Blue Voodoo: A Romantic Retelling of Bluebeard (The Hidden Kingdom Series Book 2)

by Jennifer Blackstream

  That’s it, Madame Laveau. Come to Narcisse.

  Dominique nodded to the barkeep, who immediately rushed to pour him a glass of bourbon. His skin smarted under the weight of her full attention.

  “This pirate captain…” she said. “He sounds in a bad way.”

  Her voice was perfectly composed. Just the right touch of sympathy without too much interest.

  “He is. Pride can be such an evil thing for a man such as this. Like so many others, he fears what love will do to him, what it will make him. Too many men think love emasculates them, reduces them to servants, slaves.” He met Dominique’s eyes as he leaned closer. “They don’t realize how truly…freeing love can be.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You are Narcisse. Yes, I’ve heard how freeing love can be for you and the women who come to you. Freeing but not free, of course.”

  “And if Julien had half of my confidence, he would be in the arms of his love right now.”

  Dominique jerked at the use of Julien’s name. He let her stew for a second, let her wonder how much he knew. Then he took a sip of his bourbon. “If only I knew who the woman was who has rendered him lovesick, I might be tempted to go to her and tell her all. Though I know it is not my place, I cannot stand to see Julien in such a pathetic state.” He set his bourbon on the bar and studied the pensive look knitting her eyebrows. “Madame Laveau, is there anything you can do for my friend? Some charm, some ritual that might ease his heartache?”

  “No,” Dominique glanced at the amber liquid in her cup. “Love is too often part of the Bondye’s plan, I cannot interfere.” She focused on him again. This time her gaze was bright, piercing. “Tell your friend that his pain can only be eased by facing that which holds him prisoner. If he cannot go to the woman himself, then there is nothing anyone else can do.”

  Narcisse hid a smile in a sip of liquor . In his head, he could hear the voices of his three women lecturing him.

  “Her pride is devastated, you must bolster it before you can proceed.”

  “He hurt her, she needs to know he’s hurting just as bad.”

  “Let her feel like she knows something about him that he wanted to keep hidden. She must feel superior.”

  He swallowed the bourbon, muffling a snort. His ladies meant well, but there was nothing they could tell him about women that he didn’t already know. Women were strong, but their egos were remarkably fragile. A confident woman was a happy woman, and a happy woman was the greatest pleasure in the world. And Narcisse knew pleasure.

  “If you truly think that this is in Bondye’s plan, then I suppose there is nothing I can do.” Narcisse infused his voice with a touch of regret. “I am not one to argue with God. Still, it pains me to think of what the next ten years will do to Julien.” He rubbed his fingers against his temple and let out a faint snort. “Then again, now that I think of it, perhaps it’s better he doesn’t speak to her.”

  “Why?”

  Narcisse struggled to keep his eyebrows from rising at the vehemence in her tone. “He’d likely show up and demand she marry him, no different than the way he’d ‘negotiate’ a deal with a stubborn port master.” He took another swig. “He lacks finesse. Completely.”

  She swirled the bourbon in her glass. “Most men do.”

  As fun as it would be to prove her wrong, seducing her would only hinder his ladies’ plan. Better to keep a thick skin and let things progress as they should. Who knows, perhaps they’ll give me a chance later.

  “Well, I must be off. You will keep my friend in your prayers?” He pushed his near-empty glass across the table. “And, uh, you will keep our chat between us? Upon reflection, I fear I may have spoken out of turn, using his name…”

  Her attention was already wandering, her eyes taking on a faraway look. “Of course.”

  Narcisse turned his back, smiling the second the tavern door shut behind him.

  Chapter Eight

  Dominique watched Narcisse leave, hips swiveling in a manner one didn’t usually see in a hinge joint, all rolling, unending motion.

  He’ll need an ointment for those hips when he gets older if he keeps slinking around like that. A paket kongo would do it, and prayers to the loa Marasa would help. The twins are forgiving of fools.

  She raised her glass, peering through the liquor so that the world was painted in an amber haze. Not quite rose-colored glasses, but more appropriate. Perhaps Narcisse was not a complete fool. He might spend more time in bed than was strictly necessary—with women who should find better things to spend their gold on, but then, who was she to judge? And the young man did have a point. It was easy to run from an emotion that too often made you look the fool, to sacrifice love on the altar of pride. It was a sentiment that she might benefit from reflecting on. Maybe.

  She cradled the next sip of liquor on her tongue, tucking her lips in to wet them with the robust liquid. Her glass was nearly empty—and still she could taste that pirate.

  Curse him.

  Her gaze slid back to the bottle on the shelf directly across from her, the bottle inscribed with the year and month she’d last seen Julien ten years ago. It was nestled amongst many others lining the three shelves behind the bar. What were the odds that she’d find herself sitting opposite a token of that day, tiny scrawled numbers reminding her it had been ten years? Ten years of running from the foolish girl she’d been, trying to get far enough so that the memory would finally lose its stubborn hold and let her go.

  But now she’d gone and kissed him. Twice.

  She wrapped her fingers around the glass as though she could strangle it the way she so desperately wanted to strangle him. Ten years. Ten years it had been, and that narcissistic, ham-fisted, self-entitled, strutting peacock looked as sinfully tempting as he had the moment she’d first clapped eyes on him. Long, sea-tossed hair tumbling wildly to his shoulders, dark eyes glinting with a promise nearly too tempting to resist. Dominique tilted her glass to her lips. It’s not right.

  The last drop slid forlornly from the lip of the glass, the swansong of the precious bourbon. She had allowed herself the duration of this drink to think about the pirate, to wallow in the desire he still inspired in her, to reflect on the kisses they’d shared, and how much she’d wanted them to mean more. The glass clinked against the bar, the thin sound reverberating with an air of finality. Time to pull yourself together.

  “He raised some interesting points.”

  Only Dominique’s years of holding her calm façade kept her from leaping out of her chair. As it was, the only outward sign of her surprise was a shiver, which she covered by pushing the glass away.

  “I’m afraid I can’t discuss…” Dominique trailed off, blinking at her latest guest. “My, what…interesting attire.”

  The man lifted one bare, copper-colored shoulder, rustling the gold that hung around his neck. Light danced off the ebony black hair falling in a straight sheet to his collar bone, thick tendrils licking at the chainmail hanging from the thick neck plate in three inch fringe. Matching gold bands circled his biceps and he gripped the back of the empty chair next to her, flashing forearms adorned with simple gauntlets. “I care little for what others might think of me.” His brown eyes bored into hers with unsettling intensity. “And I dare say no one in this town will care how I’m dressed…if you don’t.”

  “I’m not sure I understand what you mean.” She fought the urge to signal the barkeep for another bourbon. As much as she wanted something to do with her hands, something to concentrate on besides the piercing stare of the half-naked stranger, she never had more than one drink in a sitting outside special celebrations. To do so now would be a sign to the people in the bar—and the barkeep himself—that she was nervous.

  Which I’m not.

  “The respect you command from the people here is most impressive.”

  Dominique followed the man’s gaze as he cast it to the smattering of tables filling the main space of the small tavern. Most were empty, but there were a few individuals
getting a jump on tonight’s festivities. They’d gone motionless like fuzzy woodland animals in the presence of a large predator, cups held suspended from their mouths like they’d frozen mid-movement.

  “It is rare to see someone without a royal bloodline have such an effect.” He focused on Dominique again, those shadowed eyes unwavering. “Is that why they call you the voodoo queen?”

  Talking about one’s reputation could be as good as damaging it. “You are not from around here,” she said instead.

  She arched an eyebrow and cast a deliberate glance over the stranger’s form. His body was painted around his ribcage with jaguar rosettes, and he wore a loincloth low on his hips and a god’s headdress. The arch of the headdress was formed from solid gold and long elegant feathers dyed a deep turquoise fanned around it, backed by even longer pitch-colored feathers plucked from a pheasant.

  “No.” The man fingered one of the plumes brushing his shoulder. “My name is Tenoch. I am from the Kingdom of Mu.”

  The hairs on the back of Dominique’s neck rose. The kingdom of Mu. The most frightening of the five kingdoms, a place only spoken of in hoarse whispers by any outside its borders. She’d never been there, didn’t know anyone who had, but like everyone else, she’d heard the stories. It was said that the land required a blood offering from every man, woman, and child once a year—that the very plants themselves would rise up, offering a thorn for the citizens to prick themselves on—and vengefully thrusting themselves into the flesh of those who didn’t offer the sacrifice willingly.

  The blood fed a monstrous creature upon whose back the land had been created, and there were rumors that at one time, the beast had been fed not a drop of blood from everyone—but every drop of blood, and every pound of flesh, from one poor soul… A yearly sacrifice steeped in ritual. Suddenly the man’s rich adornments held a far more sinister sheen, and as hard as she tried, Dominique couldn’t stop herself from dropping her gaze to his chest and the scars that stood out like melted wax. Thick, white, and raised…right over his heart.

  “You’ve heard of my kingdom then.”

  Dominique patted her crimson head wrap, busying her hands with pressing the creases and making certain the folds remained tight, keeping the wild curls of her hair carefully contained. “I have. Though I have never had the pleasure of meeting one of your kingdom’s people.”

  “The man you were speaking with when I arrived, he wanted help for a lovesick friend.” Tenoch lifted the glass Narcisse had abandoned and sniffed experimentally at the lingering traces of bourbon.

  “I’m afraid I cannot discuss my dealings with other people. It is a matter of respecting their…privacy.” She stopped, raising an eyebrow as Tenoch alternated sniffing at the glass and raising it up to peer at its contents. “Would you like a drink?”

  Tenoch didn’t look away from the glass. “What is it?”

  “Do you not have bourbon in Mu?” She held up a single finger to summon Monsieur Hugon. The barkeep’s gaze seemed to be glued to the bar’s surface, his attention lifting only to confirm Dominique’s non-verbal command before he set himself to the task.

  Tenoch straightened in his seat as the older man neared the bar. He stopped short of being anywhere near Tenoch and served the fresh glass to her. It was difficult to tell if his distance and discomfort was the result of overhearing Tenoch’s home of origin, or if Tenoch’s clothing had made him wary of engaging in any unnecessary conversation. She dismissed it as irrelevant and slid the glass over to her guest.

  Tenoch followed the glass intently, grip closing around it as soon as it was within reach. “No, we do not have bourbon in Mu. The Jaguar King drinks wine with the rest of the council on occasion, but the kingdom of Mu itself is…” He halted, the glass halfway between the bar and his lips. His brows furrowed, his eyes losing focus like all he could see was barren rock extending for miles.

  “Dry?”

  “Yes.” He resumed his study of the glass. “Yes, dry.”

  “Interesting.”

  She leaned forward, observing intently as he took his first sip. His nose wrinkled and he peered into the depths of the liquor, eyeing it with suspicion like it had bitten him.

  “Too strong?”

  He took another sip. Deep lines of concentration appeared between his eyebrows, and this time he swished the liquid around his mouth before swallowing. He licked his flushed lips as he set the glass back on the bar with a satisfied clink. She opened her mouth to ask for his opinion—as unbiased feedback was a rare commodity—but before she could speak, he twisted on his stool, facing her so directly and so quickly that she instinctually leaned back. “What? What’s the matter with it?”

  “If you had to choose between pride and love, which would you choose?”

  “Which would I— What?”

  “If you had to—”

  “I heard what you said.” Dominique held up a hand, already sliding off her stool. Her skin prickled with the stares of the other patrons, the tips of her ears burning beneath her headscarf. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I don’t have time for philosophical hypotheticals. I have much to do in preparation for tonight’s festivities.”

  She dropped a few coins on the counter and strode for the door. The spot between her shoulders itched and a moment later, Tenoch appeared at her side. The words to tell him to leave her alone, to take his personal—and loud—questions and go away, bubbled in her throat, held back by her need to maintain some level of decorum in front of her people. He took advantage of her silence, following her out the door and onto the path that would lead her back to the edge of the bayou and her home.

  “You will not lose their respect if you marry him.”

  “Shhh!”

  Dominique tilted her head to acknowledge a group of women walking by, her brittle smile expertly pinned in place. Their footsteps slowed as they crossed paths with Tenoch, their gazes lingering on every scandalous detail of his outrageous attire. The youngest one, a slender girl with skin the same sienna hue as Dominique’s and deep, rich brown eyes, gestured to his garb and smiled.

  Tenoch lifted an eyebrow. “You know them?”

  She leaned in and hissed a whisper. “Yes. And you’re lucky tonight is the Midsummer Celebration or you would be drawing attention of an entirely different kind.”

  A wrinkle furrowed his brow. “What—”

  “I am not discussing my personal life with you. ” Her smile nearly cracked. “And I will thank you not to ask such impertinent questions in public where anyone might overhear you.”

  “I was trying to ask you these questions inside. You left.”

  She trembled, nerves so taut she was certain they would snap at any moment. Doubling over, Dominique traced a finger over the pattern woven into the top of each of her boots. The beads and bits of feather trapped in the sky blue threads hummed as she drew the verve for the loa Papa Legba.

  Warm energy washed over her feet, up her legs. It was like lying in bed with her lower body bathed in a patch of sunlight, the heat invigorating as it eased some of the stiffness from her muscles. She straightened and faced Tenoch.

  “I’m sorry, but you will have to excuse me. I must be getting home.”

  She didn’t wait for an answer. The first step she took sealed the magic, and the world around her grew fuzzy at the edges, as though she were looking at everything and everyone through the glass of an imperfect bottle. Another step and things grew fuzzier still, though she could still bring people and objects into focus if she concentrated. She didn’t pause, didn’t slow down, just marched on toward home and peace.

  “You can walk through the astral plane?”

  A squeak erupted from Dominique and she snapped her mouth closed so fast she nearly bit her tongue off . Tenoch walked beside her, keeping pace with every step she took. But that wasn’t possible. He wasn’t part of the magic.

  “How did you…?”

  “I traveled the astral plane for many years after my death, before the rebirth of the Black
God’s wife restored my physical body. The ability remains one of my gifts.”

  Bile churned in Dominique’s stomach, and she walked a little faster even though she had little hope of outpacing him. “Your death. Then the scars on your chest… You did not survive that injury.”

  One sleek black eyebrow rose. “No, I did not survive having my heart torn out.”

  There should have been considerably more emotion in that sentence than there was. The words had a ring that spoke of past heat, as though once they had been spat in fury, but now were merely fact. How did anyone move on after such an…ordeal?

  “You have come from a bokor then.” Her voice remained even, but horror thinned the words until they were mere ghosts of sound. The magic thickened, the world blurred beyond recognition as her physical body wove in and out of the astral plane, consuming the distance between the road and her home in half the time.

  “A bokor?”

  “One who serves the loa with both hands.”

  Tenoch blinked. “Both hands?”

  “To serve the loa with both hands is to practice magic on both sides of the spectrum, good and evil, black and white. A bokor has veered from the true path, has allowed power to corrupt them.” She spouted the words as though she were reading from a child’s textbook. Up ahead, her home came into view, the small cottage just visible beneath the overhanging boughs of a flourishing cypress at the edge of the bayou.

  “I have never met a bokor that I know of. I was sent by the Black God. Well, by the council to which he belongs. I trust you know of the five princes, those who will someday rule each of the five kingdoms?”

  “Prince Etienne, Prince Kirill, Prince Adonis, Prince Patricio, and Prince Saamal,” Dominique rattled off immediately. “I know them, of course.”

  As her foot touched the path that led up to her front door, the magic of the traveling spell broke. Details snapped into vivid focus, the haze vanishing as if it had never been. Tenoch’s presence remained a heavy weight against her back as she ran a hand over the carvings in her thick wooden door, brushing the wards that protected her from the defensive measures of her home. Energy writhed beneath her fingertips and then parted. She opened the door to her cottage and stepped inside, sighing as he followed behind her too quickly for her to dismiss him and reset the wards to keep him out.