Soul Reckoning

by Nancy E. Polin

  “Yeah and you’re currently keeping me from it.”

  She met his eyes and it occurred to him she hadn’t done so since he’d kissed her. The memory of it brought warmth to his insides but he kept his expression blank.

  “Luke, after closing, I’d like to talk to you. I think I might need some … help. I mean, if you’re okay with it.”

  He opened his mouth to respond with something caustic, but the profound sadness that seemed to emanate from her cut off the defensive impulse. “Is everything okay?”

  Rowan stared down at him, her beautiful face pinched and pale. “I think I might be going crazy, that’s all.”

  His heart twisted in his chest and a low panic buzzed in his blood, but he kept his expression neutral. “I guess that merits discussion.”

  Turning, he pulled the door open to step back into the hallway.

  “Luke?”

  Hesitating, he shifted back to face her.

  “Why did you kiss me?” Instead of curious, her voice sounded tired. Her gaze stuck to his face, wary but exhausted. “I thought you didn’t like me. Hell, I thought you resented me.”

  Luke weighed his answer, contemplating the discussion he’d had earlier in the week with his deceased wife. He remembered Henry’s somber comment. The rest of your life is a long time to mourn. It was so unbelievably difficult to move on. “You thought wrong.”

  He let the door swing shut behind him before she could witness emotions pushing out his threadbare control.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Rowan sat in the corner booth, hands clasping one another, jaw pulsing. Her hair hung loose past her shoulders, falling in tumbles of dark-cherry waves. She’d pushed it behind her ears and the glint of tiny pieces of jade graced the lobes.

  Without bothering to ask, Luke grabbed a bottle of bourbon and two short glasses from behind the bar and crossed the dining room. He swung into the seat opposite her and poured each of them a double.

  He waited.

  Rowan glanced at him before studying the amber liquid in the glass.

  “You look like you could use one.”

  Her lip twitched, but there was nothing humorous behind it. She reached to cradle the glass between her hands. “Thanks.”

  Luke watched her take a sip, noting the slight tremble of her hands.

  “You live here all your life, Luke?” She shook her head. “Sorry. An assumption on my part. The accent I guess.”

  “Most of it.” With the couple exceptions of college and a summer abroad. He took a swallow of his own drink, enjoying the smooth burn.

  “You seem right at home with … Mavis, Robert, and whatever, whoever, else has decided to claim this place as their own. I’m wondering if that’s the norm around here.”

  “Seems like you’ve accepted them.”

  “Always thought I had an open mind, but when it came to the supernatural, well, that’s always been a tough one.” She shrugged and allowed a tiny laugh. “Not anymore, though. I guess it’s probably because my parents are … the way they are. My dad’s a doctor, a plastic surgeon, and my mom, well, she’s big on the hospital fundraising scene. They’re not people to encourage flights of fancy or anything. I know that sounds weird since my dad, in his way, sells fantasy, but it’s a business. They’re actually both pragmatic to a fault. That’s why they were so pissed off when I left college to try my hand at acting. Especially my mom.” Rowan took another swallow of bourbon. “Now I’m making them sound bad and that’s not my intention. They’re decent people. Just not … prone to believing a lot of things.”

  “It’s hard to believe what hasn’t been experienced,” Luke murmured, a little surprised at her admission. She went out of her way to avoid talking about herself. Of course, he was just as guilty. “There’s much more out there than people see or want to see.”

  Leaning back, he waited, instinctively knowing the crux of the discussion was coming up.

  She pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead and squeezed her eyes shut. Several long moments later, she took another drink and locked her gaze on his. “Tell me about my uncle.”

  Frowning, he tilted his head. “What about him?”

  “You said you weren’t aware of any gambling or anything like that. To be honest, I’m not sure I believe you. You were his friend, so it’s reasonable to assume you’d only protect him. What I want to know is if he acted … differently … before his death.” Rowan finished her drink, and although her movements had turned a little sluggish, her gray eyes were direct. He wondered for how much longer.

  “In what way?”

  “You tell me.”

  “What happened today?” He topped off their drinks, pushed the bottle aside. “Are you in trouble?”

  “Don’t turn this around on me. Please. I need to know if Jimmy seemed scared, maybe even paranoid. Was he afraid to leave the bar?”

  Guilt cut into his insides and he couldn’t say a word for several long moments. Rowan continued to stare at him, waiting. But he was relieved to find no accusation in her eyes.

  “There was something going on, but he wouldn’t talk to me,” Luke conceded and shoved a hand through his hair. “He seemed distracted, not himself. Pisses me off because maybe I could have helped.”

  “He didn’t trust you? That seems unlikely … considering.”

  Insult flared but blew itself out. “No, that wasn’t it. If anything, I think he was … ashamed.”

  Fear glazed her eyes but her face remained stoic. “Huh.”

  She squeezed the drink between her hands and he had the faintest vision of it cracking and exploding. “You found him, didn’t you? It wasn’t a heart attack, then?”

  “Sure it was.” He finished his whiskey and returned it to the tabletop with a thud. “But isn’t that anyone’s cause of death? Heart stops, life stops.”

  Swallowing, she dropped her gaze to the glass cradled in her palms, seemed to debate before finishing it. “Don’t play with me. There’s more. I can tell there’s more.”

  “All right, there’s more.” He leaned close, forearms braced, hands fisted. Temper, grief, and a healthy dose of fear for this woman twisted him up inside. “Usually a heart attack doesn’t make a man punch holes in walls, throw things, smash his hand through a pane of glass, or turn his hair white.”

  Eyes widening, she opened her mouth and shut it again. A thin sheen of sweat touched her forehead and Luke felt sick inside. “The authorities…”

  “See what they want to see. Locked door from the inside. A man who’d grown really eccentric pops off, goes over. They think loose wiring in his head because the autopsy is what it is. He suffered from Paget’s, which is some kind of bone thing, but the official cause of death was basically a clot in the heart. No drugs that they could detect, no defensive wounds, nothing to indicate anyone was there but him.”

  “Weren’t you downstairs?” she whispered.

  Luke shook his head with a grim smile. “That was the weekend I decided to visit my mother in Shreveport. Got back early Monday morning.”

  Rowan curled forward to stare dully at the distressed wood of the table, even as he stared at her. “What did he see that night?”

  Luke said nothing, knowing the softly uttered question wasn’t directed at him. His own imagination had gone dark and depraved when he’d asked himself the same damned thing. Taking an extra moment, he refilled their glasses.

  Finally, she looked up. “You said that you could have helped him? How?”

  “I said maybe.” Luke hesitated before pushing on. “I can’t help but wonder if he got himself involved with a bokor.”

  Her eyes widened. “What’s a bokor?”

  “Open mind, remember?”

  Rowan nodded, a frown crinkling her brow. She sipped her drink, and sipped again. Finished.

  “There are some very superstitious people in this area who believe in the power of voodoo. I’m sure that’s not news to you. I mean, it is New Orleans. Most of it’s pretty harmless. Touristy
crap. Love, luck, libido, that kind of thing. But not all of it. A bokor is kind of a witch doctor who deals in spells, but where most priests or priestesses use white magic, a bokor does whatever he needs to do to get any job done.”

  “Whatever it takes…” she murmured, gazing at him, darkness in her eyes. “What does that mean?”

  “It means he’ll use white magic or black magic. They’re known to mess with some pretty dark forces.”

  “And you believe this?” Her hand shook when she refilled her glass.

  Luke sighed, long and heavy. “My logical side says no. I mean, I went to college and thought I moved beyond superstition, but growing up here, you see things, hear things. And they don’t always have a solid explanation.”

  “The ghosts for instance.” A smile twitched at her lips but didn’t quite form.

  “I guess so.”

  “This guy who’s … harassing me … or maybe he’s technically haunting me, I don’t know, but he says Jimmy left a debt and he expects me to pick up the tab.”

  “That’s why you were asking about gambling…” Luke sat back to search his memory before snapping back at her words. “What did you say? Has someone actually threatened you?”

  They both jumped when a frigid wind blew through the tavern, rattling glasses and making the lights flicker. A moment later, the jukebox came alive with Screamin’ Jay Hawkins singing about putting a spell on someone. Luke glanced around, clenching his jaw in annoyance, figuring one of the ghosts had discovered a new talent.

  It cut off seconds later, leaving a long silence broken only by the occasional rumble of traffic.

  ****

  Rowan took a breath and let it out in a slow trickle, but it did nothing to ease the sound of her heart blaring in her ears. “Um, that was unexpected.”

  “Has someone been threatening you?” He came back to the point without comment.

  “Yes, I think. But not exactly.”

  “What does that even mean?” he demanded.

  His tone managed to elicit a spark of aggravation within her and she narrowed her eyes.

  “It means I have no proof. Half the time I can’t even quite remember what he looks like afterward. And before you get you boxers in a twist, I’m not looking for a protector. I can take care of myself. I’d just like to have an idea what I’m up against.”

  “Accepting ghosts is one thing. But if this is a bokor, you’re in way over your head.”

  “And what are you … thinking?” Dizziness swooped in and she pressed her fingers to her temple. “Hell, I think I’m going to sell this place and go home.”

  Luke didn’t answer and when she looked up, his expression held something too close to sympathy. Her anxiety and fear ratcheted up into the stratosphere.

  “What? Why are you looking at me like that?” Panic raced up her spine.

  He leaned forward and she caught a subtle whiff of his aftershave. “It won’t matter where you are.”

  His voice had gone so gentle. It was a tone she’d never heard from him and nothing could have frightened her more. Rowan pushed up against the table. “Am I destined for white hair and a heart attack at twenty-eight? Is that what you’re saying?”

  She climbed to her feet, swaying. The vulnerability of intoxication brought back the sting of tears and her vision blurred. “Am I dead because of something my uncle did? Something he got mixed up in?”

  Luke shook his head and stepped toward her. “No, we can try to fix this.”

  “How? You haven’t seen him. He’s solid, then he’s a shadow. Then your brain goes to mush and your muscles freeze. I can take care of myself, I swear I can. Someone tried to mug me in Hollywood once and I kicked his balls into oatmeal. But this is something … different.”

  He winced and cleared his throat. “I know someone who can help. At least, I used to.”

  “Is it a curse? Am I cursed?” She turned, stumbled, but he caught her arm to keep her upright. “I need to … go.” Where did she need to go? Where could she? She had no idea, but the persistent urge to escape turned all encompassing.

  “You need to get some sleep and prepare for a wicked hangover. We’ll take care of this. You’re not going to drop over dead at the age of twenty-eight.” Luke ran his hand over her hair and she frowned.

  Shaking her head, Rowan tried to pull away when the room tilted. “Shit. I think I’m going to fall…”

  “I’ve got you.”

  ****

  Rowan rolled over, cracked her eyes open, and wished she hadn’t. Lightning bolts of pain zapped the inside of her brain and ricocheted around to further the damage.

  This was why she didn’t drink that often.

  Blinking several times, she squinted in confusion at her bedside table. A bottle of water and a smaller one of aspirin stood within easy reach.

  The flush of embarrassment hit her and heat crept over her skin with happy little feet. Her memory was harsh, unwavering.

  Shit. Why couldn’t she be one of those fools who forgot everything after a bout with liquor?

  Luke had carried her upstairs when the room wouldn’t stop spinning. Carried. Her. Upstairs. Some ultra-primitive part of her acknowledged how his arms had felt solid, safe around her, even as the modern part tried to drop-kick it out of her brain.

  Embarrassment spiked into humiliation when she caught the whiff of coffee from the front room. Oh, God. He was still here. Had she slept with him? And here she thought she’d remembered everything. In a swift move that made her brain sing horribly off-note, she flipped off the comforter, relief a cool blanket across her flesh.

  With the exception of her shoes, she was fully dressed.

  Squeezing her eyes shut, she rubbed her forehead. Agitation and headache warred within the confines of her skull. Taking a moment to pop a couple of aspirins, she washed them down before following her nose to the siren-scent of caffeine.

  Luke was slumped on the couch, long legs stretched out over the coffee table, crossed at the ankles. The morning television news yammered from talking heads opposite him. His hair was mussed into spikes, face coated with morning beard growth. The first word that settled into her hangover-infused mind was ‘sexy’ and she gritted her teeth against it. “You didn’t have to stay, you know.”

  He stared at her, those dark-blue eyes cool on hers. “You have a TV.”

  “I’m glad you have your priorities.” She poured a cup of coffee, almost purring over the aroma. Rowan peered beyond the steam at him. “Thank you.”

  “Welcome.”

  “This is awkward.”

  “Not for me.”

  She scowled and sipped her coffee, the boost initially psychological. The physical would be along in short order.

  He tilted his head and studied her, a faint smile holding around his eyes. “Only bar owner I’ve ever met that can’t hold their booze.”

  Leaning against the counter, she glowered at him. “In fairness, I’ve only been a bar owner a couple of months. Maybe I’ll build up a tolerance.” She took another sip, the warmth struggling to push out the sudden cold when her thoughts turned. “If I live that long.”

  Luke stared at her for a long moment, pressing his lips together. Glancing at his watch, he nodded. “We have time to take a side trip this morning. It’s been a few years, and I’ve kind of lost touch, but with any luck, she’s still alive and in the area.”

  “That’s not very heartening.”

  “Hell, this woman will probably outlive us all.” The dark-blue of his eyes shifted into uncertainty, almost embarrassment. “I remember my grandmother and Mrs. Leroux talking about local voodoo shops, I mean the real deal. I also remember her just … knowing things. Like she could peel away all my layers and see what I was thinking.” A smile shoved at his discomfort. “Pretty disconcerting for a kid, I’ll tell you that.”

  “I bet,” she murmured, gazing at him over the rim of her mug. She was unsure what to think about any of this but fascinated at the change she saw in him.


  “Last time I saw her, she still made me feel the same damned way.” He shook his head, what appeared to be sadness flitting through his eyes. The moment then broke and he raised his brows. “You want the bathroom first?”

  Mind wandering, Rowan shook her head and took another sip of coffee. “Help yourself.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “You’re kidding.” They’d made the short hike to the storage facility and she now looked at him, wary. He wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but the huge Harley evidently wasn’t it.

  “You’ve never ridden on a bike? A big city girl like you?” Luke didn’t bother to hide his amusement. “This is the fastest choice. Of course, I could see about a rental car or a cab. Or you could break down and buy a car. Your call.”

  She hesitated, but the wariness turned cool at his not-so-subtle taunts.

  He rubbed his brow and shook his head. “I understand if you don’t trust me, but think about this: I don’t want to die any more than you do.” He pushed out a side smirk. “Besides, it’s a hell of a rush.”

  She narrowed her eyes before setting her jaw. “Fine. Let’s go.”

  “Good choice.” He rolled the bike from the metal enclosure before pulling out his barely-used helmet and shoving it over her head. Taking a moment, he paused to adjust the chin strap. “A little big, but better than nothing. Get on and hold tight.”

  He looped one leg over the big motorcycle and looked at her, waiting.

  Following suit, she climbed on behind him, lightly resting her hands against his ribcage. When he revved the bike and started to roll, she grabbed hold, arms wrapped around his midsection tightly.

  “Relax. It’ll be fine!” He called over the engine, before leaning into the turn and heading toward the freeway.

  Luke was glad she couldn’t see his face.

  Despite the circumstances, the feel of her molding herself against him brought about a little high, a little reminder that he was still alive and puttering around this insane world. Darkness wasn’t as complete as he’d once believed.

  Now he needed to make sure it stayed that way.