The Seventh Night

by Amanda Stevens

  I took a deep breath and let it out. Repeated the process. It took two more times until I felt reassured that I was indeed alive.

  My heart was pounding, my pulse racing out of control. I felt sick and disoriented. And afraid. More terrified than I had ever been in my life. The fear was like a noose—the more I struggled against it, the more it tightened about me.

  I had been sporadically conscious since I’d been taken. The darkness that held me was like nothing I had ever experienced. I could see and hear and smell and feel, but I couldn’t move or talk.

  I’d watched, helpless, as my prone body had been carried from Mama Vinnia’s house by two men and loaded into a car that had sped away. Then I had been transported from the car, carried through the woods, dressed in a white robe, then gently placed on the ground inside the enclosed portion of the peristyle in the woods near Reid’s home. At least, that’s where I believed I was.

  I’d heard low voices, familiar voices, talking about the ceremony that would come later, the Doussounin that would claim my father’s soul. I’d heard them whisper reverently about the strength of my will, my ti bon ange, and how I had summoned my father’s spirit to me time and again, even in my dreams. They spoke of how even now my presence made him restless and resistant to the White Darkness.

  Then the voices had faded away, and I’d been left to drown in a cold, fathomless blackness, a prisoner in my own body.

  And all I could think about was that Reid had betrayed me. I had given everything of myself to him, and he’d lied to me, used me for his own sinister ambitions.

  Even the knowledge of my impending death didn’t fill me with the despair that his betrayal did. I think, at that moment, I almost wanted to die.

  I don’t know how long I lay “awake” before I became aware of the eerie, flesh-crawling sensation that someone—or something—was staring at me in the darkness.

  With every ounce of my willpower, I tried to turn my head, managed an inch, then a little more. What I had thought was total darkness earlier now wavered with candlelight. I turned my head a little more, letting my eyes scan the dim recesses of the enclosure.

  Across from me, my father—draped in a white shroud—lay on the ground. His arms were folded over his chest, and his eyes were open and staring—at me. Chills flooded through me. I tried to get up, tried to move, but like my father, I was trapped. I could not move, could not run; I could only stare at the man I had come so far to see. The man who was of my same blood. My father…

  As I stared at him, he blinked, but was it merely a trick of the flickering light?

  He did it again. Slowly. Deliberately.

  He knew. Like me, he was aware and knew what was to come.

  A new wave of horror swept through me. I could feel the panic swirling inside me, threatening to pull me under that black, rolling sea of insanity.

  But then, through the madness, I felt my father reaching out to me, somehow communicating with me to be strong. Resist. Fight the poison. Together we could do it. Together we could be saved.

  The air had suddenly grown thick with drumbeats. They were calling the night, willing it to descend. Soon the ceremony would begin.

  I tried to wiggle my toes, and felt the slightest sensation. I put more effort into it, and a tingle raced up my foot. The numbness was starting to slowly peel away, and the pain was coming back, but I welcomed it, needed it to make me keep fighting.

  There was a rustling noise near the entrance of the enclosure, then movement beside me. Two men entered, their faces hideously painted like the faces of the men in the cemetery had been. They grabbed me, half carrying, half dragging me outside, into the peristyle.

  Torches rimmed the woods, and a fire blazed in the center. I could see faces in the shadows, and they were chanting, beseeching Damballah to join them. Frantically, I glanced around, hoping someone would help me, but the dark faces were all smiling at me, their eyes lit with a strange, feverish glow as they edged closer.

  The drums pounded harder, a beat that sounded like a death march as they called the loa to descend.

  The flames of the fire leapt wildly as the dancers formed a circle around me and began to move. A figure in a white robe walked out of the shadows of the woods, and the circle parted.

  Slowly, deliberately, the specter advanced toward me. Firelight sparked silver off the blade of the knife that was grasped in one hand. Around the neck, a snake ring hung suspended from a gold chain.

  Reid!

  “No. Please no.” I still couldn’t believe it. I was filled with self-loathing for loving a man who could be capable of this, for having given myself so willingly to a murderer.

  The hands moved upward to remove the white hood, and my heart pounded with terror. I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t. I had to see him, had to look into his eyes one last time….

  I found myself staring into eyes that were at once familiar and strange. The same firelight that had sparked off the blade now glinted in those maddened depths as she moved toward me. And then she was standing over me, smiling. I felt sick, dazed with fear.

  “Why?” My voice cracked with emotion, but she didn’t seem to notice. I didn’t bother to rejoice at my vocal powers returning, either. I would die soon, anyway.

  She stared down at me with all the hauteur of an ancient and powerful queen.

  “Because of Reid,” Mrs. DuPrae said, and her voice seemed to echo through the woods with some dark and primal strength. “He belongs to Rachel. You are the last obstacle in their way. I’ve removed each and every one until now.”

  One of the initiates handed her a clay container, and she knelt beside me on the ground. She dipped her fingers into the bowl and brought them out, dripping with red. “We must prepare you for the ritual,” she said, touching one fingertip to my forehead and tracing a line. “I’ve waited a long time for this. I won’t be rushed now. Everything must be done exactly so. The loa demand respect.”

  My skin crawled with horror at her touch, but I couldn’t move away. I could only stare up at her, fascinated and repelled by the change that had come over her.

  She was no longer the unassuming housekeeper. No longer the quiet, dignified woman who went about her work without complaint. There was something about her that seemed wild and fey. Her unbound hair, streaked with gray, fell to her waist, and her brown eyes glowed like embers from the fire. She looked ancient, feral and terrifyingly mad.

  Her finger made another swipe across my forehead as she continued to talk, and I had the chilling impression that she was somehow marking off her victims. “First, I followed Stephan St. Pierre to Chicago and removed him. Then I had my husband, Rachel’s father, strike up a friendship with Christopher, once he’d married Claudine St. Pierre.” She paused, dipping her fingers into the bowl again. “I tell you this so you will know of my power, my determination. I’ve waited a long time, Christine. Nothing will stand in my way.”

  I swallowed and tried to speak. My voice was hoarse, barely audible. “What about Lawrence Crawford?” I managed to ask her. “And Mama Vinnia?”

  She traced her finger down my cheek. “Ah, yes. Mama Vinnia. She called herself a mambo—she, whose magic came from herbs and leaves and a few incantations. She tried to help you, didn’t she? I found the gris-gris in your room and I removed it, just like I removed the old woman who made it. Then I made another, more powerful one, and had it placed under Reid’s bed at the St. Pierre. You found it didn’t you, clever girl? And Lawrence Crawford? He wanted to marry Rachel. He wanted to take her away from me, away from Columbé. I couldn’t have that, could I? All my plans would have been ruined.”

  She laughed then, and the sound was like the cackle of a raven. Her eyes glazed over as she marked my other cheek.

  “It’s taken me all these years,” she said with a heavy sigh. “But I’ve been patient. The others I had to do away with quickly, but with Christopher, I’ve planned every detail so very carefully. I’ve kept him all these days in a little cottage not fa
r from here. He was so close, Christine. So very close. His captured soul will give me incredible power. He has the gift, the power to see the future in his dreams. You didn’t know that, did you? He didn’t tell anyone, but I guessed. And you have the power, too, don’t you, Christine? You’ve seen him in your dreams, haven’t you? He came for you….” Her fingers trailed down my arms, leaving long, bloody streaks. “Soon I will have his power. I will be invincible.”

  I understood very little of what she was saying, but I knew, suddenly, that Mama Vinnia had been right. The dreams had told me what I needed to know. Reid had not been trying to harm me. He’d been trying to save me, but I hadn’t listened, hadn’t trusted him.

  I struggled to lift my head and stare at her. “Who are you?”

  She held up her stained hand and gazed at it for a moment, turning it one way, then the other. “Reid told you that night in the library after you’d found Lawrence Crawford’s body. I was watching you, listening to you, and I heard him tell you about the woman his father had ruined. That woman was me, Christine. Because Stephan St. Pierre defiled me, I lost everything—my home, my family, my powers. I even lost the son I bore him. The loa always demand restitution for our sins, you see.”

  She smiled down at me, a mad, twisted sort of smile as she continued, “But then they rewarded me with a daughter for my sacrifices, and through her, a way to claim what is rightfully mine. Tonight I will have Christopher’s soul—and perhaps yours, too, if I’m careful. And when Reid marries Rachel—and he will—the St. Pierre will be mine. Then there will be one last thing to do.” Her eyes gleamed in the firelight as she plunged her hand into the bowl. “Because of Stephan St. Pierre, I lost my son. In atonement, I will take his.” She lifted her hand skyward, and the blood ran freely down her arm.

  Kill Reid? My heart seemed to freeze inside my chest. Terror ripped through me, so much stronger at the image of Reid’s impending death than at my own. Dear God, she was mad, insane, yet no one in all these years had suspected. How much longer could she go on? Until everyone from the past was dead?

  Oh, Reid, Reid, I silently cried. I was wrong to doubt you, my love. Can you ever forgive me?

  How could I ever have believed him capable of such violence? Mrs. DuPrae had planted the evidence in his room. She had followers everywhere, it seemed—employees at the hotel, Jean Marc…

  And I’d believed her. I had run away from the one man who might have been able to help me. I’d called him a murderer….

  Now it was too late. I was going to die without ever having told Reid that I loved him. My pride hadn’t allowed it. I hadn’t allowed myself to believe that he really cared for me, so I’d kept my own feelings hidden. We both had.

  All I wanted at that moment was to see him one last time, to tell him in no uncertain terms that I loved him, had always loved him—no matter what.

  “It’s almost time,” she said. She picked up the dagger and placed it against my throat. The metal felt smooth, warm, not at all menacing. “You’ll make a worthy sacrifice to Damballah, Christine. That should give you some comfort.” Then she turned her attention to the devotees, and lifted her voice for all to hear. “Does anyone here dispute my position as the premiere reine, the first queen? Does anyone here challenge my power?”

  A hush fell over the gathering. The drums grew silent. The only sound was the distant rumbling of thunder rolling down the mountainside, and the closer sound of my own harsh breathing. I could hear the blood roaring in my ears.

  And then a voice spoke from the deep shadows of the woods. A voice that flooded through me, swept me with emotion after emotion. “I challenge your power,” Reid said as he walked toward the assemblage. “I dispute your rank.”

  A low murmuring of outrage erupted from the devotees, but still they parted, allowing him to step into the center of the circle. I turned my head and met his gaze.

  I felt myself grow cold. He looked so different, so…savage. He wore jeans, but his chest was bare. Firelight bronzed his skin, rippled over his muscles and made his eyes gleam like cold, hard gemstones. In the midst of that surreal gathering, he looked very much like the leader of some strange and barbaric cult.

  “I challenge your power,” he said again. His gaze flicked over me, cold and indifferent, as he addressed Mrs. DuPrae. “I’ve come to claim what’s mine.”

  Mrs. DuPrae looked as shocked as I felt. The hand that held the dagger twitched against my throat as she glared up at Reid. “You dare defile this sacred meeting with your presence, blanc?”

  “I dare to seek revenge for my mother’s and my father’s deaths. I dare to expose you for the ruthless murderer you are. Premiere reine?” He all but spat the words. “Even my father, as weak as he was, wouldn’t have you. Power? You couldn’t even hold on to him. I have the power. Not you.”

  Mrs. DuPrae’s brown eyes flashed in rage. She waved her hand toward the fire, and the flames leapt skyward.

  Reid looked at her and smiled. “Two can play at that game.” He waved his hand toward the fire, and the flames turned crimson.

  A whisper of fear rose up from the group surrounding us. I stared at Reid in shock, in disbelief. The blade bit into my skin, and I cried out.

  “I can kill her in the blink of an eye,” Mrs. DuPrae warned him. “Stand back or I will.”

  “And you would lose another soul,” Reid said calmly. “Think of how many you’ve wasted already because of your carelessness, your impatience. No wonder your power is so…limited. You’re no match for me.”

  The knife quivered against my throat and a trickle of blood oozed down my neck as I felt the sting of the blade again.

  Reid’s gaze dropped to my neck, then back up to Mrs. DuPrae. His eyes were even colder, harder, even more menacing. “Drop the knife, Mrs. DuPrae,” he commanded. “It’s over.”

  I was shaking like a leaf, terrified out of my wits, but my gaze was drawn irrevocably back to Reid. The fire was at his back, and the blaze cast shadows over his face. He looked dark and ruthless, completely in control.

  Suddenly, as if she sensed it, too, Mrs. DuPrae lunged at him. For a moment, Reid was caught off guard by her speed. She was on him in a flash, the dagger lifted high to meet its mark. Reid stumbled backward, into the fire.

  He didn’t seem to notice as he gripped Mrs. DuPrae’s arm and bent it backward, slowly, agonizingly, until she was forced to drop the knife. Then he flung her aside, and she sprawled backward into the dust. She crawled away from him, breathing heavily, eyes flashing fire as she stopped and glared at Reid.

  Reid turned to the stunned devotees. “There’s your queen,” he said in disgust. “There’s the priestess for whom you were willing to kill.”

  “You destroyer,” she whispered. “You defiler. The loa must have their sacrifice.” Her hand disappeared inside the folds of her robe.

  Reid sensed her intent and lunged toward her, but she was fast, using the sure, quick movements of a woman possessed. She withdrew a knife from her robe and held it for one split second in front of her. Then she plunged it into her chest.

  A horrified scream pierced the quiet of the circle, and it took me a moment to realize the sound had come from me. With an effort, I lifted my hands to my face and covered my eyes. When I was able to look again, Reid was holding Mrs. DuPrae in his arms. I saw her lips move, saw him bend and murmur something to her. Then her body went limp, and Reid laid her gently on the ground.

  Suddenly the shadows of the woods came alive with people. Captain Baptiste stormed into center stage and began to take charge. “Monsieur St. Pierre, you were right as usual, I see,” he said to Reid. “But you should have waited for us as I instructed. I told you we were on our way. Perhaps we could have avoided this…tragedy if you had not acted so hastily.”

  Reid stood slowly, glaring at Captain Baptiste. “And Christine would have been dead if I had waited. Lucky for us both I convinced Jean Marc to talk. He told me all about Mrs. DuPrae’s plans. My suspicions were all true, unfortunately.”


  “I must congratulate you on the results, if not your methods,” the captain said sagely. “However, I don’t believe Jean Marc is in any position to complain at the moment.”

  Captain Baptiste eyed Mrs. DuPrae’s body for a moment, then turned and said to me with his usual aplomb, “Trouble seems to follow you, does it not, mademoiselle?”

  “My father,” I said weakly. “He’s in there. You have to help him.”

  For the first time the policeman looked at me almost kindly. “We’ve brought a doctor. He’ll be all right.” He turned and said something to the man behind him—the doctor, I presumed—who in turn hurried into the peristyle.

  Uniformed officers were still spilling out of the shadows and seizing the rest of the dazed assemblage. Voices raised in protests, shouts erupted in both English and French Creole. I paid scant attention to any of it.

  I sat on the ground, still trembling, and stared up at Reid.

  Stared up at a man I knew I would never, ever understand.

  “The fire,” I said weakly. “How did you do that? You’re not a true believer, are you?”

  “I’m not a serviteur,” he said. “But I’ve told you before, Christine. There’s magic…and there’s magic.”

  He knelt beside me then, and our gazes held for the longest time. I knew he could read my thoughts. I made no effort to conceal them. My heart was in my eyes, and suddenly I found myself in his arms, hugging and being hugged, kissing and being kissed, as if there were no tomorrow.

  Reid held me tightly, whispering against my hair, “Christine.” He managed to make it sound like an admonishment and, at the same time, the most tender word in the universe.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m sorry I ever doubted you.”

  “I gave you no reason to trust me. For quite a while, I honestly thought Christopher had gone away of his own accord. He’d been acting so strangely, was so hostile toward me for months. I know now that Mrs. DuPrae was behind his strange behavior, but at the time, I thought it another betrayal. I guess I’ve always found it a little too easy to distrust the people I love.”