by Elle James
"Look guys, whatever you’re planning, you won’t get away with it." Craig strained against the bonds holding him tight to the rough bark of the cypress tree.
"Ah, mon cher, but we will." A low, musical voice reached out of the darkness preceding the appearance of a woman. She wore a flowing, bright red caftan with a sash tied around her ample girth and a matching kerchief covering her hair. Although large, she floated into the firelight, her bone necklace rattling in time to a steady drumbeat building in the shadows. Her skin was a light brown, almost mocha, weathered by the elements and age. Her dark brown eyes shone brightly, the flames of a nearby fire dancing in their depths.
Despite the weighty warmth of the swamp, a chill crept down Craig’s spine. "Who’s the lady in the muumuu?"
The silent wonder next to him deigned to speak in a reverent whisper, "Madame LeBieu."
Craig frowned and mentally scratched his head. Madame LeBieu...Madame LeBieu...oh, yes. The infamous Bayou Miste Voodoo priestess, a notorious mishmash of Cajun-Caribbean witchdoctor mumbo-jumbo and healer. No one really knew her background, but she was both feared and revered in the community. He studied her with more interest and a touch of unease. Was he to be a sacrifice in some wacky Voodoo ceremony?
"Are you in charge of these two thugs?" Craig feigned a cockiness he didn’t feel.
"It be I who called upon dem." She dipped her head in a regal nod.
"Then call them off and untie me." Craig shot an angry look at the men on either side of him. "You’ve obviously got the wrong guy."
"Were you not de man what be goin’ out with de sweet Lisa LeBieu earlier dis very evening?"
"Yes," Craig said, caution stretching his answer, as dread pooled in his stomach. He didn’t go into the fact that Lisa wasn’t so sweet. "Why?"
"I be Madame LeBieu and Lisa be ma petite fille. She say you dally with her heart and cast it aside." The woman’s rich, melodious voice held a thread of steel.
Craig frowned in confusion. "You mean this isn’t about the card game? This is about Lisa, your granddaughter?"
"No, dis be ‘bout you mistreatment of les femmes."
"I don’t get it. I didn’t touch her. She came on to me, and I took her home."
"Abuse not always takes de physical form. You shunned her love and damage her chakras. For dis, you pay."
Craig cocked an eyebrow in disbelief. "You mean I was conked on the head and dragged from my bed all because I refused to sleep with your granddaughter?" He snorted. "This is a new one on me."
"Craig Thibodeaux, I know your kind." Madame LeBieu stuck a thick, brown finger in his face. "You be breakin’ hearts all over, seein’ all kinds of women, but got no love to show for it. You be showin’ your loveless way for de last time." Madame LeBieu flicked her fingers, and the flames behind her leaped higher. Then, reaching inside the voluminous sleeves of the caftan, she whipped out an atomizer and sprayed a light floral scent all around him. The aroma mixed and mingled with the dark musty smells of the swamp’s stagnant pools and decaying leaves.
"So you’re going to douse me in perfume to unman me?" Craig’s bark of laughter clashed with the rising beat of the drums. The humor of the situation was short-lived when the mosquitoes decided they liked him even more with the added scent. Craig shook all over to discourage the beggars from landing.
"Ezili Freda Daome, Goddess of love and all dat be beautiful, listen to our prayers, accept our offerings, and enter our arms, legs, and hearts." Madame LeBieu’s head dropped back, and she spread her arms wide. The drumbeat increased in intensity, reverberating off the canopy of trees shrouded in low-hanging Spanish moss.
The pounding emphasized the throbbing ache in the back of Craig’s head from where Madame LeBieu’s henchmen had beaned him in his room at the bait shop prior to dragging him here. The combined smells of perfume and swamp, along with the jungle beat and chanting nutcase made his stomach churn. The darkness of the night surrounded him, pushing fear into his soul.
Craig had a sudden premonition that whatever was about to happen had the potential to change his life entirely. Half of him wished they would just get on with it, whatever “it” was. The other half quaked in apprehension.
The Voodoo priestess’s arms and head dropped, the drums crashing to a halt. Silence descended. Not a single cricket, frog, or bird interrupted the eerie stillness.
Craig broke the trance, fighting his growing fear with false bravado. "And I’m supposed to believe all this mumbo jumbo?" He snorted. "Give me a break. Next thing, you’ll be waving a fairy wand and saying bibbity-bobbity-boo."
Madame LeBieu leveled a cold, hard stare at him.
Another shiver snaked down his spine. With the sweat dripping off his brow and chills racing down his back, he thought he might be ill. Maybe even hallucinating.
A small girl appeared at Madame LeBieu’s side, handing her an ornate cup. She waited silently for the woman to drink. Craig noticed that his two former friends bowed their heads as the Voodoo lady sipped from the cup then handed it back to the girl. Clutching the cup as if it were her dearest possession, the child bowed at the waist, backing into the shadows.
With a flourishing sweep of her wrist, Madame LeBieu pulled a pastel pink, blue, and white scarf from the sleeve of her caftan, and waved it in Craig’s face.
"Mistress of Love, hear my plea.
Help dis shameless man to see."
"You know I have family in high places, don’t you?" Craig said. Not that they were there to help him now.
Madame LeBieu continued as though he hadn’t spoken.
"Though he be strong, his actions bold,
his heart be loveless, empty, cold.
By day a frog, by night a man,
‘til de next full moon, dis cunja will span."
Craig stopped shaking his head, mosquitoes be damned. What was the old lady saying? "Hey, what’s this about frogs?"
"A woman will answer Ezili’s call,
one who’ll love him, warts and all."
"Who, the frog or me?" He chuckled nervously at the woman’s fanatical words, downplaying his rising uneasiness. His next sarcastic statement was cut off when Mo’s heavily muscled forearm crashed into his stomach. "Oomph!"
"Silence!" Mo’s command warned of further retribution should Craig dare to interrupt again.
Which worked out great, since he was too busy sucking wind to restore air to his lungs. All he could do was glare at his former friend. If only looks could kill, he’d have Mo six feet under in a New Orleans minute.
Madame LeBieu went on,
"He’ll watch by day and woo by night,
to gain her love, he mus fight,
to break de cunja, be whole again,
transformed into a caring man."
"You didn’t have to knock the wind out of my sails." Craig wheezed, and jerked his head in Madame LeBieu’s direction. "She’s the one making all the noise, talking nonsense about frogs and warts."
Mo’s face could have been etched in stone.
The old witch held her finger in Craig’s face, forcing him to look at it. Then she drew the finger to her nose and his gaze followed until he noticed her eyes. A strange glow, having nothing to do with fire, burned in their brown-black centers. Madame LeBieu’s voice dropped to a low, threatening rumble.
"Should he deny dis gift from you,
a frog he’ll remain in de blackest bayou."
With a flourishing spray of perfume and one last wave of the frothy scarf, Madame LeBieu backed away from Craig, disappearing into the darkness from whence she’d come.
Craig’s stomach churned and a tingling sensation spread throughout his body. He attributed his discomfort to the nauseating smells and the ropes cutting off his circulation. "Hey, you’re not going to leave me here trussed up like a pig on a spit, are you?" Craig called out to the departing priestess.
A faint response carried to him from deep in the shadows. "Dôn tempt me, boy."
As soon as Madame LeBieu was gone
, the men who’d stood motionless at his side throughout the Voodoo ceremony moved. They untied his bonds, grabbed him beneath the arms and hauled him back to the small canoe-like pirogue they’d brought him in.
Forced to step into the craft, Craig fell to the hard wooden seat in the middle. When the other two men climbed in, the boat rocked violently, slinging him from side to side. One man sat in front, the other at the rear. Both lifted paddles and struck out across the bayou, away from the rickety pier.
"So what’s it to be now?" Craig rubbed his midsection. "Are you two going to take me out into the middle of the swamp and feed me to the alligators?" He knew these swamps as well as anyone, and the threat was real, although he didn’t think Mo and Larry would do it.
Would they?
"No harm will come to you dat hasn’t already been levied by Madame LeBieu," Mo said. Dropping his macho facade, he gave Craig a pitying look. "She done put de gree gree on you. Man, I feel sorry for you."
"Why? Because a crazy lady chanted a little mumbo jumbo and sprayed perfume in my face?" He could handle chanting crazy people. He’d represented a few of the harmless ones in the courtroom. "Don’t worry about me. If I were you, I’d worry more about the monster law suit I could file against the two of you for false imprisonment."
"Going to jail would be easy compared to what you be in for." Larry’s normally cheerful face wore a woeful expression.
The pale light of the half-moon shimmered between the boughs of overhanging trees. Craig could see they were headed back to his uncle’s marina. Perhaps they weren’t going to kill him after all. Madame LeBieu was probably just trying to scare him into leaving her granddaughter alone. No problem there. With relatives like that, he didn’t need the hassle.
Besides, he’d been bored with Lisa within the first five minutes of their date. Most of the women who agreed to go out with him were only interested in what his money could buy them. Lisa had been no different.
The big Cajuns pulled up to the dock at the Thibodeaux Marina. As soon as Craig got out, they turned the boat back into the swamp, disappearing into the darkness like a fading dream.
Tired and achy, Craig trudged to his little room behind the shop, wondering if the night had been just that. A dream. He grimaced. Dream, hell. What had happened was the stuff nightmares were made of. The abrasions on his wrist confirmed it wasn’t a dream, but it was over now. He would heed the warning and stay away from Madame LeBieu’s granddaughter from now on.
He let himself in through the back door, flexing his sore muscles. The room was a mess from the earlier scuffle, short-lived though it was. Craig righted the nightstand and fished the alarm clock out from underneath the bed.
Without straightening the covers, he flopped onto the mattress in the tiny bedroom. It was a far cry from his suite back home, but he’d spent so many summers here as a boy, the cramped quarters didn’t bother him. He was bone tired from a full day’s work, a late night date gone sour, and his encounter with Madame LeBieu. What did it matter whether the sheets were of the finest linen or the cheapest cotton? A bed was a bed.
"Just another day at the office." He yawned. It would be dawn soon and his uncle expected him up bright and early to help prepare bait and fill gas tanks in the boats they rented to visiting fishermen.
Craig closed his eyes and drifted into a troubled sleep where drums beat, witches wove spells, and frogs littered the ground. A chant echoed throughout the dream, "By day a frog, by night a man, ‘til the next full moon, this curse will span."
What a crock.
Professor and research scientist Elaine Smith moaned for the tenth time. How the staff must be laughing. Brainiac Elaine Smith, member of Mensa, valedictorian of her high school, undergraduate, and master’s programs, with an IQ completely off the scale…and she hadn’t had a clue. Until she’d opened the door to the stairwell in the science building to find her fiancé, Brian, with his hands up the shirt of a bosomy blond department secretary, while sucking out her tonsils.
The woman had seen her first, broken contact, and tapped Brian’s shoulder. "Uh, this is a little awkward." She’d twittered her fingers at Elaine. "Hi, Dr. Smith."
"Elaine, I can explain," Brian had said, his hands springing free of the double-D breasts.
Without a word, Elaine had marched back to the lab. She’d only been away for a moment. If the drink machine on the second floor had worked, she wouldn’t have opened that door. Thank God she’d made this discovery before she’d been even more idiotic and married the creep.
She crossed the shiny white floor to her desk and ran her hand over her favorite microscope, letting the coolness of the metal seep into her flushed skin. With careful precision, she poured a drop from the glass jar marked Bayou Miste onto a slide. With another clean slide, she smeared the sample across the glass, and slid it beneath the scope.
The routine process of studying microorganisms calmed her like no other tonic. Her heartbeat slowed and she lost herself in the beauty of microbiology. She didn’t have to think about the world outside the science department. Many times in her life, she’d escaped behind lab doors to avoid the ugly side of society.
"Elaine the brain. Elaine the brain." Echoes of children's’ taunts from long ago plagued her attempts at serenity.
Elaine snorted. Wouldn’t they laugh, now? Elaine-the-brain, too stupid to live.
A tear dropped onto the lens of the microscope, blurring her view, and the lab door burst open. She scrubbed her hand across her eyes before she looked up. She’d be damned if she’d let the jerk see her cry.
"Elaine, let me explain." Brian strode in, a sufficiently contrite expression on his face.
He’d probably practiced the expression in the mirror to make it look so real. Elaine wasn’t buying it. She forced her voice to be flat and disinterested. "Brian, I’m busy."
"We have to talk."
"No...we don’t." She turned her back to him, her chest tight and her stomach clenching.
"Look, I’m sorry." Brian’s voice didn’t sound convincing. "It’s just...well...ah, hell. I needed more."
Her mouth dropped open and she spun to face him. "More what? More women? More conquests? More sex in the hallways?"
He dug his hands in his pocket and scuffed his black leather shoe on the white tile. When he looked up, a corner of his mouth lifted and his gray eyes appeared sad. "I needed to know I was more important than a specimen, that I was wanted for more than just a convenient companion."
"So you made out with a secretary in the stairwell?"
"She at least pays attention to me." When she spun away, he grabbed her arm. "I should have broken our engagement first, but every time I tried, you’d bury yourself in this lab." He ran a hand through his hair and stepped closer. "It would never have worked between us. I couldn’t compete with your first love."
"What are you talking about?"
"Your obsession with science." He inhaled deeply and looked at the corner ceiling, before his gaze came back to her. "Face it, Elaine, you love science more than you ever loved me."
"No, I don’t." Her denial was swift, followed closely by the thought ‘Do I?’
He crossed his arms over his chest and stood with his feet spread slightly. "Then say it."
"Say what?"
"Say, I love you." He stood still waiting for her response.
She summoned righteous indignation, puffed out her chest and prepared to say the words he’d asked for. She opened her mouth, but the words stuck in her throat like a nasty-tasting wad of guilt. Instead of saying anything, she exhaled.
Had she ever really loved Brian? She studied his rounded face and curly blond hair. He had the geek-boy-next-door look, and he’d made her smile on occasion. She’d enjoyed the feeling of having someone to call her own, and to fill the lonely gap in her everyday existence. She hadn't had anyone in her life, no one to turn to since her parents had died four years ago. Having grown up too smart to fit in with kids her own age, she’d missed the much needed e
ducation only peers could provide and she didn't have any close friends. Had she wanted too much from Brian?
Had she really loved him? After all the years of living in relative isolation from any meaningful relationships, was she even capable of feeling love?
Her chest felt as empty as her roiling stomach. He was right. She couldn’t say she loved him when she knew those words were a lie. And as much as she didn’t like conflict, she disliked lying more.
How long had she been deluding herself into thinking they were the perfect couple?
"It’s no use, Elaine. Our marriage would be a huge mistake. The only way you’d notice me is if I were a specimen under your microscope. It’s not enough. I need more. I need someone who isn’t afraid to get out and experience the world beyond this lab."
He turned and walked out, leaving a quiet room full of scientific equipment—and one very confused woman.
Afraid to get out? She glanced around the stark clean walls of the laboratory, the one place she could escape to when she wanted to feel safe.
Dear God, why can’t I be like normal people? Brian was right. She felt more comfortable behind the lab door than in the world outside.
When she stared down at the litter of items on the table, blinking to clear the tears from her eyes, she spied the jar labeled Bayou Miste. The container had come to her in the mail, an anonymous sample of Louisiana swamp water. She stood, momentarily transfixed by the sight of the plain mason jar, a strange thrumming sound echoing in her subconscious, almost like drums beating. Probably some punk in the parking lot with his woofers too loud.
With an odd sense of fate, she leaned over the microscope, dried her tear from the lens with a tissue, and studied the slide. Her skin tingled and her heartbeat amplified. Here was her opportunity to get away from the lab.
She could help solve the pollution problems of an ecosystem, even if she couldn’t solve the microcosm of her love life.
