by Lisa Kessler
He shrugged, still wiggling his hands behind his back. It would take hours to work the adhesive free, but he had to keep trying. “Hardly. That’s not really why you’re here anyway, is it?”
“True.” She inspected her fingernails. “My sister will be here in the morning, trading herself for you.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” David narrowed his eyes. “I broke her heart, remember? She’s seeing someone else now. I’m nothing more than an occasional client these days.”
“Bullshit.” She focused on him again, coming a couple of steps closer. “You don’t know my sister very well. It wouldn’t matter if you were her garbage man or the annoying kid across the street. She’ll come because she can’t stop herself. If someone is in danger, and she can help, she does. I always warned her it would get her killed someday.”
“Why kill her?” David shook his head, playing to her ego. “I saw what you can do. You don’t need Heather. You’re more powerful than she’ll ever be.”
“You don’t understand.” Ashley withdrew a pen from her pants pocket. His pen. Brandishing it like a wand, she pointed at his chest. “I made a deal with Davy Jones years ago in order to gain the figurehead’s power, but it comes with a price.”
David frowned. “From what I saw, it looked like you are the figurehead.”
“For now. My time is running out, though. Time to pay the piper. He’s calling me back to the Flying Dutchman.”
“Wait.” David shifted against the ground, searching for something to rub his wrists against. “You didn’t steal the figurehead from the Serpent Society?”
She rolled her eyes and dropped his pen onto his lap. “Those fanatics are just pissed about Pandora’s Box being a fake.” She waggled her fingers, the light flashing on the serpent ring around her finger. “And I guess they want this jewelry back, too. They’re not my problem right now.”
If he could get his pen, he could hit the GPS signal on the pocket clip. Too bad his hands were still bound. Unless he could bend like a contortionist and reach it with his teeth without Ashley noticing, he was screwed.
“If you didn’t take the figurehead from the monks, how did you…bond with it?”
She pulled her cell phone from her pocket and checked the time. “I didn’t come down here to monologue my plans. I just wanted to be sure you hadn’t lost your mind from the attack. No doubt Heather will need proof you’re alive before she gives me what I want.”
His gut twisted. He didn’t see a way to escape this basement. Somehow, he still had to try to save Heather. “Don’t hurt her. Through all this, she still loves you.”
“I know. Isn’t that crazy? Apparently when we shared my mother’s womb, she got all the light and I got all the darkness, but that’s about to change.” A wicked smile curved on her lips. “Once she’s out of my life, I can be the woman I was meant to be. I can finally stop being compared to my sister.”
“You don’t have to kill her. You could move away.”
She turned for the stairs, placing her hand on the rail. “Oh, I’m not going to kill her. I’m going to give her immortality.”
…
Drake parked in front of Miss Bianca’s and got out of his truck. Yes, he was early. She’d told him to come back tomorrow night, but he couldn’t wait. In the morning they would be walking into Ashley’s house with no idea what the witch had planned, and Drake damned sure wasn’t going to show up at that house without a backup plan.
He knocked on the door and waited as the seconds ticked by. The porch light came to life, and the door cracked open.
Miss Bianca peered up at him through the tiny opening in the door. “You’ve got to be kidding me. I told you tomorrow night.”
“Tomorrow will be too late.” He tried to keep the desperation out of his voice. “I need the spell tonight.”
“It doesn’t work like that,” she said. “I can’t just toss some herbs into a bag and give you the ability to heal any wound and raise the dead. This takes time.”
Drake cursed under his breath. “Please. I’ll do whatever it takes.”
Miss Bianca searched his eyes. “Fine.” She sighed and released the security chain on her door. “We’ll try. I’m not making you any promises, though.”
Her bare feet padded across the storefront and through the back door into a modest living space. She wore a black bonnet over her hair, black sweat pants, and a purple T-shirt. Pajamas. Shit, he hadn’t even checked the time.
“Sorry if I woke you.”
She slid her feet into a pair of leather flip-flops and glanced up at him. “You don’t have a clue what time it is, do you?”
He shook his head. “It wouldn’t matter. If I don’t have that spell by tomorrow morning…” There weren’t words big enough for how much it was going to hurt if Heather died. She’d broken his heart tonight, but she was still alive and safe. That’s all that mattered.
Miss Bianca took off her bonnet as she crossed the room into a cramped kitchen space. She returned with a flashlight and handed it to Drake as she passed by to open a closet. “How much do you know about Loas?”
“Not much. They’re vodun gods.”
She hooked a large black tote over her shoulder, catching his eye before heading back into the kitchen. “I work with Met Agwe. He’s the patron Loa of the oceans. He flows through the rivers in Savannah out to the sea.” She took some chicken out of a plastic container and put it into the microwave. “We offer him a hot meal and we wait. No guarantees he’ll join us.”
Drake nodded. “All right.”
“If this is going to work, there are rules.”
“I understand.”
“First rule—” The microwave beeped and she turned. Steam rose from the chicken as she slid it out and lowered the container into a brown paper bag. “I’ll be meditating, so you’ll be quiet.”
“Aye.”
“And rule number two…” She glanced at the flashlight in his hand. “You’re going to keep watch for gators. There’s a reason I don’t usually do this work at night.” She shook her head. “Last thing. Met Agwe might not power this spell for you, at least not at a price you can afford.”
“I told you I’d die for her.” In spite of his broken heart, every word he’d spoken was true. If it were possible for him to lay down his life in order to save Heather, he would. He loved her. Fucking perfect time to realize it. They were about to walk into a lion’s den, and even if they lived, Heather never wanted to see him again. He clenched his jaw. “Nothing’s changed.”
“For your sake, I hope it doesn’t come to that.” Miss Bianca grabbed a few herbs, two well-used candles, one black and one white, and tucked them into a tote bag. Her dark eyes met his. “Let’s go.”
The moon cast an eerie light on the path as they made their way through the moss-covered trees toward the Savannah River. The ground squished under his boots as the marsh thickened. Miss Bianca’s pace never slowed. She seemed to know the way even when he couldn’t keep the flashlight beam ahead of her.
When they got to the water’s edge, she reached into her tote, took out a piece of folded black plastic, and laid it out on the soggy soil. She knelt on the plastic and quickly placed the candles, herbs, and a few crystals in a pattern that resembled a makeshift altar. She slid the chicken out of the bag and removed the plastic lid, holding the food toward the water.
“Met Agwe, I bring you an offering, and a request.” She placed the chicken in front of the candles and her voice dropped to a whisper as she chanted praises to her Loa.
Drake slowly moved the flashlight beam across the water, watching for any sign of movement. Alligators were silent hunters, and no doubt the chicken would attract them. He had no idea how long Miss Bianca would meditate, but he hoped this part of the ritual would be over soon. One gator could be dealt with. If a group showed up, he would need to grab her and
haul ass to safer ground.
Bianca stood up so fast, Drake flinched. Her eyes were wide as she stared up at him and poked his chest with her finger. “What are you?”
Drake raised a brow. “A carpenter. Why?”
She shook her head. “I’m working strong magic for you. I can’t do it if you lie.”
He frowned. “I’m not lying.”
“Met Agwe named his price. He wants your…immortality.” She tilted her head. “Does this make sense to you?”
Drake pulled his hair back from his forehead, puzzled. “How is that even possible?”
Her jaw dropped slightly. “So you are immortal?”
“Aye.” Drake rubbed his hand down his face, unsure where to start. He couldn’t give the Loa the Holy Grail, hell, he wasn’t even sure that was what the spirit wanted. As he understood it, Loas were already immortal beings. Why would he want the Grail? “I don’t know how to give him what he asks for.”
Bianca dropped her hand and took a step back, her eyes narrowing. “What kind of creature are you?”
“I’m no creature.” He’d never told another soul besides Heather about his crew’s secret, but if he wanted the magic to protect Heather from her sister, he was going to need Miss Bianca’s help. “I’m a pirate. I have been for over two hundred years. We plundered the Holy Grail in 1795. I took a swallow and I haven’t aged a day since.”
She digested the information, sizing him up. He expected disbelief or accusations about his story. That didn’t happen. Without another word, she dropped onto her knees on the mat, all business again.
Her attention was focused forward on the marsh’s murky waters, but the command was definitely for him. “Are you willing to pay his price?”
“I can’t give him the cup.”
“He doesn’t want a trinket. There is power in a never-ending life. It’s that magic he desires.” She glanced up at him and asked again. “Will you agree to his price?”
“Yes,” he answered without hesitation. “I—”
Drake choked on the rest of his words, and the flashlight fell from his hand. Agony surged through his entire body like a violent wave. Drake dropped to his knees, his mouth open but unable to scream. His muscles atrophied, his bones ached, and his head throbbed. The pain crawled out onto his skin, like being stung by a thousand mosquitoes all at once, itching and burning. Tears streamed from the corners of his eyes as he struggled to steady himself on his hands and knees. Another painful wave hit and had him sliding on the muddy ground as he twisted against the onslaught. His vision wavered, blackness encroaching. The world spun, faster and faster, until he vomited. He coughed and gagged until there was nothing left, and rolled onto his side.
And then it stopped.
He blinked, staring at the glowing bile on the ground. What the hell just happened?
Miss Bianca reached into the brown bag that she’d brought the chicken in and withdrew a ziplock bag. Without flinching or hesitating, she scooped up the fluorescent vomit and closed the baggie. Her gaze lifted to his face.
“You’ll have your root. It will heal any wound, even bring someone back from the other side.” She searched his face. “You won’t be able to use it on yourself, so whatever you’re messed up in tomorrow, don’t get killed.”
Drake got to his feet, opening and closing his hands. He didn’t feel any different, but then he hadn’t when he drank from the cup, either. Mortal. Death was on the table again. He pondered the thought, half expecting regret. All he sensed right now was relief. He could bring Heather to her sister in the morning, and if the witch killed her, he could bring her back without a sip from the cup. This was a higher price than he expected to pay, but it was too late to take it back. Besides, he hadn’t been lying when he said he’d die for her. Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that.
He reached for the fallen flashlight, and Miss Bianca caught his arm.
“One more thing. If you drink from the Grail again, you’ll die. Your soul has been marked by Met Agwe. I could have warned you about this if you had been honest about your immortality before the deal had begun.”
“Just give me the magic to save her. That’s all I care about.”
She blew out the candles and collected her baubles, leaving only the chicken behind. “Let’s go.”
Once they were back in her shop, Miss Bianca rushed around her apothecary table, grinding herbs and mixing them with drops of his vomit. The resulting concoction had the texture of thick dough. She mashed it flat, dusting it with something chalky before rolling it into a six-inch-long cylinder. Sweat beaded on her forehead as she stuffed the roll into a cotton satchel. She pulled the drawstrings tight and sealed it further with candle wax.
Resting her hands on the table on either side of the magical root, she sighed. “In order for the magic to work, you will need to open the pouch, break off a piece of the root and place it in her mouth.”
“Is there a time limit?”
“I don’t know.” She lifted her head and straightened up. “I’ve never made a spell like this before. I can tell you every minute a soul spends on the other side makes it more difficult to pull them back.”
She handed him the satchel. “How do you feel?”
He weighed the small bag in his hand before tucking it into his jacket pocket. “Hopeful.”
“Really?” She chuckled. “I would think giving up immortality would upset most people.”
“I never asked for it anyway.” He met her eyes. “This is the lifetime I care about.”
She unlocked the front door for him. “Good luck, pirate.”
“Thank you.” He shook her hand. “If you ever need anything, I’ll be there for you.”
“I may call in that favor someday.” Her lips curved and a spark lit her eyes, reminding him again of their first meeting. She seemed too young to carry so much old wisdom. “And I’m expecting eighty gold pieces, too.”
He nodded. “I have your fee in the truck.”
After he paid Miss Bianca, he drove back to Savannah, praying he’d never have to use the spell. To any gods who might be listening, please help me keep Heather safe in the morning.
Also, he’d have to be careful and keep himself alive during the encounter. Cuts and bullet holes wouldn’t heal by themselves. He wasn’t immortal anymore.
If he wanted another chance with Heather, he’d need to remember that.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Heather woke up and showered, doing her best to pretend she wasn’t about to face off with her twin sister who was threatening to commit murder if her demands weren’t met. Her own flesh and blood. Heather desperately wanted to wake up and discover this was all a twisted nightmare. Her life was intent on spiraling into a dangerous paranormal soap opera.
And to add to the drama, she’d be going into this snake pit with Drake, the man she loved enough to let go.
The drive home last night had been silent. He had every right to be angry, and she welcomed it. It would make it easier to go their separate ways. Someday he would understand. He’d find someone who could sail with him in broad daylight, and she’d be willing to take that drink and live forever with him.
God, just the thought of Drake smiling at another woman, imagining his hands caressing someone else’s body, curdled her stomach.
This was for the best.
Too bad knowing that didn’t ease the ache in her heart or fill the empty spot in her soul. Maybe nothing would. She rolled her eyes and leaned back to rinse the conditioner from her hair. What did that even mean, to love someone enough to let them go? It sounded noble in books. It hurt to see it play out in real life. Lying about how she truly felt was like stabbing her own heart each time. She loved him, but she couldn’t tell him. Not if she wanted to let go. Drake wouldn’t believe her even if she said the words out loud. Not now.
Besides, love wouldn’t be eno
ugh as the decades passed and she grew feeble and left him behind. It would be agony for Drake, and if she ended the relationship now, she could spare him that.
Or would it be sparing her? There was a comfort in the thought of growing old together. What if one of them stayed young and gorgeous? Suddenly aging was cruel. How much would it hurt to watch his desire for her fade along with her looks?
Heather got out of the shower and yanked the towel free from the rod. Her decision seemed less noble and more cowardly by the second. Truth of the matter was, she had no idea if she would even live through the day.
Maybe it really was better this way. If Ashley did kill her, Drake could still be angry with her. The anger might keep him from sinking into the abyss of grief he’d been living in when she met him.
She brushed her teeth and got dressed, then quickly French-braided her long silver hair. Playing out all these scenarios in her head wasn’t helping. Time to focus and live in the present moment.
If she made it through today, then she could worry about tomorrow.
The doorbell rang as she came down the stairs. Her heart jumped in anticipation of seeing Drake before she could stop herself.
He didn’t smile when she opened the door. “Are you ready?”
Her gaze slid up and down his frame. Something was different, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. “Are you all right?”
“Didn’t get much sleep last night.” He glanced behind her. “Mind if I come in for a minute?”
She frowned, stepping back from the door. “I thought we needed to get over to Ashley’s.”
“We do.” He took a chair at the dining room table. “First we need to talk. Agent Bale’s team is already staking out Ashley’s house.”
“No!” Heather gasped, shaking her head. “My sister will know. She’ll kill him.”
“Department 13 has some powerful magic workers. They won’t be seen until they want to be, and they’re not close enough to trip any of her magical wards around the property. The plan is simple. Once you and I are inside, we find Bale, and I’ll press this.” He fished a small black disc no bigger than a shirt button from his pocket. “That’ll be their cue to move in.”
