Bury Their Bones (Wicked Fortunes Book 2)

by AJ Merlin

“Johanna’s nephew has been dead for nine days,” Nathanial replied, just as quietly. “This is the day we send his spirit to the afterlife with a celebration, of sorts. George.” He rested a hand on my arm. “I trust I don’t need to worry about you insulting our traditions and culture, do I?” His dark eyes held mine.

  “You don’t,” I promised. “I might be a witch, but I have nothing but respect for other magic users, no matter what brand of power they carry.” While I had heard of many witches looking down on voodoo practitioners, shamans, and other groups that did not worship the Goddess, I had never counted myself among them.

  “Johanna knows you’re coming. My mother told her, so I am not sure how she feels about it,” Nathanial admitted. “Come on.” He set off at a brisk walk up the cobblestone path and took the porch steps two at a time.

  I followed a pace behind him, my eyes on the people looking down at us.

  He didn’t knock on the huge wooden door, but it opened as soon as he set foot on the welcome mat in front of it. The sounds of at least a dozen people and the music flooded my sensitive ears, flowing out and around the woman who looked at us with unfriendly eyes.

  The woman who answered the door couldn’t have been much older than my own mother. Her narrowed gaze went straight to me, as if Nathanial hadn’t been at her door as well, and her lips pressed together in a thin line.

  “So. You really brought the witch, Nathanial,” she murmured in a voice that held a thick, creole accent.

  My companion shifted uncomfortably. “Johanna, I know my mother told you-“

  “She did,” Johanna interrupted. “Your cousins are in the kitchen,” she informed my companion, who blinked in surprise.

  “I think maybe–“ Nathanial began.

  “You can see if the others need help with anything.” I’d never heard such an absolutely final dismissal in my life.

  Nathanial gave me a quick look, frown evident on his features, before he let Johanna usher him in and down the hall.

  My stomach twisted in discontent. Had he really left me alone with no second thought when the woman clearly didn’t like me?

  She leaned against the frame, eyeing me with the same thoughtful look.

  “I’m not here to–“

  “I know very well why you’re here,” she interrupted.

  I locked my jaws together, reminding myself that I was only this irritated with her because the full moon was getting so near.

  When I didn’t speak, she went on. “This is a sendoff for my nephew. The boy who meant the most to me in this world. Why would I want a witch to come in and sully my home with her magic and her misunderstandings?”

  “Because this witch wants to help,” I replied evenly. “Even if you think she does not.”

  “What do you think you will find that I could not? Do you think I did not examine his body for traces of who did this?”

  “I don’t think that at all–“

  “Then you think your magic better than mine?”

  I took a deep breath, holding her eyes as I sucked in air and let it out between my lips. “I am only here to see if I can help,” I said again, not sure what else to say. I could make no promises, and she was absolutely right.

  What could I find, that she had not?

  “You will leave within the hour,” she warned, opening the door a bit further. “We have our rituals to attend to, to make sure Yvenson has his proper send-off.” Her voice wavered. “Good as your intentions may be, the presence of your magic will not be welcome for those.”

  “I understand completely.”

  She hesitated a moment longer, then pulled the door open.

  “Thank you,” I told her, stepping past her and into the white floored and white walled hallway. She followed me as I walked, my eyes going from painting to painting that hung on the walls of the hall.

  “They are some of our elders,” Johanna explained when she saw me hesitate in front of one. A bronze nameplate glittered under the painting, drawing my gaze to the engraved letters that spelled out Paul.

  “They’re beautiful,” I complimented, slowing once more to appreciate a painting of a woman with runes painted on her hands and shoulders.

  “My mother,” Johanna commented, walking past me and gesturing for me to start moving.

  The hallway opened up slightly to reveal a spiral staircase, but the woman lead me past that and into the next room. To my left was a very modern kitchen, its granite countertops polished under heaping trays of food and drinks. On the other side was a dining table with more food and a large floral arrangement against the wall.

  Ahead of us, through an open arch, lay what appeared to be a family room. The carpet was white, and somehow looked pristine even with so many people in attendance. The walls were dark red, and the furniture had been placed against the walls to make room for a large wooden casket on its stand at the far end.

  My stomach clenched, and I cast a glance around the room.

  Many people were staring at me, and none looked like they were waiting to come say hello. A man whispered something in his partner’s ear, and the woman looked away when she caught my eye.

  Oh well. I hadn’t come here to be liked, though I would’ve hoped to receive a slightly warmer reception than this.

  “They’re being rude, auntie,” Nathanial had approached again, standing at my side. He glared at a woman who stared at me until she looked away. “She only wants to help, and she was invited.” It felt a little better to have him back at my side, though his help seemed ethereal at best.

  “We will take charge of her, lest you be charged with taking sides, Nathanial,” said a new woman, approaching from my other side with a man at her elbow.

  I turned to look at her, a word of thanks ready at my lips, and paused.

  She looked familiar, though I couldn’t say where I’d seen her before. Dressed in a snugly fitting black dress, she looked almost inappropriate for the occasion. Her black hair fell loose around her sharp featured face, and when I met her green eyes, I blinked.

  She smiled slowly, head tipping to the side. For a moment-barely a breath-her eyes shifted from green to red.

  A thrill shot through me, and I switched my gaze to the man with her. He too looked familiar, and grinned when I looked him in the eye.

  His went blue, then back to their nondescript brown.

  The Loa.

  “Let them,” Johanna said, over Nathanial’s quiet protest.

  “We aren’t staying long ourselves,” the Loa in disguise went on. “We’ll see her through her business, then out your door, Johanna.” She reached out and gripped my wrist with a very tight grip.

  Before Nathanial could speak once more, I interrupted. “It’s all right,” I promised. “I appreciate it, truly.” I let the woman draw me closer, nose itching at her scent that reminded me of–

  Ashes.

  This was the Loa who had wanted to kill Merric.

  Forcing myself to keep my face blank, I didn’t miss the way her smile grew at my realization.

  “I don’t want to cause you any trouble,” I went on when I was sure I could speak evenly over my surprise. “If they’re willing to help me, I’ll accept it and leave.”

  Johanna nodded. “See that she leaves before we begin our chants,” she said curtly to the male Loa. Then she turned, dragging Nathanial away with her.

  “Does she know?” I murmured, loud enough for only my two companions to hear.

  “Of course she does not,” the Loa beside me chuckled. “They think we are distant, concerned relatives. Do you remember our names?”

  “Marinette Bras Cheche,” I recited. “And…” I looked at the grinning man beside her. In this disguise, he wasn’t nearly so handsome or intimidating as he had been before. The same went for her. “The Baron Kriminel?”

  “Very good,” the Baron complimented.

  “What are you doing here? I thought Maman Brigitte–“

  “We are no wolves, to go only where our pack leader per
mits,” Marinette interrupted. “We wished to come, so we did.”

  “Aren’t you happy to see us?” The Baron asked. “You have no allies here, you know. Even Nathanial would leave you behind, if it came to it.”

  “Well, yeah,” I shrugged. “They have no reason to trust me, and certainly no reason to like me.”

  Both of them grinned, almost in unison. It was rather creepy, in my opinion.

  “I want to look at his body,” I said after a few moments of listening to the conversation around me. Most of it had to do with the dead man, though a few people did speak of the audacity I must have by being here.

  Some wanted me gone, which was unsurprising, but I needed to see.

  “Then let us escort you.” Marinette’s grip shifted to my elbow, and she drew me through the living room and to the coffin at its head. “A gorgeous sendoff, don’t you think?” She asked as the Baron followed us closely. “Befitting someone far grander than poor Yvenson here.”

  “Why do you say that?” I stopped at the side of the coffin, taking shallow breaths through my mouth so I wouldn’t have to drag in the scent of preserved death through my sensitive nose.

  It found me anyway, sticking to my throat no matter how much I tried to avoid it.

  “She won’t admit it, but he was very nearly a Bokor himself,” the Baron said, drawing even on my other side. “He lost our favor many years ago.”

  “But you still care for him.”

  “We care for all of our children,” Marinette agreed. She reached out to rest a hand against his chest, eyes intent on his lifeless face. “We do not like to see them meet untimely ends.”

  “Why does Maman Brigitte think I can see something that you two don’t?” I asked, looking over his pressed suit, clasped hands, and ashen face. He’d been attractive in life, I thought absently. Perhaps a century and a half or so, since he looked only a touch older than I did. His full lips were made for smiling, and long lashes dusted his cheeks.

  I didn’t like observing him like a museum exhibit, and ground my teeth together in discomfort. I had no business here, and this only reminded me of that.

  “I am not sure,” Marinette shrugged. “She is a little bit witch herself, you know. Summoning is not voodoo magic, though she has bent it enough that it is very nearly so. I believe she has a soft spot for you.”

  “That doesn’t mean I have any business here,” I muttered. “And if your people can’t figure it out, then I don’t see why I can either.”

  “Then you can’t,” Marinette shrugged. “And so you tell Maman Brigitte that. She lets you keep that necklace, it’s bound to you after all, and life goes on. Perhaps someone else will figure it out, or perhaps something bad is brewing, and no one will catch it before it’s a storm in our harbor.”

  I turned to look at her, a frown on my lips. “You’re really dramatic, you know that?”

  She smiled, showing very white teeth. “And you are very precious for saying so. How is your fox, by the way?”

  “Not now, Marinette,” The Baron said quietly at my other side. “Look now and look hard, witch. Your time here nears its end.”

  I didn’t need to try to figure out what he meant. I’d figured that my hour would end up much less, so I focused on Yvenson’s still body.

  There was nothing. He was just a dead body, an empty shell that smelled of death, embalming, and nothing else.

  But that wasn’t right.

  For a witch, anyway, our magic was bound to our bones. That was why witches were burned in most cases, after all, so our bodies could not be used for other means.

  But this man smelled of no power at all. It was as if his body was human.

  Did it work differently for voodoo practitioners?

  “What’s that around his neck?” I asked in a low hiss, leaning towards Baron Kriminel.

  “Hmm?” He reached out, hooking one finger under a leather strap that held a small bag around the dead man’s neck. “It’s a gris-gris.”

  “Grab it,” I hissed.

  “Excuse you?” His brows shot up. “You want me to steal–“

  “Just part of it. A magical part. Come on,” I urged.

  “Little girl, I am a Loa–“

  “Yes, yes, I am sure you are much too high and mighty to steal from the dead. That’s fine, but I need something that smells like his magic.”

  Baron Kriminel sighed and reached out to press a hand over the man’s chest. When he pulled back, the gris-gris was back under his shirt. The Loa opened his hand, revealing a shiny, dark silver stone no bigger than the nail of my pinky. “It’s hematite,” he commented. “Strengthened for protection.”

  I took it from his hand and palmed the stone, just as the talking behind me got louder.

  “We want you to leave,” A man said, hands in his pockets as he stood at the bottom of the casket. “You’re distressing Johanna, and there ain’t no need for that. I understand you think you’re helping, but–“

  “No, you’re right,” I interrupted, smiling as beatifically as I knew how. “Thank you for allowing me a short time here. I’m sorry for your loss.” I nodded my head, and he did the same politely.

  “We’ll walk you out,” Marinette said, still holding onto my arm. The three of us walked out, with Nathanial sending a small, unsure wave my way as if in apology.

  Once outside, I kept walking until the three of us were outside the perimeter and another house down before I stopped.

  “Are your people like witches?” I asked, shaking free of Marinette. When I turned to look at them, the Loa wore their normal faces, and their eyes were jewel bright. “When they die, does their magic stay with them, as a witch’s magic does?”

  “Of course,” Marinette traded a look with the Baron’s. “At his death, Yvenson’s body was checked for his magic. It is common practice so that foul play is evident from the start.”

  “His magic isn’t there,” I said flatly.

  “It was a week ago,” Marinette promised. “Otherwise, his family would be burning down the city looking for the thief. In all deaths like this, a ritual is performed to make sure it was not stolen.”

  “It’s not,” I promised. “There was nothing in his body at all. It was as if a human lie there in that coffin, not a voodoo priest.”

  The two of them traded a very long look. Marinette’s brows rose slightly, and the Baron Kriminel tipped his head to the side as if in answer to a question.

  “We will think this over,” the man said. “If what you say is true, there could be many explanations for it. It has been nine days, after all.” But he watched Marinette as he said it, and somehow I didn’t believe that he believed his own words.

  “It’s time for us to go,” Marinette said after a pause. “Back home. We’ve been here for too long.”

  They seemed to have forgotten about the small stone I held in my hand, and that was completely fine by me.

  “Have fun teleporting back to your island or whatever, “ I said blithely, wiggling the fingers of my free hand in farewell.

  “Your well wishes are noted,” Baron Kriminel said dryly.

  “Yes, they are. And oh, Hybrid-Witch?” Marinette smiled. I didn’t like it. “If you use that stone to harm any of our children, I’ll make you wish you were never born.”

  Damn. Guess she had remembered. “I’m not going to–“

  In a flash of bright flame that blinded me for a moment, they disappeared.

  “I’m not going to do anything like that,” I muttered, on the off chance they could still hear me.

  But I was going to put it to use, as the last trace of Yvenson’s magic.

  And really, what better time to do so than right now?

  Chapter 9

  While I might not have my scrying crystal on me, there was more than one way to find what I needed.

  If there was anything left to find, at least.

  I drew away from the residential street, stopping only when the buildings had become dark, and I couldn’t see l
ight from any of their windows.

  While I wasn’t exactly hiding anything, I also didn’t need anyone interrupting me.

  I didn’t draw my witch magic to me. Instead, I pulled my wolf to the surface. That other part of me rippled against my skin, my wolf begging me to let her free and change.

  I pushed her down, just a bit. It wasn’t the full moon, but it was close enough that the wolf’s protests rang in my skull like howls.

  I just needed some of the wolf. Enough that my tail curled at my lower back, and my ears pricked for any trace of sound.

  My lips parted as fangs pressed against my tongue, and when I stared at the small piece of hematite in my hand, I knew my eyes had changed as well. So clearly I could pick out little imperfections and facets of the stone, where it had looked nearly smooth before.

  Now I could hear the sounds of people in the houses and buildings around me. Muffled through doors and walls, but the shuffles and rustles of the living were there all the same.

  I pushed it away.

  Focusing on the stone, I closed my eyes and drew it to my face, nose only inches above my palm.

  If my friends were here, I had no doubt they would have comments about the way I scented the stone for traces of Yvenson’s magic.

  There it was. Faint, as the protections on this had not been renewed, but there all the same. His magic was foreign to my nose, and seemed to hold a burnt, bitter edge. It was very unique, if nothing else, though certainly not pleasant. What gave his magic that strange, acrid quality? None of the people at the funeral had smelled like that. Nor had the Loa.

  Was it because of what the Loa had said? Because he was Bokor?

  I tucked the stone in my pocket and sniffed the air experimentally. No magic. Not like before. I was still on edge, but I couldn’t catch a whiff of concrete power, even half-shifted and with my wolf clawing at the surface as I was.

  I guess it was unreasonable of me to think it would be so easy.

  Walking back towards Nathanial’s shop, I kept my wolf at the surface as I went. While I still couldn’t place the feeling, something was putting me on edge.

  Perhaps it was purely psychological, I considered, boots clicking on the sidewalk as storefronts came and went in front of me. If Nathanial was right, then New Orleans was always like this. Maybe I just hadn’t noticed before now.