Midnight Cravings
Page 23
As a favor to Holland, Rebecca Pullman had placed an energy field around her house in Frombleton. It was comforting to know that her mother was safe when the vampires roamed at night.
Holland picked up the thick leather-bound menu from the desk. It was hard to make a selection from the numerous, yummy-looking selections. She finally settled on a simple grilled cheese sandwich and a cup of tea, which reminded her of dinner at home.
While waiting for her food, she picked up the phone and called home. She smiled the moment she heard Phoebe’s voice. “Hi, Mom, I’m here.”
“How do you like it? Are the girls nice? Are you settled in, hon?”
“It’s amazing, Mom. I’m kind of in a daze . . . you know, it’s all so ritzy. I’m sort of overwhelmed.”
“You’ll get used to it. I’m already checking off the days until Thanksgiving break. I miss you, hon.”
“I miss you, too, Mom. Did I get any mail from Jonas?”
“No, not yet,” Phoebe said solemnly. “But I’m sure you’ll hear from him soon.”
“Yeah, I’m sure I will,” Holland agreed, but in her heart she was worried that she’d never see Jonas again. “So what’s new in Frombleton?”
“Nothing new here. There haven’t been any recent posts about puncture marks or blood-drained bodies turning up. But there is something strange going on in Willow Hill, the farming community twenty miles north of here.”
“What’s happening there?” Holland asked, without much interest. Her mind was on Jonas.
“It’s been reported in the news that human carcasses have been turning up on the side of the road and in wooded areas. They suspect that the majority of the bodies are undocumented migrant workers because they haven’t been able to identify them. They were able to identify one victim—a female college student who’d gone out for a morning jog and never returned home. That poor girl’s body was ripped to shreds. Investigators think that these people were attacked by wild animals, but there’s a rumor going around that there’s a plague of zombies in that area.”
“Zombies!” Holland repeated in a shocked voice.
“It’s an outlandish notion, but I plan to avoid that area to be on the safe side.”
“Good idea,” Holland mumbled, her thoughts on Jonas and the curse.
There was a knock on the door. “I have to go, Mom. My food is here.”
“Fancy, shmancy,” Phoebe kidded. “Room service, huh? Sounds like you’re getting the royal treatment.”
“Yeah, it looks that way,” Holland said distractedly. “I’ll call you tomorrow. Love you, Mom.”
Sitting on her bed, eating a gourmet grilled cheese made with Mediterranean cheddar, pesto, black olives, and shiitake mushrooms on marble rye, she wondered if Jonas had found Mamba Mathilde. And she also wondered if there was any connection between Jonas’s affliction and the killings in Willow Hill.
No! How could there be? From her knowledge, Jonas had never traveled to Willow Hill or anywhere north of Frombleton.
But something nagged at Holland. A vague knowing that whatever was going on in Willow Hill was more than a mere rumor—something was horribly amiss.
And though she was hundreds of miles away from home, and living in the loveliest and most peaceful environment that she could have ever imagined, Holland had an ominous feeling that she’d be battling zombies in her foreseeable future.
CHAPTER 39
HAITI
A white candle, a clear glass of water, and a pot of flowers were set on a table in honor of the spirits. The mamba clasped both his hands and closed her eyes as if in prayer. Jonas had expected a more elaborate ceremony—a complicated ritual with drumming, song, and dance, but Mamba Mathilde was conducting a very simple ritual.
With bated breath, Jonas waited for her to open her eyes and give him the good news. Minutes passed and still her eyes remained closed.
Finally she lifted her eyelids and unclasped his hands. She looked at him for an uncomfortably long time. Finally, she spoke. “Your hands are cold. Your soul is lost in the wind. I’m sorry, you are too far gone; there’s nothing I can do.”
Surely his ears deceived him. “Wh . . . what do you mean? I was told that your magic is the best—that you can help me.”
“I cannot reach your soul.”
“Please. You must help me. I can’t go on like this.” Jonas abruptly stood and stuck his hand in his pocket, pulling out money. “I’ll pay you! I’ll give you everything I have.”
“Your soul has fled; I can’t bring it back. You are dead.”
“No! Don’t say that. I’m alive.” He strode to her side. Anguish stooped his shoulders and lowered his head. “I stand here before you with breath in my body; with a heart that beats. Is that not proof that I’m alive?”
Mamba Mathilde shook her head. Jonas dropped to his knees and wailed. “I beg you, find my soul . . . return it to me.”
She touched the top of his head. “You must accept it—accept your death. The person you once were is gone.”
Jonas shook his head. “That’s not true.”
“The sprits tell me otherwise.”
He dropped his head in Mamba Mathilde’s lap. Grief that he was unable to contain any longer poured out in tears and choking gasps. And when he could cry no more, he stood.
“I’m alive,” Jonas insisted for the final time, and then departed the mamba’s house.
Blending with the night, Jonas crept toward a crumbling hut and slipped silently inside. In a tiny room, his mother and two sisters slept.
“Mother, I’m here,” Jonas whispered. His little sister, Racine, woke up first. The smile he expected did not appear on her face. Her cry of fear awakened his mother and sister, Desiree.
They also emitted shouts of alarm and wept in despair. Desiree reached under a pillow, and brought out a large crucifix, which she clutched in horror.
“No one greets me with smiles . . . only tears and shouts. Why?” Jonas’s face was contorted in pain.
“You died in the water—you were buried at sea. I received word that you drowned,” his mother said, both arms stretched protectively around her two daughters.
“But I live. You see me.”
“Yes, my son, I see you. And your appearance in my home is something I’ve dreaded since I received your letter that contained American money. My son is dead, I told myself. Was this money sent from the grave?”
Desiree and Racine cried harder.
“I figured it out. I realized that you were involved in dark magic—a spell was cast on your unholy soul. And now you have returned.” His mother shook her head; tears filled her eyes. “There’s no place for you in this house.”
“Mother . . .” His voice broke off. It was hopeless.
“You must go before someone sees you. I no longer care what happens to me, but your sisters will suffer unendurably if word gets around that their dead brother makes visits in the night.”
Jonas nodded solemnly. Resolute, he dug in his pocket and withdrew money and placed the bills on the bed. “It’s for the lenders. To keep them from harassing you.”
“They’re wicked men. No amount of money will ever satisfy them.” Jonas’s mother removed her arms from around her weeping daughters and pulled down the sleeve of her nightgown, revealing a deep gash that was in the process of healing.
Tears pooled in Jonas’s eyes.
“They promised that it will be my face the next time the payment is late.”
“Oh, Mother . . .”
“Go to Verrettes. No one knows you there. No one will suspect that you are not a living person. Get an education. Make a life, where there is no life. Go now, Jonas. You must leave.”
He took brisk steps toward the small bed and threw his arms around his family, and kissed them goodbye. He touched his mother’s face one last time before returning to the darkness of the night.
Jonas watched in the shadows as Francois banged on the door. The pockets of Francois’s trousers bulged with his collect
ions of the day. Jonas watched as Desiree opened the door with a trembling hand, and admitted the well-dressed moneylender into the old, rundown ramshackle hut.
And when the moneylender exited, Jonas followed, hands clawed and grinding his teeth as he quietly stalked his prey.
ABOUT JOELLE STERLING
After nearly a decade of penning erotic bestsellers, Allison Hobbs was ready to embrace her passion for writing paranormal novels. Using the pseudonym Joelle Sterling presented the perfect opportunity for Allison to share her fascination with the supernatural and broaden the scope of her readership.
Joelle Sterling is a full-time writer living in Philadelphia, PA.
ALSO BY ALLISON HOBBS
Brick
Scandalicious
Put a Ring On It
Lipstick Hustla
Stealing Candy
The Sorceress
Pure Paradise
Disciplined
One Taste
Big Juicy Lips
The Climax
A Bona Fide Gold Digger
The Enchantress
Double Dippin’
Dangerously in Love
Insatiable
Pandora’s Box
Strebor Books
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Largo, MD 20792
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
© 2012 by Joelle Sterling
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means whatsoever. For information address Strebor Books, P.O. Box 6505, Largo, MD 20792.
ISBN 978-1-59309-419-5
ISBN 978-1-4516-5588-9 (ebook)
LCCN 2012933939
First Strebor Books trade paperback edition October 2012
Cover design: www.mariondesigns.com
Cover photograph: © Keith Saunders/Marion Designs
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