by Zoe Dawson
Awakening.
You believe, and there you are! Awakened to the power of what lies within you. That’s how quickly all dark magic talismans work once they have deemed you worthy. Some people find the speed scary! If your willpower is not very strong, and your life starts changing so fast, even if the changes are positive, it may cause discomfort.
Guidance.
If you are not afraid of dramatic changes, want to change your life once and for all, and want to achieve success in a couple of years, dark magic talismans will be your best choice ever.
Hold on, there’s still more. Actually, a true voodoo talisman can be tamed. If you treat it carefully, first ask it to fulfill simple tasks, for which you thank it sincerely, and then ask for more complicated things, then your voodoo talisman will learn to be your friend. It will adjust to your energies, and will strengthen and develop them, because it needs a strong owner. Gradually, you will develop both your subtle bodies and your personality. You will become a person who knows how to manage most complicated and powerful magic voodoo talismans.
Many people wonder if their voodoo talismans, or the fact that they will use dark magic, might damage their karma. It is intent and intent alone that determines the harm. Dark magic is just magic gleaned from the night, dark instead of black. You only see the light of a candle in the dark, dark is quiet and introspective, and it carries with it the kind of energy that is best for protection. It depends on what you will use your voodoo talisman for. If you use it to attract love, health and money, nobody will punish you for it. It is your choice, and it concerns your life only.
Illumination.
All will be clear. If you use your talisman for protection (it doesn’t matter who you want to protect – your family, property, life, energy) and a curse has been cast on you, punishment will ensue. However, Higher Powers will punish not you, but the person or group of people who tried to influence you with the help of evil thoughts or black magic rituals. Moreover, the more your enemies try to harm you, the more punishment they will suffer.
If you use your dark magic talismans against your enemies, you will have to pay for it with your karma. I want to say one thing. My magic talismans are the product of a very powerful magic. So if you need help or protection, you or someone who is close to you, cares about you, you must ask. It is the best thing you can do. My talismans have changed life and personality. They have given riches, helped find love, or luck. They can help you achieve your goal, and make all your wishes come true. But it is all about belief.
This is what I tell anyone who has the courage to ask me for help.
The words Hope, Energy, Awakening, Guidance and Illumination jumped out at me. “Samantha, this passage. Those words were in my dream.”
I explained the nightmare to her.
“It’s AnnClaire,” Samantha said. “She’s trying to tell us something, but I’m at a loss. I’ll call Evie in the morning and see if we can see her voodoo expert as soon as possible. See if any of these things add up to the message she’s sending.”
We couldn’t get back to sleep, so we got to work on her upstairs bathroom. Taking a break for a call to my aunt and some breakfast, we got back to work while Evie tracked down her granny’s friend. By the time we heard back from her, we’d finished the flooring, tile and fixtures, and I couldn’t believe how much Sam had already done by herself. The shower, tub, double sinks, and the traditional chocolate cherry shaker vanity, had been previously installed by Sam.
We christened the wide, multiple-jet shower along the back wall and got dressed.
“Chase, my granny’s friend, Collette Grevois—”
“The owner of Mumbo Gumbo?”
“Yes, she can be intense. Do you want me to go with you?”
“No, we can handle it.”
“All right. Chase…Samantha…she’s a keeper.”
“I know that. Things are…complicated.”
“Doesn’t mean they’re impossible.”
“Silver lining, Aunt Evie?”
“There always is one, Chase. Good luck, and if you need me or anything at all, please let me know.”
Chapter 13
SAMANTHA
Evie gave us directions and said Mrs. G would be expecting us.
Bois Éternel—Eternal Wood Cottage was located just on the other side of Petit Libellule, meaning Little Butterfly. The quaint settlement was Evie’s home town, and part of Vermilion Bayou in Vermilion Parish.
The drive was picturesque, with dense, bottle-green growth on either side of us, with gaps here and there in the foliage that showed bright glimpses of the Vermilion River. The wild snarl of the Atchafalaya was in my heart now. After acknowledging how much I loved this place, there was no going back. I vowed to get out more and explore this dark, bright, tangled place. Find the balance I had denied myself for a long time. The heart of the swamp was strong, dark, complex, like enigmatic Chase Sutton, who’d carved out his own place within its embrace, the beauty of him as wild, free, and bold, unpredictable and layered, compassion in the guise of unforgiving toughness.
I still couldn’t talk about my son with Chase. I felt it was somehow a failing on my part. I had shared so much with him, intimate and painful emotions, but with Scott I needed my wall, my privacy. If the barriers came down, if I let the anguish free to slash and maim me, I wasn’t sure I could survive, even with Chase’s fervent understanding.
Did that stall me in limbo, this unwillingness or inability to get over losing Scott? Why was I able to heal from Jeff’s death, when I had loved him so deeply, but be unable to come to terms with Scott’s?
And the active, debilitating fear that raised its ugly head whenever I slipped and became closer with Chase. Last night had been a gift; this man gave me something I needed without me having to give up that part of myself he deserved to see…the ugly grief, the sick guilt and powerlessness. Even as a cop, I hadn’t been able to protect my child from a murderer.
Chase had more than earned the right to be admitted beyond that final door, and yet I wasn’t ready to take that step, might never be ready.
We pulled up and parked. I drew a breath that was redolent with the aromas of Mrs. G’s cooking, and the rich scent of excellent food, ripe earth, and green growth filled my senses. To the right of the house, bees buzzed lazily over a wild tangle of rambling roses and wisteria that clung to the arched trellis. Mozart drifted from the open window, along with the rich smells of gumbo.
Overhead thin clouds wisped and curled their way across the blue sky, sweeping northward on a balmy Gulf breeze. The quintet ended, and the lively Cajun zydeco music, with its toe-tapping beat, was jarring after such soft, cadenced strains of classical music.
Collette Gervois lived in a pink cypress home that was more than a hundred years old, with a front porch complete with swing, looking out over the Vermilion River. She owned the rustic and popular Mumbo Gumbo, and served up Cajun food and was touted as “The Best Gumbo This Side of New Orleans.” Many locals thought it was the best gumbo. Anywhere. Period.
“She’s a character,” Chase mused as we crossed beneath the fragrant trellis in the faded picket fence, and on to the pink porch with white railings, posts, and trim around the windows. Chase knocked on the aqua blue door.
The music was immediately muted and Chase knocked again.
The door opened, and a slim, tall woman stood behind the mesh of the screen. Her iron gray hair, in a long, thick braid over her shoulder, reached to her waist, and matched her sharp, charismatic gray eyes. She had aged gracefully, one of those beauties who retained an aura and glow of youth, something that came from within. She wore a pair of designer jeans and a simple white tank top, a pink apron tied around her small waist. She pushed the screen door open and said, “Chase Sutton?” She pronounced his name like Chaise Suttawn, her accent thick. “And ’dis jolie petite chose? Samantha Wharton?”
I knew enough French to be flattered that she called me a pretty little thing. “Thank you for seeing us, Mrs. Gervois.”
“Oh, non, ’dat jusˈ won do, cher. Collette, sˈil vous plait,” she said with a booming laugh, so surprising for such an elegant woman. “Come in, you are so welcome.”
The interior of the cottage was charming and quaint and very cozy, with a small living room with antique touches and Southern flair. She brought us back to a kitchen with slatted walls in cream, nice touches with a plowshare over the white cabinets and old, colored bottles on the windowsill, wooden shelves with decorative plates and glass oil lamps, a wooden table with tulips in a clear glass vase, and a wooden floor with a black checkerboard look.
“Dat gumbo is fini. Sit down for someˈting dat is out of dis world. I say with no trace of pride and witˈ complete honesty dat dis may well be the best darned gumbo you’ve ever did had.” Chuckling, she removed the lid off a stainless steel pot, steam rising with a mouth-watering aroma. “I call dis my ‘everˈting’ gumbo. It’s a bit unusual, in dat de chicken stock is also infused with seafood flavor from de shrimp shells and heads, and dat it contains chicken, sausage and seafood. Richer and complex flavors for dis here gumbo, for sure.”
She served up two steaming bowls over rice.
“Dig in, you. No need to do the waitinˈ ˈting.”
I took a bite and almost lost my mind. I made some banging gumbo, but this was nirvana.
She went to the fridge and got out a pitcher of lemonade along with mason jar-style glasses. Pouring us each a glass, she set a slice of lemon on the lip and placed them in front of us.
“Mais, yeah. Is dere agreement, you or what, chѐre?”
“Le meilleur,” I murmured as I unabashedly spooned up another bite.
“Oui, the best.” She clapped her hands once and let out that booming laugh. I was determined to get the recipe out of her, and was already plotting how to butter her up sufficiently.
When the meal was over, she took us out to the glassed-in porch, and we settled in rattan chairs with a view of the channel beyond, just as several snowy white egrets took flight.
“So, you have dis problem. Dish it up. Aunt Evie, her was light on the details. It’s about da voodoo.”
“Yes…I…hope you don’t think I’m crazy.”
“Oh, mais no, not around here.” She waved her hand. “Dere is much we donˈ know about dis world and the bumpy ˈtings in the night. You spill with no judgment.”
I gave her the lowdown about seeing the apparition of AnnClaire and the gris-gris bag.
“What was in dis bag?”
“Eucalyptus, acorn, and a sigil, and…my silver star necklace. One I never take off, and was wearing when I went to bed the night before.”
“Oh, dat is interestin’. Hmmm, four items? Dat is strange. AnnClaire, her adhere strong to the practice of odd-numbered items.”
“I’m carrying it with me.” I pulled it out of my purse and set it in the palm of her hand.
She jolted and her eyes widened. “That is some powerful mojo.” She sniffed. “Frankincense, a protectinˈ oil.” She opened the bag and dumped the contents onto her palm, shivering in the warm afternoon. “Ah, I see. This is a protectinˈ voodoo charm. Very powerful. This sigil is a protectinˈ symbol, and written on parchment strengthens the intent of the amulet. The eucalyptus is a plant dat also increases defense. Acorns represent several magical intents, creativity, fertility, and health and longevity. I say de intent was health and longevity, another way to protect you. The star is perplexinˈ.” She frowned. “Ah, dere are five items or five intents. The silver star is both a personal item, and a mineral, and has five points, clever dat. The fact dat it also came from a sweetheart adds more power to the spell. Wear dis arounˈ your neck, you, at all times.”
“Protection from what?” I asked. Then I remembered the sighting of Kyle, but dismissed it. Theresa said he was still locked up in Rikers. He couldn’t be the threat. He was serving several life sentences.
She touched the star and immediately stiffened. “Oh, cher,” she wailed, with a gasp, her voice high pitched and distressed. “Your grief has been immense. There is danger, and it’s close. An evil dat means to end you in violence and blood. You must git at dis threat. Your blood has already been spilled.”
I gaped, stunned by her response, left almost speechless by Collette herself. What could she possibly mean? My blood hadn’t been spilled at all. I had come here to heal, start new. “What? How? I don’t understand.”
Collette’s voice was urgent while she put everything back in the bag and drew it tight. Placing it in the palm of my hand, she closed my fist around it, squeezing hard to emphasize each word. “Wear dis always. Never take it off. Never.”
She covered her face, which was as white as if someone had just walked over her grave. “Madness strips away control, pulls even the soulless over its edge and into the maelstrom,” her voice was barely a whisper, her lips bloodless.
I looked at Chase’s stricken face, and he moved closer to me, setting his arm around my shoulders. “I had a dream…more a nightmare,” he said, he explained AnnClaire’s position and how she got in his face. “Every word she uttered to me in the dream is in this passage.” He handed her the journal, open to the page we’d read last night that still chilled me to the bone. “There were a mass of fireflies at the window.”
Still white, Collette read the passage and looked up. “You said fireflies?”
“Yes, flying repeatedly into the window.”
“Fireflies are a symbol of illumination…messengers.” She closed the journal and handed it back to Chase, her dark eyes carefully fixed on me. “AnnClaire, she was sendinˈ you a message, her. This passage is ˈbout intent. For the gris-gris to work, you must believe it will.”
“AnnClaire? Isn’t that Imogene’s?”
“No, it’s her daughter’s voodoo handbook. She was an even stronger practitioner than her momma.”
On the way back to Suttontowne, the recipe for the gumbo tucked into my purse, Chase slipped his hand over mine. “Everything is going to be fine.”
I tightened my hold on his hand and appreciated his concern and protective instincts. But I’d been a cop, and I knew exactly what I had to do.
No one was going to take anything away from me again.
I wasn’t going to put my faith in charms and amulets alone.
I would use whatever means necessary to protect myself and the people I cared about, and deadly force was…only the beginning.
Chapter 14
CHASE
A week later, I came out of Outlaws, my last delivery of the day. So far nothing out of the ordinary had happened, and I was beginning to think this whole ghost and voodoo thing was just plain off base. All that was on my mind was trying to coerce Samantha back to her place for some rollercoaster time. After that harrowing meeting with Collette Gervois, she was spooked, and I was worried she would pull away, isolate herself again. I didn’t want to lose her.
I had tried resisting her, but it was time to make things right with my family so I could move on. We could all move on. My dad and I made a good start during the fishing trip, but there was so much more to be said and done before I would be able to see my way clear to not only forgive them, but forgive myself.
I heard the scuff of a bootheel on gravel as I headed for my truck. “Big brother?”
Jake hadn’t spoken to me very often since I left. Ten years of silence and bad blood between us. I would have thought he was too bitter or hurt to care one whit about me, but I’d seen him hovering in the hospital when Brax and I were being treated, me for my concussion, and Brax for a gunshot wound.
Maybe Jake hated my guts, and maybe he didn’t.
I turned, keeping my voice light and my arms loose. “Jake. It’s good to see you. I was thinking we should have a talk.”
He set his hands on his hips and laughed, but it had nothing to do with comedy or mirth. “Talk? That’s not your MO. You run away and hide. Leave the heavy lifting to someone with the shoulders and the guts to do it.” There it was, the regally cool tone o
f voice only a Harvard-educated, privileged, rich boy could pull off.
Jake had a commanding presence. My little brother had grown into a solid man, the veneer of Southern gentleman with more bad boy than manners. He swaggered in high school, and he still did swagger. His sense of entitlement was even more pronounced than mine had been. But his attitude was too challenging to continue qualifying as regally cool, a degree too heated to maintain even the illusion of icy calm.
My gaze went to his sides, the backs of his hands were broad, powerful-looking, the veins prominent beneath his skin, and I caught ink on his forearm but couldn’t make out what it was. When had Jake gotten a tattoo?
I bet our daddy had a fit about that.
Jake’s long hair, part of his early rebellion against my dad, was shorn a couple of years ago, now spiky on top, short in the back, and the color had deepened into a dark coffee brown. My brother had filled out, but he’d always been big and strong, wide through the shoulders. He could probably have gone all-American; he certainly was the best defensive tackle on our high school varsity team.
And second only to Braxton Outlaw, he was fond of women, the more the merrier. I think he’d dated a Buffy or Muffy or someone by that name at Harvard, but he never brought her home, not even for holidays.
Now it was more of the same with Anna Kate.
“Jake, I want to talk.”
“Why, because Daddy can’t stop praising you to his friends about your plane, your skill, and that you named your boats after mom and River?” He stepped closer. His eyes menacing. “I think you made a mistake,” he said and flicked something at me.
I kept my eyes on him, but he said nothing. Did nothing.
I glanced down to find the response envelope, its flap unsealed, in the mud and gravel. I took my eyes off him for a second and bent down to retrieve the envelope. I felt the tension in the air between us shift, going steely taut just before he punched me. Pain exploded along my jaw and cheek, lights flashing behind my eyes.