Skeptic

by Denise Mathew

  Dakota laughed. "Nurse Elise," he teased, and gave her his signature bad-boy squint. The tension in her face eased, and she stood up, cutting a glare in Mira's direction.

  "I think I can take it from here," Elise said, narrowing her eyes.

  Mira snorted, and strutted away. Nanny Flo however, didn't move an inch, maintaining her acid glower on Dakota. Her face was pinched more than seemed possible, and her foot beat a rapid staccato against the floor. Elise turned to face her grandmother.

  "We're fine here Nanny Flo, thanks for helping him."

  Dakota heard an edge in Elise's tone, that up until right then, had seemed reserved for Mira alone. Nanny Flo stood stalk still for a fraction of a second, then nodded.

  "Yes dear, I have to get started on dinner anyway," she said, with a sweet grin that didn't make it to her eyes. She hobbled away, leaving them alone. When Elise turned back to Dakota, there was suspicion in her gaze. He had the strangest feeling that she had somehow found out about Mira.

  "I called Jim, and he's going nuts worrying about our next few shoots, I guess my free ride has come to a grinding halt," she said. A faint smile curled the corners of her mouth.

  "So what are you going to do?" Dakota asked, thankful that he had read her wrong.

  She shook her head, and sighed.

  "When I was backed against a wall, I knew exactly what I needed to do, but with Tansy dead I have no idea," she said, sitting beside him.

  Elise was far enough away, that it made him feel like he had somehow done something wrong. Then he realized what she had just said.

  "How do you know Tansy’s dead?" he said, his mouth going sawdust dry.

  A mix of guilt and fear clouded Elise's face.

  "I did a search on her name, and I found her death notice, the details were sketchy and since her death is under investigation, it means that they suspect foul play. And no matter how much I try, I can't seem to explain it away. It can't be pure coincidence."

  She chewed on her bottom lip, nervously.

  Dakota's mouth fell open, and he felt dread run through him. Things had just taken an even weirder turn. Even after Elise had told him, he hadn't believed that Tansy was dead. As far as he was concerned, it had just been bullshit that Mira had managed to make Elise believe.

  "I didn't want to believe that Mira really did it Dakota. I know she was once into some dark stuff, but murder? It's just too much."

  Elise locked on Dakota's face, and a single tear trailed down her cheek, but she hastily brushed it away, then pursed her lips, as if it was taking all her will not to break down. He reached out to touch her, but she flinched, then moved her head away.

  "What's wrong?" he said.

  His heart hammered, and he immediately went on the defensive.

  "I can explain," he blurted out.

  "You can explain this?" she snapped, her face contorted with rage.

  He stared dumbly at the bag she shoved at him, and almost laughed when he realized that she wasn't talking about Mira.

  "That thing?" he asked, smirking. "You want me to explain that?"

  Elise jutted her chin forward, and Dakota twigged that she didn't find the bag as amusing as he did, but he had no idea why.

  "It's a mojo bag," he said, slanting her a look. "You know, like a stamina bag, not that I've ever had any problem in that department," he chuckled. "Supposed to make you go for hours. It's just a pile of crap really. Where did you find it anyway?"

  "In your glove compartment and it's not a..."

  She stared at the bag, as if it were a writhing snake."Where did you get it?" she asked, skewering him with her stare.

  He scratched his head, and searched his memory. Though he knew he'd had the bag for a while, he couldn't quite pin down exactly when, or even where, he had gotten it from.

  "That's odd, I can't seem to remember," he said, frowning.

  "None of this makes sense," Elise said, her voice laced with tension. Dakota grew more confused by the moment; there seemed no reason for her to be so rattled by a velvet bag that was just a gag.

  Elise got to her feet, and smoothed her blouse. "I've got to talk to Nanny Flo," she said, and from the set of her jaw, Dakota knew Elise's anger had shifted from him, to her grandmother.

  "What's up with the bag anyway?" Dakota asked, but Elise had already stalked away. He relaxed against the sofa, and stared at the beige stucco ceiling, and all he could think was that a storm was coming and when it did, all hell was going to break loose.

  16. ELISE

  For the whole ride back to the house, I tried to come up with a logical explanation for the gris-gris bag I had found. If Nanny Flo's handwriting hadn't been inside it, I might have worked out something believable, but with things as they were, there was no way I could spin the story so it made sense. It would have been easy to accuse Dakota of lying about the bag, but nobody was that good of a liar. I had known him long enough to recognize his tells, and he hadn't shown any. As far as I could see, he had been as genuinely stumped about where the gris-gris came from, as I was, and with no choices left, I knew I had to go to the source to get the answers I needed.

  I tucked the gris-gris into my jeans pocket, hoping I could pump as much information from my grandmother as I could, before I pulled out the evidence. I still didn't get why she would have made a love gris-gris with me as the object of affection, since she had always been so anal about me even dating.

  When I found the kitchen empty, I cursed under my breath, already knowing where Nanny Flo was. I strode out through the back porch, and onto the flagstone pathway leading to the garage. Slate grey clouds had formed a solid mass, and it looked like a storm was coming. It seemed fitting, because it felt like everything had suddenly come to a head. I had to have it out with my grandmother, and as soon as I did, I was leaving. Being away from the house had cleared my mind, and made me realize the pull the place had on me. Even the fact that there were no ghosts or spirits in the house was unsettling. Ghosts had always been drawn to me, and I had seen more than my fair share in town, so why was Nanny Flo making a conscious effort at keeping them away from the house.

  The door to the garage was closed, and the padlock that normally secured it was hanging from the door handle. I turned the knob and opened it just enough to peer inside. I couldn't see Mira, but Nanny Flo was standing behind the altar. I was shocked to see she had a spotted brown chicken clutched against her chest, with an athame a few inches from its neck. I liked fresh fried chicken as much as anyone else, but this was crazy. The chicken squawked, and struggled to escape, obviously aware that its life was in peril. For a second I was too paralyzed with disbelief to move.

  "Stop," I shrieked, finding my voice and flinging the door wide.

  Nanny Flo paused, and though she appeared startled at first, she promptly sliced the head from the chicken's neck with expert precision. Blood spurted, and one of the chicken's wings managed to break free, as if it could somehow fly away.

  My stomach seized, and I bent at the waist, dry heaving. When I was strong enough to stand, I staggered back a few steps, and gagged at what I saw. Mira had joined Nanny Flo, and was busy catching the still pumping blood from the chicken's severed neck, in a golden chalice. And seeing the grisly scene, made me want to get out of the garage, and out of Cape Glenn and never look back again.

  "What, what are you doing?" I stuttered, too stunned to move.

  Both of them seemed too absorbed in their work to acknowledge that I had spoken, and it only made the whole act seem more surreal, as if they did this kind of thing all the time.

  "I asked you a question," I hollered.

  Mira's cold eyes slid my way, like a viper gauging its kill, and for the first time since I had known her, she terrified me.

  "We need to handle her, now," she said, her gaze directed at me.

  And to my utter disbelief Nanny Flo focused her stare on me, and nodded.

  "Yes," she murmured.

  Mira deposited the chalice on the altar, then r
ushed toward me. With strength that I would never have expected, she grabbed my wrists in an iron grip. I struggled to break free, but as I did, the sensation of being drained of energy washed over me.

  "Dakota," I hollered, but my voice sounded wrong, and too low.

  The room began to spin, and Mira's face distorted. Her eyes turned ebony, her teeth looked like fangs, and her grin was as cold as death. I stumbled, and might have fallen, except for Mira's grasp on me.

  Nanny Flo's face floated into view, and she was as terrifying as Mira, only her eyes were amber and snake like. Her bluish-black lips had pulled back into a snarl, and now framed razor sharp teeth, that seemed too big for her mouth.

  "You were always too curious for your own good," Nanny Flo said.

  "Not you," I croaked, but I knew it was too late.

  Still, my mind searched for a reasonable explanation, because Nanny Flo would never hurt me, she had always protected me. But staring into her eyes, that now seemed more animal than human, I knew she wasn't going to help me now, or anytime soon. And as I slipped into the blackness of unconsciousness, I remembered the rose and the prophetic warning on the note, and hated that I had been too stupid to listen, because now I was going to pay for my mistake.

  17. DAKOTA

  Dakota leapt to his feet, certain he had heard Elise call his name, but it had been so whisper soft, that after a few minutes he had convinced himself that he had imagined it. He rubbed the bump on the side of his head, and plunked back down on the sofa. Although he had told Elise that he had felt fine, it wasn't exactly true.

  Ever since he had come around, he had felt like there was something he couldn't quite remember, as if there was information that he needed just on the edge of his psyche, but he couldn't quite get to it. As was always the case, the harder he tried to remember, the more elusive it became, until he started to feel a little crazy.

  "Atticus," he whispered, knowing that the name was important, but not why.

  "Hey lover," Mira said, strolling into the room, a sexy smile blazoned across her face.

  "Leave me alone," Dakota said, shooting a sideways glance her way, and when he did, he noticed that her sundress was spattered crimson. He vaulted from the sofa.

  "Is that blood?" he asked, pointing at the bodice of her dress.

  She giggled, and the maniacal sound of it felt so wrong.

  "Of course it is you dimwit."

  She drew in a long breath, and crossed her arms over her chest, clearly unaffected by the stain of blood across her breasts.

  "I'm tired of you like this. I'm not waiting for the blood moon. The hell with taking orders from that old bag, I need you back Atticus."

  Dakota stiffened at the mention of the name he had just been thinking.

  "What did you call me?" he asked.

  Mira licked her lips, and locked her gaze on him ravenously. She snaked toward him and his lust for her, ignited. Mira pushed him back, and he fell against the couch, unable to resist.

  "Spread your arms," she said, and Dakota couldn't disobey. There was a voice in his head that told him to fight it, fight her, but it felt like the volume was too low, and his desire for her superseded everything else.

  "Good boy," she whispered, straddling him. His hands stroked the smooth skin of her thighs, and he wanted to rip her dress off and take her there.

  "Arms out," she said, irritated.

  Dakota did as he was bid, though it was almost painful for him not to touch her. When she pulled the slender dagger from between her breasts, his breath came hard and fast. His body burned for her, like a fever that fried his senses, and everything but Mira ceased to exist. She sliced through the fabric of his t-shirt and he groaned, certain he was going to orgasm any moment. Mira traced the cold tip against his chest, and he moaned for her to do it, cut him, make him bleed, then she could lick every drop off his body. Just imagining her like a hungry cat, lapping up his blood, made his body thrum with excitement.

  "Yes, yes, yes, cut me," he begged, and he felt the blade puncture his skin. Warm blood dripped down his chest, and he knew that Atticus liked it when Mira did that.

  An image flashed in his brain of the last time Mira had drawn what he now knew was a sigil or a magical symbol on his chest, and branded him with an unbreakable spell. For a fraction of a second, Dakota's mind cleared and he knew that she was controlling him, but he had no way to fight it. He willed his arms to move, to throw her off him, because if Mira completed the sigil, everything would change, he would change.

  "Don't," he managed to say. His voice hardly seemed his own, and he knew Atticus wanted this, because as soon as the sigil was completed, he would be free and Dakota would be pushed to the recesses again.

  Mira's face was a mask of concentration, as she cut the symbol into his chest. As soon as she had completed the sigil, the one that Atticus had designed with her, she began chanting the words that would bring on the change. Dakota felt something stir deep within him, someone who had been asleep for too long, someone who hadn't realized the price that the spell would incur, was waking up. Dakota felt the internal shackles that held Atticus prisoner, fall away, and his lips began to move but what he said weren't his words.

  His voice grew huskier with an Irish timbre. Dakota felt the shackles grip him, metal cover his mouth, trapping his words in his throat and now he was in the same prison that Atticus had just left, and he wondered if it had felt the same for the druid as it did for him.

  "Atticus?" Mira whispered, writhing on Dakota's lap like a nymphomaniac who hadn't had sex in a month.

  Dakota nodded, though he hadn't meant to. In that moment he understood what was happening to him, why his body was moving and doing things that he hadn't planned.

  Mira's eyes exploded with excitement, and her face flushed. Her bottom lip trembled, before she caught it between her teeth.

  "She didn't fuck you, did she?" she said, between heavy breaths.

  Atticus shook his head and his grin was wolfish, it had been too long since he'd had Mira.

  Without another word, she tugged her dress over her head, and tossed it to the side. Now naked, she dipped her fingers in his blood, then smeared it all over her breasts, over her taut stomach and even between her legs. Then her mouth was on his chest, she sucked and licked at the blood still dripping from his newly carved sigil, and when she brought her head back up, Atticus captured her hot, bloody mouth with his.

  It had been a long three years since he had been locked away, and he felt his control over his urges, waver ever so slightly. He shifted his buttocks almost imperceptibly, but Mira responded as though he had entered her, and arched her back, gasping. Eyes glazed and unfocused, Mira shoved her slender fingers into the waistband of his pants, and in a fraction of a second she had unbuttoned, unzipped and pushed his underwear aside and had him in a tight grip. Atticus closed his eyes, and waited for her weight on him, it had been an eternity.

  As if a passenger in his own body, Dakota watched the scene unfold, all the while disgusted by Mira, knowing that whatever he had felt for her had been Atticus's feelings seeping through the barrier, that kept the two halves of their soul apart.

  "No," a high pitched voice rang out. Atticus cracked his eyes just enough to see the old Voodoo priestess, the one he despised but had agreed to work with after Mira had begged him to, hobble across the room.

  "You will wait for the blood moon," she declared. "Then you can rut like animals, for all I care." Mira's eyes were black with fury, yet her tone was syrupy sweet.

  "Of course Nanny Flo," she said, snatching her dress from the sofa, and tugging it over her head. Dakota was relieved that he had been saved from having sex with Mira. Atticus might have been happy to screw the bitch, but she repulsed Dakota, because unlike before, he could see that there was something cruel and dark inside her, like some part of her had been broken beyond repair.

  "Get me some new bloody clothes, woman," Atticus ordered.

  Mira nodded a rapid ascent, and was gone wit
hout a backward glance. Dakota marveled at Mira's unwavering obedience, since it wasn't the kind of behavior he had come to expect from her.

  Atticus stood, and through his eyes Dakota felt almost taller, as if he had grown a couple of inches. He had always been fit, but his muscles seemed to ripple with power, in fact his whole body vibrated with the overwhelming confidence of a man, who knew his value, and always got what he wanted.

  "She's awakened you sooner than planned," the old woman said with disdain, and Atticus wanted to crush her beneath his boot or runner, whatever the other half called Dakota was wearing.

  "Not soon enough," Atticus said in a low growl. "In fact I hadn't anticipated being in prison as long as I was."

  Nanny Flo narrowed her eyes, in a move that Atticus knew incited fear in the average person, but he wasn't an average person, not by a long shot.

  "You can't couple until the blood moon," she said, taking a step closer. She uncoiled her aged body, and seemed to shed her frailness like an unwanted garment.

  "I know that," he said dryly, scanning the room through newborn eyes.

  "It didn't look that way," Nanny Flo said, lifting a black eyebrow.

  Atticus released an extended sigh.

  "I haven't endured being imprisoned for the past three years to piss it away on a piece of ass," he said, grinning.

  And for the briefest flash, he saw the old woman flinch. Her reaction was so controlled that most would have missed it. He was more than satisfied that even the Voodoo priestess cowered before him.

  "We've had some trouble with the girl, so I guess it's not so bad that the little slut awakened you."

  This piece of information peaked both Atticus and Dakota's interest.

  "What's happened?" he asked, steepling his fingers.

  "She walked in on us reinforcing the barrier against the Elder witches."

  At the mention of the Elder witches, Atticus felt the blood drain from his face, but he managed to swallow his fear long enough to say. "The barrier should have been impenetrable, I cast it myself."

  Now it was Nanny Flo's turn to be smug. Dakota read in her satisfied expression, that she was well aware of how terrified Atticus was of the only entities that had dominion over him.