by J. N. Colon
“Are they bad guys?” I asked.
“Some.”
Man, he was evasive. And cryptic. “Have you met any before?”
His gaze remained on the page, a tendon in his jaw twitching. His fingers tightened on the book he was holding, crinkling the edges. “Don’t worry about bokors. Focus on Baron Samedi.” Danger sliced his words.
I pushed on regardless. “But if these voodoo casters are super powerful, maybe they can help. Maybe they know of a way—”
My sentence was cut off as he slammed my book closed, snatching it away. “I’m the expert on voodoo, Angeline. Not you. So, if I say something is a dead end, then listen to me.”
I leaned back in my seat, crossing my arms. “I’m just trying to help.” I motioned toward my chest. “I’m the doomed one. I want to fix this.”
“You can’t,” he snapped and shut his notebook with unnecessary force. “You don’t know shit about what you’ve done. You’ll probably screw things up even more. For all I know, you might see a spell in one of these books and do something stupid like attempt it.”
My cheeks flushed in both anger and embarrassment. “Has anyone ever told you what an asshat you are?”
“All the time.” His answer was more of a growl than anything.
It should have frightened me. It didn’t. Maybe I was becoming desensitized to his temper.
I shoved away from the table and stood. “Since you think I’m such a nuisance and will only make things worse, I’ll leave.” I spun around and marched toward the door.
“What are you doing?” His chair scraped the floor.
“Walking home.” I’d done it before. It would take a while, but it was better than being in the small cab of his truck with him.
A long string of French rumbled, and footsteps followed me out the door. “Get in the damn truck before I put you in.”
I rolled my eyes and headed for the vehicle. I had no doubt this Neanderthal would throw me—and not gently—into the cab.
So much for trying to help. Everything was fine until I mentioned bokors. Something about the powerful voodoo casters had set Etie off. Did they have anything to do with this dark group of voodoo practitioners, Louange le Noir? Or was it something else?
Chapter 13
I was all set to give Etie the cold shoulder at work the following day. Unfortunately, the jerk one-upped me and didn’t show up. He left a nice little note for me to hand sand the banister.
Great. Back to that.
I rolled my eyes as I sat out to work, having half a mind to storm out and let Etie finish the tedious task on his own. Instead, I spent the better part of the day stewing in my own anger, cursing Etie a million ways.
I was going to skip lunch until Bastien pulled me away from the stairs with a bag from Bernie’s Diner. A turkey, bacon, and cheese sandwich with spicy mustard was inside. When I asked how he knew that was my favorite sandwich, a wicked grin was my only answer.
“All we need now is candlelight,” Bastien said, passing over a bag of dill pickle chips—also my favorite—from across the folding table. “I still consider it a date though.” He winked an amber eye.
A smile twitched my lips despite my bad mood. “Are you incapable of not flirting?”
He tapped his chin. “Actually, I think I am.”
I shook my head and opened the bag of chips, digging one out. “Where is that jerkface also known as your brother?” I finally asked the question that had been burning a hole through me all day.
“Working a job in St. James Parish.” He opened his sandwich, some kind of meat monstrosity. “He’s fixing a dock.”
My brow arched. “And this said dock needed to be fixed today?”
Bastien scoffed. “No. I think he’s avoiding you.” He bit into his sandwich and talked around the food. “What happened last night? He was in one hell of a bad mood.” He pointed to his cheek, a small bruise marring the surface. “He even punched me.”
“How should I know?”
His head cocked to the side. “Come on, cher. I know he was with you. He smelled like gardenias.” He motioned toward me with his sandwich, a piece of ham flopping around. “Exactly how you smell.”
A grimace pulled at my mouth. What was the point in denying it? “Maybe we were together. He was helping me with something.”
Bastien nodded and sipped his soda. “Etie told me about the deal you made.” He shot me a wry smile. “Sounds like something I’d do.”
“I don’t think he’s helping me anymore,” I admitted, ignoring the ache twisting my heart, and it wasn’t only from the loss of his voodoo expertise.
Bastien clucked his teeth. “Don’t think my brother won’t help you. He’s probably the only one that can.”
I shook my head. “He doesn’t want to.”
Bastien opened a bag of chips, pouring some next to his sandwich. “Etie’s feelings toward voodoo are complicated,” he said. “He hates using magic because everything about it reminds him of our father.” His amber eyes seared into mine, and I couldn’t look away. “He wasn’t a good man, and once he discovered what Etie and I were, he used us.”
“What are you?” Weren’t they voodoo casters?
Bastien put down his sandwich, wiping his hands on a napkin. “Like my father, we are known as bokors.”
My heart shuddered to a stop. The image of that man raising the dead flashed through my mind, and I shivered.
The Benoit brothers were bokors. That was why Etie flipped his shit when I started asking about them. I should have known they weren’t your average, run-of-the-mill voodoo casters. Nope. They had to be extra voodoo.
“A bokor is a voodoo caster born with natural magic,” he continued without noticing my shock. “Not many can do what Etie and I—and my father—can.” His amber eyes brightened, shimmering with the same otherworldly glow as Etie’s. “Anyone can dedicate themselves to voodoo and become powerful, but bokors are a part of voodoo. It lives inside us.”
While the information made me understand things about Etie a little better, I was still in the dark. “Why are you okay with being a bokor and Etie’s not?” I absentmindedly broke a chip in half, my appetite lessening by the second.
“We both wield magic, but Etie is on a whole other level.” Bastien tucked a dirty blond strand behind his ear, hesitating. “My brother is what is called a pouvior bokor.”
A pouvior bokor. The words had a certain ring, and magic lingered around them.
“Etie was born with great, powerful magic.” Bastien’s light-hearted expression was gone, replaced by something uncharacteristically grim. “Our father used us both, but it was far worse on my little brother.”
A lump rose in my throat. “What did he do?”
“He made us practice all the time. He made us use our powers to strengthen him and his followers. It wasn’t always good magic, cher.” The glow dimmed in his amber eyes. They suddenly looked haunted. “We were forced to do bad things.”
My skin puckered at the bad things the Benoit brothers could do. Were forced to do. Did Louange le Noir have anything to do with this? Was their father part of that group?
“I carried Etie off to bed more times than I could count when we were little.” Bastien rubbed the dark stubble on his face. “He was so small, and our father just kept taking and taking.”
An invisible fist wrapped around my heart, squeezing so tight I could scarcely breathe. “What happened to your father?”
A feral smile that reminded me of Etie curled Bastien's lips. “We quit letting him take.” Something in his expression told me that was all the information I was going to get on Henri Benoit.
Bastien took a deep breath and picked up a chip, adopting a more carefree disposition. “A pouvior bokor is the true embodiment of voodoo. It’s why Etie is the way he is.”
I pulled a piece of turkey off my sandwich and nibbled on it. “What do you mean?”
“Voodoo is both light and dark, as is a bokor. For Etie though, that isn’t ju
st his magic. It’s everything he is. The balance lives within him, and he struggles with his different sides. It’s why he can be angry one minute and then laughing the next. He can be moody and then playful.” Bastien motioned toward his face. “It’s even in his eyes. It’s why they’re different.”
I dropped the rest of the turkey in my mouth and considered Bastien’s words. At least there was a reason behind Etie’s mood swings. He was a powerful voodoo caster—who hated doing magic because of what his father put him through.
And here I was forcing him to do the one thing he hated.
A lump of cement sank to the bottom of my stomach. I was the most selfish person in the entire world.
“Ah, don’t feel bad you asked him for help,” Bastien said, noticing the regret twisting my features. “Magic is in Etie’s nature. It’s in his blood, and he can’t ignore it forever. The sooner he realizes that, the better he’ll be. He has to face it.”
“I don’t want to be the reason he’s hurting.” I pushed my sandwich away, my appetite gone.
Bastien dropped his food and leaned closer, tilting my chin up to meet his eyes. “Etie can’t run from magic any more than you can run from the voodoo king. You need each other.”
“I’m not so sure your brother would agree,” I said, pulling away from him. “He thinks I’m more trouble than I’m worth.”
A deep chuckle rumbled through his chest. “Not true.” He peered at me through long, sooty lashes. The sound of hammering upstairs filled the silent pause. “He’s just frustrated. He doesn’t know how to help you, but he’ll figure it out. He even went to that occult store in Monroe.”
“What store?” I asked, my lips puckering. I’d never heard of a store like that in Monroe.
“Madame Monnier’s,” he answered before cramming another chip in his mouth. “On the corner of Lancaster and Reynaud.”
My fingers drummed on the table as Bastien changed the subject to the bruise on his cheek and how it was going to help him pick up girls. I didn’t want to burst his bubble, but he didn’t need any help in that department.
Monroe wasn’t too far from Carrefour. I could make it there and back in one afternoon before anyone even noticed I was gone. Of course, if my mother or Abuela found out I left town, especially alone, I’d be picking splinters out of my ass for days.
The occult shop was framed by dark rumbling clouds and stationed on a deserted corner. A piece of trash tumbled down the vacant sidewalk in a gust of wind.
Ominous as hell.
The bus ride from Carrefour was quiet as was the cab to the store. I had a car, but my mom or Abuela would have suspected something. I rarely used it considering I rarely left town.
My flip flops echoed as I walked toward the door, the sun barely peeking from behind rain clouds. A fog of herbs and aromatics slapped me in the face, my eyes watering. It wasn’t the soft scent of Dumarsais’ cabin, but something pungent and overwhelming.
Did they hose the walls off with incense?
A woman entered through a beaded door, dark hair brushing the waist of her flowing skirt. Silver glinted at her temples. “Hello and welcome.” A musical note encased her voice, and she wore a warm, inviting expression. A silk wrap draped her shoulders and fluttered down her thin arms.
“Um, hi.” I shoved my hands in my pockets, shifting awkwardly. I had no idea what I was looking for.
“Can I help you with something?” A long, fragile hand motioned toward the shelves and tables of merchandise.
“Do you have any voodoo items?” I blurted.
A line creased her forehead. “Sorry, but I don’t think I carry anything specific to voodoo. Most of my things are used for Wicca and witchcraft.”
I chewed on my bottom lip. Maybe Etie had only come to research the barrier spell Baron Samedi put on me. “I’ll just look around then, if that’s okay.”
“Sure. Just call for me, Madame Monnier, if you need help.” She spun around and swayed back through the beaded door.
A stand of crystals refracted light as they dangled from a metal rod, a rainbow of colors dancing on the walls. Vibrant tarot cards were stacked next to them. I didn’t have the foggiest clue of how to use them, and I didn’t have time to learn. They couldn’t help me anyway. I already knew my future.
I walked deeper into the store and ran my finger across a line of books, plucking one entitled Beginner Spells. The manila pages were filled with love, good luck, money, and knowledge spells. I stopped on a protection one.
I’d take anything at this point.
Unfortunately, meditating and surrounding myself with white light wasn’t going to cut through the voodoo king’s cloud of darkness.
I stuck the book back in and drifted to the left. Something familiar caught my eye, and I followed it, an inexplicable chill drifting down my back. A massive geode of amethyst stood in the corner, the purple crystals glittering in the dim light. Three crescent moons were carved into the sides of the rock and on the hooded top.
This was the same symbol on that witchcraft website I stumbled onto.
My gaze remained transfixed on the top one as my body inched closer. The store fell away, and that symbol was the only thing left. It called to me, drawing me toward it. I’d seen it before. Not on the website. Somewhere else. Maybe in a dream.
My fingers reached forward, touching the clean lines of the moons.
A sharp spike of electricity arced between my skin and the symbol. I snatched my hand back, staring at it as my breath quickened.
Static electricity. That had to be it. What else would it be?
I swallowed hard as a distant voice inside me told me that wasn’t it.
My nostrils flared, and I reached forward, wanting to prove it wrong. The moment my fingers touched the symbol sparks lit the air.
The lights above flickered, and the crystals dangling from metal rods began to sway.
A choked gasp slipped from my mouth, and I stumbled back, hitting a shelf. Books toppled over, the sound like thunder in my ears.
“Is everything all right?” the shop woman’s voice echoed distantly.
I shook my head. No, everything was not all right.
I spun around and ran out the door, a cool wind rushing over my face. The sun was gone, and night was descending over the deserted street.
How long had I been inside?
A cold sweat beaded my skin, and I shivered, rubbing my arms for warmth. The unseasonable air had my hackles raised. That and the unexplainable dead battery in my phone. It had been fully charged when I left Carrefour.
I shoved the useless thing back into my pocket. It was a long walk to the bus station, and I might have even missed the last ride. Once I was there, I’d have to call a cab to take me all the way home. I sure as hell wasn’t going back into that store to borrow a phone.
Whatever happened had something to do with the voodoo king. What else? He was screwing with me. Him or his evil spirits.
I kept telling myself that, even though a pit of trepidation was growing in my gut.
Shuffling echoed behind me and I whipped around, my eyes traveling over the dark, empty street. A streetlight flickered on, attracting a couple of moths. I licked my dry lips and wiped my clammy hands on my jean shorts. Ice crystalized down my spine, making me shiver.
I turned back around and hurried down the sidewalk. People had to be around here somewhere. The bus station was crowded earlier. I had to run into someone who could help.
Another shuffle scraped the asphalt. Maybe I had run into someone, an unfriendly someone.
I gulped and picked up the pace, my pulse spiking beneath my sweaty skin.
This had been a stupid idea, to go off on my own to another town. No one even knew where I was.
Rough footsteps grew louder and faster. Closer.
I glanced over my shoulder. A stooped man hobbled toward me, his body frail and gait unsteady. He was old as dirt. And possibly drunk.
“Can I help you?” I winced as my voice bounced
off the walls and down the empty street.
The man didn’t answer. Instead, his steps grew more frantic. The clouds parted, bathing him in a shaft of silvery moonlight.
Gray, sickly flesh swayed off his rotting body with each uncoordinated stride. The skin on the left side of his face was completely gone, revealing decaying bone. Hollow, soulless eyes zeroed in on me, his putrid mouth releasing a feral growl.
Chapter 14
My bloodcurdling scream shook the atmosphere. Anyone would have heard it for miles away. Either no one else was in this part of town, or they were smart enough not to get involved. Both scenarios left me on my own.
Just great.
I darted down the street, my legs like jelly. The thing was chasing me, his unnatural movements growing faster.
My mind drifted back to the picture of the bokor in Etie’s book. They could raise the dead. Was that what this thing was? A dead guy who had been yanked from the grave by voodoo?
I glanced over my shoulder. He was closer. A lot closer.
With a squeak, I pumped my legs harder, my muscles burning. I entered a dark cemetery, hoping to lose the thing.
Perfect idea. Hide from the zombie in a graveyard.
I was an idiot.
More could crawl from their coffins under the ground, and soon I’d be starring in the music video remake of “Thriller.”
My feet bounced on the plush grass, my flip flops making it difficult to run. Without warning, a root tripped me, and my body went sprawling across the ground. My head narrowly missed a headstone.
A boney grip fisted in the back of my shirt.
Oh shit. I was toast.
Blood thundered in my ears but did nothing to drown out the thing’s angry growls. My fingers clawed at the dead man, slipping over his decaying flesh. He was much stronger than he looked.
I was being attacked by a zombie. There was no other explanation.
Dead eyes? Check. Smell of death? Check. Moth-eaten clothes? Check. Maggots and worms? Check. Gray, deteriorating body? Double check.
Where was a badass chick wielding a katana sword when you needed one? I’d even take a one-eyed teen as long as he had a weapon.