Harlequin Nocturne March 2016 Box Set

by Megan Hart

  Shattering chords of pain assaulted her ears from opened patient doors. Annie quickened her step, skipping the elevator and opting for the stairs—less chance of running into others and their leaking auras.

  She skipped along, heartened at Grandma Tia’s minuscule awakening. Not only that, but Miss Verbena had dreamed she’d come out of the darkness, and her dreams always came true.

  As far as Tombi, she’d show him she was no coward. At least, she’d try to. Annie bit her lip, picturing Nalusa in snake form. But Tombi had promised to stay by her side. She’d cling to him so tight, he wouldn’t have an opportunity to escape her if he tried. Strengthened by her decision, and comforted at the thought of lunch and some downtime alone at home before she contacted Tombi, Annie prepared for a quick exit past the ER waiting lounge.

  She took a deep breath and pushed open the door from the stairwell to the ER area. Misery wailed like a herd of banshees while an ambulance’s real wail reverberated in her brain like a shotgun blast in a canyon. The trick was nonresistance, to let the sound flow in and out and not let it get trapped deep within. Annie focused on her breathing and kept her eyes on the lobby door leading to freedom. The siren echoes decreased in decibels. Another dozen steps and she opened the door to fresh air.

  Oomph. Her elbow hit something hard.

  “Hey, watch it, lady.” An ambulance driver in an all-blue uniform scowled and jerked the gurney away.

  Annie shrank back. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “I didn’t see—” Wait. She knew this man lying on the gurney with blood seeping down the side of his scalp from a head wound. Where had she met him before?

  Two more EMR workers started past, with more patients. One of the men on the cot stared at her, recognition lighting his face.

  “Hey, you’re that Annie woman Tombi brought to camp.” The man struggled to an upright position, pushing his dark hair from his face. He held his right arm in his left, and Annie fought nausea at the crooked, unnatural bent of his injured arm.

  She recognized him now. Her gaze shifted to the other cot, to an unconscious, bleeding man.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  The EMR started to wheel him away.

  “Hold on a sec,” he told the guy. He grabbed her arm and pulled until she was eye level with him.

  “We were attacked in the woods,” he said in a low, fierce voice. “Ambushed.”

  “In broad daylight?” she asked. Horror weighted her down. “Where’s Tombi?”

  “Gone. Kidnapped. The wisps are delivering him to Nalusa as we speak.”

  CHAPTER 10

  The shadows expanded and contracted into phantasmagoric shapes as Tombi stumbled along the path, squinting at the images. Something is very wrong. The miasma of evil was thick as clam chowder and as stifling as the Southern sun. He tugged at his bound hands, staring stupidly at the black cloth tied and knotted at his wrists. How had this happened?

  The last thing he remembered was screams and rushing, colored orbs surrounding him and the other hunters. They had surged forward and converged upon him, their colored, swirling forms cloying and pouring acrid smoke into his nose and mouth. Through the smoke, he had made out the figure of a short, bowlegged man with a weathered, gnomelike face.

  Hoklonote, no doubt. A bad spirit capable of temporarily shape-shifting to human form. Tombi had glimpsed him over the years, seen his face peeking out from the underbrush or gazing down from a tall tree, ready to pounce. He’d seen him run away on occasion with a queer, wobbly gate that led Tombi to suspect his feet were misshapen, ill-equipped to give chase.

  Hoklonote must have been the one to bind his hands. The wisps were formless vapors surrounding the heart of their dead, entrapped victims. But they all were in league together with Nalusa.

  When he was a young boy, his parents used to tell him if he didn’t stay close to home or if he stayed out too late at night, the evil spirits would get him. Growing up, he’d made sure to be home before dark. As he grew into a teenager, he’d scoffed at the old tales and believed them merely a ploy to keep children from straying too far in the woods and to coerce them into minding their elders.

  The Choctaw version of the boogeyman.

  Much later, he’d learned there was more than one boogeyman, that they were real and that they had names and roamed the bayou grounds at night in search of prey.

  A sharp poke on his lower back startled him out of his stupor. Tombi reined in his wandering thoughts and concentrated on Hoklonote. He sniffed experimentally and smelled an odor of damp and decay, like rotting leaves or globs of worms surfacing above ground after it was saturated by heavy rains. He sensed Hoklonote’s physical form only rose to the midpoint of his back.

  Tombi took a deep breath. No point being led like the lamb to the slaughter. Even drugged, he should prove a match for the stunted spirit. Pride stiffened his spine. The least he could do was leave the world fighting like a warrior, same as Bo. Tombi screwed up his fists.

  “You forget the wisps,” the voice from behind cackled. “You’re outnumbered.”

  “So the old tale is true, then?” His voice was slurred, his throat dry. Yet he pushed on. “You can read people’s minds?”

  “Sure can.” The spirit’s voice was high-pitched and tinged with glee. “Won’t be taking me by surprise.”

  Damn. But he could still die trying.

  “Quit them death thoughts,” Hoklonote said. “Could be you can work out some kind of deal with Nalusa. Same as me, same as the wisps and same as other hunters over the years.”

  To hell with that, you little, stunted pygmy—

  “Stunted, huh?” Hoklonote kicked him in the ass. “Better guard your thoughts.”

  Tombi gritted his teeth against the crack of pain at the base of his tailbone and continued the labored trek in the woods. He wanted to see Nalusa, face-to-face. If nothing else, he’d like to get a lick in on the beast, whatever form Nalusa chose to assume for their meeting.

  “Foolish, foolish thoughts,” Hoklonote grunted.

  Tombi tried, yet he couldn’t sense anyone else’s presence but Hoklonote and the wisps. But that could be due to his drugged state dulling his tracking skills. Not that he expected an answer, but the question burned in his mind. “Has anyone else been drugged or hurt?”

  Hoklonote didn’t bother responding, but again prodded him with a sharp object, probably a stick, that pricked the base of his spine. With every step forward, Tombi felt more disoriented. His skin crawled and itched, and his tongue lay swollen and heavy in his dry mouth, as if he’d suffered a severe allergic reaction. His head was fuzzy, and he wanted nothing more than to curl into a little ball and sleep forever.

  The wisps skittering around him were having none of that. Tombi’s leaden legs managed to plod along. Again, he worried for his friends’ safety. Where had everyone disappeared to? Distress sharpened his mind, which brought a new flood of anguish. Nalusa could kill in so many ways: snakebite, suffocation and entrapment in a will-o’-the-wisp body, or worst of all, a slow, debilitating despair of the mind that led to madness or suicide.

  Annie had been absolutely correct. There was a betrayer in their group.

  Annie. Her image arose so sharp and clear it felt as if she was within him, alongside him as he struggled to continue. Her hair was soft and brushing against him; he could smell her herbal, floral scent. Her mysterious hoodoo eyes penetrated all his defenses, saw through all his guards into the walled, hardened heart that was scarred and calloused from death and loss.

  I’m coming, Tombi.

  He could have sworn he felt the whisper of her breath in his ear. He stopped and glanced about, the sharp object in his back pushed deeper, puncturing flesh.

  “What the hell was that?” Hoklonote ground out in surprise and outrage. “Ain’t never heard the likes of that before.”


  It wasn’t the drugs, then; Hoklonote heard the voice, as well. Go away, he urged silently, not sure if she could hear his thoughts like he heard hers.

  “Speed it up there,” Hoklonote demanded, unease sharpening his tone.

  Tombi kept going, knowing that each step brought him closer to Nalusa, closer to death. Best to focus on that fact and block out Annie. He considered the confrontation awaiting him. No way he could win a fight in this weakened, hallucinogenic state. Whoever had betrayed him had won.

  He was too drugged to despair. Too drugged to be afraid. Instead, body and brain felt numbed. A sense of fatalism spread through him. He’d tried his best and failed. He’d lost his parents and his best friend. His sister was like a stranger these days. He remembered the destroyed family home, his parents’ tombstones, Bo’s dead body and Tallulah’s angry and shuttered face that masked a grieving heart.

  Don’t give up. I’m near. Again, Annie’s whisper echoed in his ear and filled his body with her warm vibration.

  “What’s that?” Hoklonote asked. “Who’s there?”

  As much as it comforted him, Tombi scrabbled to again warn her off. It was too dangerous. If you can hear me, go away. Nalusa would love to get his hands on Annie. He could use her gift of hearing to his own advantage. He’d trap her in a wisp and never, ever let her go.

  No. Annie’s voice was firm. Why did she have to fight him at every turn?

  Screams saturated his brain. Something new or a memory of what occurred prior to his being drugged? The painful prodding at his back ceased, and the wisps scattered. Tombi sank to his knees and rested his face in his hands, riding out the waves of screams assaulting his ears. Was this what it was like for Annie every day? And he’d accused her of being a coward, of running away from situations when it got tough. Remorse burned his gut.

  And now he’d never have the chance to tell her he was sorry.

  Never, ever.

  * * *

  Annie crouched behind a saw palmetto and watched as Tombi fell to his knees, clutching his head. She winced as if experiencing the scraped knees on her own body. A withered, strange-looking man standing behind Tombi raised a stick, poised to deliver a blow.

  Hanan, Tallulah, Chulah and several other hunters continued their screaming advance toward the wisps surrounding Tombi. A volley of rocks unfurled and the wisps scattered, but not before a few were struck and disintegrated to ash. The strange man released his stick and ran into a thicket of trees, disappearing from sight.

  Chulah dropped to a knee, withdrew a dagger and slit the cloth binding Tombi’s hands. Annie scrambled to them and sat beside Tombi, running her fingers through his hair, matted with blood and sweat.

  He looked up, eyes as blank and dark as an erased blackboard.

  “What have they done to you?” she whispered past the tightness at the back of her throat.

  Chulah shot her an impatient look. “The wisps’ smoke is a hallucinogenic drug, deadly in a large enough dose.”

  Hanan emerged by Tombi’s other side, and between them, the two men got Tombi to stand, placing an arm over each of their shoulders.

  “Going to be a long walk home,” Hanan mumbled. “Might not make it back before nightfall.”

  “I’m joining you, Bo.”

  Tombi’s slurred pronouncement chilled Annie. “Not if I can help it.”

  “Get out of our way.” Chulah scowled as they moved slowly, painfully toward the open field, where a four-wheeler waited.

  Annie nervously scooted to the side and followed behind them. Tallulah walked beside her, shooting her dagger glares. As if she had anything to do with what happened.

  Annie clutched her mojo bag and purse full of hoodoo supplies close to her chest. She had no idea if any of it worked, but she could try. After seeing the injured hunters at the hospital, she’d rushed home and gathered everything together and then arrived at the hunters’ campsite in time to see the inner circle leaving to search for Tombi. They’d reluctantly allowed her to tag along when she promised she could help with any injuries.

  She should have done more hoodoo work, and sooner, when her grandma was infected by Nalusa, but it had happened so quickly and she’d been unprepared. This time, she had everything needed for an uncrossing and good-health spell. She had prayed Tombi was unharmed but was determined that if he was injured, she’d go to the hospital and sneak into his room to perform healing rites.

  But it might already be too late. Grandma Tia didn’t specify how quickly it had to be performed once harm had been inflicted by an enemy.

  Hanan and Chulah helped Tombi on to the four-wheeler, and Tallulah and Annie squeezed into the back, Tombi between them.

  Hold on, Annie willed him.

  He leaned his head against her shoulder, and she began whispering in his ear. “I beseech thee, Archangel Raphael, Healer, Angel of the Son, come now and heal—”

  “What’s that?” Tallulah cut in sharply.

  Annie ignored her. “—Tombi from his enemy’s poison. Deliver—”

  “Stop that witchy stuff,” she demanded, tugging at Annie’s sleeve.

  “—him and restore his health.” Annie withdrew a mojo bag from her back pocket and opened the drawstring. “Provide the breath of life and healing energy.” She blew into the mojo bag, infusing its contents with power and intent.

  Tallulah jerked her arm. “Stop it!” Bits of dried herbs and crushed plant roots from the mojo bag scattered over their laps and the floorboard. Tallulah pick up the parchment paper and frowned. “What’s this? A pentagram?”

  “It’s a drawing of Solomon’s Seal.” Annie gathered up the spilled contents.

  “Leave her alone,” Chulah said, glancing back at the commotion.

  Annie shot him a grateful smile.

  “All that mumbo jumbo can’t hurt anything,” he added.

  Her smile faded. “It’s not...” She sighed. What they thought about her and her root work wasn’t important. Only Tombi mattered.

  Tallulah handed over the parchment, rolling her eyes.

  Annie returned it to the bag, breathed into it once again and drew the string together. “Saints be with us,” she muttered, stuffing the bag into the side waistband of Tombi’s jeans.

  He stirred and opened his eyes. His dilated pupils stared unfocused at the group, then narrowed and sharpened as he turned to his side. “Annie. I heard you.”

  “I’ve been right here, talking to you.”

  His hand claimed one of her own. “Not just now. But before, when I was captured and walking through the woods.”

  The copper rays in his eyes warmed the sudden chill bumps on her arms. “You heard my thoughts? That’s never happened before.”

  Hanan frowned and peered at them from the overhead mirror. “Impossible. She was hiding behind the bushes, way out of your hearing range.”

  “How are you doing, buddy?” Chulah asked. “We’ll be at the cabin in a few minutes, the hospital in fifteen.”

  Tombi shook his head. “No hospital.”

  Tallulah leaned over Annie and thrust her face close to her twin. “Don’t be an idiot. Witch spells are bullshit. You need a doctor.”

  “You should see one,” Annie agreed. She lifted his hair away from his forehead and saw swelling with a gash oozing blood. “You might have a concussion.”

  Tombi winced and jerked away from her touch. “My head is clearing. I’ll be fine.” He straightened and frowned at Chulah and Hanan. “What the hell happened out there?”

  “We were ambushed,” Chulah said, a grim set to his jaw. “The wisps were waiting on us as soon as we arrived.”

  “Betrayed,” Tallulah ground out.

  They hit a bump, and Annie’s insides jostled. She cast a worried glance at Tombi, but his face wore the usual stoic mask. At leas
t he was alert and coming out of whatever fog he’d suffered. A selfish, tiny jab of loneliness pricked her. When he was like this, he seemed so remote and removed—as if he didn’t notice or need her.

  Tombi kept his eyes peeled on the road ahead but grasped Annie’s hand and held tight. Heat diffused over her body. Not even Tallulah’s grimace of disapproval could dispel her glow inside. She sucked in her breath, relief and happiness unloosening the tense muscles in her shoulders and neck.

  Annie closed her eyes and let the welcoming wind, from riding in the four-wheeler, brush over her face as the others discussed the attack and injuries. No death casualties, although three men were hospitalized and listed in serious condition.

  “They weren’t there to kill everyone,” Hanan said. “Their objective was to capture you.” He pulled up to a small cabin and brought the vehicle to an abrupt halt. “I wonder what Nalusa wants with you.”

  Annie shivered at the mention of Nalusa facing Tombi again. He couldn’t be lucky enough to escape with his life on two different occasions.

  “He hopes to cut a deal or truce.” Tallulah scrambled out of the vehicle. “Either that or kill Tombi, thinking it will weaken all the hunters.”

  Typical Tallulah. The facts were laid bare with no emotion. You’d never know Tombi was her twin, that they had once heard one another’s heartbeat in the womb.

  Tombi stepped out onto the ground with only a slight wobble. He shook off Chulah and Hanan’s offer of assistance and carefully made his way up the porch steps, hand gripping the railing.

  Annie fell in behind everyone, uncertain of her welcome. Too bad, she’d do what needed to be done. Tombi wasn’t out of the woods yet, and she wasn’t finished with her healing ritual. That was—if he allowed her to proceed. The thought that she still might not have his full trust slowed her steps and weighed on her chest.

  Inside, the spaciousness of the cabin surprised Annie. She saw now that the cabin was a deep, rectangular shape. The open den was large, and huge windows on the back wall framed nature’s artwork of oaks and pines. Custom bookcases lined the side walls, and, ignored by all, she wandered over to glance at the titles: Choctaw history, animal spirit guides and archaeology magazines. Interspersed among the books were arrowheads and bits of pottery. There were also a few corncob pipes and Native American flutes decorated with feathers. Her mind tickled with faint piping notes. Could she hear his ancestors from the past? Instead of the normal dread of her supernatural sense, the sound filled Annie with awe and appreciation.