by Kathryn Moon
Downstairs the front door shut, and Bell gave the altar a last look before heading back out into the living room. He propped himself against a supporting beam by the kitchen and waited for Josie to find him.
She came in with flour stains on her black clothes, and handprints on her hips that he wanted to cover with his own. She sighed and Bell grinned, waiting for her to turn and face him, to scream, for her heart to pound so loud in her chest he could hear it in his own veins.
“Have you been waiting long?”
His foot landed too hard against the wood floor as he shifted to stand straight, lips turning down in a scowl as Josie turned to face him. She raised her eyebrows, waiting for his answer.
“I didn’t feel a ward,” he said.
“So you thought I wouldn’t notice you walking around? Directly over my own damn head,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. His stare pulled down to where her breasts pressed together.
Miscalculation, Pie’s voice echoed in his head.
“You heard me?” he asked.
“No. But you’ve got a… heaviness on you. Gave me a damn headache,” she muttered, rolling her head on her shoulders. “What do you want?”
How was… How was she always managing to put him just ever so slightly off balance? Bell’s hackles raised on the back of his neck, and he dimmed the illusion clinging to his skin. Josie’s eyes widened, and she stilled in front of him. Good, he thought. Good. She should’ve been scared from the beginning.
He embraced that heaviness she spoke of as he stepped closer to her, his boots hitting the floor like thunder, boards trembling beneath her feet. She barely cleared his chest, and he caught the slight hitching of her breath as he towered over her. He wondered how he looked this way, to her. Were his eyes glowing red? His fangs showing? She looked smaller, and he had an irritating urge to dig his fingers into her hips and draw her up to her tiptoes.
“If you wanted answers, you should have summoned me, Cupcake,” Beleth said, and the words rattled in his throat. “I’m in charge, you know that.”
“Are you saying you’re jealous?” Josie asked. Her eyes were huge, and her voice shook. She was terrified, and she was still a little smart ass.
He let himself grin because he knew his smile at least would be fearsome. “I told you, we didn’t murder your tourists.”
“You did say that,” Josie nodded, looking up at him from under thick lashes. “And I didn’t believe you. Are you surprised?”
Disappointed. He batted the thought away.
“What do you want Beleth?”
He had to freeze to keep from shivering. Had she just…? No. There was no magic in his name, no summons or contract, it was just the sound of it on her tongue. Miscalculation.
“Stay away from my men,” Bell growled.
Josie was relaxing the longer they stood together, as if she was becoming immune to his intimidation. She shrugged. “Fine. But tell them that. Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Deranged were just in the shop buying eclairs. By the way, one of you should teach them about currency, or tell them to pick a foreign accent because they did not make a convincing argument for knowing how money works.”
Shit. Aim and Barbie had been in her shop? Bell should’ve declared it off limits days ago. But why?
“Do you want to know who did kill the tourists?” Josie asked, her head tilting.
Bell took a step back. He was losing this argument, if it could even be called that. He didn’t care about the tourists, or even the murderer if he was honest, but that wasn’t what he said. “What do you mean?”
Josie slid around his side, and Bell’s human illusion snapped back into place as he turned to watch her. She crossed to her kitchen, and he noticed that she seemed lighter here in her apartment, hips swaying in a way he found difficult not to watch.
“I’m gonna call on… an old friend of the family,” Josie said, words hedging around their meaning. “Do you wanna come?”
Bell ground his jaw to keep from gaping at her. “We’re on the opposite sides of this fight, Cupcake.”
“What fight?” Josie asked, packing those rich brownies into a plastic container. She looked up at him with wide eyes. “Oh. You mean Sweet Pea? Sure. If you wanna call it that.”
His eyes narrowed, and he tried to stay focused as she turned and rose up on her tiptoes, stretching for a jar of something dark in a top cupboard. A sliver of skin peeked out between her t-shirt and jeans, and his mouth watered.
“You think we can’t do it? Destroy this town?”
She grabbed a bottle of rum, hummed in thought, and then a bottle of whiskey. “You came to Sweet Pea, and within days there was a murder. There’s never been a murder here before, did you know that? So yeah,” she said, facing him again. “I think you can destroy the good in Sweet Pea. But since it wasn’t you or your men that murdered those tourists, that means it was someone else, and I intend on finding out who. Would you like to come with me?”
He had no reason to say yes. It served no purpose to him to know, and despite what Josie said, he knew that whoever the murderer was, it wasn’t his men that planted the seed. And despite the murder, Sweet Pea was still shining as if it had never been touched by a cloudy day in all its life.
“Where are we going?” he asked instead.
“To the woods,” Josie said, shrugging.
Bell huffed. “You wanna summon spirits?”
That was a damn waste of time. And the only other beings he knew who she might call… they wouldn’t be inclined to help and he wouldn’t want them to see him with her.
Josie’s lips curled and twitched with laughter. “Something like that. If he’ll come. It’s a long trip, so we’ll see. Hey. Can we take your bike?”
Josie was ashamed to admit it, but her attraction to Bell just about doubled after climbing onto the back of his bike. She was fully in trouble when it came to this man. To this demon, she reminded herself. Even knowing so, she closed her eyes and savored the warmth of his thighs against the inside of hers, and the thrum of the engine beneath them. Bell’s chest was firm beneath her grip on him, and she leaned into him as he handled a curve in the road, tipping the bike. It was cold out but Bell shed heat even through his jacket, and he was large enough that he blocked the wind from really hitting Josie at all.
This is just for the sake of a fantasy, she reassured herself. Except she had no reason to take him to the crossroads with her. She didn’t know if she could call Papa Legba—the Loa spirit of the underworld and crossroads—on her own, and having Bell along might hinder that. Or it might help. Maybe Legba would be curious at the taste of a demon on the air with her. She smirked, her cheek pressed to the back of Bell’s leather jacket, as she wondered how the demon would react if he knew he was one of her offerings to the Loa.
They arrived at the northern entrance of the park. The Sweet Pea entrance was too close to Grimsby House and Imogen’s territory in the woods, and Josie didn’t want to draw out either of those audiences to her work. Here was better too. There was a crossroads on the path not too far into the park from this entrance, which would be where Papa Legba was willing to meet them.
Bell parked the bike, and Josie unlatched herself from around his waist with a wistful reluctance. He was a broad man, and he had felt nice against her. She snorted, covering the sound with the scuff of her boots on the gravel. Not nice. Sinful.
“If you wanted to have a seance, we coulda gone to the graveyard,” Bell said, leg swinging over the back of the bike as he stared at the entrance to the preserve.
“I told you. This is different.” Josie helped herself to the storage compartment under the seat, pulling out her bag as it clanked with bottles and candles and the soft rattle of the tambourine.
“What kind of different?” Bell asked, falling into step with her as she headed for the path.
“You saw my altar?” Josie asked, amused as the giant, handsome demon at her side shifted uncomfortably as if he were feeling guilty. Was it terrible that
she’d still found him handsome when he’d revealed himself and cornered her earlier? Maybe not handsome, but powerful for sure, and that was a kind of attraction too. “Do you know who it was for?”
Bell frowned and shrugged. “Some kind of… kitchen… spirit?”
She scoffed. “Okay, wow. Yeah, never mind. I’ma let you be surprised instead.”
Kitchen spirit. Demons didn’t know shit, apparently. Josie found that somewhat comforting, and her steps bounced as she pushed forward. It was cold, but she was wearing the sweater June had gifted her and Bell radiated heat, or at least the illusion of it.
“So. You’re really all about this whole… corrupting good and spreading evil lifestyle, hm?”
Bell’s shoulders drew in slightly around his ears, and his eyes tracked the woods around them as if he were expecting to be spied on. “It’s in men’s nature to fall, to be corrupted.”
“So?” Josie asked. “Why force the issue?”
Bell blinked. “We were cast out of our home for a weaker creation.”
Josie frowned up at him. “What’s so great about being superior?” Bell frowned back at her but didn’t answer. “So that’s it? Your goal is to prove to…you know,” she pointed upwards.
“The Maker.”
“The Maker,” she said, eyebrows raising. “You’re trying to prove that humans weren’t worth it?”
“It’s more complicated than that.”
“But what if you’re wrong?” Josie asked. “What if a flaw is deserving of love too, and actually all y’all are just assholes?”
“And the murderer?” Bell replied. “They’re just…what? A charming little error in the fabric of this town? Is homicide a flaw deserving of love?”
“Hmm. Okay, fair point. But you’re not responsible for the murderer, so I’m not sure it helps your argument. Humans can prove themselves inferior without demons showing up. This way,” she said, catching his elbow and turning right on the path, heading to the far side of the preserve, away from Sweet Pea.
“I don’t want to go back,” Bell said, voice weaving through the trees, spoken soft and private. “If that’s what you’re thinking. I’m not trying to be redeemed. We were created with flaws too, and mine was to not prefer paradise. I serve the one who gave me a home I deserved, and a purpose I excelled at.”
“Well…” Josie mulled over the words. “I can’t argue with that, I suppose. If following orders suits you.”
“You’re misunderstanding me intentionally.”
“Maybe your case isn’t that strong,” she said, grinning at his glare. “Have you had this argument before?”
He turned away, facing ahead. So no, he had not. She stopped at the corner of the crossroads, a great oak tree growing at the spot, its roots churning under the ground and making the path uneven.
“Here,” she said, kneeling in the grass.
Bell turned to study the area. “You’re calling the Devil at midnight?”
“It’s not midnight yet, and no, I’m not on any kind of terms with the Devil,” Josie said, pulling supplies out of her bag. The bottle of rum, cork pulled out so the liquor spiced the air. She set the brownies on a black and red dish with a pipe filled with tobacco balanced on the edge. There was a corn husk doll painted in red and black, wearing a tiny straw hat. She lit a St. Peter candle, Papa Legba’s saintly counterpoint, and sprinkled a handful of pennies around its base.
As offerings went, it met the requirements, even if it wasn’t quite as plentiful as she might have wished. Especially considering this was Virginia, not New Orleans, and it was only her here. Her and Bell. She was hoping the demon might be a little bit of a draw for Legba. Josie grabbed the last two items in the bag, the tambourine from her altar and a black cloth she’d embroidered with Legba’s vévé, or sigil, in red silk threads. Mémé had taught her the work as a little girl, and Josie had a drawer with every Loa’s cloth and colors carefully pressed between clean cotton, for whenever she might need them.
“I’ve never seen that symbol before,” Bell said, crouching down to her side. When his hand reached out to touch the red lines of leaves and curls, Josie swatted at his fingers and he pulled back.
“You just stand here and look pretty,” she said, rising up.
Bell smirked and followed her, stepping back as she pushed her hands against his stomach to guide him behind her.
“You think I should be scared of your spirit, Cupcake?” Bell said, a laugh at the back of the words. “Doubt they could do me much harm, but it’s sweet of you to care.”
“Oh, I will laugh if he goes after you, don’t you worry. It would serve you right,” Josie answered. She shook the nervous tension out of her body, and the tambourine in her hand jangled and chimed. Bell’s arms crossed over his chest, the movement rustling in the corner of her eye. It was hard not to be self-conscious with him looming behind her like a shadow, but she’d asked him here, and this next part had always been her favorite growing up.
She hummed a note, stomping her heel on the ground and knocking the tambourine against the heel of her palm. She couldn’t remember the words right away, but she didn’t need to be picky about the song. She bounced in place and found a beat and closed her eyes. Mémé had always liked the old hymns, leading the party through melody as other members picked up instruments. Josie missed the community after she and her mother had ridden out of state. Vodou wasn’t the celebration she loved as a girl when she was by herself. The coven was closer, but nothing really compared.
The night was quiet, and Bell was silent behind her as Josie hummed and mumbled and danced in a small circle, tambourine cymbals crashing. The air was empty of any magic but her own and her rickety voice. She wasn’t a good singer, and right now she wasn’t even an enthusiastic singer. Papa Legba wouldn’t come for this. She had to do better.
She took a deep breath and called out, “Papa Legba, come an’ visit. Your lil’ child is waitin’. Papa Legba, come and open the gates!”
She repeated the words, making up a melody, inventing a rhythm for a dance. Bell’s eyes caught hers as they opened, but she ignored his puzzled expression, turning a grin up to the stars and rattling the tambourine over her head. Josie spun and spun in a circle, until her heart was hammering and the stars were spinning and laughter was breaking into her chant.
Then she heard the trumpets, faint and distant. Bell tensed, and Josie held her arm to block him as he stepped forward. She sang, trying to sweeten her call, thumping her instrument at her side. Piano keys jangled, a bass drummed sweetly, and horns circled the crossroads. Finally, a shadow strolled out from behind the oak.
“Well, well,” Papa Legba crooned and croaked in greeting. He was a rickety old spirit, wearing a child’s wide grin surrounded by black wrinkles. A bony chest swayed inside of too big overalls, arms flapping at his side as he took his comical stride forward. The grass crunched dry beneath his feet as he stepped, and everything cracked and snapped and groaned as he crouched down and lit the pipe on the St. Peter candle.
“Evening, Papa Legba,” Josie said, lowering her chin to her chest in greeting, a private thrill racing through her. He had come. And not even jumped into her skin, he had just walked out. This was an honor, and she couldn’t even tell Mémé about it.
“You don’ write. You don’ call,” Legba teased, and the pipe puffed smoke to hide his smile. Bell was vibrating at her side, and Legba’s straw hat tipped as the spirit examined the demon. “Interestin’ company you keepin’, Piti bean.”
Josie’s heart swelled and ached hearing Mémé’s name for her on Legba’s twisted tongue. He was right. It had been a long time since she’d been in the presence of the Loa. It felt like coming home, and even better, he greeted her as such.
“Beleth, King of Hell,” Josie said, gesturing to the demon. “Meet Papa Legba, gatekeeper of the spirit world.”
Bell was stiff, and Legba was grinning, head tipped back but eyes invisible. Neither of them moved for a long stretch, and Josie wanted
to kick Bell if he was about to get her in trouble with Legba. Bell twitched and then his head tipped in a brief bow, eyes never lowering from Legba’s face.
Papa Legba snorted and puffed on the pipe. “Look at ‘is head spinnin’. Ne’er seen nothin out ‘is own lil’ bubble, eh now?”
“And how many of my kind have met you?” Bell asked, voice near a whisper and edgy with tension.
“Oh, a fair few, I should say,” Legba answered, sharp shoulders bobbing. “Now ‘dere. Whatcha need from me, cher? Should I be callin’ Ghede Linto? ‘Cause I’ll tell ya, he won’t like yer friend here.”
“No, Papa. I have questions for two mortal spirits who were killed in this wood last week,” Josie said.
Cold trickled down Josie’s spine as the smoke cleared between them, and Legba was no longer smiling. He stepped in closer and Josie kept rigid, waiting for his approach.
“Now cher, you know what’s dead is best left dead. And I seen these spirits on my way. They in no fit shape to be visiting.” His head tilted down, examining the offerings left between them, and Josie folded her lips between her teeth to keep from speaking while he thought over her request. “I will answer you one question on their behalf, on account a’ your Mémé in good favor.”
Josie’s breath rushed out of her in one great relieved gust. She hoped this conversation didn’t get back to Mémé, but she would brace herself for how to explain the situation if she had to. “I need to know who killed them, Papa Legba. Before the town starts lookin’ at witches.”
