Valor: The Custos Saga

by Jessica Tastet

  Her mother had written in her journal about this city as if it were her first lover. The words seemed strange in context, but Angelica understood as she wandered through the streets. It was beautiful, old world magical with its music filtering through, and the people’s laissez faire attitude.

  Lily’s teenage scrawl babbled about friends and places she’d found on these streets when she’d lived here. Angelica wandered around looking for signs of those places. The people would come later, but she searched the places from twenty-six years ago that could offer some connection to her mother.

  She stopped abruptly before a crumbling gray brick building with its weathered wooden sign scorched with the words Gris Gris. In the dull window of the deep green door, a plastic “help wanted” sign hung crookedly, and a faded open sign hung next to it. Menacing hand carved wooden masks and religious figures hung in the cloudy picture window.

  Angelica searched for the carved initials on the door panel, and she found them near a carved triangle. L.V. This was it. The place her mother, Lily, had worked while living here.

  A bell jangled as she pushed the door open. Tables of wooden carvings, bins of crystals, shelves of candles and incense, and a glass case with labeled potions filled the tiny shop. A strange herbal smell mingled with the smell of old. A rather tall, spiky haired gentleman stood behind the counter discussing a glossy paperback book with a loud intoxicated woman wearing a black and silver feather boa around her neck.

  He was quite striking with his dark hair and deep bluish-green eyes. Angelica was studying the arch of his eyebrows and the beautiful long lashes when his eyes met hers. She looked away and bit down on her lip to hide her embarrassed smile.

  She turned from him and pressed her fingers along the edge of a display table. She wanted to see those eyes again, but she straightened her spine and forced her gaze at the labeled minerals in tiny bins on the table.

  She reached the end of the table and noticed the books lining the back wall. She ran her fingers over the spines of witchcraft, vampire, and voodoo books, conscious of the signs that read only touch the books if you’re buying. She pulled a large, heavy book from the shelf and peeked back toward the counter.

  His eyes met hers and she’d swear his lip twitched with a smile. He probably thought she was flirting instead of just giving into her eye obsession. Eyes fascinated her, and she looked for eyes like her own—unique, one of a kind, on stranger’s faces. He certainly was handsome enough to flirt with though. Not now, Angelica. Angelica glanced away and looked down at the book she held with both hands.

  The title, Book of Shadows, burned deep black into the blue leather. Something about that title caused memories to shift inside her head. She waited while an image struggled to the surface.

  There’d been blinding flashes of white. Lily had worn a long white cotton dress with her hair pulled back in braids. She’d sat in a field intertwining long stemmed dried flowers around a midnight stone. A book had lain in her lap with yellowing pages. It was open to a picture of…something that had scared her. She’d looked away quickly.

  Angelica’s eyes sprang open and the image faded.

  “Are you planning to buy that book?”

  Angelica jumped as the store clerk stared down at her, a curious expression crossed his face and Angelica wondered what he was thinking. She could easily peek, but she didn’t want to ruin this moment where she could just wonder and it could be anything.

  He grinned. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Can I help you with that book?”

  Angelica laughed, recovering from her shock. She could feel her face form its expression. The expression she used to lure people in, to make them believe they were the center of her attention.

  She hated that it came natural; she hated that she had to think not to fall into it. “I’m sorry.” Angelica glanced down at the book. She needed to buy this. She felt it stir in her abdomen. “I’ll take this book.”

  His eyes sparked with a grayish light. She nearly let her guard down and listened to his thoughts. It was such a strange reaction from a stranger.

  He turned toward the register and she followed him. “Where are you from?” He asked glancing back toward her.

  A skinny, dark-haired woman walked into the store and drew his attention from Angelica. The woman moved behind the counter and straightened an eclectic arrangement of objects on the counter.

  Anywhere. Nowhere. Places she didn’t remember. “Georgia, I’m visiting with a friend.”

  He smiled at the woman while he punched numbers into an antique register. His eyes didn’t light the same way as earlier. A co-worker then? Not a girlfriend. What was she thinking anyway? She’d come to find answers not a love interest. “Roxy here means my shift is over for the evening. By the way, I’m Lysander. I’m a transplant.”

  Angelica watched him place her receipt inside the book. She reached out to take the bag and brushed his fingers before he jerked his hand away. The shiver up her arm was unexpected. “I haven’t eaten since before I boarded a plane this morning. You wouldn’t have a recommendation for me, would you?”

  Lysander laughed, a nice relaxed sound easy on the ears. “There’s a great place on St. Peter’s to get good fried shrimp.”

  Angelica smiled coyly. “I’m afraid all the streets seem the same to me. Would it be too much trouble for you to show me since you’re getting off? I’d really appreciate it.”

  Roxy snorted. “Mr. Cheap is not going to buy your lunch, darlin’.”

  Lysander glared at Roxy, reproachful.

  Angelica smiled, focusing her attention on him. Rule six of getting what you wanted was making your mark feel as if he was the only one in the room. She inwardly cringed at her own thoughts. “How about a free meal in exchange for all those places I need to see while I’m in the city. I’d be eternally grateful if you did.” She tilted her head for good measure.

  Their eyes met and her face began to heat. That was new. Normally she felt nothing, only the intoxication of success.

  He grinned. “Who could refuse an offer like that?”

  She was good at pretending. She’d learned at the feet of Lily, her mother. She didn’t even know what to call the woman who’d given birth to her because of all the lies that had been so convincing.

  Fifteen minutes later after an awkward, but exhilarating walk, she and Lysander sat at a corner booth with red and white check tablecloth in the back of a small, noisy restaurant chasing fried shrimp po-boys with a cup of café au lait. Darkness had swallowed the streets moments after their entrance. People had come and gone at a fast pace through the small closet of a restaurant.

  Angelica set her cup down and peeked at him below her eyelashes. She’d noticed he was studying her as much as she studied him. They’d gotten past pleasantries, but he seemed to be holding back. People didn’t do that normally. “Have you worked at Gris Gris long?”

  “Four or five years.” He studied her with his arm resting on the back of the booth.

  She suspected he was working his own charms, which felt ridiculous, but possible she supposed.

  “Are there many people that work at the shop?”

  “Roxy and I are it right now, except for the owner. We’re looking for help, you interested?”

  Angelica laughed as she leaned forward. “My resume says psychology school drop out.”

  Dead end with him, as she expected of course. Lily would have worked there long before he or Roxy. She could have gotten lucky and he could have been the son or grandson of the owner, but it had been a long shot. The owner may be a connection though.

  “Is it one of those family tradition businesses, you know kept in the family for a century?”

  “Nah.” Lysander shook his head. “Mr. Roeneaux has only owned it for nine, maybe ten years. I think it was a distant relative that owned it before, but I’m not certain.”

  She’d have to try elsewhere. She studied the tawny liquid in her cup to hide her disappointment. It wasn’t as if she’d
expected to find the connection the first night. She hadn’t expected it to be easy, but she’d been hopeful for some lead. She didn’t have many places to look that were mentioned in the journal, and she needed to find something so that she didn’t feel crazy for embarking on this search.

  She shook herself. Maybe it wasn’t a complete loss. “So what else do you do besides the voodoo shop?”

  “My band has a standing gig three nights a week, and I work for this parapsychologist. Really boring work.”

  Angelica traced the top of the cup with her finger. Her back stiffened and the hairs on the back of her neck rose. “I’d think chasing the paranormal would at least be interesting.”

  “Sometimes seeing is believing if you know what I mean. There’s not much to see, and I’m just not the enthusiastic type.”

  Angelica’s eyes didn’t meet his. She breathed slowly to lower her pulse. “Sometimes people looking for the paranormal are overly enthusiastic.”

  She’d been harassed for three years of high school by an overly enthusiastic parapsychologist. He’d had constant video of her and had attempted to out her with various set ups that had resulted in more than one precarious situation. He’d even tried to trick Grams into signing over guardianship of her that last year. It’d been the first time she’d used a certain ability of hers she pretended didn’t exist. She still didn’t like to think about it- any of it.

  She pulled herself out of the past and felt Lysander’s eyes on her. Angelica checked her defenses and the walls were drawn tight. Being the paranoid she typically was with strangers, she couldn’t believe she hadn’t checked yet. She briefly lowered them and peeked into his thoughts, but she heard nothing. No random thoughts, no white noise. That was odd in itself, but she was being ridiculous. The statistics of meeting another psychic randomly couldn’t be very high.

  “I hate to end our conversation.” He smiled, a dimple in his right cheek appearing. “But I must get ready for tonight’s gig.”

  Angelica tucked her hair back behind her ear. She wouldn’t call this evening a success, and she wasn’t sure why her tricks hadn’t worked on him. “I suppose I should get back to my friend who may have a search party out for me by now.”

  They stood up at the same time, and there was an awkward moment of smiling and staring. Angelica smiled as he allowed her to walk first and consoled herself with the thought that at least she didn’t have to see him again.

  At the open doorway of the restaurant, Lysander towered over her 5’4” frame. “It was nice meeting you. I hope we run into each other again.”

  She tilted her head as she touched his arm, not that her charms had worked on him. “I’m sure New Orleans isn’t so big that we won’t stumble upon each other again.”

  She slid her hand away, and his eyes darkened. “I play at Luther’s Cross if you ever want to stumble in that direction.”

  “Maybe,” Angelica said as she turned toward Bourbon. “Good-bye, Lysander Daniels.”

  She could feel his eyes on her with each step. Finally, at the corner of Bourbon, she looked back and smiled. He waved and then walked in the other direction.

  Maybe it hadn’t gone as poorly as she initially thought. Exhilaration returned to her as the street lamps glowed. She didn’t want to return to Denise’s and ruin this feeling.

  She took a right instead of a left on Bourbon, avoiding the heavy crowd that had thickened since her first walk. The night air sparked with electricity and she wanted to feel it moments longer. Her mother had been here and loved it. It was nearly twenty-six years ago but she felt the connection as tangible as if it were the journal.

  She’d walked about a block or two when she saw a small house set back from the three-story buildings. It conjured images of the Wizard of Oz and houses falling from the sky. The tornado had even dropped the front stairs down while all the other building’s doors opened onto the street.

  In the grimy window, a cardboard sign read help wanted.

  It was a perfect analogy to how she felt. Her grandmother’s death had dropped her into a world unfamiliar to her, and she could use a yellow brick road to point her in the right direction.

  She walked up the stairs. It felt right, and maybe it was because she was like Dorothy. Toto, she wasn’t in Georgia anymore.

  Seven

  Cain tightened his jacket around his middle and ducked away from the crowds. The buildings loomed overhead and draped the city streets in shadows. Not a place to lurk late at night as the news had reported continuously the last few days. The locals gossiped about Lewis’s death and dead bolted their doors at dusk. Only their kind braved the streets knowing they were what the people feared. But it made it difficult for him to disappear on an empty street.

  His double life was exhausting him, and with the addition of a third identity, he was having trouble keeping it all straight these days. It was a necessary evil to reach his final goal. His independence would all be worth it.

  He turned left at Royal Street from St. Philip. He casually glanced behind him, for any signs of a tag-along. He didn’t even know anymore who he didn’t want tracking him, so it was better to just be alert. Performing a quick sweep of the area, he gathered no one hid in the corners.

  The Cornstalk house on his left caught his attention as it always did. The house was a mention on the carriage tours, a tourist attraction. Everyone heard about the fence that Judge Francois Xavier Martin had imported for his young wife who missed her native Iowa. No one looked further than that. There were other cornstalk fences around the Quarters. White Street and Thalia Street both held a cornstalk fence, but people spoke about this one only.

  He knew this city, the stories of the city. His father couldn’t show up and assert his control over a city he’d abandoned long ago. It angered him, and he didn’t want it to. It meant his father still had power over him, and that had to end.

  He stopped walking at a rundown building on the corner of Domaine. He scanned the area once again, not hearing any sound of human brain waves, so he approached the shop. He peered into the dusty beveled glass window and saw her behind the counter.

  Her mocha curls were pulled tightly behind her head, and her beaded earrings framed her delicate neck. As she reached overhead to pull a bottle down from a shelf, her shirt rose revealing the delicate, sensuous flesh of her concave belly.

  Cain peered in with his telepathy, and heard only her humming. Her father was gone for the afternoon, hence the humming.

  Cain entered quietly into the voodoo shop, holding the door against the jangle of the bell. He slipped behind the rack of woodcarvings and watched her as she moved around the shelves, collecting supplies as she hummed. Her movements were fluid as a dance, in and out of the jars and trays.

  The dance ended and she stood behind a small table bent over her supplies. He crept around the shelves toward her. He’d been trained to move without sound, to breath unheard, and take someone by surprise before they realized they weren’t alone. He moved in on her without hesitation.

  Her heartbeat emanated through him as he came up behind her, and he nearly melted into her.

  “I told you not to do that again.” She continued working, only her hands moving. Cain leaned toward her, wrapped his arms around her middle, and breathed in deeply from the crook of her neck. Vanilla and lavender lotion mingled with the ginger of her concoction and a spicy smell he couldn’t identify.

  Intoxicating. He placed his lips on the delicate crook of her latte neck.

  “You need to tell me your secret.”

  She turned, her lips a crooked smile. “Never. Then I would not know when ya were ‘ere.”

  Cain tenderly ran his finger down her arm, and his pulse quickened as she shivered under his touch. The feel of her nestled against him, the passion in her expression, even the accent all weighed on him tugging up a moan.

  She reached up and brushed his face with her fingertips. “What am I going to do with ya?”

  He lifted her easily by her derri
ere and molded her into him. She snuggled her head into his neck and delicately worked her lips on him. He groaned as the warmth traveled downward. He edged them around a display of glass bottles and made it to the back room before her nibbling on his neck rippled to the point where he took her in her father’s front storeroom.

  Muted candlelight illuminated the back room casting seductive shadows against the walls. She’d known he was coming. This only heightened his anticipation and his body heat increased. He was so lucky to have found her. He lay her down on the fuzzy white rug that she’d added months ago after they’d made it back here. As he straightened up, she arched her back toward him and pulled him back down.

  She whispered into his ears as she caressed his neck with her lips. “Don’t worry about da door. No one will come.”

  He pushed her skirt up and gripped her hips as he rubbed her against him. She fumbled with his pants, and he nearly leapt out of them as she slowly eased them off.

  He grabbed her roughly, but she returned the roughness by rolling herself on top of him.

  He looked up into her needy emerald eyes, and couldn’t imagine her not being his. She came down on him hard, and he groaned as she worked him inside of her.

  He allowed her to work slowly until he couldn’t resist anymore, and then he yanked her below him, gripped her tightly and worked her until her eyes warmed, and she groaned with pleasure.

  He placed her on top of his chest and sighed. She snuggled into him, running her hand along his chest.

  “My Dark Soul always comes to please me.”

  He inhaled perfumed bath cream mingled with her flesh. He ran his finger down her arm feeling her body respond to his touch.

  “I want to see more of you. It’s never enough.”

  She sighed as she spread kisses across his chest. “Everything will fall as it will.”

  He looked into her guarded face. Her eyes did not look up into his own. She wasn’t one to shy away or be intimidated. She was a category five hurricane, fearless and destructive.

  “For us?”