by J. N. Colon
The lights hanging in the long hall flickered as I passed under, a low buzz drifting around. My fingers ran along the ancient peeling wallpaper, the scent of dust and decay thick in the air.
“You can do it for me?” Max’s voice echoed from a bedroom.
My heart thumped as I dashed against the wall, peeking through the door. Max was standing across from Bastien, his feet shifting anxiously.
“You can make sure I get there and back safe?” Max continued. “I’m terrified to fly. I don’t think I can go without this.”
Bastien’s amber eyes were pensive as he rubbed the five o’clock shadow coating his chin. “I can do it.” His gaze darkened, and a shadow fell across his face. “For a price, of course.”
Ice trickled down my back, and I shivered. Bastien’s words eerily mirrored the voodoo king’s.
Max took out his wallet. “How much?”
A crooked smile split the oldest Benoit’s lips, and he lifted his palms. “We’ll get to that later. First, I need a couple of things from you.”
Max lowered his wallet, and the color drained from his cheeks. “Like what?”
A deep, raucous laugh exited Bastien, and he clapped Max on the shoulder. “Don’t look so scared. I just need some of your hair and something you treasure.”
Max’s shoulders slumped as he blew a raspberry. “Sure.”
“What’d you think I was going to ask for? A couple of teeth and a finger?” Bastien put his arm around Max’s shoulders to lead him out.
I ducked into another room, my breathing as uneven as my pulse.
My teeth worried over my bottom lip as I replayed the short yet informative conversation. There was no doubt in my mind Max was asking Bastien to work a spell.
This was the first time I’d witnessed either of the Benoits even remotely speak about magic. Was Bastien a scam artist, finagling money from the unsuspecting townsfolk, or did he really have the voodoo touch? Did his brother?
And if they did, would either be willing to save my soul?
A slew of unrecognizable words echoed from the front of the Leroux house. There was no mistaking who the furious voice belonged to. I left the banister and found Etie struggling with a power tool in the living room. His brows were drawn as he continued the long string of irate French.
I wasn’t sure if I was happy or disappointed he’d put on a shirt.
“What’s wrong?” I expected one of those glowering looks.
Instead, his head lifted, those green and blue eyes missing their usual disdain. “I can’t get this stupid thing to work, cher.” He flipped it over, examining it. “I got it a couple of months ago. It should be fine, no?”
My answer was a shrug. The closest thing to a power tool I used was a blow dryer.
With a sigh, he sat it down and wiped his hands on his jeans before reaching into his pocket for a piece of fruity candy.
He ate more sweets than a kindergarten class combined.
“You seen Bastien?” he asked around the lump of candy in his mouth. “I need to borrow his.”
I pointed toward the ceiling. “Upstairs somewhere.”
He strode past me, his arm brushing mine and sending a fury of flutters through my stomach. My body remained frozen, reliving the casual touch.
Get a grip.
I shook off the warm and fuzzies, then picked up the defective tool. I was seventy-five percent sure it was a nail gun. Without one, Etie would be hammering for hours.
The dusty chandelier above my head flickered and buzzed. The grimy gold bulbs grew so bright my lids squinted against the sudden stinging.
The nail gun unexpectedly hummed to life in my hands. “Whoa,” I mumbled, electricity vibrating through the small machine.
“Hey, cher—”
A nail shot out of the gun, flying toward the other side of the room where Etie had just emerged.
It sailed straight for his knee.
Or not.
At the last second, the nail shifted and slammed into the wall behind him.
What the…?
Another string of unfamiliar words exploded out of Etie. His eyes stared wildly in my direction. “What the hell, Angeline! You almost shot me!”
I blinked at the spot the nail should have gone, my mouth hanging open. “You… I… how…?”
He stormed over and lifted the power tool from my hands. “How’d you get it to work?” he asked, ignoring my stunned questions.
I shrugged. “I picked it up.”
Etie regarded me with a dark, unreadable expression. His heavy, intense stare made me feel naked.
“What?” I had the urge to cross my arms and cover my body.
“Nothing. Never mind.” His attention returned to the nail gun. “Stay away from the power tools. I don’t want you shooting anyone or yourself.”
“Whatever. It was an accident,” I mumbled, still unsure of how the nail missed him. The tiny voice in my head screamed the only answer there was.
Voodoo.
He used some kind of magic voodoo juju to repel the flying object.
I shook the thoughts off and stood, shoving my hands in my pockets before I accidentally harmed him. Or on purpose, whichever way I was leaning.
He jerked his chin toward the mantel where two empty glass bottles of lemonade sat. “Throw those away and get back to the banister.”
I saluted him with my middle finger. “Yes, sir. And you’re welcome for getting your nail gun to work.”
His head cocked to the side, the edges of his lips twitching. “Thanks, cher.”
I rolled my eyes and grabbed the bottles, stomping out of the room while listening to Etie’s quiet chuckles.
Those quiet chuckles died as eerie whispers arose from the edges of the kitchen. My body froze as I peered around, expecting to see someone, anyone.
No one was there.
The whispers grew louder, unfamiliar words rolling together to form a long string of ominous echoes. They slithered from the shadows, surrounding me. Suffocating me.
My heart pounded raggedly against my ribcage while my breath came in quick, heavy pants. My head was spinning as the unnerving cadence shifted, changing into a foreign chant.
Gwo-bon ange se li. Gadò moun ki mouri ar. Ou pa ka chape anba.
The rattle of bones and a distant drum-beat joined the fray.
Goosebumps exploded across my skin, and cold sweat slickened my palms. This wasn’t happening. I licked my dry lips, shaking my head. I refused to believe the horror unfolding in the Leroux kitchen.
Gwo-bon ange se li. Gadò moun ki mouri ar. Ou pa ka chape anba.
Gwo-bon ange se li. Gadò moun ki mouri ar. Ou pa ka chape anba.
An icy chill swirled into the room, ghosting down my arms. I shivered, still frozen to the spot.
“Eve-angel-ine, we meet again.”
The familiar voice opened a yawning pit in my stomach, filling it with the darkest things imaginable. This was a scene ripped right out of my nightmares, only this time I was wide awake.
My head slowly lifted, my eyes traveling up until I was face to face with the voodoo king.
Chapter 7
My lungs refused to work, and the steady beat of the drum mixed with the haunting melody of strange words filled my ears. I blinked, each time expecting to find him gone and each time met with the same disappointment.
The white skull paint was blinding against Baron Samedi’s dark ebony skin. The rouge scarf tied around his crooked top hat drifted on a phantom wind while sickly sweet cigar smoke curled out of his mouth.
“Eve-angel-ine.” He drew my name out, slowly pronouncing each syllable. It was the same voice that slithered through my nightmares, waking me on choking gasps.
The bottles slipped from my clammy hands as my body slackened. The shattering of glass was distant in my ears, masked by the chanting still coiling through the room.
His deep, resonant laughter chilled my bones. “Soon, Eve-angel-ine. Soon.”
“What are you doing,
cher?”
Etie’s voice splintered the hellish vision. Harsh sounds flooded my eardrums as the voodoo haze evaporated.
He brushed by me, motioning toward the pile of glass gathered at my feet. “Don’t just stand there. Help me clean it up.” He dragged a small trash can over.
My gaze searched the kitchen; no sign of Baron Samedi remained.
I sucked in a lungful of much needed air and tried to blink the terror from my eyes. My hand trembled as I reached for a large shard of glass. Icy sweat clung to my skin, chilling me.
Etie’s hand caught mine, his fingers a fire compared to my coldness. He withdrew the glass I was trying to hold. “What’s a matter with you, cher?”
My eyes slowly lifted to his, my breathing still too uneven. “N-Nothing,” I lied.
He examined me, his brows dipping. “You look like you saw a ghost.”
I flinched as an image of the voodoo king slashed through my mind.
Etie’s head cocked to the side, and for the first time, his eyes softened and lost some of that hard intensity. “You go on home, Angeline, okay? I’ll clean this up.” His thumb traced circles on my palm, his touch unexpectedly soothing. “You get some rest and come back tomorrow, no?”
I silently nodded, afraid my voice wouldn’t work.
Etie stood, bringing me with him. His warm hand slipped from mine, and I hated the loss of it. “You go now.”
I left without another glance back, afraid he would see the desperation creeping into my eyes.
Fingers of ice tickled down my back, and my pulse spiked as that painted skeleton face stared back at me. The scent of rum and cigars lingered in my nostrils, and I’d give anything for a pair of earplugs to drown out the drums and chanting.
No, I wasn’t in the presence of the real Baron Samedi. A depiction of the voodoo king was displayed on the computer screen. Real or not, it was enough to chill my blood to glacier levels.
After his visit yesterday, the reality of my situation hit me like a wrecking ball. My impending demise was closer with each passing minute. I had no effing clue how to get myself out of this deal. This must’ve been how someone felt when they sold their soul to the devil and death was finally knocking on their door.
The spirit world might as well be hell. I wasn’t going to be free to rest in peace. The voodoo king was going to own my soul. How many others had made deals like this? Did Baron Samedi make a habit out of collecting souls? Was he simply greedy? Lonely perhaps?
A black cat jumped on the counter, prancing above my head while her green eyes speared mine.
“Yeah. I’m doomed. Tell me something I don’t know.”
Her response was a long meow.
I was behind the counter at my mom’s veterinarian office, waiting for her to close up shop. As a last-ditch effort, I tried the Internet again.
What a waste of time.
Unlike these people describing him, my encounter had been real.
With a groan, I went back to my search results, scrolling down to the last one on the page. There was no title. Just a symbol with three curling lines.
I clicked it.
The search engine brought up a page about witchcraft.
I moved the mouse toward the back button when I noticed another symbol. Three interlocking crescent moons glowed at the bottom of the page. An inkling tickled the back of my mind, something like déjà vu.
I’d seen this symbol before.
The monitor flickered on and off.
What the hell?
I peered around, checking the cord connections. Everything was fine.
The screen flashed a few more times before going black. The tiny hairs on my arms stood on end, static electricity humming over my skin.
Maybe it was going dead.
I tapped the monitor, a sharp zap piercing my fingertips. “Ouch,” I hissed, shaking my hand. Geez. Could I go one day without getting shocked?
“What are you doing?”
I jumped at my mother’s voice, my hand flying to my chest. “Crap. You scared me. I think there’s something wrong with this computer.”
Her hazel eyes flicked toward the screen, darkening. “Is there a reason you’re looking up witchcraft?”
I spun around, blinking. The web page was back, the three interlocking crescent moons gleaming in the middle.
Weird.
“I clicked on the wrong site.” Half true.
My mom made a humming sound and reached over, shutting off the computer. “Any plans for the night?” Her usual chipper mood returned.
She must have had a long day.
“Nope,” I said. Not unless Baron Samedi decided to pay me another visit.
She tucked a few strands of auburn hair that fell from her ponytail behind her ear, the wedding band she still wore shining in the fading sunlight. “Maybe we could watch a movie.”
“Uh-huh,” I absentmindedly replied as Bastien strolled by the window. People on the sidewalk scurried out of his way. He kept on smiling, unbothered by their behavior.
“What do you know about the Benoit family?” I blurted.
My mom’s hand halted above the notepad she was about to pick up. “You know the rumors, Angel.” She shrugged and went back to tidying the desk.
“Yeah, but what else? What happened to their dad?” According to town talk, he was the one that passed the voodoo on to the boys. “Is it really true he went crazy doing voodoo?”
She scoffed as she straightened a stack of papers before dropping them in a bin. “Henri Benoit didn’t need voodoo to make him unstable. He was always a real piece of work. He brought nothing but trouble the moment he blew into town from his father’s home in Haiti.”
I dodged her arm as she pinned a note to the bulletin board behind me. “He was Haitian?”
“Half or part.” She shrugged. “I just know he was all parts bad.”
The Benoit brothers had deep bronze skin, but I’d assumed it was from working in the sun.
“He was a criminal,” my mother continued. “And a mean drunk.”
My chest tightened, imagining the kind of childhood Etie and Bastien might have had when their father was around. If he was as bad as my mother was saying, I was glad he was gone from their lives.
“What about their mother?” I came around the corner and helped her organize the waiting room. “No one ever talks about her.”
My mom shrugged. “Gabrielle is still here. She rarely leaves the swamp.” She fluffed a pillow, animal hair flying around us. “She doesn’t like people very much.”
Maybe she didn’t like what people said about her boys.
“What about the voodoo? Did Henri practice it? Could he really do spells and stuff?” I grabbed a discarded candy wrapper. A smile tipped my lips as I thought of the youngest Benoit. He had a sweet tooth the size of Texas.
My mom’s laugh was hollow. “Of course not. That’s ridiculous. That kind of thing isn’t real.” Her gaze averted to the stack of magazines she was spreading neatly across the coffee table. “What’s with all the questions about the Benoits?”
My brow knit as I fiddled with the wrapper. “I’m working with them this summer. Etie’s kind of my boss.”
Her head snapped up. “You’re what?”
I stepped back, surveying her shocked expression. She couldn’t be that scatterbrained. Didn’t Abuela tell her? “I’m working with them at the Leroux house.”
She shook her head, her ears close to spewing steam. “Absolutely not, Angel. You need to quit.”
I scoffed. “I’m not quitting my job. I like it.” Well, I secretly liked the company.
Her lips thinned into a tight white line. “I don’t want you working with them. They’re a bad influence.”
I rolled my eyes. “They’re not going to corrupt me. Besides, Abuela got me the job. You guys agree on everything.”
Her mouth hung open long enough to catch flies—or at least some of that animal hair floating around. “Your grandmother did this?”
/> I nodded.
Her hazel eyes narrowed. “I need to have a discussion with your grandmother.” She spun around and marched toward the back.
“I’m not quitting,” I called after her.
My brow furrowed at her retreating form. My mother was never judgmental of anyone, and she rarely listened to the town gossip. What was it about the Benoits that had her ready to hunt them down with a pitchfork? What did she think was going to happen?
Crickets and the slap of my flip flops echoed through the dark night. The air was thick with moisture, and the scent of rain hung heavy. My gaze lifted to the sky as dense clouds rolled in.
We certainly needed some rain to break the heat that had settled over Carrefour so early this summer. If things continued, we’d reach triple digits in no time.
The Leroux house finally came into view, standing like a haunted southern mansion slowly sinking back into the land. Why did I have to leave my phone there of all places? And I didn’t even realize it until way after the sun had set.
The dilapidated porch creaked as I made my way up the steps. I pushed the door open and tiptoed inside, weak moonlight drifting in through the grimy windows. I fumbled around for the switch on the wall, the lights flickering before my hand found it.
My brow furrowed at the ancient chandelier. The whole house probably needed rewiring. I slipped Abuela’s phone out of my jean shorts pocket and dialed my number, listening for the ring. When I didn’t hear anything, I drifted toward the kitchen and still nothing.
A shiver skittered down my spine as the eerie chants from the other day played on a loop in my mind.
My phone eventually went to voicemail. I hung up and dialed it again, slowly walking toward the stairs. A sigh slipped out. This search might take longer than I thought.
My feet reluctantly climbed the steps, my nape prickling and the hairs on my arms standing on end.
Being in this house during the day with Etie and other people was one thing, but traipsing around it at night alone gave me the creeps. It was too big and had too many dark places for things to hide.
At the landing, I dialed my phone again, straining for the ringtone.
