Soul Reckoning

by Nancy E. Polin

  He caught her gaze and she offered him a reassuring smile before her attention was captured and held by the lady before her.

  ****

  Rowan had to admit she was surprised. She’d expected someone tiny, wizened, even frail, not a person with such a commanding presence. Ruth Leroux was a tall, stately woman who moved with the fluidity of someone twenty years younger. Her hair was thick, white, and pulled back into a simple roll from a virtually unlined face. Any eccentricity only showed itself in the bright colorful flow of her blouse and skirt. Her eyes, the hue of bittersweet chocolate, swept the tavern with amusement and interest before landing on Rowan. “You have some protection already. You also have some relatively friendly spirits here.”

  David Leroux stood near, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes sharp and observant beyond the friendliness. According to Luke, the man had joined the force fourteen or fifteen years ago, and that knowledge made Rowan feel a little better. Maybe because it was something concrete, real, instead of wisps of superstition. Of course, she was probably deluding herself. There was nothing concrete or real about any of this.

  Ruth approached, reaching out to take Rowan’s hands in hers. “Luke’s told us a little of your recent trouble.”

  “I appreciate your thoughts about this, because honestly, I’m feeling a little bit out of my element.” To say the least. Only obstinance and, now Luke, had kept her from screaming back home.

  “And what element would that be?”

  “Reality.”

  The woman chuckled, sincere pleasure flashing in her eyes. “I understand and I’m going to want you to tell me everything you know, remember, or suspect, but first—” She glanced over at Luke and raised her brows. “I see you boys are helping yourself to some early refreshment. How about some spirits for an old woman and a beautiful young lady?”

  “Sazerac?”

  She smiled, straight white teeth flashing. “Now, how would you remember that? You were just a little boy.”

  “You’re impossible to forget, Mrs. Leroux.”

  “Good to know.” She looked back at Rowan, her eyes shimmering, but deep within their silky darkness, Rowan caught the old wise soul gazing out. It was like a thousand comforting childhood memories and Rowan felt something inside her settle.

  “Now let’s have a seat, honey.”

  “I’m sorry. Of course.” She led the older woman to her preferred corner booth and slid in, back to the wall.

  Ruth Leroux sat opposite, folded her long hands together and studied her.

  Trying not to fidget, Rowan returned the frank assessment, noting, with some surprise, one cartilage piercing, four ear piercings in her left ear and three in her right. Ruby, emerald, and diamond gemstones glimmered as the woman tilted her head.

  “I contemplated an eyebrow piercing too, but my son”—she shot a narrow-eyed look toward the bar—“complained. I still might get one though.” The older woman shrugged. “Just another eccentric old lady.”

  “You don’t really strike me as old.”

  She threw her head back, her laughter rich and inviting. “You flatter me. I think you might even be sincere. I gather I’m not what you expected.”

  “No.” Rowan admitted, lifting one shoulder and letting it drop. “I suppose not.”

  Luke brought over a couple of drinks, including a hurricane for Rowan. She looked up, met his eyes, and watched his smile form from beyond his usual impassive expression. Conscious of their fledgling relationship, the flutter of an electric tingle sparked low in her belly. She nodded her thanks.

  “Ah, the boy is a beverage artist.” Ruth shifted her gaze between the two of them before she took a sip. Nodding with a hum of approval, she waved him away with a careless flick of her fingers. “Hollywood would cast me as … hmmm … short, wide, have an elfish voice and too much lipstick, maybe. What do you think?” The woman smiled with a touch of irony. “They might actually get the clothes right, though. Life’s too short for boring.”

  A tiny bit embarrassed, Rowan said nothing. That was exactly what she’d envisioned.

  “Okay, honey, let’s see what I can pick up from you and then I’d like a tour of this lovely old building. We’ll go from there, okay?” Smiling, Ruth reached out and took her hands, cradling them in those long, elegant ones that flashed rings on six of her digits. They were at once soft and strong, and Rowan felt confidence in the older woman’s grip. Comfort warmed her as Ruth met and held her gaze for several minutes without words.

  Finally, she pursed her lips, concern edged with a little fear crossing the woman’s face. “The man has already left a few marks on you.”

  Rowan’s mind wandered, feeling her face warm, and the older woman allowed a tiny smile in empathy. “Not Lukas, although he has, too. This other one. He’s made of dark magic. He leaves the marks to weaken you, your judgment, your confidence. We’ll keep him from leaving any more, but you need to trust me. Can you do that?”

  She stared into the older woman’s clear, direct eyes, that sense of comfort returning. A little numb, she nodded.

  ****

  Luke sat at the bar with David, watching the man’s body language as he paged through the journal.

  “It was in the wall?”

  “Yeah, that last night when Jimmy seemed to go nuts. He left a couple of holes. Fist-size holes. Didn’t occur to me to look inside before I patched them up.”

  “And Rowan found it?”

  “Someone here guided her. Maybe it was even her uncle. In fact, considering everything, that’s damned likely. She was sleepwalking and couldn’t remember any of her dreams.”

  Dave pursed his lips and pulled his brows together in thought. “Huh. Why the hell would he hide it in the wall?”

  Luke took a long pull of his beer. “I’ve had a couple thoughts on that. Number one, he could have been afraid someone would come across it. What he wrote isn’t all that specific, but it is damning no matter how you look at it. Or maybe he was hallucinating that the bokor was coming for him and panicked.”

  Despite the cool eyes of the cop, an underlying tension had his jaw throbbing. David read through a second time before pressing his lips together. “I’m not sure what to think about this. I haven’t heard of a bokor with this much power. Could it have been in Jimmy’s head, at least to some degree? You’d said his behavior changed.”

  Shoving one hand through his hair, Luke glanced over at the two women, focusing on Rowan before returning his attention to Dave. “Maybe a chicken or egg thing? Was he crazy before or did this bokor drive him crazy? Hard to say, isn’t it? I can only say that the man went through some changes. Personality wise, Jimmy was an optimist, annoyingly so. At least since I knew him. Nothing bothered him, but he changed those last six or seven months.” Luke smiled without mirth. “He started to behave more like me. Depressive, moody. Then he was up again—I figure that was the high part of his journal. Then the fear and erratic behavior, which matches the rest. Whether it was something already inside him, some kind of mental illness coming to the surface, I don’t know. Maybe the bokor served as a catalyst and Jimmy just snapped. But…” He leaned forward, tension locking his muscles. “I don’t think it’s in Rowan’s head too.”

  Dave gave him a long look before taking a sip of his beer. He wiped away imagined foam from his lips with the back of his hand. “I’m not much for coincidences.”

  “Neither am I.” Luke found his gaze drifting back to Rowan before snapping back.

  “You really care for that girl.”

  “I guess I do.” He shrugged, ignoring the unasked question. “No one deserves this.”

  “Look, I’m going to make some inquiries, tug some lines and see if I can come up with something more.” He lowered his voice. “This guy, whoever he is, has to get his supplies somewhere. He may have given someone, somewhere, a bad vibe.”

  “Unless he makes all his own stuff.”

  Dave sighed. “Possible, but unlikely. At least not everything. Ingredients for
some of the more heavy-duty spells are pretty rare. I think if someone came into one of the underground shops looking for certain things, he’d set off a buzz. Maybe even a panic, depending on what it was.”

  “If this guy was noticed, you think you can get folks to actually open up and share?” Luke knew damned well how superstitious and fearful people could get in the area. The idea of incurring a bokor’s wrath was not something they’d knowingly do.

  “I think so. I might be a cop, but I’m also one of them.” He smiled, almost sheepishly. “Even if I couldn’t, Mama sure could. She can make anyone talk … possibly even sing and do the chicken dance.”

  Luke allowed a ghost of a smile. “Yeah, I can see that.” He sobered quickly, lowering his voice. “I have to admit this scares the shit out of me. There are too many parallels to Jimmy … and I can’t stand the thought…”

  He finished his beer with David watching him.

  “There are never any guarantees, Luke. You know that. Sometimes people slide away despite everything.”

  “And that’s what terrifies me.”

  “Do you love her?”

  Not answering, he shifted to gaze at the two women. Snatches of conversation drifted his way. Little details that Rowan hadn’t shared with him. “I don’t know.”

  Straightening, Dave pulled out his cell. “Let me continue rolling the ball on my end. Talk with some folks I know. See if I can’t flush someone or something out.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Ruth wandered through the tavern, stopping here and there, her eyes going in and out of focus. The old woman kept her hands out, fingers splayed, as if detecting heat from a stove. Her movements at times seemed erratic, other times, methodical. She’d stride from one area to another, long legs eating up distance quickly and efficiently, only to slow to a crawl, rotate, contemplate, and stare at nothing. Occasional words drifted from between her lips, entwining English and French. Sometimes she spoke dreamily in a language unrecognizable. On the second inspection of the building, she became much more aware and intent on her actions, not unlike a general with a plan of attack. She laid thick lines of coarse salt across every outside entrance, including windows, before going from top to bottom a third time. The third round involved candles, incense, some kind of herbal mixture, and small drawings of unfamiliar symbols on walls connecting to the outside.

  Fascinated, Rowan followed at a distance. She’d been instructed by not only Ruth, but Luke and David, to not interfere as the woman toured and treated the old building, but she couldn’t help but observe. She’d told her everything and the woman had listened with an open ear and a genuineness in her eyes that Rowan wasn’t accustomed to. She hadn’t looked at her like she was crazy.

  Her parents would have just taken her to a psychiatrist. Hell, they would have had her committed.

  “Ah, you’re hiding. Shy are you?” Returning downstairs from the apartment once more, Ruth paused and spoke into the thin air of the kitchen. She tilted her head, the beginning of a smile playing around her lips before falling away. Ruth’s face sobered into compassion. “I’m sorry, honey. I can feel your sadness. Just know that no one here’s going to hurt you. And we appreciate your patience until this is over.”

  Rowan peeked into the small room, trying to see or feel something, anything, but there was nothing. Mavis was the only spirit that made its presence known to her on a semi-regular basis. Or was it Josephine, the woman who sacrificed herself for her daughter? She couldn’t help but wonder.

  Ruth sat down with her and held her hands once more, eyes forthright, instead of dreamy and elsewhere. They now burned with intensity and Rowan shivered. “With all these marks, these mind games, the bokor has been trying to exhaust you, push you to drop your defenses. That’s what they do. When you’re at your most vulnerable, he’d try to take you. What I’ve done here is fill in the cracks. He won’t be able to get to you any longer, at least not while you’re within these walls.”

  Rowan gaped at her. “I can’t spend the rest of my life hiding in here. Being a prisoner is not living.”

  “Honey, I would never suggest you do that, but for the time being, I have something I want you to wear or keep on your person whenever you go outside. It’ll help keep him from getting inside your head.” She reached into her satchel, pulled out a small tied cloth pouch, and pressed it into Rowan’s hand.

  “For how long?”

  The woman sighed. “My feeling is he’s weak and may not have much time left. That’s why he’s so desperate.” Her gaze flickered past Rowan and landed on Luke leaning against the bar. “It also makes him much more dangerous, so we can’t underestimate him either.”

  “No, we can’t.” Dave stood near, his arms folded across his chest. “I was telling Luke that I think I’m also going to do some poking around, see if I can’t get some kind of line on this bastard myself. His name may not be on record, but it could be in someone’s head. This kind of presence wouldn’t have gone unnoticed.”

  Ruth stared hard at him before slowly nodding and returning her attention to Rowan. “We both have our methods and can work toward the middle. Our prime objective is to keep you safe. Keep the gris-gris on you. It’ll help protect you.”

  Rowan nodded, blankly staring down at the little cloth sack nestled in her palm. They all seemed so sure, but her cynical side still questioned. She tried her best to squash the doubt.

  The old woman gave Luke a wave and he approached, dropping to his haunches by the table. She pushed another tiny bag toward him. “You too. He could use you to get to her. You need to be vigilant.”

  Nodding, he took it and slipped it into the front pocket of his trousers.

  “Also, while the protection spells I’ve cast won’t allow anything in, they also won’t allow anything out, so your four spirits are trapped here for the time being. One was a little uncomfortable with it, but he, they, do understand.”

  Blinking, Rowan glanced at Luke, who frowned in bemusement, before returning her attention to Ruth. “Four?”

  Ruth nodded. “Three males, one female. Two of them are old, well enmeshed in this building’s history. I believe the female is the one who imparted the original protection spell, although I couldn’t say what the how and the why might have been…”

  “Josephine.”

  The older woman raised a brow. “Yes, that’s the name I felt.”

  Rowan gave them a cursory overview of what she’d read regarding the history of the house and Luke folded his arms across his chest. “So much for Mavis.”

  Dismissing his comment, Ruth concentrated on Rowan. “The other two are new, very agitated, still getting their bearings, so to speak.”

  Images flickered behind Rowan’s eyes, washed and faded, nothing distinct. Memories of a dream. Her uncle trying to tell her something. What the hell was it? She couldn’t remember. “Jimmy’s here, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, your uncle is here. The quiet one is also new.”

  “Okay, Jimmy is one of the new ones. That would make sense. He passed here. What about the other one?” Rowan shifted to Luke. “There wasn’t another death here, I mean, in recent years, was there?”

  “No, nothing.”

  “Sometimes spirits attach themselves to objects.” Ruth pushed aside her empty glass. “That seems likely. It could be anything.”

  Rowan pondered for a long moment, her brain nudging up against overload. “Can you communicate with them?”

  The woman smiled. “Not like I’m communicating with you. With spirits, it’s more…” Her eyes drifted inward in reflection for a moment. “…like impressions and moods, although sometimes, if my mind is clear, I can get a little more from them.”

  “It gets cold when they get upset.”

  Ruth frowned, tilting her head. “One of them was angry with you?”

  “No, I don’t think it was me. I mean…” Rowan thought back to the moment, fighting the creeping heat up her neck at the memory of Luke’s kiss. “Well, I was a little upset
, confused. But I mentioned the man in my dreams and that seemed to set Mav—Josephine off. It got windy and the temperature dropped enough that I could see my breath. The next instant, it was gone.”

  “Hmmm … did you get the impression that it was fear? Or was it anger?”

  “I’m not sure. My first thought was fear, but, well, I’m not exactly psychic or anything.”

  “Interesting.” Ruth leaned back and the bench seat groaned. Her face pinched together in thought. “I’ve heard of some practitioners capturing spirits. They use wangas, which are basically talismans to store them for their own ends.”

  “Do you think that’s what this man might be doing?” Rowan couldn’t quite catch her breath, took a moment to pull one in slowly to steady herself. “What would someone do with a trapped spirit?”

  “Power … renewal … I sense age and weakness in the marks he’s left on you…” She continued, as if to herself. “There were tribes known to eat the flesh of the enemy to gain their strength…”

  Cold, so cold. Ice crystals seemed to form in her blood, slowing it, freezing her from within. When Luke sat next to her, she wanted to lean against him but couldn’t move. Her muscles tensed and ached. She couldn’t really be hearing this, could she?

  “Blood or soul of the enemy would be a potent elixir for him.”

  Where had she heard that?

  Memories sifted in fits and starts. She’d had a dream, that was what is was. Jimmy had been talking to her. What had he said? It wouldn’t come, other than his apologies. Those had been clear.

  “So, because Jimmy betrayed this guy, somehow wounded him in the process, he needs a relative to balance the scales?” Luke looped an arm around Rowan’s shoulders, rubbing one hand up and down her bicep. His touch brought comfort and she broke her freeze and moved into his warmth, hating this feeling of weakness and trying hard to kindle the fire of her temper.

  “Balance the scales? Maybe, but I think it might be more about survival.” Ruth folded her hands, gazing across at both of them before zeroing in on her son. “David, I think it’s necessary for you to go back a little further with this one.”