Once Haunted, Twice Shy (The Peyton Clark Series Book 2)

by H. P. Mallory

  I didn’t know how she felt about strangers but I did know how I felt about her. Suffice it to say that I was more than happy I wouldn’t have to hang around Guarda’s while drinking the neutralizer or the wormwood. There was just something about her, some intangible inkling that warned me to keep away.

  So what if she doesn’t want us comin’ back with you!” Ryan exclaimed after we returned to his truck and Lovie told everyone what had happened at Guarda’s. “I don’t give a damn!”

  “Well—” Lovie started, her lips pursed together tightly with stiff composure.

  “Sorry to interrupt you, Lovie, but I just don’t feel right about the two of you goin’ back in that shack on your own,” Ryan continued. “I had to hold myself back from insistin’ you take me with you when you first went in.”

  “I must agree that I don’t feel good about you both going in alone either, Lovie,” Christopher concurred from the backseat as we pulled into the parking lot of a Winn-Dixie grocery store a few miles away from Guarda’s hovel.

  “You know how Guarda is, Christopher,” Lovie argued, shaking her head. “If I want Guarda’s help, I gotta ’bide by her rules.” With a sigh, she rubbed her forehead as if she was frustrated with the whole situation. Considering our interaction with Guarda earlier, and her less-than-friendly approach to Lovie, I guessed Lovie didn’t like the idea of going back alone any better than Ryan or Christopher did.

  I glanced down at the remaining glass vial in my hand, which Guarda called wormwood. I’d already downed the “neutralizer,” which had tasted strangely of ginger, about an hour ago. Now all that was left was the wormwood. The vial of wormwood seemed to glow green in the dark midday, amid the shadows of the rain still splattering Ryan’s windshield. “What is this stuff anyway, Lovie?” I asked as I held it up to what little light the sky rendered. “Isn’t wormwood a different name for absinthe?”

  Lovie nodded. “Yes, wormwood an’ absinthe are the same.”

  “La fée verte,” Drake added. “The green fairy.”

  “Isn’t that illegal here in the US?” Trina asked.

  “Oui. It has been illegal since 1912,” Drake answered as Ryan talked over him.

  “It used to be,” Ryan said. “But it’s been legal for a while now.”

  “Well, what the US refers to as absinthe is legal, anyway,” Christopher corrected him with a nod. “But the absinthe you find here isn’t the same as the absinthe in Europe or what Peyton’s holding in her hand,” he explained, nodding his head in the direction of my vial. “The thujone, which gives absinthe that buzz, is missing in the legal varieties available, so it really isn’t the same species at all.”

  “The thujone is also responsible fer enhancin’ psychic visions an’ creatin’ spiritual clarity,” Lovie added. “Absinthe without it is basically useless . . . well, as far as contactin’ spirits is concerned anyway.”

  “So that’s why we came to Guarda?” I asked, glancing down at the vial in my hands again. “For this?”

  Lovie nodded. “Guarda pretty much prescribes her wormwood recipe for any ailment. When paired with the power o’ her voodoo magic, she can heal the sick, see the future, ensure that yer man ain’t spendin’ his time with yer best friend . . . the list goes on.”

  I took a deep breath and hesitantly glanced back at the smallish vial, which was maybe comparable to the size of my thumb. “So we don’t know what’s in it exactly?” I asked in a cautious tone, which revealed my true feelings when it came to the idea of drinking the stuff.

  “We know the essentials,” Christopher started. “Absinthe is basically wormwood, combined with various herbs like hyssop, lemon balm, fennel, peppermint, or angelica, along with sixty-eight percent alcohol.”

  “What makes it that greenish-blue color?” Trina asked, eyeing the vial with interest.

  “The chlorophyll content,” Lovie responded.

  “So what’s so special about Guarda’s version?” I asked, glancing back at Lovie and Christopher as I narrowed my eyes. I was still wondering why we needed to involve Guarda at all. “Sounds like you both know how to make it?”

  Lovie shook her head. “We don’t know the magic she adds to it. We don’t know her magical recipe.”

  “Making absinthe is a long and difficult process,” Christopher added in a didactic tone. “Between collecting the ingredients, macerating them with a pestle and mortar, steeping them, and then straining the nearly final product, it takes a few days.” He took a deep breath before resuming his sermon again. “Making absinthe is an intimate process between the creator and the absinthe itself. You have a close relationship with the herbs and the power of your intent breeds the absinthe, and flavors it with your own magical imprint.”

  Lovie reached down between her feet and gripped the handles of a large, colorful fabric bag with a paisley pattern, which she plopped on her lap. Looking through it, she pulled out a glass and handed it to Trina without any explanation. Trina just shrugged and accepted it while Lovie continued digging through the enormous bag that occupied her entire lap. The next thing she pulled out was a ziplock baggy full of what looked like mint, then a small vial of something syrupy, and, finally, a can of club soda.

  “What’s all that stuff?” I asked in wonder.

  “It’s the N’awlins lagniappe recipe fer drinkin’ absinthe,” Lovie responded as she folded the bag, but left it sitting in her lap. Taking the glass from Trina, she settled it on top of the sack while she opened the baggy and took out a handful of mint leaves. She pushed the leaves into the glass and unscrewed the cap of the bottle filled with syrupy stuff.

  “What’s that?” Trina asked.

  “Sugar syrup,” Lovie replied, emptying about an ounce of it into the glass. Reaching into her bag again, she produced a slotted metal spoon. She placed the spoon over the top of the glass, being careful to balance it. Then she reached back into her satchel and retrieved a single sugar cube, which she placed on the spoon. “Peyton, hand me the absinthe, please,” Lovie said.

  I nodded and handed her the absinthe, which she took, pulling the cork from the top of the vial. She carefully poured the green liquid—no more than an ounce or so—on top of the sugar cube. The sugar cube soaked up the dazzling green liquid before it began to dissolve, falling through the slots in the spoon. When the absinthe mixed with the sugary liquid in the glass, it went from green to a milky white. After all of the absinthe was in the glass, Lovie unscrewed the top of the club soda bottle and added it, filling the glass right up to the rim. She handed the glass to me once it was full, and as soon as I accepted it, she held up her hand to motion me to stop.

  “Before you take a sip o’ it,” she started as she reached into her bag of tricks and took out a red flannel bag the size of my palm, “you must keep this close ta you. It’s easiest jist ta slip it into yer pocket.” She handed the small bag to me and I studied it curiously. Attached to the drawstring holding the sack shut was a blue bead. The inside of the bead was white. There was a lighter, aqua-blue spot inside the white circle, and a black center in the middle of the aqua spot. The overall effect made it look like an eyeball.

  “What is it?” I asked, rotating the red flannel bag around in my hand. The back looked exactly the same as the front.

  “It’s a gris-gris fer protection,” Lovie responded.

  Immediately, the gris-gris—pronounced gree-gree—at the tourist trap, Marie Laveau’s House of Voodoo, came to mind, which was sold to me when I first tried to eject the malevolent entity from my house. It hadn’t worked. I eyed the thing with little interest and looked back at Lovie. “Do these things really work?”

  Lovie nodded emphatically and seemed irritated that I asked the question in the first place. “If the gris-gris is created by someone who is strong enough in her magic, then yes, it does work.”

  “What’s in it an’ what’s it supposed to do?” Ryan asked, eyeing the t
hing suspiciously.

  Lovie faced him with a perturbed expression, and one of her eyebrows arched up dramatically. Apparently, she didn’t appreciate having her methods questioned. “This gris-gris is filled with snake skin, frog bones, cigarette ashes, an’ horsehair; an’ it’s all tied together with an evil eye bead,” she started. “As fer what it does? Why, it protects.” Apparently, satisfied with her response, she turned to me. “Now, Peyton, usin’ both hands, hold the gris-gris in the palms o’ yer hands an’ close yer fingers ova it.” I did as she instructed. “Then bring it ta yer mouth an’ gently blow into it. Yer breath is what activates the gris-gris.”

  Taking a deep breath, I released it into the bag. I didn’t feel different, and as far as I could tell, the gris-gris didn’t seem any more active than it had been a second ago. “Okay,” I said.

  “Good, honey. Now the gris-gris knows ya need its protection. I want ya ta wear this gris-gris at all times, from here on out, whenever we’re in Guarda’s company, or whenever ya take her magic into yerself, ya hear?”

  I nodded and placed the gris-gris into my pocket for safekeeping as I contemplated Lovie’s words. As far as taking Guarda’s “magic into myself,” I figured Lovie meant I had to down the magical absinthe concoction Guarda had brewed up in her House of Horrors. Then something occurred to me. “Why didn’t we take this precaution before we walked into Guarda’s house? Or before I drank the neutralizer?”

  “Guarda didn’t tamper with the neutralizer,” Lovie answered. “Remember how the cap was sealed in plastic?” I nodded as she continued. “Nothin’ there ta worry ’bout. As to why we didn’t take any precautions ’fore enterin’ her house?” She shrugged. “Well, you hadn’t ingested any o’ her magical potions yet so there was no need.” Then she focused on the vial of wormwood. “Now you gotta drink that downright after we create yer spiritual barrier.”

  “Create my spiritual barrier?” I repeated, clearly dumbfounded. “I thought we were trying to uncreate it?”

  Lovie shook her head. “We’re makin’ a barrier ’tween you an’ evil influences. We are protectin’ yer spirit from forces that would do you harm.”

  “Will I still be able to hear Drake though? Or will this barrier block him as well?”

  Lovie shook her head. “It won’t block Drake. You’ll still be able ta pick up what he tells ya,” she answered, reaching into the satchel on her lap and producing yet another vessel of what looked like olive oil. She opened the bottle as she faced me. “It might be better if we did this outside the truck.”

  I nodded and handed my untouched absinthe cocktail to Ryan before opening my door and jumping down onto the asphalt of the parking lot. Lovie followed suit, taking hold of each of my arms and rotating my body so that I was facing her. Then she popped open the cork of the bottle she just fished out of her bag and dipped her index finger into it. She brought her finger, which smelled strangely of almonds, to my face, drawing a straight line from the center of my forehead to the tip of my nose. She dipped her finger in the oil again and drew lines across each of my cheeks. She finished by drawing three lines from my jaw to the bottom of my neck.

  “What is this oil?” I asked, finding the smell of it strangely appealing. It was sweet, but subtle.

  “It’s angelica oil—rosemary, bay leaves, an’ mandrake root, all combined into a base o’ almond oil. Workin’ together, they’ll protect you ’gainst anyone or anythin’ wants ta do ya harm.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to say a prayer or a chant or something?” I asked when it became clear that she wasn’t going to.

  Lovie shook her head and laughed. “Not all magic is magic you can see, Peyton. Remember how Christopher mentioned the power of intent an’ how it breeds magic?” I nodded. “Well, there’s yer answer.”

  I nodded again as the image of Lovie making the oil and imbuing it with thoughts about protection arose inside my head. That image, however, was ruined at the memory of the deathly stillness I saw in Guarda’s opaque eyes. I instantly felt my stomach recoiling on itself. “Why are you and Christopher so worried about Guarda?” I asked, studying Lovie carefully. In our short association, I hadn’t really seen her get apprehensive or fearful about anything, not even when she’d expelled the entity that was squatting in my house and all hell broke loose.

  Lovie glanced up at me as she screwed the lid back onto the vial of spiritual barrier oil. “Guarda delves inta good an’ bad magic. She’s powerful an’ she’s selfish. Those two make a frightenin’ pair.” After a long, deep breath, she smiled. “You’re protected as much as I can protect ya. Now you’re gonna have ta drink that absinthe down an’ let’s hope Guarda doesn’t have anythin’ up her sleeves.”

  “Ma minette,” Drake piped up. “Are you fully resigned to drinking that bizarre concoction? I cannot say I approve of this entire mission. Perhaps it is wiser just to see what awaits us Tuesday rather than jumping over such hurdles? Après tout, after all, perhaps nothing awaits us and we are simply being foolish in taking these precautions?”

  “You already know how I feel about the subject,” I responded.

  “Oui, je sais, I know, ma minette. But that is not to say that I approve of your feelings. This Guarda woman gives me an eerie feeling and I do not think it bodes well that Lovie appears quite distressed about her as well.”

  “The situation is what it is, Drake,” I responded, trying to avoid getting into an argument. I wasn’t in the mood to debate the pros and cons. In my mind, Guarda was the only avenue for me to communicate with the dead. With a deep breath, I nodded to Lovie to let her know I was ready to get the show on the road. I turned toward the truck and opened the door, glancing up at Ryan and smiling. But my smile wasn’t genuine—it was a reflection of my rattled nerves. “I guess I’m ready to drink that stuff,” I said.

  Looking down at the glass, he didn’t hand it to me right away. Instead, he looked back at Christopher and then at Lovie. “Are you sure it’s safe?” he asked.

  Christopher nodded immediately. “The last thing Guarda wants is the po-lice on her tail. Legally, it’s safe. It’s our spiritual safety that worries me.”

  “She’ll be fine,” Lovie insisted. “She’s protected with the gris-gris an’ the oil.” She eyed Ryan and nodded as he handed the glass to me. Then she faced me and smiled. “You good, babydoll, you good.”

  Figuring that was my cue, I brought the glass to my lips and swallowed the bitter liquid as soon as it hit my tongue. The aftertaste was something less bitter and slightly herbal. It wasn’t as overpowering as I expected.

  When I finished the contents of the glass, I handed it to Lovie, who was studying me. She examined me as if she half expected me to drop dead right there. “You good?” she asked with narrowed eyes.

  “I think so,” I answered.

  “I do not notice any change in your body as of yet, ma minette,” Drake announced. “Though I must admit, I quite enjoyed the taste of that spirit.”

  I smiled inwardly at Drake’s boyish charm. “Maybe it takes a while to start working.”

  “Peut-être,” he responded. “Perhaps.”

  “We gotta go back to Guarda’s now,” Lovie announced as she motioned for me to get back into the passenger seat. She walked around to the other side of the truck and opened the rear door, piling in as I did the same in the front.

  “You okay?” Ryan asked as soon as I sat down. I turned toward him and found him studying me quizzically.

  “Yeah, I feel fine so far,” I answered with a shrug. He started up the truck and we exited the parking lot without further conversation.

  “I don’t want you both goin’ back in there alone,” Ryan began, breaking the silence once we turned onto Davis Landing Road.

  “We have no other choice,” Lovie argued. “Guarda specifically said no one else was ta come with us.” Then she sighed. “Why don’t ya just park here on the street where she ca
n’t see the truck from her house? Peyton an’ I can walk the rest o’ the way. I got my cell phone with me, so if somethin’ comes up, I’ll give you a shout.”

  Ryan took a deep breath as if to argue, but must’ve realized he was out of order, and simply nodded. I offered him what I hoped was a reassuring smile, but his expression didn’t change. He pulled over to the side of the road, right before it curved around a bend, and where Guarda’s shack was visible from the street. He put the truck in “park” and turned off the engine.

  “Good luck, Pey,” Trina said in a soft voice.

  I turned around and smiled at her while Lovie opened her door and dropped down to the asphalt below. “We gotta hurry now, Peyton,” she said. I simply nodded and opened my door, taking a deep breath as I jumped down onto the road and closed the door behind me. A cold wind whipped through the trees and splashed rain onto my face, but I hurried to catch up with Lovie, who had already started down the long, muddy driveway leading to Guarda’s. I caught up to her just as she reached Guarda’s front door.

  Stepping onto the porch outside Guarda’s door, the wood below our feet whined in protest. Or maybe it was my stomach. It suddenly sprang to life and started groaning as if I were hungry. My attention was momentarily diverted at the sound of the spirit bottles as they clanked against each other while the wind rattled them unapologetically.

  “Yer stomach growlin’ is normal,” Lovie said as she eyed me, probably well aware that I was anything but relaxed about the whole situation. “There’s quite a bit o’ alcohol in the absinthe an’ sometimes, yer body don’t know how ta deal with it.” She brought her hand to the door, intending to knock, but the door opened to reveal Guarda standing there, staring up at us with a frown.

  “She drink it?” she demanded, addressing Lovie.

  “Yes,” Lovie answered quickly.