Dark Confessions

by Angie Sandro

  Permelia reaches into the bloody tub and lifts out the head by his long black hair. She twists it around so I can see his face.

  Horror fills me, and I gasp. “Ivanov.”

  “Victor’s boss. Think the mercenary will still be down for the cause once he finds out he won’t get paid?”

  “No.” I breathe the word. “He won’t have any reason to keep Mala and Eva alive. We’ve got to get them before he finds out.”

  CHAPTER 15

  Bessie

  The Veil Drops

  Pain radiates from a lump on the back of my head, like I slammed it against the edge of a cabinet door. Only I don’t think that’s how I got hurt. Fact is, I’ve no idea how I injured myself. I squeeze my closed eyelids tighter, trying to gather my scattered memories, but they keep whishing away.

  Where am I?

  Fear blankets my thoughts, like mist shrouding the surface of a lake. My chest feels tight. I can barely breathe without choking on the hot, stuffy air in the room. Sweat dampens my shirt and sticks it to my skin. My hands are tied behind my back with a scratchy rope that rubs against my wrists and burns my skin when I jerk against it.

  I teeter on the edge of full-blown panic. Wings of hysteria brush across my thoughts, like startled doves escaping a brush fire. I need to figure out what happened. I think it’s a matter of life and death.

  My eyelashes feel glued together. I pry one open. The dim light in the room acts like a strobe flashing at a techno rave. Nausea rolls through me, and I swallow against the spicy tang of chili climbing my throat. The memory of eating in the sterile hospital cafeteria flashes through my mind, followed by walking back to the ER to get George. Ah, yes, he’d gotten his bandages changed.

  I squeeze my eyelids tight. Memories of the last few days trickle in, but how I ended up wherever I am still remains blank. With a whimper, I curl into a ball, afraid to open my eyes again or lift my head because I’ll fall unconscious to escape the pain. Out of self-preservation, I rely on my other senses. With a slow inhale, I sift through the various scents in the room. The strongest is the pungent odor of damp, moldy wood. The sickly sweet reek of a rotting animal crinkles my nose, but it’s faint. Maybe in the walls. I take a deeper breath. Dust makes my sinuses tingle, and I sneeze.

  The explosion of sound seems too loud. My rapid breaths block out other sounds at first. As I focus on narrowing in on individual noises, something becomes very clear. My breaths aren’t the only ones I hear.

  I’m not alone. Who’s here?

  My eyes pop open, and I squint against the flare of pain until they adjust to the light shining through cracks beneath a closed door and a boarded-up window. I’m lying on a mattress on a rotted wood floor. This must be the farm where Mala and Eva are being held. I’m inside. I jerk on my hands again, testing to see how much slack is in the rope. This time I feel a bit of space between my bound wrists. I twist my hands. The rope stretches wider, and a rush of euphoria warms the chill from my aching bones.

  I can work a hand free. Just a little more time. That’s all I need.

  Everything will be okay. I’ll be fine. I’ll be fine.

  My throat closes up as panic rises again. Keep it together.

  “Bess, I’m coming for you. Fight.”

  Oh? This isn’t my voice. It’s Ferdinand. He speaks in my mind, clear as day. Almost as if he lies beside me. A heavy weight wraps around my shoulders. His strong arms cradle me against his warm chest. His strength flows into my body, clearing my thoughts. Logic dictates I’m hallucinating. Feeling him is a product of my fear. I probably have a concussion or brain damage from the injury. Perhaps it’s a coping mechanism, but I don’t care. Real or dream, he’s here when I need him. My champion.

  “I won’t let your faith in me be in vain,” I whisper. “I’ll survive.”

  His presence vanishes, but I’m infused with calm and purpose. I swallow what fear remains, forcing it down my throat until it’s only a small, annoying lump in my stomach. Time to get the hell out of here. But first I need to figure out who else is in here with me. I wiggle backward across the mattress, an inch or two at a time, until my outstretched fingers touch bare skin.

  It’s warm. And breathing…no, snoring. My Lord, how can anyone sleep in this situation?

  I bump my shoulder against the person. “Wake up,” I whisper, then bump harder.

  The snore cuts off with a snort. “Huh? You’re conscious.” The voice slurs, and a part of me rejoices.

  “Mala!”

  She yawns, shoulders rubbing against my back. “Ew, I’ve got the foulest taste in my mouth, like uncooked chitlins.”

  I can’t help but smile. She still sounds a bit foggy from the drugs, but if she can crack a joke things will be fine. Everything will be okay. I found one of my adopted daughters, and I’m not alone. I whisper, “I’m here to rescue you.”

  “Lieutenant Caine, if this is your version of The Great Escape, maybe you should’ve thought up a better plan.” The tips of her fingers brush my wrists. “I’ll assume you didn’t charge out here like a lone gunslinger from the Wild West and you’ve got a SWAT team outside, waiting to take down the kidnappers. I’ll even settle for a hidden knife stuck in your boot.”

  A faint memory slides across the gray fluff in my head. “No SWAT or knife. That would make this too easy. Not much of a challenge.”

  “I like easy. Easy means fast.” A sob hitches her voice. “I really want out of here.”

  I sigh. “Well, honestly, getting captured wasn’t part of my plan. I’m improvising, given the circumstances. We’ll have to adapt and roll with the unexpected.”

  “How did you get here?” She shifts until she’s leaning against me.

  “My memory’s a bit foggy. The last thing I remember is we’d broken up into teams to surveil the farm and figure how to breach Victor’s defenses. I was heading back to rendezvous with everyone else, but after that, I’m drawing a blank. I’m not sure when or how I got captured. But it doesn’t matter. We’re not alone. The others will get us out of here.”

  “I know. Mama said Ferdinand and Landry have a plan. But we don’t have time to wait for them. Victor won’t be patient much longer.”

  “True. We need get out of here and find Eva.”

  Mala sighs. “I don’t think she’s here anymore.”

  A jolt of panic makes my body jerk, and I pant against the throbbing in my head. “Why?”

  “Mama said a woman arrived a few hours ago in a black Escalade. Victor called her Dr. Vincente, and she seemed really excited about examining Eva. Mama tried to spy on them, but said she hit some sort of magical shield when she tried to exit the hallway into the front rooms. She wasn’t able to get close enough to see or hear what went on. Or know if Eva’s even still in here.”

  Black Escalade, huh? The witch made it out of the bayou faster than I thought.

  “My guess is this Dr. Vincente’s a hoodoo practitioner,” Mala continues. “Any idea why Victor would kidnap Eva? Or me for that matter?”

  “Victor wanted to trade you and Eva for Dr. Estrada and his research. Estrada orchestrated the attacks on Dena. He was contracted by Victor’s boss to create super-strong soldiers. Gah, I can’t even believe what I’m saying. It sounds like something you’d watch on the Syfy Channel, Zombie Soldiers from the Fifth Dimension. If I had my hands free, I’d face palm right now, but I’m still working on the rope.”

  Mala groans. “I’ll take zombies over vampires anytime. Just grab a machete and chop off their heads.”

  “That’s what Dena said we should do to Victor. But she had some qualms since he’s not actually dead. These guys heal really fast.”

  “Oh, I thought they were like Magnolia’s minions—real Walking Dead guys.”

  “Demon Warriors from Hell would be a better title for them. I had Estrada in custody, but he got killed in a freak earthquake. Funny how Paradise Pointe keeps getting hit by those.”

  “Paradise Pointe seems to be the epicenter for a lot of
unnatural magic-type catastrophes.”

  “Say that ten times fast.” I shake my head. Focus. “Before Estrada died, he told us he injected his serum into a woman.”

  “Eva?” Mala sucks in a deep breath, and I picture her scrunching up her nose in thought. She lets out a huge sigh, and I feel her shoulders shrug against my back. “That would explain why the quack doc examined her.”

  “That’s my fear, too.” I’ve been twisting my hands, loosening the rope, while we talked. My wrists burn, and warm blood drips down my palms. With a yank, I slide my hand through the rope. I almost cheer, but bite my lip hard enough to draw blood. “Let’s worry about Eva after we’re free.”

  I roll onto my side and start picking apart the knot on the rope binding Mala’s hands.

  “That asshole Victor tied you tighter.” My blood-slick fingers tremble. “I can’t get this knot to unravel. Wish I had that knife in my boot.” I roll onto my knees. “If I can find a piece of broken glass from the window—”

  “Victor may be insane, but he’s thorough. He swept the room like a mad maid with a crooked broom.” Her tone fills with wicked glee. “In my drug-induced delirium, I thought up a way to free myself. I was too woozy to try the spell earlier, and it still might go horribly wrong, but…Scoot back.”

  Suspicion flattens my tone. “Why?”

  Mala shrugs. “In case it misfires. Don’t want you to get burned.”

  The memory of a burning boat flashes through my head. I rub my throbbing temples. “I’m neither a fan of magic nor fires in confined places. Maybe—”

  Mala chants under her breath. She once explained it isn’t the words of the spell that create magic, but the hypnotic state, repetitive action, and imagery that allow her to slip into an altered state of consciousness. The more practice she has, the faster she slips into the dream state. In less than five minutes, smoke stings my nose. It spirals upward in twin contrails from the rope binding her wrist.

  I slide my hands on either side of the burning area and lift the rope so it’s not touching her skin. It burns faster. Maybe more airflow makes it hotter, or maybe Mala’s not afraid of scorching herself anymore. The fibrous material blackens and crisps, flaking to ash, and falls apart.

  Mala sits up, dusting off her hands. “Thanks. I didn’t have the energy to do that earlier. The drug in my system made me stupid and magic-blocked.” She suddenly startles, falling against me with a sound like the squawk of a strangled chicken. “Good gosh, Mama. Don’t pop in on me without any warning.”

  “Jasmine’s here?”

  “Yeah, she does this to me and Landry all the time. Mostly when we’re making out like bunnies. Wish I could tie a bell around her neck.” She crawls toward the edge of the mattress and leans forward, closing her eyes. She looks peaceful, as if receiving a comforting hug from her invisible-to-me mother.

  I sigh. “Wish I could see her.”

  Mala taps a finger to her lips and eyes me up and down. “Maybe you can. It would make things easier when we escape. See, I’ve been studying how to fix a mojo, root work, and whatnot. Sophia gave me her grimoire before she died. One spell in particular caught my eye, since I thought it might come in handy someday.” She shifts her gaze to the foot of the mattress. “You remember the one I’m talking about Mama? The time we hoodooed Georgie into a two-headed man so he could see you?”

  Mala’s head cocks to the side. “Yeah, it’s pretty nasty as spells go.”

  I shudder as an image pops into my head. “As in you might accidently turn me into a frog, nasty?”

  “No, it opens the inner eye. If it works, you’ll be able to see across the veil between realities. It’s just gross. Are you up for it?”

  “Gross I can handle if I can communicate with Jasmine and vice versa. It’s faster than having you translate everything from ghost-speak.”

  Mala snort-laughs. “Sorry,” she whispers. She bites down on her thumb pad, cups her other hand, and squeezes a drop of blood into her palm. “Now the really gross part.” She spits into her hand. “Saliva and blood…” She stares into my eyes. Hers seem to glow from within with a golden light. “Now it’s your turn.”

  I try not to shiver, but the fine hairs on my body rise. The scent of ozone fills the air, like right before a storm strikes. “This is the feel of magic?”

  Mala smiles. “Kind of jazzy, isn’t it?” She holds out her cupped hand. Knowing what she needs, I squeeze a drop of blood from the cut on my wrist onto her hand, then spit. As the fluids mix, the air seems to crackle, and electricity dances across my skin.

  Mala picks a piece of mud from my boot. “The last ingredient to ground the spell in our world. Earth.” She rubs the concoction into a paste. The rich scent of dirt and green things growing in the bayou fills my nose.

  “As you can see, it’s not very sanitary,” Mala says. “I promise I’m clean of any blood-borne diseases.”

  “Given our chance of surviving this encounter is sketchy at best, I’d take my chances, even if Jasmine were casting the spell.”

  Mala flinches, casting a grimace toward the end of the bed. I grin in invisible Jasmine’s direction. No doubt the woman will get me back for that dig once I can hear her.

  “Mama says, ‘Time to put up or shut up.’” Mala rubs a finger into the mixture. “Lean forward.” She bites her lip in concentration and draws what feels like an open eye on my forehead, then closes her eyes and places her fingertips on my temples. “See the unseen, taste that which has no spice, hear the whispers of the dead.”

  Her words drift through my mind, brushing hidden corners with gossamer wings like the flutters of butterflies against a glass jar. My vision blurs, and I blink. It only makes things hazier, like morning mucus covering my eyes on a really bad allergy day. I rub them with the back of my hand and open my eyes.

  A face fills my vision, and I jump back with a quickly muffled scream. “Damn it, Jasmine! You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

  The other woman slaps her knee and cackles. “Scared you, did’n’ I? Bet you didn’t ’spect to see me again.” She fluffs her hair. “I’m still sexy for a spirit.”

  “Bet you do good business with all the dead johns roaming the earth,” I drawl, rolling my eyes.

  “Pshaw, like I want a deader. Now, your Ferdinand’s got some junk in his pants I’d like to wrap my hands—”

  “Mama!” Mala yelps. “Sorry, Bessie. Even dead she’s got no manners.”

  I laugh. “She wouldn’t be your mama otherwise, and it’s comforting to know being deceased doesn’t change people.”

  “Ha, your problem, Bessie Caine, is always been thinkin’ you’re better than everyone else,” Jasmine says. “Even in high school, you looked down on me. You ain’t special.” She taps her puffed chest with pride. “I’m a LaCroix ancestor spirit, and I’ve got powerful, protective mojo. You’d be drooling in a cemetery, mad as a hatter, if you was a deader. Like that Lainey Prince who haunted my girl.”

  Lord, so spiteful. Not up for one of our arguments, I raise my hands in defeat. “Fine, Jas. You’d win in a spirit war. Let’s make peace and get down to business. What’s going on with the rest of my team?”

  “Those fools…Best worry about rescuin’ yourselves. Last I seen, your man’s baby mama showed up with a head in a plastic bucket. That lady’s wrapped looser than a cabbage roll. They came up with some crazy plan with twisters and banshees.” Jasmine pauses, then shrugs. “Mayhap I’m wrong about the banshee, but the twister sounds ’bout right.”

  I shake my head, hoping I’m not hearing correctly. “They can make a tornado? Like whip one up out of clear air?”

  “There is a spell.” Mala rubs her arms. “Takes a lot of focus, and typically multiple witches are needed to channel two elements, wind and earth. I’ve got raw power. If I tried, I might not be able do the spell on my own, but I’d probably blow something up. My skills aren’t that developed yet.”

  “Well, the Lafitte family is pretty talented,” I say. “Ferdinand’s da
ughter has been helping her dad with the magic. If the girl’s mama is half as powerful, we’d better get out of this room and see if this place has a basement. Jasmine, you mind checking to see where the bad guys are so we don’t walk in on them?”

  The ghost flashes a grin. It’s then I realize she’s not fully corporeal. I can see the pitted wall behind her. She straightens her nightgown and stands. “BRB.”

  Mala shakes her head as her mama steps through the wall. “How’s Landry doing? Mama said he got hurt when we were captured. He’s okay. Right? She wasn’t lying to make me feel better?”

  “Landry’s fine. A bit feisty. That man really loves you.”

  “I really love him, too. This whole stupid kidnapping only reinforces how selfish I’ve been to keep putting off our marriage. I had all of these plans to be self-sufficient before settling down. Mama always depended on men for her livelihood. Even though we’ve taken different career paths, I wanted to prove to myself and to Paradise Pointe that I’m better than our sullied LaCroix reputation. That I didn’t need a man to prove my self-worth.” Mala glances down at the gold and diamond engagement ring Landry had given her for Christmas. “Now I want to spend the rest of my life with Landry. Rather than being self-sufficient, I want us to walk into the future together.”

  I give her a hug. “You’re sounding like a mature woman now.”

  “Guess I had to grow up sometime. Lord knows I put it off for as long as possible.”

  Maybe it’s time for me to grow up as well. My relationship with Ferdinand is new, unlike what Mala and Landry have developed. In comparison, it seems shallow, built upon half-truths and omissions, but the strength of my feelings seems all too real. I’ve been away from Ferdinand for only a few hours, but I miss him.

  I know better than Mala the pain of losing the man I loved more than life itself. The only reason I survived my husband’s death was because I had to raise Maggie. She made me strong enough to wake up each morning and go to work. I didn’t know how starved for affection I’d become until Ferdinand. Being with him feels right. Stop daydreaming about him and focus on getting back to him.