A Soul's Surrender (The Voodoo Revival Series Book 2)

by Victoria Flynn

  The temptress from the box had been real. The power in it was her. I bolted for my bag which still sat at the foot of the bookcase in the corner. Snatching it up, I ripped the flap back and began to tear through it in search of the contraption. My shock began to turn to horror as I rifled through its contents without finding the box. I upturned the bag and let everything fall to the floor. Spreading it all out confirmed my growing fears- the box was gone. I knew for a fact that it had been there the night before. Before the dream, I remembered examining it, then sitting down to eat…the food. A sick sensation swirled in my belly. Had someone slipped me something? It would explain not waking up when there was an intruder. I usually slept lightly, waking up at the slightest of sounds.

  Someone had come in and taken it. The Baron Samedi immediately topped my list of suspects. Anyone else could have an interest in the woman within it, but to me, no one else made sense. I wondered, not for the first time, if the woman had been a Loa. My guess was that she was. Maybe she was Brigitte, though I couldn’t know for sure. I remembered the look of fear which had stricken the woman just before the dream had ended. Had he been there then? The sensation of a threatening presence had been so strong I had been sure there had been something more to it than just a feeling. All hope had managed to slip through my fingers like sand.

  Unbidden, hot tears began to slip down my cheeks as my vision blurred with the ones which had not yet escaped. I’d truly lost my last chance at freedom and had no one to blame for any of it but myself. If only I’d opened the damn thing when I was first alone in my room…That last little tidbit was what stung the most; it was my fault. A wretched wail left me as I grabbed the closest item to me and threw it with everything I had at the damn wall. The unfortunate vase, which I had latched onto, exploded into tiny fragments of shattered porcelain just as the door next to it opened.

  A shocked and possibly afraid Henrietta stared at me, mouth slightly agape and eyes wide. Still more than distraught over the loss of the box, I couldn’t conjure any feelings of guilt or remorse for inadvertently scaring the hell out of the woman. She should have knocked, or better yet, left me the hell alone.

  “Are you alright? Should I come back?”

  My glare told her everything she needed to know.

  “I’ll give you a few moments to gain some composure, though I have to tell you we don’t have long. It’s almost time.” The woman shut the door and I didn’t know what to do with myself.

  Great. The wedding was the last thing I needed to deal with when I couldn’t even bring myself under control. My magic raged within me beside my long suppressed emotions. I’d not let myself know the sting of the overwhelming feelings since coming to that horrid palace. Even in the wake of Mateo’s murder, I felt nothing. It had been masked by numbness and had infected all of me, leaving me nothing but the overwhelming rage. Everything was threatening to explode from me. The vase may have paid the price, but I was doubtful that it would be the last item broken that day.

  This was it, my time was up. Soon a barrage of staff and women would be flooding through the doors to primp and pamper me to perfection. I was helpless to change it or to stop it. Finding Brigitte would’ve been my out, yet the chance had evaporated like water in a desert. It was my wedding day and I couldn’t be any less thrilled.

  Chapter Eleven

  Wedding Bells

  As expected, Henrietta and her team of perfectionists only gave me another ten minutes before barging through the door, ready to tackle any blemish or deficiency that arose. Cases filled with tools and make up, most of which I’d never seen before, were laid out on the tables.

  The whole experience was quite surreal. I had imagined being over the moon that my big day had finally arrived. When the day finally came, that ideal couldn’t have been further from the truth. Anger still sat like venom in the pit of my stomach. It was spurred on by the shadow of fear that continually reared its ugly head. I masked it well with indifference as my hair was tugged and piled on top of my head. Henrietta was ordering other women about and absently making small talk with me, not that I was listening. I was too busy to be bothered with that sort of nonsense.

  I was a person that always valued my privacy and personal space. The idea that someone had invaded that and took something from me brought me to the edge of all sense and logic. Saying I was livid would have been an understatement. I was angry that Mateo had left me alone to fend for myself, even though I knew deep down it wasn’t his fault. He’d paid the highest of prices to help me, though little good it had done with the box missing. Then there was the fear of not knowing what would transpire within a few short hours that gripped me tightly.

  I hissed as one of the many hair sculptors surrounding me tugged a little too hard on my hair when, as usual, it was being uncooperative. The snag brought me back to the present. Like a commanding general, Henrietta berated the girl for causing me discomfort.

  “Lisel! Be more careful!” Henrietta scolded the girl. “How would you like your makeup?” she asked, turning her full attention to me.

  I shrugged, thinking that what I wanted didn’t matter. The woman likely had something in mind already.

  “You should try to be more optimistic. You’re marrying a great man today and stepping into a role of power, yet here you sit looking very much like someone just killed your beloved dog.” Her condescending tone grated on my last remaining nerve.

  I was in no mood to deal with people that looked at Samedi like the sun shone out of his butt. I was one of the few people that knew better. “Whatever you say.”

  I withdrew again, not engaging with the people around me. Instead, I turned my thoughts to what my duties might require of me. Marriage typically entailed a level of intimacy I wasn’t necessarily prepared for or willing to partake with the King of the Dead. Sure, I’d had bad meaningless sex before, but I hadn’t been marrying that person and I could at least say I was attracted to those men. Samedi, while being a very attractive man, had a personality that was not the most compatible with my own. There was also the small fact that I’d given my heart away already, with no chance of getting it back.

  My hair was pulled tightly, almost painfully into intricate plaits and weaves with a half up style that was oddly classical yet unique. I could appreciate the artistry behind it, even though it wasn’t really my style. My unruly curls were finally flat ironed into submission where would-be tendrils hung limply around my shoulders. The crew of women worked tirelessly for several hours which felt much longer than I’m sure it was. I watched their progress as they went about their work, never stopping or correcting a single stroke or smear.

  Brushes danced over my skin, painting me like a china doll and creating a whole new person. Kohl rimmed eyes looked back at me from the mirror situated in front of me, making the forest green pop. Rouge dusted my cheeks and left me with a perpetual blush. Full, plump lips were painted a dark red that reminded me of the blood that had soaked the ground around Mateo. Pangs of sadness and guilt hunkered down in my chest as my constant reminder of how I’d failed.

  Whether I was ready or not, I was about to become a Queen and a Loa, and with such a position, I was expected to act a certain way. I would make decisions that affected the lives of not only the spirits living in Guinee, but the humans back in the mortal realm as well. It would be like acting; I was playing a part and this would just have to be a part of my costume.

  A gray haired gentleman poked his head inside the door and coughed until someone noticed him. “It’s time.”

  I was sure my heart stopped pumping. That was it. I was out of time. I didn’t know what more I could do. Stalling wouldn’t work. He’d see right through it and it wasn’t like I could just refuse to marry him. He’d made me sign a contract. If I defaulted, Rhys was as good as dead. Even if Rhys was untouchable, Samedi was a man who would strike out against all those I held dear as a way to get back at me. No one would be safe from his wrath. Angie was only human and more vulnerable than ever if my
last visit was anything to judge by. Mama Yansa was a sturdy woman who could hold her own. Even if she wasn’t a Loa in self-induced exile, I thought she’d be a formidable foe for anyone. With her caring for my sweet feline spirit guide, I knew I wouldn’t have to worry much about Moonbeam. It was still little consolation. There were so many innocent people out there and any of them could easily fall prey to his condemnation if he so chose. I hadn’t forgotten his indifference to the plight of the citizens of New Orleans when Drake was set on taking it over and killing everyone in his path. His ease with turning a blind eye was a cause for alarm in my book.

  “Are you ready?” Henrietta asked, shaking me from my panicked thoughts.

  I stared blankly back at her, willing myself to say no, but my traitorous damn mouth said the exact opposite. “Yes.” Simple and meek, absolutely nothing like me.

  “Good girl.” The strong-willed woman shoved me out the door behind the man who’d interrupted my relaxing moment.

  It was challenging to persuade my feet to move at all, so I was shocked as they shuffled along behind the man.

  I followed him through passages I hadn’t yet explored. It was quickly becoming evident that I had barely scraped the surface of what the palace had to offer. The trek started out familiar, however after a couple of turns, I was in unfamiliar territory. The cavernous halls lined with various paintings of one Loa or another turned into narrow passage ways that wouldn’t take much to touch the ceilings. Walls began taking on an older look, like the area of the castle that we were in was a good several hundred years older than the main halls. The bricks were smaller, rounded and worn with age.

  “Where are we going?” I asked the man ahead.

  I couldn’t imagine having a wedding, even if only a small ceremony, in such a place. Judging by the state of the walls, which had brick dust gathered in piles at the foot of them, this part of the castle could cave at any moment. I was afraid to sneeze because even a light breeze could cause an avalanche of stone and mortar.

  The man’s shoulders bunched up around his ears and no other response came from him.

  “Hello?” I said, hoping the man would impart some information about our unknown destination.

  However, he remained silent despite my weak attempts at prying.

  Apparently, being a shit head was a part of his job description. Visions of Brutus stabbing Caesar in the back filled my brain. It would just be my luck that I’d end up like the Corpse Bride and be murdered right before my wedding.

  The scent of vegetation found its way to my nose and I couldn’t tell what the source could be. I hadn’t seen anything growing or lively since my arrival in Guinee, so the green smell was puzzling.

  Footsteps echoed off the walls behind me, making me cast a glance back over my shoulder. Henrietta and her team of rag tag beauticians moved along at a distance. All appeared fairly solemn with the exception of Henrietta, who had a megawatt grin plastered on her face while she strutted along like a champion show horse.

  This moment was probably the highlight of her career.

  Without any fore warning, the tiny passage opened into a spacious stone-walled chapel. I stopped in my tracks, gaping at the sight before me. The chapel itself had been built around the massive oak tree growing in its center. Blue glass bottles hung from the lower hanging branches.

  All the palace staff had filtered into the solitary room. Zelda looked on from her spot near the doorway. It didn’t escape my notice that the woman had a mouth again. My cheek twitched as a laugh threatened to escape me. Georgio was front and center in the crowd. His beaming grin said he had picked his spot with care. I noticed a handful of other faces that were mostly familiar from seeing them about the castle. Those were few and far between. Another fifty or so were totally foreign to me. My eyes scanned over the crowd, not quite sure what I was searching for. Then he stepped into my line of sight.

  The Baron was decked out in his most formal garb. His face was covered in a white painted half skull, his signature look, which in his profession was the same as his professional look. His proud top hat displayed small bones and plumes of dark feathers. A dark red vest peeked out from beneath his crisp black suit. The tall staff in his hand was animated. The wooden snake coiled about the pole, flicking its tongue out while its glassy reptilian eyes surveyed those attending. My bridegroom was without his usual glass of rum and cloud of cigar smoke. His bright eyes were the only betrayal of his calm and indifferent façade. He stood stock still, waiting for me to join him at the altar.

  I peered past him to notice a young man, several years younger than me, looking very nervous. He fidgeted and was visibly sweaty. His robes were the only indication of his role in all of it. He was the priest.

  The two men stood erectly under the boughs of the grand oak tree. Papa Legba stood beside Samedi, looking like his typical indifferent self. I was sure he probably wanted to be a dozen different places, none of which were at my wedding. My side of the altar was empty and without a maid of honor. It was a spot I had long reserved for Angie and hadn’t considered the possibility that she wouldn’t be there.

  “Keep walking,” Henrietta whispered harshly to me.

  My better judgment told me to run away from there as far and as fast as I could, though I knew it wouldn’t solve anything.

  She gave me a small nudge and I started moving again, although, I was sure a snail could have passed me at the rate I was going.

  One foot in front of the other, I kept shuffling forward while eyeing the crowd around me. Some faces I had never seen before yet I knew them immediately as the Petro and the Rada families of Loa. Scanning the rest of the crowd, I found the rest of the Ghede absent.

  Strange. Why would the Baron’s own family skip out on attending?

  Without a second thought, I knew it was because of Brigitte. She’d been in my place for centuries and now they’d have to accept someone brand new. Loyalty like that wasn’t easily broken or forgotten, and I knew I’d never really be considered one of them.

  “You are ravishing, my love.”

  Samedi hungrily eyed the sheer cutouts at my midsection. I took a deep breath to keep myself from fidgeting under his scrutiny and expose how uncomfortable I was. It wasn’t something I would ever have picked out for myself; I didn’t much care for highly revealing wardrobes.

  The Baron stepped forward and took ahold of my hand and tucked it into the crook of his elbow. It was his assurance that I wasn’t going to make a break for it, contracts be damned. I briefly wondered if he’d seen the consideration of such intentions written on my face.

  Henrietta stepped up next to us as we came to a stop in front of the nervous priest. I’d never seen a voodoo wedding ritual performed and my knowledge on the subject was less than ideal. I found it odd that we had catholic priest instead of a voodoo priestess, but I knew that the church had been interwoven into voodoo traditions throughout Louisiana. The small amount that I knew did nothing to prepare me for what might happen. Weren’t we supposed to have some type of rehearsal before we just jumped right into the thick of things?

  “We-” The priest coughed. He held the Holy Bible tightly in his trembling hands. “We are g-gathered here t-t-today to witness the union of this woman and the B-Baron Samedi in holy m-m-matrimony.” I could tell he was nervous. Had he been stolen away to perform the ceremony?

  The Catholic ceremony was short and to the point, lacking so many of the long passages which had become associated with weddings. I drowned everything out until the Baron squeezed my hand tightly, almost to the point of pain.

  “I’m sorry? What was that?” I heard the whispers ripple through the congregation around us, likely voicing their shock and disproval of my aloofness.

  “I do, my dear. It’s your turn to say your vows and I do’s.” There was a hard edge to his voice and I knew that he wasn’t thrilled. He also wouldn’t risk losing face in front of all those people and therefore, I was relatively safe…for the time being.

  “O
h…” My eyes widened slightly, not quite knowing how to react. Was I supposed to start spouting vows? Just say I do? I wasn’t sure.

  The shaking priest read flatly from his book of scripture. “Do you, Maya Thibodeau, take thee, Baron Samedi, to be your husband? Do you promise to be true to him in the good times and bad, through sickness and health, and for richer or poorer, until death do you part?”

  I cleared my throat, preparing for the performance of a lifetime. It wasn’t easy to force the words past my lips, but somehow, I managed to.

  “I-” I looked around the room hoping someone would object and rescue me from the fate into which I was about to seal myself. Unfortunately for me, there was no one who would step up. I bit my lip, trying to psyche myself up for what I was about to do. “I…do.”

  Regret washed over me the moment the dreaded words left my lips.

  Everything after that was a blur and while the priest finished his work, I could think about nothing more than what I’d just done. I’d failed worse than I had ever imagined possible. Brigitte had been my saving grace and even that had slipped through my fingers.

  “I now pronounce you husband and wife.” The priest finished and stepped aside.

  I looked up to realize it was over. Panic swelled within me. The Baron and I turned to face the pending cheers from those gathered, though they didn’t come. I made to step away from the altar and be done with the whole charade. Though I made it no further than a single step when my new husband’s hand was locked like a vice around my arm.

  “Not yet.” Those were his only words directed at me. He raised his arm in invitation to someone in the crowd of faces. “Erzulie Freda, will you do us the honor of blessing this union?” The sincerity in his tone was uncharacteristic for all I had come to know of him. Callousness and arrogance were gone.