he realized he had no idea which direction to go. “Damn it, I’m getting nothing from Jemma. Nettie must be blocking her again.” At least he prayed that was the reason for Jemma’s blank signal. Because the alternative…

  He banished the specter of fear to the back of his mind, refusing to allow it to blanket his determination with a dark cloud. Clarissa rolled down her window. “I could try invoking Akasha for assistance.”

  “An eye in the sky?” Logan echoed. “Not a bad idea.”

  Ms. Peach popped her head between the driver and passenger seats. “Or you could just follow those zombies.”

  Griffin stared at the horde of corpses crossing the driveway. “I’m going with that plan.” His heart thumping, he floored it.

  Jemma shivered as Nettie materialized in front of her. An unholy glee shone in the ghost’s eyes, making her resemble a demented child anticipating a treasure trove of ghoulish presents Death was bringing her for Christmas.

  “Can you feel it, Jemma? The beginning of the end?” Nettie sucked in a breath and flung her head back. “Death’s sweet perfume is rich in the air.”

  That, unfortunately, was all too true. And it sure as hell didn’t smell sweet to Jemma’s thinking. She fought the urge to retch, her nose filling with the putrid stench of decay.

  “This night was always meant to be. Rose Beaumont never understood the path of fate. Her shortsightedness convinced her she built a failsafe with her containment spell, never realizing her daughter would ultimately conceive the perfect weapon to destroy it.” Floating closer, Nettie stroked Jemma’s cheek, her touch like a stinging trail of ice. “I shall have to remember to thank her for such a wonderful gift, once I raise her corpse and condemn her soul to my collection.”

  A mix of horror and helplessness swelled within Jemma. She struggled to pull free of Gloria and Bubba’s grip, angry tears welling in her eyes. “I won’t let you get away with this.”

  “But you will. You cannot stop me, my precious, but you can join me. My offer still stands. I will give you the world.”

  “I don’t want the twisted world you believe in, you sick bitch.”

  Nettie’s features contorted in ugly fury, and she swung her hand at Jemma. Pain erupted in Jemma’s abdomen. She screamed, almost blacking out from the agony of it. The sensation receded as fast as it’d ripped through her and she gasped, her eyes watering in relief.

  “Do not test me, you ungrateful child. Next time I will not be so gentle.”

  Oh sweet Jesus. She’d never survive a next time.

  Nettie grasped Jemma’s chin, forcing her head up. A savage storm of bitterness raged in Nettie’s eyes. “I was wrong about you. You are just like the others. A spineless follower of the old order. I am ashamed that you carry even an ounce of my blood.”

  “Trust me, it makes two of us.” Another conflagration of fire burst inside Jemma with enough force to fling her from Gloria’s and Bubba’s hold. She landed on her back, the breath knocked from her lungs. Clearly, antagonizing a homicidal ghost was dangerous to her health. She blinked at the haze of red bleeding over the moon. Oh man, that can’t be a good sign. The sudden blaring of a car horn broke her from her gloomy musings and she jerked. The fact that her body managed even that tiny involuntary action sent a thrill coursing through her. Maybe it meant that Nettie’s hold on her was beginning to weaken, which meant maybe she’d have a fighting chance of fending off the ghost and her zombie henchmen.

  “What the hell are they doing here?” Nettie’s outraged demand cut through the night, prompting Jemma to raise her head enough to witness her grandmother confronting Gloria. “Did I not order you to kill them?”

  Them? Was Nettie referring to Griff and the others? Jemma inched her head up another fraction, torn between the temptation to try to roll onto her side and the fear of taking her gaze off Nettie.

  “Y-yes, mistress. I fed them the potion just as you asked.”

  “Idiot. The potion was only meant for Jemma.” Her face a mask of fury, Nettie advanced on Gloria. “But then I think you knew that and meant to deceive me.”

  “No, mis—” Gloria broke off with a gasp and doubled over, clutching her belly. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she crumpled to the ground.

  “Jemma!” Griff’s ferocious roar practically shook the ground. Momentarily tossing her caution to the wayside, Jemma shoved onto her elbow and glanced in the direction of the cemetery’s entrance. The sight that met her sent her heart plummeting to her knees. At least eighty zombies stood between her and Griff. Even with the distance separating them, she could easily detect the determined set of his broad shoulders. Oh God. He was certifiably insane if he thought—

  Releasing another thunderous roar, he leapt into the fray.

  “Griff.” Half sobbing, half screaming, she tried to shove up from the grass. A ghostly cackle sounded behind her, moments before skeletal fingers dug into her ankles and dragged her across the ground. She clawed at the earth, trying to halt the zombie’s progress with anything she could grab on to, but only managed to scratch her arms on the razor-sharp blades of grass. When they reached Nettie, another corpse stepped forward and fisted a handful of Jemma’s hair, jerking her to her feet. Her tear ducts swimming, she watched Nettie approach the grave.

  “I have waited an eternity for Death to rule the day. As I
will it, so mote it be.” Nettie grabbed Jemma’s hand, her talon-like nails slicing the flesh of her palm. A drop of blood seeped from the wound and plopped onto the scorched turf covering the grave. The greedy earth sucked in the droplet with an audible gurgle.

  Okay, that definitely wasn’t normal.

  The oppressive night suddenly filled with a strange expectancy. Seconds later, with no breeze in sight, the Spanish moss draping the oak began swinging and twisting wildly. A loud groan that seemed to belch from the very bowels of Hell rumbled from the ground, right before the grave beneath Jemma’s feet exploded in a massive geyser of dirt. The impact sent her stumbling backward. Swiping her dirt-clotted hair from her eyes, she gaped as one by one the surrounding graves began performing their own volcano trick.

  Oh yeah, we’re most definitely fucked.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Griffin’s only thought was Jemma as he fought his way through a swarm of zombies intent on relieving him of a limb or two. He’d been terrified when he saw her lying there motionless. The realization that she wasn’t dead didn’t slow the frantic drumming of his pulse. No chance of that happening until he held her safe in his arms. In his peripheral vision, he spotted Logan battling a throng of corpses on the far side of the cemetery. He had no idea where Clarissa and Ms. Peach were, but the occasional boom from the shotgun verified they were busy firing their way toward the epicenter of the zombie outbreak.

  Fingernails raked Griffin’s neck. He crunched his fist into the skull of the corpse busy trying to steal a chunk out of him, all the while trying to fend off a dead gal wearing what looked like a poufy metallic prom dress. She tore his shirt, shredding it at the collar, and sank her teeth into the meat of his shoulder. He shoved her off him and head-butted another zombie that’d jumped into the fracas. These dead bastards might think he was the featured course in an all-you-can-eat buffet, but that didn’t mean he was going down without a fight. Two more corpses came barreling at him and he ducked. The pair collided with each other, and he dove between the legs of the dead prom queen. She went tumbling with a shriek, and he wormed his way toward a break in the action.

  The grave to his immediate right suddenly exploded like it’d been hit with a grenade. A second later, the neighboring grave did the same. Followed by another. And another.

  Oh fuck. Nettie must have unlocked the final door. Which meant—

  The bottom of his stomach dropped out. Jemma. An anguished roar ripping from his chest, he leapt over the nearby grave. Someone, or something, grabbed his leg. He thudded onto his face, splinters of pain radiating through his kneecaps. Growling, he kicked at the corpse attempting to drag him down into the grave, nailing the creature in the forehead. It released him but one of its comrades dove on top of Griffin. Just when he thought the zombie would successfully smother him into the ground, gunfire blasted overhead. The corpse rolled off him, and he glanced up at Clarissa. She extended an arm toward him, and he gripped her hand just as another zombie tackled her from the side. Logan’s outraged bellow whipped through the air, and he hurtled himself at the attacking zombie. Griffin scrambled to assist, and a mass of the creatures piled on top of them.

  Suddenly he knew what if felt like to be the unlucky player running defense in a game of zombie football.

  Even in her worst nightmares, Jemma would never have been able to conjure the hellish scene unfolding around her. Graves were blowing up left and right. It was as if she was in the middle of a freakin’ war zone instead of a cemetery. She couldn’t see Griff or the others anywhere. Sick dread burned in her stomach at the realization that they must be buried somewhere in the insane zombie mosh pit near the front gate. A quick look over her shoulder confirmed that Gloria was still passed out cold.

  She was completely on her own here.

  An evil chuckle came from Nettie. “Your services are no longer required, precious. Bubba, you may enjoy your dinner now.”

  Jemma whirled around in time to catch the corpse popping in his dentures. Oh shit. He lunged at her and she stumbled backward, right into the zombie who’d pulled her to her feet earlier. Bubba’s drooling mouth lowered and she screamed, shoving at him. His entire body quaked and the blood she’d smeared on his neck bubbled before seeping into his rotting flesh. An instant later, he blackened like a crispy critter and burst into a shower of dust.

  What the hell? She brushed the ash particles from her face, trying not to be squicked out at having zombie dust caked in her eyelashes. She stared at the gash in her palm, Clarissa’s words echoing in her head. The key has always been in your blood.

  Holy crimoly. She spun and swiped her hand across the torso of the other zombie. After jerking around like a marionette on invisible strings, the corpse crumbled into ash. Turning, she met Nettie’s fulminous glare and smiled. “Well isn’t this an interesting discovery?”

  Her mouth slashing into a furious line, Nettie shot an arc of snapping energy from her fingertips. The strike electrified Jemma. Crying out, she staggered to her knees. Another sizzling bolt of agony hit her, and she toppled face-first into the mound of raised earth at the foot of the opened grave. An arctic breeze ruffled through her hair and she flinched, steeling herself for Nettie’s next blow. Instead, she was treated to a scornful laugh.

  “This is most entertaining. Perhaps I shall prolong your life just for the thrill of watching you suffer. And I will find countless ways to make you suffer, my precious.”

  Groaning, Jemma pushed onto her elbows. Her vision blurred and she blinked, trying to focus. A withered husk of a hand popped from the ground in front of her, inches from her face. She yelped and scrambled backward. As she did, her attention fell on the ornate headstone teetering on the other side of the hole. The grave’s mass upheaval must have dislodged the stone, revealing the chiseled image of a horned goat on the lower portion of the marker.

  Oh my God. She scooted forward for a closer look and almost conked heads with the shriveled corpse that suddenly rose from the grave. A moldy cloak shrouded the dead woman, allowing only a few straggly wisps of auburn hair to show. Despite the fact the woman’s features were all but concealed, she knew it was Nettie’s corpse. Duh, who else would be lying in her—?

  A dizzying rush of déjà vu shivered through Jemma’s bones. The answer rests beneath the horned goat. “Holy shit. You’re the answer.”

  Boney fingers sinking into the loose clods of dirt, the corpse continued climbing from the hole. Jemma gulped and cautiously wiggled backward. Okay, so the floating head that’d visited her in the kitchen hadn’t been blowing smoke up her ass. But what exactly was she supposed to do now?

  Say it twice as she rises. “Ah hell. Here goes nothing.” Ignoring the pain shooting through her body, Jemma struggled to her knees. “Gorgonzola, gorgonzola.”

  Nothing. “This is what I get for listening to a disembodied head.”

  The corpse swung a leg over the edge of the grave and crawled forward just as Nettie cackled and threw another thunderbolt of searing agony at Jemma’s midsection. White-hot fire engulfed her insides, and she fell onto her hands, the coppery tang of blood pooling on her tongue. Just when she decided death would be a merciful welcome, the odd word she’d been searching for flashed through her mind. “Gorasola.”

  Nettie’s maniacal laughter fizzled to a halt. Jemma raised her head and took in her grandmother’s frozen look of shock. A shadow of fear slipped over Nettie’s face, only to be replaced a second later by frantic desperation. She threw her arm toward Jemma, a red, glowing ball of energy shooting from her fingertips.

  “Gorasola.”

  The fireball dissolved in midair, and Nettie’s spirit form shuddered violently before catapulting into the body of her corpse. An awful scream tearing from her, she lunged on top of Jemma, pinning her down by the wrists. “You stupid little bitch. I’m going to enjoy killing you even more for this.”

  “Not half as much as I will you.”

  Nettie’s grip tightened. “Lesson number one, my precious. You
cannot kill a ghost.”

  “No, but I can kill a zombie.”

  For a long, tense moment she and Nettie locked stares. She knew the exact moment her threat fully registered with her grandmother. Fear snuffing out the malice flashing in Nettie’s eyes, she glanced down at the blood trickling from Jemma’s wound, mere inches from where her own wrinkled fingers rested. Her gaunt, hollowed face took on the look of a woman bent on one goal—survival. She slackened her grip a fraction, sliding her hand away from the approaching dribble of blood as if it were toxic.

  It was all the opportunity Jemma needed. Crashing her forehead into Nettie’s, she knocked the corpse off her torso. Before Nettie could strike back, Jemma twisted her bloodied hand free and slammed it over Nettie’s mouth. “I hope you choke on that all the way to Hell.”

  Nettie started thrashing, her skin taking on the appearance and texture of charcoal. One fierce, muffled squeal of rage escaped her before she burst into a cloud of dust. Jemma slumped forward, drained. A chorus of whispers floated above her, and she dragged her head upward. Dozens of glowing figures were clustered in front of her. She recognized one of the beaming faces as belonging to the floating head from the kitchen.

  “You did it, Jemma. We’re all free of her now.” He and his fellow souls waved in farewell before dissolving into the thick black mist gathering in the cemetery.

  No, not mist. A giant dust cloud. Lifting to her feet, Jemma gaped at the sight commencing around her. Zombies were dissipating into the dust—some scattering into the wind, others funneling into the blown-out graves. The upturned soil showered back into the waiting holes, followed by grass and weeds.

  In less time than it took for her to fully pivot, the cemetery had returned to its former state of untouched creepiness. She spotted Griffin and the others rising from where the zombies had pinned them to the ground. Her throat thickened with tears. “Griff.” Though her voice came out the barest rasp, he spun in her direction. Cursing the battered and bruised muscles that slowed her progress, she limped forward. He broke into a run, easily sweeping her into his arms before she’d managed even three steps. His big hands cradled her head to his chest, his heart pounding beneath her cheek.