by J. N. Colon
Abuela dropped me off, practically kicking me out of her Cadillac and hauling ass down the road before I could get one single answer out of her. I hadn’t the foggiest clue what my summer job was or who I’d be working for.
My fingers shook as they pushed the heavy wooden door open, revealing a dusty foyer. Cobwebs clung to the corners, and I ducked, expecting the itsy bitsy—or biggie mcgiant—spider to drop on my head.
I tiptoed in further, curling my toes to keep my flip flops from slapping the oak floors. It may have been summer, but the cavernous room was cold and hollow. Goosebumps prickled my skin. A few tools were spread out, and wood dust clogged the air.
“Hello?” I called out, my small voice bouncing against the peeling walls. “Hello?”
A noise resonated from the left side of the house. I followed it, my steps slow and careful when I crossed the threshold into a massive kitchen. A tall form leaned against the counter, his head bobbing to music emanating from earbuds. Sunlight glinted on dirty blond hair that was swept back into a low ponytail at the base of his tanned neck.
Before I could speak, as if sensing me, his wide shoulders tensed and he spun around. “Hey there. Can I help you, cher?”
My tongue glued to the top of my mouth, and it was the only thing stopping my jaw from falling off. No one would blame me if it did drop right off my face. It could happen to anyone standing in front of Bastien Benoit.
“Cat got your tongue?” When I still hadn’t said anything, Bastien leaned one arm against the counter, his brow arching. “I can think of much better things to do with your tongue than any cat.”
My jaw fell open. And then an unattractive snort came out. “Did you seriously say that?” I slapped a hand over my mouth, my cheeks burning red. “I mean…” I shook my head, at a loss for words. “Does that work?” I blurted, earning a chuckle.
Even his laugh was sexy.
“Usually.” He winked. “But I can see you might need a little more finesse.”
I snorted again and internally cursed my psychotic behavior. But how was I supposed to act when I’d been expecting dark and scary from the Benoits? Not hot and flirty. “I don’t think any finessing is in order unless you want a feisty Puerto Rican woman knocking you out.”
His head tilted to the side. “Evangeline?”
“I go by Angel.”
Some of the mischief left his amber eyes. “You’re here for the job.”
I shoved my hands in my pockets and awkwardly rocked on my heels. “I guess. My grandmother didn’t give me much to go on. Actually nothing. A big fat nothing…” I trailed off, biting my lip to keep from spewing more babble.
His head tilted back as he laughed. “This is amazing. He’s going to love this.”
Okay…
“So, what am I going to be doing? Decorating? Picking out paint or something?”
Bastien tossed an arm over my shoulder, drawing me out of the kitchen. He smelled like sunshine and sawdust. “Oh no, Angel. You’re going to be doing something much better.”
A hard knot of concrete formed in my stomach at his ambiguous answer.
Bastien led me into the living room where a guy was squatting on the floor, messing with one of the power tools. His back was toward us, a green camo shirt stretched tightly over a wide set of shoulders.
“Étienne,” he called out, the humor in his voice unmistakable. “Your summer helper has arrived.”
The moment he said the name my body tensed. All I could think about was that stare boring into me while hiding outside of his house. The same stare pierced me from the library window.
Étienne spun around, and what I had experienced earlier was nothing compared to the effect only a few feet away.
Air caught in my throat while I helplessly gaped at the most intoxicating and mystifying pair of eyes I’d ever seen. One blue and one green, two unique windows to one soul that equally terrified and enticed me.
How could anyone not be lured by these brothers? They were like the candy on the witch’s house Hansel and Gretel couldn’t resist. I could only imagine what was hiding beneath their sexy, rugged appearances.
Voodoo anyone?
I swallowed hard as the intense stare-off continued, and I was ninety-nine percent certain Étienne knew I’d been the one lurking outside of his house.
He slowly stood to a six-foot-something height, his presence so powerful it shrank the room. A scowl emerged on his handsome face, stretching the scar below his bottom lip. Another glinted on the right side of his cheek.
This guy should have danger stamped on his ass.
“You kidding, no?” His eyes never left mine as if daring me to look away first. “You can’t be serious, Bastien.” His hand motioned the length of me. “When you said a female was going to work with me, I was fine with that, but I thought she’d be able to actually do the work.”
I blinked and attempted to decipher his words through the thick Cajun French accent riddling them. It was twice as thick as his brother’s.
“Oh, I’m dead serious, Etie.” Bastien’s smile grew bigger.
Etie tossed his hands in the air. “She’s three feet tall and probably weighs eighty pounds soaking wet.”
“Hey!” I blurted, catching that loud and clear. “She is standing right here, and she doesn’t care to be insulted.” I popped my hands on my narrow hips. “And I’m five-two.”
Bastien snorted and slung his arm over my shoulders again. “This is Evangeline, but she goes by Angel. And I like her. She’s a keeper, no?”
Those mismatched eyes rimmed in ridiculously thick, sooty lashes continued to smolder, trying to intimidate me. I hated to admit it was working. Hard muscles flexed beneath his clothes, and one of those big hands could fit around my entire neck. He looked as if he wanted to strangle his brother or me. Either one would probably do.
It would be so easy to turn tail and run without another look at Étienne Benoit. I’d much rather do that than spend the rest of my short days in his brooding presence.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t back down. The challenge in his eyes wouldn’t let me.
I choked in a deep breath and slipped from beneath Bastien’s arm. “I can do this job,” I said, crossing my arms against my chest to match his stance. “Just because I’m small doesn’t mean I can’t work hard.”
Etie clucked his teeth. “Oh yeah? You ever work a hard day in your life, cher? I know you live in that big white house up the road. You’re probably used to spending the summer swimming in that pool you got or shopping for some more of those hundred dollar flip flops you’re wearing.”
Heat blossomed in my face, flooding my cheeks with red that would have been more noticeable if I had lighter skin. “I’ve worked before.” I spoke through gritted teeth.
His brow lifted. “Where? Your mama’s animal clinic? I’m sure that was real hard work.”
I scoffed. “It sure as hell wasn’t playing with puppies and kittens all day. Try cleaning out a million cages filled with stuff I don’t even want to think about. Or how about cutting mange off of stray and abandoned dogs or cleaning festering wounds left behind by rusty chains from abusive assholes.”
I’d seen my fair share of animal abuse. The world was full of sick, heartless bastards. The thought of it made my blood boil, which only added to the fire twisting through my veins. I wasn’t usually so easily angered, but something about the youngest Benoit had my hackles raised.
The dusty, cobweb riddled chandelier flickered above our heads. The brothers glanced up and then at each other, an unspoken question bouncing between them.
My nostrils flared as I took a deep breath, attempting to calm the storm raging inside. “Do you like being judged?”
Etie looked back at me, blinking. “What?”
I huffed. Was I that easily forgotten? “Do you like being judged by where you come from? Do you like when people make certain assumptions—and we all know they do—about you because you live in the swamp?”
Large arms fo
lded over his thick chest.
“I didn’t think so. You know how it feels, so don’t do it to me, Étienne Benoit.”
Bastien chuckled from beside me. I gave him a narrowed glare, and he pressed his lips together.
“My grandmother’s not an idiot. She wouldn’t have gotten me this job if she didn’t think I could do it. I may be small, but I do work hard despite what you think.” She must have gotten me this job to toss me far out of my comfort zone because right now, I was worlds from it. Hell, galaxies away.
Etie stared at me for another few beats before he sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Fine.” He cocked his head to the side, the corner of his lips twitching. “Come back tomorrow morning at eight o’ clock.” He pulled one hand out, his fingers clutching a piece of fruity candy. “And don’t wear—” he motioned toward my outfit of shorts, a tank top, and flip flops—“that.”
My face twisted in a grimace. Had I known I would be—well, I still wasn’t sure what my job entailed—I would have dressed more appropriately.
I pivoted to leave when Etie called me back. “Angeline?” The name crossed his lips with even more of a French twang.
“Angel,” I corrected.
“No flip flops.”
I rolled my eyes. “I got it.”
“See you tomorrow, Angeline.” Laughter riddled his voice as he said the name again.
I stomped out of the door. Every step further away from Étienne Benoit, the more my brain could focus. And that was when the panic set in.
What the hell had I just done? Only a few hours ago I was shaking in my figurative boots at the sight of the Benoit brothers, especially Etie. And then I had to unleash the Puerto Rican sass I didn’t know was living inside me. My life might be over before my eighteenth birthday.
My feet pounded against the dirt, flip flops slapping the ground. Dust storms followed in my wake. Nighttime suffocated me and panic hemorrhaged through my bloodstream. Marisol was sick—dying they’d said—and there was only one person that could help.
The old rickety dock finally came into view, the twisted and sun-weathered boards creaking beneath my meager weight. I skidded to a stop at the end, two inches from careening forward into the muddy waters below. My palm flattened against my chest, attempting to calm my erratic heart.
An ominous, foreboding scene unfolded, torn right from a nightmare. A world where shadows stretched long and sinister monsters lurked beyond their cover. The line between light and dark, good and evil, real and unreal faded until there was nothing but murky dread.
Bald cypress trees stood like sentries, guarding a place time and reality had forgotten. Delicate Spanish moss draped over skeletal branches, a ghostly vision in the dark. Green duckweed clogged the surface of the water, obscuring the nocturnal creatures swimming beneath.
I hadn’t been in Louisiana long, but the swamp was always full of noises. Frogs croaking a nightly song, crickets chirping, and even the gurgle of gators rising.
Not tonight. The wind didn’t even stir.
I shook off the eerie prickling spreading across my skin—a warning for me to turn back—and hardened my resolve. I came here to save my sister. I’d already lost my dad. I wouldn’t lose Marisol, too.
“Papa Legba?” My voice was barely more than a squeak. I cleared my throat and called out again. “Papa Legba?” According to that book, the powerful voodoo spirit granted wishes to those who asked, to those who believed.
I’d believe in anything if it could help my sister.
Marisol woke up sick three days ago. Two days ago she hadn’t woken up at all. The doctors said her organs were slowing down and he didn’t know why. Soon, they’d stop altogether. Abuela claimed it was the work of the devil while my mother assured us it was something treatable. They’d find a cure.
We all knew they wouldn’t.
My prayers were answered when I found Voodoo Myths & Spirits just lying around at the library. No one else would have tried it. They would have said voodoo wasn’t real.
Well, voodoo was all I had right now.
I waited. Nothing moved within the darkness. I waited some more and still nothing. It seemed like hours passed, tears prickling my eyes at my helplessness.
Fog suddenly rolled in through the swamp, drifting over the water and bringing with it an ominous, unseasonable chill. I rubbed my arms for warmth. Something tickled my bare toes. A black spider slowly climbed over my foot.
A gasp slipped out, and I kicked it off, the black body and spindly legs disappearing through the cloud of fog floating over the duckweed water.
“Eve-angel-ine.”
I spun around at the slow drawl of my name. A man stood on the dock, the dull moonlight glinting on the white skull painted across the rich ebony skin of his face. A flashy black suit with silver embellishments clothed his substantial form, and long coattails drifted behind.
“P-Papa Legba?” But I knew even before asking, Papa Legba was not the spirit I conjured.
A smile tipped his mouth, and smoke oozed between his white teeth. He removed the top hat, giving me a dramatic bow. The red silk scarf tied around it reminded me of fresh blood.
“No, chil’. I am Baron Samedi. Most know me as the voodoo king.” He rose, winking an obsidian eye. “At your service.”
My skin puckered as his voice floated around me, a smooth cadence riddled with a heavy Cajun accent. “But Papa Legba—”
He clucked his teeth. “Papa Legba ain’t the one you need. I am the keeper of the dead, and I am the healer of the living. It is me you need Eve-angel-ine.”
I swallowed hard, unsettled by the way my name rolled off his tongue. But he said healer of the living, and that was exactly what I needed. “Can you heal my sister?”
He nodded. “I’ll make her good as new, chil’.” His head slanted while a twist of his lips sent an icy tingle through my gut. “For a price, of course.”
My shoulders slumped as I jammed my hands into my empty pockets. “I don’t have any money.”
His head tilted back, peals of deep laughter shaking the boards beneath my feet. “That ain’t the kind of payment I require. I have no need for money.”
I nibbled my bottom lip. What would the voodoo king want?
As if he sensed my question he bent until our noses almost touched. The scent of rum and cigar smoke coiled around him. “I require a trade.”
My brow puckered. “A trade?”
“A soul for a soul.” He lowered onto his knees, his dark, impenetrable eyes unrelenting. “Her soul for yours.”
Every ounce of moisture left my mouth, replaced by sand. Breathing was difficult through the tightness of my chest. “Y-You want my soul?”
He nodded. “Your gwo-bon ange.”
I swallowed hard, my fingers picking at a thread in my shorts. If I pulled it anymore, the entire hem would unravel. “What are you going to do with it—I mean, me?” My soul and I were one in the same, right?
“Shepherd you to the spirit world instead of your sister,” he said. “And once there, you will remain with me.”
“For what?” I whispered.
“Don’t worry, little cher.” His head tipped to the side, looking up at me. From this angle, he looked even more chilling. “You want to save your sister, no?”
My eyes fell to my feet, silently considering my choices. Marisol would die if I didn’t make the trade. And I would take her place.
“Let me make it easier on you, chil’.” A rough finger touched my chin, forcing my eyes back to his. They were darker than anything I’d ever seen, thicker than all the shadows here combined. “I won’t take you now.”
“When?”
“I’ll come calling for you on your eighteenth birthday. You got plenty of time to live. Almost eight full years. Seems like a lifetime already, no?”
My eighteenth birthday was light-years away. Marisol would live and so would I—until then.
I knew what my answer would be even if I had to leave with him now. “I’
ll do it.”
A wide grin slithered over his face. “We have a deal?”
Phantom spiders scuttled down my spine, and the air cooled another ten degrees. The voice inside my head was urging me to back out. Now. I didn’t know what I was doing. This was too dangerous.
I ignored it.
“Deal.”
The dock vibrated beneath my feet, and the wind howled. Energy crackled through the rum-scented air like lightning in a storm. Strands of hair lashed my face, and through them, the onyx eyes of the voodoo king flashed crimson.
Chapter 4
I bolted upright in bed, sweat coating my skin and soaking my hairline. My breath came in ragged pants, shattering the silence of my room. Flashes of the voodoo king assaulted my mind, the skull painted over his face so blindingly white against his ebony skin. The sickly sweet smell of cigars and rum drifted up my nose, making me queasy.
My eyes flicked to the clock on my bedside table. Three weeks, one day, and sixteen hours. It was all the time I had left before Baron Samedi, the voodoo king, came to collect my soul.
With an uneven sigh, I swung my legs over the bed, my feet touching the fuzzy sage rug beneath. My mouth was dry as a desert. I stumbled down the hall and the stairs in the dark, hoping not to wake anyone. Abuela was the hardest to lie to. She’d take one look at me and know something was wrong.
When I finally shuffled into the kitchen, I reached for the dimmer switch. The bulbs flared to full blast before I even touched it.
What the…?
I blinked as the recessed lights lowered on their own, dimming to a more manageable level. Something must be wrong with them.
I shuffled to the fridge, snagging a bottle of water. The snap of the seal breaking echoed hollowly through the kitchen. The ice-cold liquid felt amazing going down my parched throat, soothing the burning the nightmare had left in my chest. I leaned against the counter, absentmindedly staring out the French doors to the backyard.
Images of Etie Benoit sparked in my mind, that annoyingly sexy smile taunting me as he called me Angeline. There was no way that guy was normal. He had sin and danger oozing out of every pore. If anyone in this town was capable of voodoo, it was him.
