by Kari Gray
Poppy exhaled in a rush as though she’d been hit in the stomach. Lily frowned. Something was wrong—she hadn’t felt anything but a warm sensation during the pact, and she figured Dahlia’s experience had been the same. Poppy’s face drained of color and her eyes widened as she looked at the man. It was her youngest sister’s first indication of unease since entering the car and Lily’s heart slammed into her ribs.
“What did you do?” Dahlia growled at Othello.
His brows drew over those strange eyes. “I did nothing. Hold your tongue.”
Lily put her hand on Dahlia’s knee when she felt her sister’s temper flare. She didn’t have to search for Dahlia’s emotions—they were broadcast loud and clear.
Breathing unevenly, Poppy made a fist and held it over Othello’s outstretched hand. She started speaking the words of the spell and faltered, cleared her throat and began again. She murmured the phrases as a single drop of her blood fell into the cut on his hand, and while his physical reaction didn’t mirror Poppy’s, the very stillness in his demeanor alerted Lily to the fact that something was off.
His face was a mask of stone for a moment and he moved suddenly as a snake would strike, the long fingers of his hand grasping Poppy’s throat. It was then Lily noticed that the tendrils holding her tightly had eased and then disappeared altogether.
“What have you done?” he hissed at Poppy, who stared at him, her breath heaving.
But she was breathing—her face wasn’t turning purple, she wasn’t choking…Lily stayed Dahlia again when her sister lunged for the knife. Othello had his hands at Poppy’s throat, but the spell had taken effect.
He couldn’t hurt her. But something had happened.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Othello slammed back into the seat, his entire regard focused on Poppy. Her neck was smeared with blood and Lily’s heart stuttered for a moment before she realized it was from the bokor’s hand. Poppy still breathed heavily, but she straightened in her seat and inhaled, closing her eyes for the briefest of moments and opening them again to meet the furious man’s gaze.
“What… did… you… do?” he asked Poppy again, his jaw tight, his left hand clenched in a fist so hard his knuckles were white.
“Poppy?” Dahlia murmured and put her hand on Poppy’s shoulder.
Poppy shook her head, still looking at Othello, her brows drawn together. “I didn’t do anything,” she said.
“What are your preferred skills, young witch?” Othello bit out.
“I’m smart,” she snapped back. “That’s it. Whatever just happened,” she said, waving a hand between them, “has nothing to do with me.”
“What did happen, Poppy?” Lily asked softly.
Othello snapped his attention back to Lily as though only just remembering she was in the car. She knew the exact moment when he realized his tendrils of death no longer had an effect on her—the fury on his face was clear.
“I felt like I’d been struck by lightning,” Poppy said. “Vibrated through my whole body and my heart stopped for a moment.” She shook her head and rubbed her temple with fingers that shook slightly. “We’re both left handed. Maybe that’s it.”
“I’m left handed too,” Dahlia said, “and that didn’t happen to me.”
Lily felt the balance of power shift slightly. Once she realized he couldn’t hurt them, really couldn’t, a world of possibilities opened up. They could leave. But the talisman was still out there, and he was determined to find the thing. Mimi was all things practical, and if she was concerned about it falling into the wrong hands, then it had to be stopped. She carefully read Othello’s emotional aura, found him a roiling mass of confusion and anger. Detected possibly a slight edge of fear before he shoved her out of his head.
“Stay out!” he barked at Lily. “You forget,” he said, looking at each of the women, “I know where your grandmother lives, I know where she sleeps, and I can have your comatose aunt snuffed out in less than a heartbeat. You will not cross me, or your Mimi will suffer long. She will beg for death before I am finished with her.”
Lily closed her eyes. Her fear for Mimi and Ronnie warred with a sense of triumph, that possibly they now had enough to arrest him. She glanced at Dahlia, who shook her head as though she read Lily’s thoughts. A threat probably wasn’t going to cut it, especially since he had couched it in terms that could almost be considered self-defense.
“What do you want with the talisman,” Lily asked him, finally getting to the heart of it all.
He glared at her, features tight, pausing as though in assessment. Weighing his words. “Long before it found a home in New Orleans, it originated in Romania. Seven generations ago.” He closed his eyes. “It belonged to my mother. I’ve been searching for it for quite some time.”
“And your mother would like it returned?” Lily asked.
He looked at her, his expression flat. “My mother was the first owner.”
The implications took a moment to sink in, and Lily found herself at a loss. Apparently, so did Dahlia.
“It originated with your mother. Seven generations ago.” Dahlia retrieved the knife, which had fallen to the floor. She wiped it on her glove and sheathed it, still eying the bokor in blatant disbelief.
He raised a single brow, his cool demeanor settling back onto his shoulders like a cloak. “You think to mock me, then?”
“Not at all. Just wondering what I should buy you for your, what, two hundredth birthday?” Dahlia crossed her legs and settled back into her seat. “What does one buy for the man who has everything? Or, at least, has had time to accumulate everything?”
Othello pulled his phone from an inner jacket pocket and touched the screen. He then held it to his ear. “Take the old woman. Leave the one in the coma alone for the time being.”
“Shit,” Dahlia bit out.
“No, wait,” Lily said, and reached for the man’s arm. “Please, leave her out of this. Please.”
He pocketed the phone again and shot a dark look at Dahlia. “Too late.”
“What do you want?” Poppy asked him quietly. “Tell us what you want.”
Rain began falling softly on the roof of the car as the driver slowed and took a bumpy, narrow road in serious need of repair. Night had fallen completely during the ride from the mansion, and as the car progressed, sounds of rainfall were lessened by thickening overgrowth that closed in on the road. The world outside the car was as dark as the interior now was, and Lily fought to take even breaths, to remain calm. The air was thick and heavy, humid and cold, and it chilled her to the bone.
“What I want,” Othello answered Poppy in low tones, “is to find the talisman. It belongs to me. Your aunt knows where it is, and had she told me weeks ago, this process would have been entirely unnecessary.”
“Now you know where it is,” Dahlia said. “You don’t need us to find it—have Mimi released and we’ll leave you alone. We won’t tell anyone, you go your way and we go ours.”
He chuckled and the sound washed over Lily like a bucket of ice. “Oh no, my dear witch. You are now committed. When we locate the talisman, I’ll give you your grandmother’s whereabouts. But you’d all best use your talents to their fullest. If my man doesn’t receive further instructions from me within the hour, Mimi could disappear.”
Silence settled over the car as it continued along, bouncing and skidding. Lily’s brain spun and she tried to retain a sense of hope, but was on the brink of despair. Mimi would be dead in an hour if they couldn’t find the damn talisman, and who knew what was going on with Poppy. She glanced at her youngest sister, who now braced her arm against the window, her palm flat against it. Lily knew the signs—Poppy was incredibly prone to motion sickness, and she was looking to cool herself down.
“You might want to turn some air on her,” Lily said, motioning in the dim light to Poppy. “She’ll throw up in your lap, otherwise.”
A muttered curse, the sound of flipping switches, and finally a rush of cool air settled into th
e car’s interior. Poppy drew in a deep breath and Lily hoped they’d reach the graveyard soon. Goosebumps broke out on Lily’s arms and she hugged herself tightly, feeling twinges of pain her adrenaline had blocked out over the last hour. She was absolutely freezing, aching, and she wanted Bennett more than anything else. Her eyes burned with tears she refused to allow release until they were far away from the bokor.
Mercifully, the driver slowed the car to a stop and Poppy wrenched the door handle before they were completely still. She didn’t bolt from the car, but took a few deep breaths of fresh air before finally looking at Othello. “I’m not running away,” she managed, “but I have got to get out of this car.”
He nodded once, and she all but vaulted from the vehicle. Lily was glad the ride hadn’t lasted any longer. They needed Poppy’s knowledge of Chamonix’ family history, limited though it was, to determine the location of the mausoleum.
“That would have been icing on the cake,” Dahlia muttered as the driver opened the opposite door. “Puke all over the place.” She glanced sharply at Lily as they exited the car and stretched, taking stock of their surroundings. “You ok, Lil?”
“Just a little cold,” she said. She cradled her sore hand against her chest and moved around the car to Poppy’s side. She had to keep moving, keep shoving forward, or she’d sit down and bawl. Lily clenched her teeth together to keep from chattering and cast an eye over the graveyard.
Othello gave instructions to the driver as Lily glanced at Poppy, who was still taking deep, even breaths. “You really think he’s like hundreds of years old?” Lily asked.
Poppy shrugged, her hand on her midsection. “Who knows.”
“What are the side effects of the pact, Poppy?” Dahlia joined them but watched Othello with a wary eye.
Poppy sighed. “We’re connected. We’ll always be able to find him. And he’ll always be able to find us.”
Lily exhaled quietly, feeling colder by the minute. “Let’s not think about it right now,” she murmured as Othello approached. “Time to find that thing, or Mimi’s in trouble.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The graveyard was overgrown and neglected; Lily figured nobody had visited it since Lady Chamonix’ death. Trees and vegetation grew across the paths and against stone and concrete boxes that held the remains of the dead. Rain continued to fall, softly, but gradually increasing, and otherwise the world around them was still, eerily quiet. There were no cars on the road, no houses within sight, no signs of life except for the four of them who wandered farther into the graveyard, the only light coming from their cell phones. She hoped Bennett and Lieutenant Ambrose had been able to follow them—facing backward as she had been the entire ride, she’d not seen another car’s lights for at least the final five miles. The police were either very good at staying hidden, or they had lost them. At least they had the address.
Lily and Dahlia walked ahead of the bokor and Poppy, whom he had ordered not wander farther than a foot from his side. Where his attention had been focused solely on Lily at the beginning of the night, it was now trained completely on the youngest sister. Whatever had transpired between the two of them when they made their blood pact likely had implications Lily couldn’t let herself contemplate. Not yet.
Dahlia scanned markers to the left of the main path, while Lily cast her light over the right side. “What was the name again, Poppy?” Dahlia asked over her shoulder.
“Desjardin,” Poppy and Othello said simultaneously, his tone distinctly the more curt of the two.
Lily fought an insane urge to laugh. It was the second time Dahlia had asked that question in as many minutes.
“Well I am so sorry,” Dahlia snapped. “I’m a little stressed.”
Lily clutched her phone, her fingers numb. She wiped the rain from her forehead, wincing when droplets of water dripped into her eyes and mixed with her mascara. She rubbed her finger under her eye, trying to ease the sting, and dropped her phone into a puddle.
“Dammit.” She bent down to retrieve it, still rubbing her eye; she had likely smudged the mascara into a black mess and couldn’t bring herself to care.
Dahlia paused, and Poppy and Othello caught up to Lily. Poppy bent down and grasped her arm, her pink skirts billowing against Lily’s darker gown. The night had taken on a surreal sensation, and Lily was beginning to feel as disoriented as she had when the shop had first exploded, sending her flying.
“I’ve got makeup in my eye,” she said, her temper flaring, “and I’m freezing. Pretty sure I have a fever, and everything hurts. I wish the pact worked retroactively, because then I’d be magically healed.” She glared up at Othello, who watched her with clear apathy.
“Here,” Poppy said, and grasped the phone from the puddle, shaking it and placing it in Lily’s hand with something else that felt like a small, smooth stone. She helped her rise, rubbing her thumb under Lily’s eye, brows drawn in concern as the rain grew steadily worse.
Othello emitted something that sounded like a growl.
“I’m good,” Lily told her as she fought the urge to hiss back at him, and moved past Poppy to continue searching for the elusive mausoleum.
“It shouldn’t be so hard to find,” Dahlia said, resuming the walk. “I swear this place gets bigger the farther we walk.”
Statues both large and small marked the paths and sat intermittently atop lonely graves. Wrought iron gates enclosed family plots, and long-neglected headstones were partially obscured with overgrowth. The dark night lent the quiet graveyard a macabre feel that wasn’t helped at all by the increasing rain.
Lily looked down at her phone, making a show of shaking the water from it as she examined the other object Poppy had given her. It was her ear piece. Lily closed her eyes briefly and rubbed the back of her arm against her forehead, shoving her hair from her face. Poppy was smart. Now that Othello’s attention was wholly focused on her, she couldn’t risk him seeing the equipment, small though it was.
Lily was desperate to put the ear piece in place, hoping so much to hear Bennett’s voice. She didn’t even know if the communication included him, if Jeremy was doing all the talking on their end. She made herself wait for a better opportunity, shuddering, wondering if she’d ever be warm, feeling a sense of desperation that life would never go back to normal. Again, that insane urge to laugh. What was normal for her? For her family? That she’d avoided the craziness for the last decade or so was a miracle, but not necessarily one that had worked in her favor.
“Be careful what you wish for,” she murmured, shivering violently and trying to hide it.
“Give her your coat,” she heard Poppy tell Othello.
Lily looked back at him through the rain; he regarded Poppy for a long moment, his expression tightening. He shrugged out of his coat, his eyes on the young woman, and moved closer to her by degrees. Poppy didn’t flinch or retreat, didn’t react when he lowered his mouth to her ear. Lily heard his silken voice, the deep murmur that delivered the command.
“Do not ever do that to me again.”
Poppy maintained eye contact when he straightened, and Lily held her breath. Poppy must have used a compulsion push on him, and apparently he hadn’t liked it. He threw his coat at Lily, who fumbled with it and nearly dropped it in the mud. He then put his hand on Poppy’s back and propelled her forward, ahead of Lily and Dahlia.
“Enough of this,” he snapped, and Lily used the opportunity to quickly insert the ear piece. She was slick with rain, and it slipped, but she eventually shoved it into place, wondering if she’d need surgery to remove it.
“What’s going on?” she heard Bennett ask, and her knees nearly buckled. She bit her lip to keep from crying and shrugged into the coat, which was huge on her. It still held Othello’s body heat, which caught her by surprise. She figured it would feel like an ice block.
Dahlia lifted the hem of her sodden gown and made her way to Lily’s side, putting an arm around her and moving her forward. “We need to stay close to them,”
she whispered to Lily. “I see him getting away.”
Lily glanced at Dahlia as they walked, lifting her dress to keep from tripping on it. “With the talisman?” she whispered.
Dahlia shook her head and frowned. “I don’t know.”
“We need to move in,” Bennett said in Lily’s ear, and she heard Jeremy’s voice answer him affirmatively.
She wanted to tell Bennett to wait, that she still intended to corner Othello one last time to get him to admit he’d tried to kill her by destroying the Bohemian Boutique. They had willingly gone with him to the graveyard—it wasn’t as though they could even hold him on kidnapping—they needed that confession. And now that he had a general idea of where the talisman was likely hidden, he’d return later to claim it and wreak who knew what kind of havoc with it.
Desperate, Lily fumbled with the bulky material of her skirt, finally locating the pocket and shoving her hand into it. She grasped the small square of fabric that held one tiny piece of Lady Chamonix and focused her energy on it completely. Othello stopped in his tracks and trained those strange, silver eyes on her as she used her flagging strength to call upon the dead priestess for help.
Lily and Dahlia reached them on the path and Lily shook her head at the tall man when he opened his mouth to question her. “Just give me a minute,” she said and closed her eyes.
Sensations, warmth, washed through her like a mother’s gentle caress and Lily dropped her head, welcoming it. Where is the talisman? I won’t let him have it, but we must find it.
There were no words in her head, no vision of the woman herself, but as Lily lifted her head and looked through the rain, she knew exactly where to go.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Lily stumbled through the mud and tripped over her dress twice before coming to a stop at a large stone mausoleum completely engulfed in vines and overgrowth. She pulled on several large strands of dying vegetation that obscured the entrance; they eventually came away from the name above the door, which read Desjardin.