Ava’s eyes were wild. “What was that?”
“Adelaide is very old. Sometimes she forgets herself and says and does things she shouldn’t. I thought it was time to get us out of there.”
“You did that?” I asked.
He shrugged again. “Are you surprised that the nephew of the Voodoo Queen is a bokur?”
“Bokur?”
“I don’t know what you would call it in your world. A male witch? A warlock?”
Ava laughed abruptly. “New Orleans is just chock full of witches, isn’t it?”
I looked down at my hands; they were shaking. “What did she mean about the White Lady?”
Michel shrugged. “There are two factions of witches in New Orleans—those who practice Voodoo and follow my aunt, and those who follow the White Lady. I don’t know for sure why they call her that, but the rumor among Adelaide’s followers is that it concerns a folktale from the 1800s. The White Lady was a woman whose daughter was raped and murdered by a local farmer. Mad with grief, she threw herself into a lake. Her ghost supposedly wanders the roads at night dressed in white, looking for her child, and terrorizing passing motorists. Other versions of the story say she murdered the farmer and any other man who had ever dared to even look at her daughter.”
It was a long moment before I could speak. “Are you saying the dean of our school is a two hundred year old mass murderer?”
He ran his hand over his head. “I don’t know. Like I said, my aunt’s mind isn’t what it used to be. It could be true. Depending how we use our magic, we witches live much longer than Mundanes. But that’s not important right now. Tell me everything you remember about this warning. When Adelaide calms down, I’ll make sure she understands.”
While Ava related the details of the message Bel and Chloe brought from Morgause, and the attack on Claire Benoit, I wandered around the store. A small object on the back of a shelf caught my eye. It was a plain little doll made of cloth. Unlike the skull-headed versions, this one had no face and smelled like it was filled with herbs. I recognized it immediately.
“Why do you have a fith-fath in the store?” I asked.
Michel came over to look at what I held in my hands. “What did you call it?”
“A fith-fath. Someone made one for me once, but I didn’t take it. It was supposed to mask my presence from other magic users who wished to harm me. I was stupid to refuse it.”
“I’ve never heard it called that before.”
Ava grabbed the little figure from me. “I know what this is! It’s a Voodoo doll! People stick pins in it to hurt you.”
The young man laughed as he took the doll from her hand and waggled it at her. Ava took a quick step back, fear on her face, and he looked a little ashamed. “Sorry. Don’t worry. All that’s just stuff that’s been made up for horror movies. This is gris-gris—talisman based magic. You use the pin to put a picture or name on the doll to focus your spell on that individual or to call on a spirit. Then you petition it to help you with love, power, luck, or an uncrossing.”
When Michel tossed the doll on the shelf. I picked it up again, feeling strangely protective of it. “An uncrossing?”
“If someone wishes you bad luck or casts a spell on you, you use this to undo it.”
I shook my head. “That’s so similar to what Tal . . . to what someone once told me about it, but that was a completely different culture.”
“Don’t worry. I know all about Taliesin, King Arthur arisen, and the Horned God Cernunnos now calling himself Merlin.” I looked up in surprise at the young man. “Your people think the magic came to this reality with the creatures who left Avalon, but I believe it has always been here.”
“What do you mean?”
His dark eyes were intent, but he didn’t answer my question. “It doesn’t matter. Take it. If you wind a strand of your hair around its neck, maybe it will protect you the same way your fith-fath was supposed to.”
“Thank you,” I murmured, slipping the doll into the pocket of my sweater. I glanced over at Ava. The girl looked shaken and afraid. “We should go.”
Michel nodded. “And I should go with you to speak to the White Lady so we can plan how to proceed against this threat. My aunt’s no good to anyone in the state she’s in right now. She almost never leaves the apartment anyway. The cars and people confuse her and she forgets who she is.”
“Is she safe here alone?”
Michel laughed. “New Orleans will be safer from her while she’s in a mood, and we need to find out who wants the bones of witches before they have a chance to strike.”
Ava fidgeted nervously, obviously anxious to leave. “We’re parked around the corner.”
“I’ll just lock up the shop.”
As Michel prepared to close the store, my eyes were drawn back to the painting of Baron Samedi on the wall. The combination of elegant clothing and the skull-painted face was almost lewd, but there was something familiar about it too. “Michel, is the Baron real? Miss Benoit said she saw him when she was attacked.”
The young man glanced at the painting, but his eyes slid away as if the sight made him uncomfortable. “I have no doubt that whatever he truly is, the Baron is very real.
“And what about the loa—the spirits? Do you believe they’re really trapped on another plane of existence, forced by your rituals to obey you?”
Michel hesitated. “I don’t know that I believe in life after death in the religious sense. I do know that just like the Baron, the entities we call the loa are also real. And the Gates of Guinee keep the loa from entering our world.”
I had to swallow three times before I could speak. “But what if they are the spirits of the dead? If the gates are opened, could the dead come back to life?”
“I don’t know, but whoever stole Marie Laveau’s bones has someone special in mind to bring over to this side.”
I pointed at the picture. “Baron Samedi?”
“Perhaps.”
“But if Claire saw him, he must already be here.”
He shrugged. “There have been sightings of the Baron before. Maybe he’s able to appear briefly, but can’t stay permanently. Maybe Death always draws him back to the gates and ejects him from this world.”
We were all staring at the painting now, considering the terrible thought of such a creature making this world its home.
Michel closed up the store and followed us down the street to the dean’s SUV. I let him sit in the front, and to his credit, he only clutched at his seatbelt the first time Ava ran a stop sign. They continued the murmured conversation they’d begun in Adelaide’s apartment, but I ignored them. I couldn’t help thinking about the possibility of a magic that might allow the spirits of the dead to return to this world.
Stephen. Stephen. Stephen. I tapped my fingers on the window in time to his name.
“That’s funny,” Ava said as we drove through Westover Academy’s entrance.
I unclicked my seatbelt and leaned forward. “What?”
“The school’s technically closed for the Christmas holidays, so we should have had to buzz in to get the guard to open the gate.”
“Maybe someone else came in and he forgot to close it.”
“It’s almost two.”
“So?”
Ava frowned out the window at the empty lawn. “Security always checks the front around now.”
“How do you know that?”
She arched an eyebrow at me. “Trust me, the art of not getting caught requires knowing exactly where security will be at any given time. It’s actually a bit of a scandal. A whole lot of Fortune 500 progeny are enrolled here. The least the security company could do is randomly vary the schedule, but safety’s loss has been my gain.”
Ava parked in front of Stradford Hall and we ascended the stairs. As if on cue, the three of us hesitated in front of the doors. I had the strange impression that something was waiting for us behind them, but the building was hushed and silent.
I swallowed. “
I guess we should go inside.”
With a gentlemanly gesture, Michel opened one of the doors and peered inside. “Are all the lights usually off?”
Ava shook her head. “Maybe the dean went to the hospital to see Miss Benoit, but the foyer is always lit and someone should be in the security office.” She stepped inside and I followed her. Michel eased the door shut behind us.
Looking down the darkened hall towards the Dean’s office, I could see that the lights were off there too. “We have her car. She said she was going to reinforce the warding spells she’d placed around the school.”
“Maybe she’s out back.”
“Let’s check her office first, just in case. Maybe the power’s out or something.” I stopped abruptly.
“What?” Ava asked.
The picture of the Witch of Endor was hanging askew again. On the surface of the glass, across the figure of the witch, were two deep scratches.
Without conscious thought, I was running down the hall. Slamming against the door frame of the reception area, I pushed myself across the room. The dean’s door was closed. I wanted to open it, but my body wouldn’t obey. Wrapping my fingers around the knob I turned it back and forth. One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three. When I completed the ritual, I could finally turn the knob one last time and shove the door open so hard that it banged against the wall. Ava and Michel pushed into the opening beside me.
Some things can’t be unseen. The image from that day will be with me until I die and darkness finally claims my mind.
Meat was thrown around the room—human meat. Gobs of flesh hung from the walls. Here and there was evidence: a fingernail, a hank of brown hair, a shred of silk cloth. Torn scraps of the portrait that had hung on the wall looked like they’d been tossed around the room like confetti. Splinters from the frame impaled pieces of fat in a ghastly parody of hors d'oeuvres on toothpicks
There was blood everywhere, but no bones, not a single bone amongst the ruin of what was once a living being.
CHAPTER EIGHT
A DEATH
I couldn’t move. Ava had stumbled away and I could hear her being sick behind me. The sound of Michel’s breathing was harsh, but his voice was controlled. “The White Lady?”
“Yes.” I wanted to, but I couldn’t stop looking. I thought the Crone was evil—I thought I was evil— but I’d never seen evil until that moment.
“The bones are gone.” It wasn’t a question, but I nodded.
“H-h-how c-c-could s-someone do that? T-to a p-person?” Ava began sobbing and softly moaning.
As the smell of sickness mingled with the stench of rotting meat, darkness closed around me.
Michel caught me before I fainted and pulled me away from the carnage. Sitting me down on the couch, we stared at one another. His skin was ashy and his hands on my arm shook, but after a few moments, our breathing slowed and synchronized.
“No, no, no.” Ava was hunched over in a corner, rocking back and forth on her knees. A wave of complex emotion set my teeth buzzing. There was an intense desire to smash something, and beneath that, a shameful desire to smash it against Ava to make her stop.
Michel let me go and stood. “The shock is too much for her, but maybe I can help.
“How?”
He hesitated. “Bokur medicine.”
I wasn’t sure I liked the sound of it, but the girl was silent now, and her eyes were wild and staring. It was worse than the crying and moaning. The Lacey I once was would have been filled with concern and compassion. “Do it,” was all I could manage now.
He pulled out his wallet. Inside was a translucent packet containing dark granules. “She’ll need some water.”
“I’ll go get it.”
“Are you all right to stand?” I stood to prove I was. Kneeling beside Ava, Michel cupped her cheek with his hand. She stared at him with uncomprehending eyes.
“I’ll be right back.” As I stumbled down the hall past the picture of the Witch of Endor, a glint of color on the floor in front of it caught my eye. Kneeling down, I ran my fingers across the flecks of green and gold and was shocked to discover they were scales of some sort.
By the time I came out of the dining hall with a glass of water, Ava and Michel were already sitting together on a couch in the foyer. He looked up. “She was able to take the medicine without water. I thought it was better to get her away from that room.”
Flashes of irritation and suspicion went through me, but I kept my face relaxed.
He took the glass from my hand and gave it to Ava. “She should drink something anyway.” Ava began drinking in big gulps.
“What did you give her?”
“Just a special herb enhanced with magic to create a mild sedative. It will help her function until her mind is able to process what she’s seen.” He took the empty glass back. “You feel better now, right Ava?” She nodded.
I sank into a chair. I was so tired. “What should we do? Should we call the police?”
Michel shook his head. “They’ll think we did it. At the very least, they’ll detain us all for questioning. I need to protect my aunt.”
“We can’t leave it . . . her there.”
“Don’t forget that you’re a target too. We need to get you somewhere safe.”
“But when one of the guards finds her, they’ll suspect Ava or me anyway. They know we’re the only ones on campus.”
“Lacey, I don’t think there’s anyone left alive here.”
I thought of the open gate and knew he was probably right. I needed to make a decision. “I know somewhere we can go, but I need to talk to Miss Benoit first. She was bitten by the same thing that killed the dean.”
Michel was instantly alert. “You know what did this?”
I held up the iridescent scales clutched in my hand. “Li Grand Zombi.”
Ava followed me over to the residence and up to our room while Michel waited for us in the SUV. I began to gather some clothes, and after a moment, she did the same. She didn’t speak though, and I worried that despite Michel’s medicine, she was in deep shock.
I looked around with regret. I’d already begun to think of the room as home. I didn’t know if I would be coming back, so I grabbed my scrapbook and the leather bag containing the harp of Binnorie. Stuffing my clothes in the bag, I grabbed Ava’s as well, and she trailed behind me back down to the SUV like a faithful puppy. I held the back door for her to get in and then dumped the bags at her feet.
Why do some people get to fall apart while the rest of us have to put on our big girl panties and go on? As I got in the front seat, my compulsions made me put the key in the ignition and take it out three times before I was able to turn on the engine, but I finally did it.
Michel was staring at me and I could feel my face flushing. I had everything precious to me in the leather bag on the floor of the back seat, so why shouldn’t I just get on the next plane home? The death of a witch I barely knew wasn’t really my problem.
Not my problem. Not my problem.
I didn’t finish my personal incantation; I let it hang there, uncomfortable and incomplete. The image of Elisha Dalton’s torn and chopped up flesh was an itch in my mind that I couldn’t scratch; a picture frame that couldn’t be straightened; a ritual that I couldn’t complete.
Or could I?
Knowing I was doing the right thing—knowing I was doing the stupid thing—I opened the door and got out.
“Where are you going?” Michel yelped.
“I can’t leave her like that.”
“We have no idea how long we’re safe here. Someone will show up with a delivery or the next security shift will arrive. At some point, the cops are going to be all over this place.”
“I have to go back. It won’t take long, I promise.”
I didn’t wait for him to protest again. I returned to Stradford Hall and entered the darkened building. Moving deliberately, I counted my steps in threes until I stood outside the reception area of the dean’s off
ice. The recitation of numbers in my head had placed me in an almost trance-like state; I felt as if I was floating above my body, watching myself. It made me wonder if the dean’s spirit still lingered near her remains or if it had already fled to the place of peace and rest I’d believed in growing up. Maybe she had joined the loa and would spend eternity obeying Voodoo queens and bokurs.
I wondered who would miss her. Her daughter was dead, but she’d mentioned a cat. The thought of that cat waiting for her master to come home bothered me, and I was pushed back inside my body.
I went inside. Searching through the drawers of Claire’s desk for something sharp, I found a letter opener. Telling myself to think of the slabs of protein in front of me as things, not a person, I drew the letter opener across my left palm three times, gasping in relief as I made the third cut. The wall to my right was sprayed with blood and gore. I pressed my hand against it.
The Crone had used my blood for many of her spells. Blood was a balance of all the elements—fire, water, air—bound by the spirit or will contained in the body. With blood magic, you weren’t constrained by specific words and actions needed to create specific outcomes. With blood, you could control the elements, if your will was strong enough. There was always a price to pay, but by using someone else’s blood, some of that price was passed on to them. The Crone had used a lot of my blood. I sometimes wondered if that was why I felt so dead inside—if the price I’d paid for her magic had made me less than human.
“Round and round and round we go. Where we stop, nobody knows.” I didn’t know why the words to the rhyme had come to my mind. I wanted to laugh, but didn’t let myself.
With the power of my blood and the White Lady’s combined, I called on one of the Crone’s spells written on my very bones to answer. There had to be something useful. As Cailleach, the great hag/queen of winter, half the spells she’d stuffed into me were ones of pale destruction. It probably would have hollowed me out and left me mindless, but she could have saved herself from Morgan and Boudica using one of those spells. Instead, she allowed Boudica to cut off her head.
Sword of Elements Series Boxed Set 2: Bound In Blue, Caught In Crimson & To Make A Witch Page 54
