Black Bayou (The Dark Legacy Series Book 1)

by Sara Clancy

The rust-encrusted iron kept her arms spread wide. There wasn’t enough slack for her to lift her torso more than an inch off the bed. Pain polluted her memories, turning them into jagged shards that she couldn’t organise into any kind of sense. A memory hit her – clear but incomplete – of Louis being hurdled through the air. She couldn’t piece together what had happened to him after that. The uncertainty of his fate fed her panic until the possibilities consumed her every thought. Was he okay? Was he alive?

  She opened her mouth to scream but the sound died within her when she heard Jasmine whisper meekly into her ear.

  “The boogieman’s here.”

  Flat on her back, she could only catch a slight glimpse of the cupboard door as it inched open. The creak of the hinges cut through the room like a drawn out moan. Something unseen shuffled and it took her a moment to place the sound, the scraping, rustling, whispering sound. Someone was crawling across the floor. Crawling towards her.

  She forced herself up as high as she could, her muscles and tendons straining to the point of tearing, but she couldn’t see it. The sound continued at an uneven pace. Like their limbs were too long, broken or twisted. A new sound joined the struggled lurching. She recognised it instantly from that first night. It was the sound of a very sharp blade toying across wood.

  Closer. Closer. Her shoulders almost popped free as she twisted herself up to try and catch sight of what was dragging itself towards her. A shadow stirred. Darker than the others, solid and yet moving like molten lava. It’s back arched into her sight before disappearing once again. The bed was too high. She couldn’t catch sight of it. But she could hear it. It made no attempt to hide the noise it made as it lurched closer.

  The mattress swallowed her feet as she braced them and pushed herself further to the edge. A head rose up over the edge of the mattress, a few inches from her face. She scrambled to increase the distance between them, her joints straining under her attempts, but the chains held her in place. The black mass had no eyes, but she felt them watching her. Felt the malicious desires that poured from them like heated tar. It drew itself higher and she saw that it wasn’t merely a shadow, it was a black hole, only visible because it devoured the life around it.

  It didn’t reach out, didn’t move, but the sheets around her split open like a blade had just slashed it. She screamed and threw herself back again as the phantom claws drew closer to her stomach. The demon’s inky, unstable form cleaved into two, ripping apart to reveal rows of long spiked columns of glowing white. Her thoughts shattered.

  They’re fangs. It has fangs. It wanted her to see them. See their size. And know that all it had done before was merely playful ticks compared to what it could actually do, what it will do. With its wide, ghastly, face-splitting smile still in place, it slithered down out of sight. She could still hear it, under the bed, dragging its sharp talons along the slats. Marigold stared at the ceiling, tears blurring her vision, and tried to prepare for the moment it decided to reach through the mattress.

  ***

  Louis scattered a trail of coins and candy along the curve of the corner, his eyes never leaving the La Roux house. Darkness coiled around the structure like a slumbering beast and devoured any light that fell upon it. The whole street may have been draped in the rolling fog, but that house alone stood in unrelenting darkness. The windows were fathomless pits that didn’t allow a single hint of life to seep out from their depths. His skin prickled and burned. It felt like a thousand snakes were squirming within his stomach and all he wanted to do was run. To hide from this house and everything it held within.

  He pressed a hand over his offerings to Papa Legba and prayed it would be enough to appease the Ioa, to keep him near. And at a time like this, he really needed the benevolent gatekeeper between the living and the dead on his side. Tiny streams of rain ran down his glasses, distorting his vision until the building quaked before him. Taking a deep breath, he tilted his head to the side. Joe stood next to him, eyeing the street with concern, one hand instinctively tightening over the hilt of his firearm. They both had things they put their faith in. Perhaps combined, their devotion would be enough to allow them to survive what was to come. Without a word shared between them, they crossed the street and approached the polished door.

  Louis let Joe take the lead but stayed close. The gris-gris dug into his palm as he clutched it tightly, his heartbeat a constant roar within his ears, and watched as Joe lifted his hand. For a moment, he left it hovering in the air, the rain pooling between his fingers. Louis heard the safety of the weapon click off and with that Joe brought his fist down in a series of thunderous knocks. Silence met them and sent Louis’ already fragile nerves on edge. He locked his knees and balled his fists in a desperate attempt to keep himself in place.

  No lights turned on, nothing stirred. But when the door opened, a blinding light poured from the house and glistened over the wet pavement. Louis shuffled back but couldn’t escape the beam. He squinted painfully into the light and found that every bulb of the mammoth chandelier was on, but when he glanced at the windows, not even a hint of its glow crept out from open curtains. Joe noticed it too but refused to take his eyes off of Delilah.

  She kept one hand on the door. “Will I need to contact actual police officers, or will you leave on your own?”

  “Ma’am,” Joe said calmly, “have you had contact with your niece tonight?”

  She narrowed her eyes on the men. “Why are you asking?”

  “What have you done to her?” Louis charged forward, held back by the large hand Joe pressed to the centre of his chest.

  “Excuse me?” she snarled.

  “Ms. La Roux,” Joe cut in. “I don’t mean to alarm you, but we have some concerns for Marigold’s safety.”

  “Whatever for?”

  “She was with Louis earlier this evening -.”

  Delilah scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Well that explains it.”

  “Explains what?” Louis said.

  “My niece isn’t missing, officer. She decided to leave New Orleans.”

  Louis turned to surge forward again but Joe kept him in place. “Just like that, in the middle of the night, with no explanation?”

  Delilah tilted her head. “Did she owe you one?”

  Anger simmered through his blood and chased off the chill of his fear. “So your story is that she just ran off, alone, into the night? That’s insane!”

  “Louis,” Joe warned.

  “She’s obviously lying.”

  Unaffected by Louis’ outburst, she calmly continued, “Today was difficult for her. She wasn’t prepared for more death, and when confronted with it, she chose to leave rather than endure.”

  “Without telling me?”

  “I believe you have grossly overestimated your importance,” Delilah said. “She left me a note. It was short but clearly expressed her desire for solitude.”

  “We’d like to see that note,” Joe said.

  “Of course, officer. Excuse me for a moment.”

  Louis could barely contain himself as the door clicked shut. He whirled to Joe, his arms spread wide.

  “She’s lying.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Maybe?” Louis snapped.

  “Louis, you’re not getting the situation. We need Delilah.”

  “The situation is that Marigold is most likely in that house getting tortured. And I would bet my life Delilah knows it. We have to search this hellhole.”

  “And how many judges do you think will grant a warrant based on speculation and the threat of paranormal activity?” Joe said. “Unless Delilah invites us in, there’s really nothing we can do.”

  Chapter 16

  Struggling had caused the imperfections in the metal to gouge at her skin. Blood trickled down her arms in thin streaks and dripped onto the bed sheets. Still, she tugged and twisted against the shackles, enticing more damage for little progress. The scratching under the bed had stopped but the silence only worsened her fear. At least she had kn
own where it was. Now, the only sounds that hit her ear were the clash of the metal and her gasps of pain. A floorboard groaned under a heavy weight. She snapped her head up once again to search the empty room as best as she could. All that met her was silence.

  She pulled at her right arm with renewed strength, not stopping as the metal tore into the bruises that already tarnished most of her skin. The fragile bones in her wrist ached, her tendons shook on the verge of snapping, and her thumb bent the wrong way. The pain was worth it when the heel of her palm finally slipped under the band. She screamed as fangs stabbed deep into her thigh, the attack was savage enough to release her blood in an arching spirit.

  Her body instantly shifted to protect itself and curled into a tight ball. The shift popped her palm back through the shackle’s band and to where she had started. Her skin was raw and ravaged. Each molecule of air that touched it was excruciating, a scorching pain worse than the bite, and it drove her into broken whimpers. She didn’t notice that her aunt had entered the room until she spoke.

  “You really shouldn’t try and escape. It doesn’t take kindly to that.”

  Marigold looked up at the woman without moving from her huddled form. With careful consideration, Delilah had found one of the few places that had yet to be stained or torn and sat down.

  Marigold lifted her eyes to her and said through her sobs, “Let me go.”

  “I will,” Delilah soothed. “In time.”

  Marigold tried to flinch away from Delilah’s touch but there was nowhere to go.

  “Why didn’t you let me die?”

  “Well I can’t do that until you have a few children,” Delilah said simply.

  For a moment, she didn’t feel any of the pain that riddled her body. She stared at Delilah, watching as the older woman carefully worked some of the wrinkles out of her dress.

  “What are you talking about?”

  She folded her hands delicately in her lap and met Marigold’s eyes with a charade of compassion.

  “Sweet, simple, Marigold. This demon follows our family, and aside from you and I, there isn’t any family left.”

  “So you want me to give it more people to torment?”

  “Better them than I.”

  The air rushed from her lungs. “Are you crazy? You can’t decide who it goes to.”

  Anger cracked her well-schooled face for a moment, but she quickly recovered.

  “You didn’t even know this creature existed a year ago, but you believe you know it better than I? You can’t control it, I can. I can send it to whoever I wish, so long as they are family by blood.”

  She could barely form the words, barely take in a breath. “Did you send it to my father?”

  “I had thought he would grant me more time than he did. In all things, he was a weak man.”

  “And me?”

  “An infinite disappointment. But I am nothing if not industrious.” She shook the nearest chain to test that it still held firm. “You can still hold its interest. It won’t be all that pleasant for you, of course. But you have made your decisions in that regard, haven’t you? Oh, don’t look at me like that. I’ll let you die after you produce a few heirs. Not right away of course. It will be a while before they will be able to breed in their own right, but once they are ready, you will be obsolete and we can end this.”

  “You’re insane!” She pulled at her wrists in sharp snaps but couldn’t break free. “You honestly think I will have kids so you can do this to them?”

  “Oh, Marigold,” she purred and cupped her cheek, “you don’t have a choice. If you’re a good girl, we can do this scientifically. If you give me any trouble, I will recruit a willing gentleman. Either way, you will give me a child.”

  ***

  The rain had run its course by the time the first rays of the morning broke across the sky and turned the waterlogged streets into gilded rivers. Louis sat on the gutter across the street, drenched to the core with his feet submerged in the gathering puddles. Joe had left with apologies and promises that he wasn’t going to let this rest, but all Louis remembered was the triumphant look that Delilah had cast him as she had shut the door. The note Delilah had produced had been short; a mere mention of departure and a request not to look for her. It was cold and vacant, nothing like what Marigold would write. Despite his protests, Joe said the insulting impersonation had to be investigated.

  Marigold was in there. He knew it. Down to the very core of his being, he knew it. And if he had any courage within him at all, he would have broken into that house and gotten her out. But it wasn’t just any house. It was the La Roux house, a patch of hell on earth, the structural embodiment of every fear he had ever felt in his lifetime.

  Louis didn’t have any delusions that he might be ‘touched’. He knew that he had no psychic ability, not like some of his relatives. He didn’t see ghosts unless they willed themselves to be shown. The future wasn’t open to him and the past was a shadow of mystery. But even he could feel the sorrow, madness and fury that swelled within those walls. It poisoned the land, polluted the air, and birthed inside him a fear that he couldn’t begin to contemplate.

  Just go in and get her, he commanded himself for the hundredth time. Still, his body refused to obey. And so he remained at his visual, sitting across the street, staring at the bricks and mortar that housed hell itself. Go get her.

  A police cruiser pulled up to the curb next to him. He didn’t look over as the driver got out and stalked towards him.

  “Have you been here all night?” Joe asked.

  “She can’t complain about that. The sidewalk is public property.”

  “Delilah didn’t put in a complaint.”

  Louis groaned. “That’s even worse. It means she doesn’t feel threatened.”

  “Louis, this is me being concerned. Go home, get some sleep.”

  A bitter laugh escaped him as he shook his head. “She trusted me to keep her safe.”

  “Yeah, I thought that would be your answer, so here.” Louis finally looked over as Joe passed him an extremely large cup of coffee and a crumpled paper bag. “It’s terrible, both the food and the coffee, but your options are pretty slim at five in the morning.”

  Gratefully, he took the offerings and downed a few mouthfuls. It was as disgusting as promised but he could feel the hum of caffeine begin to weave through his blood.

  “Isn’t there some extenuating circumstances that allow you to legally break down the door?”

  “If I hear a scream.”

  “It won’t let you hear that,” Louis took another sip and winced. “Look at the place. It’s not even letting light out. Come on Joe, we know Marigold’s in there.”

  “No, we don’t. Look, I called Rhodes, a cop from her hometown, and had him fax over a sample of her writing. It’s a match to the note Delilah gave us.”

  “So what? She could have forced her to write that. Or just forged the damn thing.”

  “Coupled with the train tickets in her name and the surveillance footage, there’s not much we can go on.”

  “What surveillance footage?”

  Joe arched a brow as he retrieved his phone from his stab vest. It was his signature move to remind Louis that what he was about to divulge was perhaps something he really shouldn’t be and that it would be best not to get used to such special treatment. Louis nodded impatiently, his eyes on the phone.

  “This was taken from a security camera at the station platform last night.”

  A short black and white movie began to play on the phone and Louis crowded in to watch it. Figures moved soundlessly over the platform, a kind of tidal force controlled by the arrival and departure of the trains. His back straightened a little when he noticed Marigold enter from the top of the screen. She moved in a rigid stride to stand in the centre of the platform. The crowd moved around her but paid her no attention. It didn’t seem like they noticed her, and she paid no attention to them. She simply stood there, no baggage at hand, staring blankly ahead.


  “Is she drugged?”

  “The theory has been thrown around. Others are leaning more towards shock. And some …” Joe trailed off but what he meant was clear.

  “Some are saying she’s just a natural weirdo. Because of her parents?”

  “It’s hard to shake the name.”

  “You’ve talked to her, Joe. You know she’s not like that. And I’ve never seen her go five minutes without fidgeting.”

  “And I’m telling them that but, here, watch.”

  Louis turned back to the screen in time to see a train pull into the station. People herded closer to the sliding doors to wait for the previous passengers to disperse. Marigold stood where she was, but finally, she moved. Just her head. She twisted her neck, looked over her shoulder, and lifted her gaze to the camera. Louis leaned back, his hands suddenly clammy. It could be played off as a trick of the light, and odd eccentricity, and he knew it probably would be. But a small voice inside of Louis whispered that it wasn’t. Her eyes. There was no light in them. Structurally, they looked the same as they ever were, but there was no light in them, no life. They looked as flat and emotionless as a doll’s. Like the dead. He had heard of that look but he wished never to see it.

  “Oh, God.”

  “She gets on the train and with such a clear shot of her face not many are willing to argue that it isn’t her.”

  “That’s not Marigold.”

  “Louis.”

  “I need to call Ma.”

  He could feel the color drain from his face and his stomach clenched tight enough to make him ill.

  “What are you thinking? That it’s a ghost? A Diab? A lost spirit? Either way, it’s going to be a hard sell down at the station.”

  “Joe,” the fine tremors of his fingers sunk into his jaw. He continued when he was sure he could without throwing up. “That thing was never human.”

  Chapter 17

  The bolts that held the shackle to the untreated wood inched out with each of her furious tugs. The process was slow and devastated her wrists. She pulled harder. Marigold could hear the wood crack and splinter but it was never enough to grant her freedom. Tears and hysteria had given way to a cold determination. Her muscles ached, her wrists bled, and it felt like the bones of her shoulder were grinding against themselves, but still she refused to stop.