“We need to take a look at Harbor Plantation without Gentry finding out,” Kane said, rubbing his chin. He really needed a shave. He looked at Anderson. “We do the night watch. Wait for someone to get spelled, and we follow them. See what happens.”
“I’ll assemble some men,” Anderson said, moving to stand.
“No, you won’t.”
She froze at Kane’s comment, glared hard at him, sat back down.
“Mr. Shepherd, I thought we’d moved past you giving me orders in my own town.”
Kane shook his head.
“I’m not trying to take your spot, General. Believe me when I say I don’t want it. But Tabitha actually noticed last night that all of the disappearances have been blacks. None of the white families here in Charleston have been affected.” Kane shook his head. “Grabbing Farnsworth or Derricks to join me, any black man, is a risk. You, yourself, are at risk. Wilson would be better. And I can talk to Tabitha.”
“Using her is a risk all on its own,” Anderson said, crossing her arms in front of her. “I wonder if she even knows where she is half the time.”
Kane bristled, his chest swelling with rage as he spoke, his voice edged like a razor.
“I trust her with my life. She’s smarter than you think she is, and damn-good in a fight. If you had her past, you’d probably be the same way.”
Anderson nodded.
“I apologize,” she said, standing. She looked down at Kane, frowned, then shook her head as she turned and headed toward the door. She called over her shoulder on the way out: “Night watch approved.”
Kane breathed out, feeling a small sense of accomplishment. He couldn’t blame Anderson for being the way she was. It was likely, the woman had seen a fair amount of Hell. Even before Gentry executed nine of her own people in front of her.
He stood and headed to the door, the smell of coffee coming from the dining room enticing.
He came to a halt when he saw Tabitha standing in the hall, her arms crossed in front of her, her shoulders hunched a bit. She stared at him, her eyes red and swollen, her hair disheveled, likely from tossing and turning all night.
He struggled for something to say. Anything. His chest tightened, the lump in his throat from earlier back for another visit, making it hard to breathe.
“Um…morning,” he managed, mentally slapping the shit out of himself. You can do better than that, Shepherd.
“Did you mean what you said about me?”
The question caught him a little off guard. How long had she been standing there?
“About you being good in a fight? Trusting you?” He turned fully to her, looked into her eyes. “Yeah, I did. Every word.”
“Do you love me, Kane?”
His body tensed, his throat locked. How was he supposed to answer that?
How would he even know?
He’d loved Sarah. Kane wasn’t someone who handed out his heart easily. When he’d seen her again, even though she’d been trying to kill him, he’d still felt something. But seeing her harm Tabitha had triggered something in him. Something feral. A rage he’d never known. Did that mean that he loved Tabitha?
“I-I mean–” he stammered, trying to put it together. He held his hands up, his eyes shifting around, trying to find the right words.
Her eyes welled with tears again.
Christ, Kane, say something!
“I can’t find words,” he said, firing the words off quickly before he lost them. “You…you make it hard for me to speak. When you ask me things like that. Sorry.”
She was on him instantly, her lips on his, her arms around his neck pulling him to her. He returned the kiss with the same ferocity, his heart pounding so hard it felt as if it were slamming against his chest. He held her close, didn’t want to let her go. He felt alive, longing.
Hungry.
He tasted her sweet flavor, drew in her fragrance, could smell the copper scent of blood. Hunger. He felt his teeth bare slightly, searching for her lips.
She pulled away from him suddenly, her eyes wide, her breathing heavy.
“What I am I doing?” she said, putting her hands to her head. She slugged him in the chest, her demeanor suddenly childlike. “I hate you!”
She stalked off, leaving him standing in the hall trying to figure out what just happened. He’d wanted her. His mind had gone to the bedroom. Holding her. Loving her.
Something else. There was something that wanted her flesh.
Her blood.
Chapter Ten
Kane pushed aside his thoughts about the disappearances as he left the mansion. He’d wanted to hurt Tabitha. Bite her. It shook him to his core. What the hell was going on with him?
Someone else had to know.
The sun was up over the city, the morning finding the Charleston streets alive with people heading toward the market to open their stands and sell their wares. Kane followed a couple of women balancing baskets on their heads, one hand up to steady while the other carried a few more. A man called out behind him. He glanced over his shoulder and saw a large black man pulling a cart full of jugs of milk, calling out to passersby to come get their fresh morning milk. Right from the cow, don’t get no fresher.
Kane turned to him, fished a nickel out of his pocket.
“I’ll take one.”
The man stopped, looked Kane up and down, and waved his hand.
“Money don’t do any good here,” he said. “Least not your money. Yeah, I heard about you, white man. Magician.” He turned and lifted a bottle of milk from his cart and handed it to Kane. It was small, a single serving.
“Um, thanks,” Kane said, bewildered.
“I saw what you did yesterday when you told Guster off.” He nodded. “Figured somethin’ was right about you, after all.”
“Oh, that,” Kane said. “Caught me off guard is all.”
“Nah,” the man said, laughing. “I know a good man when I see one. And you one. Name’s Nick.”
“Kane Shepherd.”
“Glad to meet you, Kane. Why don’ you drop by my place after a while. It’s right on Market Street. Inside the market. Can’t miss it.”
Kane nodded.
“I will. Thanks again.”
Nick walked on, waving to people as he started to call out again for milk sales. Kane looked down at the bottle the man had given him. He’d never had fresh milk before. Usually he bought it at the store if he bought milk at all.
He stopped, looking around him as people passed by. A young couple walked hand in hand as they looked out over the water. An old woman offered a flower to a young lady. Kane stretched out with his hearing, tried to drown out the mundane conversations. Lovely weather. Charming, miss. Nine dead, more missing.
Someone bumped into Kane, shoved his elbow. His hand opened, and he staggered a little as the milk bottle crashed to the ground, shattered.
Kane looked down at the young boy. The kid stepped back a little, his dark skin already covered in sweat from the morning humidity. He had to be all of ten years old. He clutched the ball in his hand, his eyes wide as he stared up at Kane.
“Sorry, mista’,” he said. “I–”
Kane waved him off.
“Forget it, kid,” he said. “Not a problem at all.” He reached over and patted the kid on the shoulder as he held out his hand and smiled. “Can’t cry over spilt milk, right?”
A few kids across the street shouted for their friend to bring the ball and come on. Kane nodded to the kid, who smiled and handed him the ball. Kane reared back.
“Go long.”
The kid ran to his friends as Kane threw the ball in the air. They all dove for it, and the kid came up from the pile victorious, the ball clutched in his hand.
Kane chuckled and shook his head as he continued on into town.
Market Street as abuzz with activity, people wandering in and out of the covered flea market, bustling back and forth from stand to stand as they bought their daily supplies. Sellers called out to shoppers,
shouting over their wares and deals. Fresh eggs. Live crabs, just pulled ‘em from the trap this morning. Come get your Sweetgrass! Fresh eggs! All the happenings went on underneath a canopy made of wood with a thatched roof. The building seemed to stretch all the way to the far end of Market Street.
Farnsworth had mentioned the local Voodoo priest, but he hadn’t been able to tell Kane where the man lived. Only that his shop was known to be at the market. Kane wondered what the reaction would be if he asked the random citizen about something like a Voodoo Priest. He laughed at himself a little. Excuse me, ma’am. Could you direct me to the nearest Voodoo Priest? I’m in need of a little magic.
The laugh faded at the last word. Magic. Kane reached into his pocket and pulled out his amulet. Useless. Casting without it was possible, which was a new one on him, but it was harder. He needed to rebuild it. But out of what? And what would Tabitha do? Danwood likely still had her amulet back in New Chicago, if he hadn’t thrown it away altogether. He had a reputation for confiscating items off of those he arrested, usually to see if it was worth anything later.
Building new amulets wouldn’t be an issue now that they had their Grimoires. The books laid it out in clear, easy, detailed instructions. It would be a matter of finding the right materials. Each Magician family had specific materials they used to build their amulets. One substitution would render the thing a useless piece of bawdy jewelry.
He sighed as he put it back in his pocket and continued on in the market.
The crowd thinned out toward the back as Kane came up on a few shops built of brick and mortar under the roof of the structure. One was a tailor’s shop. Kane looked through the window to see an old woman seated at a large loom, the bobbin moving back and forth.
The shop next to hers caught his attention. The place had no windows, and a solid black door with one name on the front.
“Nicodemus.”
Kane stepped closer to the door, went to open it, then stopped himself as he looked down at the ground. A line of red dust stretched across the doorway, from one side of the from to the other. He looked back up at the door, saw that he’d missed some smaller writing below the name.
“Knock.”
Kane rapped his knuckles on the door and waited only a few seconds before a voice called from the other side.
“Come.”
The door opened on its own. Kane stepped inside and looked over his shoulder as the door closed behind him. An array of smells assaulted him all at once: incense burning combined with an odor that usually came off of dead things. Candles lined the walls and shelves filled with tomes and jars full of different things. A cage hung in the corner, shook slightly as the cluster of bats inside squeaked and flittered about.
It reminded him of Wilhelmina’s hut.
“Welcome, white man.”
Kane turned at the voice and saw Nicodemus standing behind a large counter adorned with different gadgets and clockworks. A mechanical spider worked its way across the surface, the thing larger than Kane’s hand. It stopped at Nicodemus’s arm, reached up with its front legs, then began to crawl up its master’s robes.
Kane shook his head. “Name’s Nick.” It couldn’t have been the same man. This Nick was dressed in robes patchworked out of any rags he could find. His eyes flashed in the glow of the lantern that sat on the counter next to him, a necklace made of rodent skulls hanging from his neck.
“You crossed the brick dust,” Nick said, his eyes narrowed at Kane. “Only two can do such a thing. The one who laid it, regardless of his intentions, and one who carries no evil intent in his heart. This means you’re a good man.”
“I do what I can,” Kane said. “Nick?”
“Call me Nicodemus,” the priest said, giving a slight bow with his head. He smiled a little. “Or Nick. Whichever is comfortable for you, Kane.”
Kane nodded, still looking around. He half-expected Wil to jump out and reveal that she and Nick were lovers or siblings somehow. He picked up a wooden bowl, looking at the inside stained with what was likely blood.
“This place reminds me of a…’friend’s’ home.”
Nick chuckled as he leaned on the counter.
“Ah, I see you have met Wilhelmina.”
“You could say that,” Kane said, putting the bowl down. “More like she took me to her place for some possum-blood stew.”
Nick laughed again.
“Hoodoo and Voodoo can often seem similar in many respects,” he said. “Both incorporate spells through conjuration, though Voodoo is more involved with death than many Mambos are comfortable with.”
“So I’m not wrong in saying I’ve just met Charleston’s resident Voodoo Priest.”
Nick nodded.
“And I have met one of our two new Magicians.”
Kane shrugged. It was still a little strange having his magic widely known, but it was easier to not have to hide it like he did in New Chicago.
“I have some questions for you, then,” he said. “Starting with why you approached me in the street.”
“Because I knew you might be out looking for me.” Nick grinned. “I’m gifted in that I can read people well, guess their intentions. How was the milk I gave you?”
“A kid bumped into me, knocked the bottle out of my hand. I’m sure it would’ve been good.”
Nick’s smiled faltered only slightly, his eyes flashing, then it was gone. A reaction. Kane’s suspicions went haywire. What was in that milk?
“What other questions do you have?” Nick asked as he leaned on the counter again. “Most surely you aren’t here to ask me how good I am at reading people. That would be disappointing, Kane. I would expect more from someone so curious about the goings on here in Charleston.”
Kane kept his distance from the counter. Nick wasn’t the only one good at reading people.
“Okay,” he said. “What can you tell me about the disappearances?”
“That there’s more to come,” Nick said. He stood again, turned, and began to pull different bottles off the shelf behind him. He pulled down a mason jar full of some kind of root, and a wooden bowl before turning back and placing the items on the counter. He began to pour the different liquids into the bowl as he spoke. “Nine last night, likely nine tonight. Nine is a significant number in Voodoo.” He picked the root out of the jar, pulled out a small knife, and began to shave pieces of it into the mixture.
Kane raised an eyebrow.
“Are you trying to confess something?”
Nick laughed as he picked up a pestle and began to grind the root into the fluid, stirring as he pressed and twisted the utensil against the bottom of the bowl.
“Not on my part,” he said. “But you assume that I am the only Voodoo Priest in these parts.”
“Do you know him? Or her?”
“I do not,” Nick said as he stopped stirring and grinding. He lit a match and dropped it into the bowl. Kane watched as flame burst from the mix, was gone in an instant. “If there is one, he or she would be working for the one responsible. But there is not. They ran further South, down to Louisiana. Bayou country. But it does give me some pause. Major spells and incantations in Voodoo involve the number nine. It’s a better number than seven.” He looked from the mixture to Kane. “But four times four, that is the greatest of them all.”
“Sixteen?”
“But not as a whole number,” Nick said. “It must be four times four. You cannot do it any other way. Not sixteen chickens, but four chickens times four.” He held the bowl up and grinned at Kane before inhaling the steam coming off the mixture inside. “Ah, I see. Kane Shepherd, you have another question burning in your mind. Come closer, and breath in the aroma.”
Kane stepped up to the counter, the strong smell of licorice overpowering all other smells in the shop. Nick nodded to him as he sat the bowl back down.
“You are a cursed man, Kane Shepherd.”
Kane raised his eyebrow again.
“I heard. Thanks for the update.”
> “You know not what you have,” Nick said, leaning in close. “I’ll wager she was too terrified to tell you.”
Kane’s memory flashed to Wil, her eyes wide, her body trembling as she spoke to him after her spell.
“You got that curse?”
“She wasn’t thrilled,” Kane said.
“It’s because the curse, what it harbors, frightens Mambos to the very marrow in their bones,” Nick said as he took the bowl and turned away, setting it up on the shelf. He waved his hand, and the steam vanished. He moved back over to Kane, speaking as he went. “Your curse is specific, and complicated. Whoever levied it on you harbored a particular hatred for you.”
“To be frank, you’re the first Voodoo Priest I’ve ever met.”
Nick stared at him.
“No Voodoo can give you what you have.”
“What is it? And how do I get rid of it?”
Nick grinned as he spoke, his eyes hard and glistening.
“You must go,” he said. “You will learn over time what you must do. But know that your time is short.”
“Then let’s hurry things along. What do you know?”
“Nothing that will help you at this time.”
“Try me.”
Nick narrowed his eyes at Kane. “You ask a lot of me, white man. Come down here, peckerwood, and assume I know it all. I know what it is. But I can’t tell you how to stop it. Not yet. Not until I’m sure. When I know, I’ll come to you.” Nick smiled. “I want to help you, Kane. I can tell you’re a good man. Self-doubting and noble.”
Kane nodded, not hiding his frustration. He turned and walked toward the door, his hand on the knob when Nick called to him from the back of the shop.
“You carry the Curse of the Wendigo, Kane Shepherd. You will hunger for flesh, and you will kill she who you love most. And you cannot stop it.”
* * *
Who would have cursed him? Kane mulled over different ideas as he made his way through town and back toward the battery. He tried to think of anything that could’ve happened that would’ve indicated that he’d been hit with a spell he wasn’t familiar with. Something that was…off.
Gaslit Armageddon (Clockworks of War Book 2) Page 11