Bury Their Bones (Wicked Fortunes Book 2)
Page 5
“I’m not really sure how I feel about your company,” Merric replied after a good bit of contemplation. “Since it’s normally bundled with their company.”
I considered reminding him they had names, but let it go.
“Oh, I suppose I just can’t deny you,” he gave me his best wide grin, though it didn’t sit right on his true face. Like his lips weren’t meant to stretch that far.
“You’re also not willing to try very hard for me,” I observed when I saw that his smile never came close to reaching his eyes. “Come on, Merric. Give me the cute, orange ears that twitch a lot and those warm brown eyes.”
His not-so-warm and not-so-brown eyes narrowed. The smile fell slightly. “Don’t get smart now, George,” Merric warned. “The harder you try to outmaneuver a fox, the harder you hit your face on the cold, cold cement.”
“Is that you saying you don’t want to be friends?”
“That’s me saying I’ll be over soon for bonding time. Maybe you can even read my fortune and make cookies. I’ll sleep over, and we can gossip about boys.”
“And girls,” I reminded him.
“My bad. Girls too. But only the beautiful-sharp-fanged ones and the obliviously naive ones.”
“Why, Merric.” I put a hand to my chest and batted my lashes at him. “I had no idea that you think I’m beautiful.”
His reply was to smirk and triumphantly lift my partial cup of fruit that I hadn’t even noticed was missing.
Chapter 5
Being that it was impossible to move Zahir without his blessing, I found that the fennec fox made my job much harder than it had to be.
Marin had assured me that all I needed to do was show him I meant business, and to ‘tell him to move like I meant it.’
So far, I hadn’t figured out just what that meant.
In fact, it seemed like my fox-communication skills were bad all over the board.
Especially since it had been two days since our picnic, and I hadn’t heard anything from him since.
At nearly two am on a Sunday, Marin’s shop, Le Renard Qui Rit, was deserted. The influx of customers on Sundays, the shop owner and witch had told me, came in the early afternoon. Not this late.
When I’d asked her why she kept it open so late, she reminded me that I had come in for the first time around one in the morning, and left it at that.
Now that I’d finished reorganizing a shelf and putting out new charms she’d made, I had nothing else to do and thirty minutes still left on my shift.
Marin herself was at the front counter and had finished her own work only a few minutes ago. Over her, the faerie lights that hung from branches on the ceiling twinkled. The shop, no longer benefitting from the light of day, looked like some hidden magical place.
It fit perfectly.
As of yet, I hadn’t had a chance to talk to anyone about the Loa. Our differing work schedules made seeing Aveline during the days I worked impossible, and the Troublesome Trio had been busy with issues of their own concerning vampires.
I’d debated all evening on whether or not to tell Marin. She’d never seemed too supportive of my decisions, and always valued caution over action, but she was also someone I considered reliable and a friend.
“I finished with the last display,” I told her, approaching the counter.
“You can leave early if you want,” Marin offered, looking up from her small book to meet my gaze.
“Actually, I was wondering if we could talk,” I admitted, feeling my stomach turn in response to my nerves.
She didn’t answer immediately, and the drumming of my fingers on the counter became almost overwhelming.
I stopped.
“Of course we can,” Marin assured me, setting the book down and running a hand over the sleeping fennec fox beside the register.
Not for the first time, I wondered what he was. Could he really be just a fox?
I started to speak, then hesitated. How in the world was I supposed to say what had happened?
“So yesterday afternoon, Baron Samedi showed up in my yard and teleported me to Loa Island,” I said without preamble.
Marin blinked. She laid the book down by Zahir, then smoothed a wrinkle out of her shirt. “But this is not the part that troubles you?” she assumed.
“Well, frankly it does trouble me. I didn’t know the Loa were even real. But I’m working on prioritizing the important things. Maman Brigitte asked me to look into the deaths of voodoo practitioners in the city, only I don’t know anything about it.” I paused, then continued. “She gave me this.”
Pulling the necklace from under my shirt, I held it up for Marin’s inspection.
“Is it dangerous?” I asked worriedly when she drew back.
“No. It’s just Loa,” she replied as if that was any kind of real explanation. “Why did the Loa ask you to look into their affairs?”
“No idea,” I stated.
“And you accepted?”
“I did.”
“Hmmm.” She busied herself by tapping a finger on the register. “Have you told anyone else about this? Any in your circle?”
I anxiously wrapped the hem of my shirt around my finger. “I told one of my friends,” I said finally. “He, uh, was there for part of it.”
Her brows rose. “The vampire?”
“No.”
“Your cousin?”
“…No.”
“I’m not going to play twenty questions all night.”
“That’s fair. My kitsune came and got me out.”
“George, I thought I warned you about him.” Marin let out a long, disappointed sigh. “Kitsune–“
“I know what they are,” I interrupted. “I know what he is.” He was probably listening to our conversation, with my luck. “I really appreciate any advice you give me, but I make my own choices in who I choose as a friend.”
“I think you will come to regret it,” Marin offered.
“Then that’s what the Goddess has decided for me. But I won’t cast him out because of any preconceived notions.” I wouldn’t tell her just how he acted or his two-faced personality.
“Then what would you like my help with? If it’s not to help you escape the eye of the Loa or warn you off foxes?” Marin prompted.
“The voodoo killings,” I repeated. “I want to help the Loa, since they’re helping me, but I don’t know where to start.”
“Nathaniel,” Marin shrugged simply.
I blinked at her, nonplussed.
“Nathaniel,” my boss repeated, pointed towards the front door.
Oh. Of course. Nathaniel, who owned the voodoo shop across the street.
I’d forgotten about him.
“I don’t see any reason not to ask him,” she went on. “The worst he can do is not help you, and that won’t hurt you any.”
“True,” I agreed, scrubbing my palms on my jeans as they itched at the thought of all the voodoo magic permeating his shop. I had no problem with that kind of magic at all, but it made me itchy.
“Go see him now,” Marin encouraged. “We’re done for the night anyway, and I’m sure he’s wrapping up as well.”
I glanced back. “Are you sure?”
“More than. I’ll see you on Sunday?”
“Yeah-wait.” I had started to walk, but came to a dead stop as I remembered. Sunday was still two days off, but the week after was the problem. “Sunday’s fine, but I can’t work any shifts until late next week,” I admitted awkwardly.
“You won’t be working any at all next week apart from Sunday,” Marin replied. Before I could think to worry, she explained. “I factored in for the full moon already. There’s a gala on Friday that I’ve been asked to attend. I’ll have the shop closed from Wednesday until Monday.”
It surprised me that she’d thought about my full-moon-moods. But was it really a surprise, given all the things she did know? And it wasn’t a secret from her that I was a hybrid.
“Gala?” I asked, briefly sidetracked
.
“Just something I can’t turn down.”
“It sounds really fancy.”
Marin sighed. “Yes, I suppose it will be. Goodnight, George. And good luck with Nathaniel.”
“Thanks. I’ll see you Sunday.” She waved me off, and I let the door close lightly behind me.
The Voodoo shop, called Teresa’s, had an exterior of worn brick and painted glass doors. I tugged on one, the scent of magic and candles hitting me hard in the face and promising to stick in my nostrils for days.
As it had been the first time I’d entered, the shop was very dimly lit. Sconces against the walls cast unsteady light, and the sound of a well-worn rocking chair moving on the floor met my ears.
There was no one at the counter, and when I glanced around I still didn’t see anybody. Was I too late? Was he closing up already and I’d just have to come back another time?
“Hello?” I called, only slightly louder than my normal voice. “Nathaniel?”
“Looks like you’re lost again, cher,” a soft voice replied as footsteps preceded the arrival of the tall, dark-skinned man who owned the shop. I estimated him to be in his mid-thirties, if he was human, but I wasn’t too sure on the logistics of aging when it came to those who practiced voodoo.
“Not quite,” I said, offering him a small smile. “I hope I’m not bothering you? I can leave.”
“Not bothering me at all. Was just about to lock the doors.” He rested his arms on the counter and leaned towards me. “What can I help you with…?”
“George,” I introduced.
“Nathaniel. You’re the witch that’s workin’ for Miss Marin. She need something?”
“No, it’s not that.” I sucked in a breath of cloyingly sweet air, unsure of how to say what I needed to. For a moment I busied myself trying to identify what I smelled. Some of it was familiar, like the lavender and the cinnamon. But other scents were not. “I know how this is going to sound,” I explained slowly. “But I promise, I’m not lying.”
The rocking from the depths of the room stopped.
“The Loa asked me to help look for someone who’s killing voodoo practitioners,” I said quickly. “I gave Maman Brigitte my word that I would, and that’s why I’m here. I’m just not sure where to start, other than right here, since I know nothing about it. I was…hoping you’d help me.”
Nathaniel stared at me, unmoving.
“You expect me to believe that you, a witch met with the Loa?”
I hated his tone. Why couldn’t he just take me at my word?
“I can try to prove it?” I offered, pulling the jawbone free from my shirt again. Nothing about it screamed Loa to me, but perhaps he would see it differently.
His eyes landed on it, and he looked back over his shoulder, lips thinning to a flat line.
Shuffling steps caught my attention and pulled my gaze to the dark depths of the shop. A short figure emerged, showing itself to be Nathaniel’s mother, who I’d met briefly before.
She approached me slowly, relying heavily on a cane with a small bird skull topper that she gripped in one gnarled hand.
Her other hand, just as gnarled, reached out for me. Feeling nervous, I locked my knees so I wouldn’t step away inadvertently.
Instead, I stepped forward, offering her the jawbone at my neck.
The woman ran her fingers over it thoroughly, exploring the blackened bone. Finally, she let go and stepped away.
“It’s the real deal,“ she informed her son, her milky brown eyes finding his. “Not a forgery or an imitation. The magic is very strong, and I’ve felt her power before enough to know it now.”
By her, did she mean one of the Loa?
Nathaniel heaved a sigh and came around the side of the register. “Let me lock up,” he said quietly. “There’s a kitchen down that hallway.” He gestured to the darker parts of the shop. “Why don’t you walk my mother back to the table, and I’ll meet you there.”
Without any input from me, his mother latched herself onto my arm in a grip like iron. How was she so strong for someone so frail-looking?
“My name is Teresa,” the old woman introduced. “This shop was originally my grandmother’s, and will continue to be passed down as long as I can help it.”
“I’m George,” I replied. “It’s a very…interesting shop,” I remarked, unable to settle on any other word to describe it. Most of this stuff was unrecognizable to me, and smelled very strong to my sensitive nose.
She cackled, gesturing to an altar that I recognized very little about. “We’re one of the few places to have such altars where the tourists and the witches can come and stare. I am also one of the few true Mambo still living who studied with Maman Brigitte herself.”
“A-what? “ I asked, both awed and confused.
“A female practitioner. My son is considered a Houngan.”
“I thought voodoo practitioners were called Bokor?”
Teresa sniffed disdainfully. “Perhaps by you.” It wasn’t quite an answer, but I didn’t push her. She swept aside a checkered half curtain, allowing us entry into a small kitchen with two black pots simmering on an ancient stove. The refrigerator hummed obnoxiously, and the rest of the floor was taken up by a round table covered with the same cloth as the curtains.
“Sit, sit,” she ushered me towards the table, releasing my arm as she did, and I slid into one of the well-worn chairs. It was more comfortable than I’d expected.
I rubbed my arm as I sat, surprised at how strong the old woman’s grip had been.
Teresa sat as well, and a moment later Nathaniel breezed into the room. He dragged a chair around, sitting in it backward and tipping it forward so the back rested on the table and only two legs made contact with the floor.
“Maman Brigitte told you about the deaths of other practitioners?” Nathaniel clarified.
“She did. And asked me to look into it.”
“Did you…” He closed his eyes. “No. I’m sorry, it’s not the time to sate my curiosity. Do you know anything about them?” My eyes narrowed at the change of subject, and I couldn’t help but wonder what he’d wanted to ask of me.
I shook my head. “I’m sorry, but I don’t. I’m still new here, and I just know what I catch on the news.”
“It hasn’t been on the news,” he dismissed. “We’ve kept it secret.” Nathaniel hesitated, looking torn. Like he wasn’t sure how much to tell me or how much to purposefully leave out. “I don’t know that much. Only the names of those killed, and the families they were from.”
“How many people have died so far?” I asked, looking for any kind of substantial detail.
“Seven.”
“That’s so many!” My hands gripped the table. Surely the other practitioners were out trying to hunt their killer. “How were they killed?”
“In rituals.” He said it slowly, as if he didn’t want to admit the details to a witch. “In Voodoo rituals. I’ve only seen pictures of where they were found, and no one can piece together just what these rituals are. It seems like the work of a Bokor, yet it’s too refined for that.”
I turned to glare at Teresa, twisting my fingers in the hem of my shirt. “You told me voodoo practitioners aren’t called that.”
“A Bokor is the popular name for us in some circles,” Teresa shrugged. “But to us, it means a practitioner who barely follows our laws or respects our traditions. A Bokor uses his magic to hurt, not heal.”
“But from what I’ve seen, that isn’t what our killer is,” Nathaniel interjected. “I’ve seen a Bokor’s work before. This isn’t it.”
“Do you know anything else?” I asked. “Is there any way for me to see the ritual remains for myself?”
Both of them were shaking their heads before I’d finished.
“They’ve been purified. It was too dangerous to allow that magic to exist,” Teresa said.
Unfortunately, it was looking like I’d have to wait around for someone else to die. I didn’t like that, and frowned.
“Maybe because I’m not so close to you,” I suggested. “I can step back and look from the outside in, whereas you might not be able to. Whatever the case, I intend to give this my all, I promise.”
“Why don’t you take her to Johanna’s tomorrow,” Teresa said suddenly.
“What?” Nathaniel whipped his head around. “I really don’t think–“
“Perhaps she’s right,” Teresa went on. “Maman Brigitte had to have a good reason for asking her to help us. I dare not question a Loa, and her least of all. Take her.”
“Johanna’s?” I repeated in question.
“The mother of the latest victim,” Nathaniel said. His frown grew. “Johanna will not like her there,” he pointed out. The words made my stomach clench slightly in anxiety. Getting ridiculed by a voodoo priestess was not on my to-do list.
“Johanna is reasonable. Take her, and that’s final.” Teresa looked back at me. “Perhaps you will see something we do not.”
“I’m stopping by tomorrow night, around midnight,” Nathaniel said. “Meet me here by eleven-thirty and I will take you, if you are so willing to go.”
“I am,” I promised again, hoping they didn’t hear the way my voice was quieter than I’d intended. I cleared my throat to cover it. “Thank you,” I said to both of them as I got to my feet. “I hope I can help, I really do.”
“As do we,” Teresa said. “We do not take it lightly that you are so willing to look into this. Nor should you take it lightly that we are allowing a witch into our affairs.” Her milky eyes held mine unnervingly.
“I would never betray your secrets,”
“We’ll see,” he shrugged, getting to his feet. “Come on. I’ll let you out the back.”
Before we’d spoken, I’d had half a notion to go investigating tonight. This late on a Sunday, the crowds were negligible and easily maneuvered around.
But where would I even start to look? What was I looking for? I barely knew Voodoo by its smell, and certainly, I knew nothing about it by sight. As of now, this seemed like an impossible puzzle that I hadn’t been given all the pieces for.