Lovers Sacrifice

by R. A. Steffan

  She fell silent and shook her head again. “I dare not challenge him directly.”

  Mason watched Oksana cross her arms, a stubborn expression stealing across her lovely features. “There must be something you can do. You can’t just stand by while this evil perpetuates itself, practically under your nose!”

  The mambo gave her a fixed look. “You should learn to listen better, child. I said, I dare not challenge him directly.”

  Mama Lovelie rose abruptly and walked around the room, looking at each of them in turn, as if appraising their possibilities. When she reached Oksana, the mambo stretched out a hand and touched her temple. Mason felt it more than saw it as Oksana shivered, her dark eyes sparking with brilliant violet.

  “I might be able to weave a spell around one of you, drawing on the darkness that resides within you,” the mambo mused, returning to her seat. The crease between her eyebrows was the only thing that communicated her displeasure with the idea.

  “And that would make us strong enough to destroy the bokor?” Xander asked. Mason could make out the glint of battle shining in his eyes, brightening their natural moss-green color. The mambo scowled at him.

  “I do not know if it would be enough or not,” she replied. “But I do know it would weaken the spell-bearer, perhaps permanently.”

  “Wait. It wouldn’t be reversible?” Mason asked, suddenly not liking the direction the conversation was going, even though he told himself firmly that he didn’t believe in any of this fanciful witchcraft rot. But, even still… “I thought vampires healed really fast?”

  “Yes, we heal. Much faster and more completely than humans, at least in some respects,” Duchess replied immediately.

  “You speak of the physical,” said Mama Lovelie. “Whereas I speak of the spiritual.”

  “I’ll do it,” Oksana said.

  “No,” Duchess snapped. “I’m the oldest. If something like this is to be done, it should be me.”

  “Oksana,” Xander said, lifting his hand in a suppressing gesture. “Look, it’s not that we don’t think you’re a total badass and everything, but you’re really tiny and you’ve only got one leg—”

  “Your point, Xander?” Oksana asked, glaring at him.

  “—So I don’t think you’re the best candidate for a major spiritual warfare knock-down-drag-out, if you know what I mean,” he finished.

  Oksana bristled. “You really have no idea what you’re talking about. This isn’t a matter of physical size or strength. A deep connection with the loa and an understanding of the spirit world is going to be of more importance than how vertically challenged I happen to be!”

  Before Mason could open his mouth and join Xander’s side of the argument, Mama Lovelie interrupted.

  “Oksana is correct,” she said. “You must remember that she is a daughter of Haiti. None of the rest of you can claim that heritage.”

  Mason felt a muscle in his jaw twitch. “This is crazy. Not that I necessarily believe in this stuff, but we need a plan that doesn’t hinge on someone being permanently injured, physically or… otherwise.”

  “Mason,” Oksana said, laying a hand on his arm. “I appreciate the concern, but this may well be the best way… if not the only way.”

  His skin tingled under her light touch. “Why?” he demanded, turning to meet her eyes. “Why is this the best way?”

  For once, she didn’t look away. “Because I have a connection to this land. I was born here; this is my birthright. These are my spirits, my loa, and maybe this is what will convince them to finally welcome me home. If any one of us has a chance of drawing enough power from them to defeat this evil man, it’s me.”

  Their eyes remained locked, Oksana’s hand still burning with that strange energy against his skin. Despite himself, Mason felt his heart stutter and beat faster. He opened his mouth to speak, but Oksana forestalled him.

  “I’m right, aren’t I, Mama Lovelie?” she asked, turning everyone’s attention back towards the mambo.

  “You are, child,” the mambo answered. “I believe you alone will be able to challenge the bokor, but only if the loa choose to bless you and take your side.”

  “I still don’t like it,” Duchess said, brushing her blonde hair away from her face with an impatient gesture.

  “Seconded,” Xander said tightly.

  “Thirded,” Mason agreed.

  “Too bad, since I don’t see that we have much of a choice right now,” Oksana answered with a sigh. “I do realize this isn’t ideal.” Ignoring their unhappy looks, she turned back towards the mambo. “We still need an actual plan, though. This is too vague.”

  The mambo nodded her agreement. Xander pressed his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose.

  “All right,” he said. “Let’s suspend rationality for just a moment and say that we all agree to this. You’re just going to waltz in there, battle the bokor while we sit twiddling our thumbs, and then we take the kids away to… where, exactly?”

  “Bring them back here first, and then try to reunite as many as possible with their families. Take the ones who need additional care on to Mason’s clinic,” Oksana replied promptly, and Mason forced himself to move beyond the crazy vodou trappings of the plan and focus on logistics instead.

  “The clinic that was destroyed in an earthquake, you mean?” Xander asked.

  Mason waved the question off. “I’m sure that the Red Cross and Doctors Without Borders are working on finding us an alternative location, even as we speak,” he said. “They’re very resourceful, and they have a lot of contacts on the ground in Haiti. That part of the plan is sound enough. Though I don’t know what, exactly, we’re going to be able to do with children whose souls have been partially destroyed once we get them back. There’s no research or treatment regimen in place for something like this.”

  Duchess frowned, her attention turning back to the mambo. “You said there might be a way to reunite the two parts of their souls?”

  Mama Lovelie shook her head. “I said some people believe there is, but that I’ve never seen evidence of any such thing. For one thing, the bokor is the one holding the children’s stolen ti-bon-ange. And I can’t imagine he’d give them up willingly.”

  Mason could barely suppress a shudder at the thought of being responsible for the wellbeing of a group of corpselike children without any will or self-awareness. Nausea washed over him as he envisioned them all trapped in the bokor’s village, held captive in a pit or something, bumping around blindly in the darkness. And the others expected him to take them away and fix them? If they were like the girl with the knife, how the hell was he going to do that? Even their resident expert seemed to think it was impossible.

  “Maybe they’ll be turned already, and maybe they won’t,” Oksana said grimly. “We’ll just have to see once we find them.”

  Please, Mason thought, let them still be whole. As a physician, he was equipped to deal with trauma. But not with the living dead.

  Duchess looked as ill as he felt. “We need to find them as soon as possible,” she said. “He mustn’t be allowed to destroy any more innocents than he already has.”

  “Right, so how about this?” Xander asked, after a moment of thoughtful silence. “We send in Oksana to battle the bokor, armed with Mama Lovelie’s spell to make her more powerful. He’s so busy dealing with her that he doesn’t notice the rest of us getting the kids out. Then, Duchess and I go back once the children are safe, and help Oksana finish him off. That way, if he has guards with him in the village, they won’t have time to hide or move the children once they realize they’re under attack.”

  “That’s a slightly better sounding plan,” Mason said, thinking that at least Oksana would have some backup. He had to admit, he was unable to summon any real remorse about the idea of seeing bloody revenge meted out on this twisted bastard, despite the Hippocratic Oath he’d taken.

  “Yes. The sounds reasonable,” Duchess said. “We’ll leave the children with you, Docteur—hidden
close by, but out of sight. You’re best qualified to care for their medical needs, if they have any.”

  Again, the sense of being in over his head accosted him. Would he be able to do anything at all for these kids, if the worst-case scenario came to pass and they were all like the girl from the ceremony? Still, if it came to that, he knew he would have to try.

  “Some of the children who’ve ended up at our clinic have been in bad shape,” he said grimly. “Many of them are extremely emaciated or hopped up on drugs, so I’m used to seeing that. But whatever is ultimately to be done for these youngsters, I won’t be able to do much of anything out here in the bush. I don’t have the supplies or the staff.”

  “Do you think you could reach anyone at your clinic who might be able to get out here and help us?” Oksana asked.

  “We can’t really spare anyone,” Mason replied. “The kids that are there already need all the help they can get, especially after the quake. And even if I could get other people, it would take time to get a message back, and more time for someone to travel here and join us.”

  “Docteur,” Duchess said calmly, “we all realize this isn’t ideal, but we still have to do our best get these children to safety, given the circumstances. You understand that, I know.”

  “Of course I do,” he snapped. He took a deep breath, knowing that they were short on options, and the clock was ticking. “Look. I’ll go along with this plan, but I want you all to know that I strongly protest the parts of it that put Oksana in danger.”

  “Duly noted,” Xander said, not sounding much happier than Mason felt. “So, the tentative plan is for the mambo to put a spell on Oksana, who will hopefully gain enough power from the loa to challenge and distract the bokor in a fight. Duchess and I will rescue the kids and bring them to Mason, who will keep them hidden and care for them as best he can, given the obvious limitations. Then, Duchess and I will join Oksana, in case she hasn’t finished the bastard off yet. Afterward, we can share our power with her to counteract any lingering effects of either the spell or the fight.”

  “Do you believe this can work?” Oksana asked, turning towards the mambo.

  The woman gazed at each one of them again, her deep-set eyes troubled as she silently appraised the determined group.

  “I think it will be possible for the four of you to save at least some of the children,” she said heavily, “but at what cost, I do not know.”

  No one had anything to say in reply.

  ELEVEN

  THAT AFTERNOON, WHILE Mama Lovelie prepared what she would need to complete the spell, Oksana slept under the shade of the covered porch.

  *

  You deserve a better life than slavery, Oksana,” Augustin whispered against her temple, his arm shifting to cradle her more closely against his chest. Oksana blinked up at the waving branches of the tree above them, patches of blue sky shifting and appearing between the ever-moving leaves.

  “No one deserves slavery, Augustin,” she said quietly. “Unrest is spreading across the island, even now. There will soon come a day when those who have been trodden down will rise up and demand their freedom.”

  They were propped against the old tree’s thick, knobby trunk, hiding away from the prying eyes of the household. For months now, the two of them had been sneaking away to catch private moments with each other—stolen kisses, soft words, fleeting caresses.

  “I know,” Augustin said, his voice heavy with foreboding. “And you’re right, on both counts. Your mother certainly didn’t deserve the treatment she received at your father’s hands. In fact, I wake every morning asking myself how you can even bear my touch, after what she endured.”

  “That was different,” Oksana said quickly, pushing away from his chest so she could look at him. “Don’t you ever compare yourself to… that man!”

  Oksana’s father had been a white French slave owner, and her mother had been his property. So had Oksana, until the Frenchman had sold her to Augustin’s father at the age of ten. Augustin had been only a year older than she was, in fact. As children, they’d had little direct contact, though Oksana occasionally caught Augustin watching her with interest as she went about her duties.

  Shortly after he turned seventeen, Augustin’s father had died of a fever, leaving him in charge of the plantation and all its slaves. Three years later, Augustin had kissed Oksana for the first time, setting her heart alight and altering the shape of her world in the space of a heartbeat.

  He was her owner, and she was his property. Just as Oksana’s mother had been her father’s property. But there, the resemblance ended.

  Augustin had never forced Oksana, only wooed her. He had never exerted his power over her to gain what he wanted. He had only ever shown her his love, and she loved him in return.

  Now, her beloved gazed up at her with soulful blue-gray eyes and an earnest expression. “How can I fail to compare myself to him?” he asked. “Until now, I’ve been no better than he. But that changes, today.”

  She stared at him in incomprehension. “What are you saying, Augustin?”

  “Today, I am asking you to become my wife.”

  Oksana blinked several times in rapid succession, certain that she had heard him incorrectly. “Wh-what?”

  “I want you to be my wife,” he repeated. “A free woman of color. In fact, I intend to free all my father’s slaves and offer them honest, paid employment instead.”

  Augustin’s lips widened into a hopeful smile as Oksana stared at him, completely dumbfounded. “Please say yes, Oksana.”

  “Yes!” she blurted. “But… what will the other slave owners say?”

  “Why should I care?” he countered. “I have never allowed the words of others to influence how I manage my own affairs.”

  Oksana opened her mouth and closed it again, unable to think of any reply to that.

  Augustin lifted her hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles, setting her skin tingling.

  “I care nothing for what they say, Oksana,” he continued. “I want you. I want you now and forever. You are irresistible, intoxicating, and blazingly intelligent. I would be proud to stand next to you and support you as we flourish together.”

  Leaning forward, Oksana grabbed the front of his shirt and brought their lips together in a searing kiss.

  *

  She woke with a start, breathing heavily as she tried to orient herself. Looking around with wild eyes, she found that she was reclining in the shadows of a sleeping porch overlooking a small, flourishing garden. Birds chirped in the distance, and the same sweet-smelling flowers bloomed that had been blooming in Haiti for hundreds of years.

  “I thought I heard noises,” a concerned voice said. “Nightmare?”

  Oksana rolled into a sitting position and whipped her head around. Mason stood in the doorway. Unbidden, tears rose to her eyes and overflowed at the sight of him. His expression morphed into shock, and he was kneeling at her side in an instant, his fingers tilting her chin so he could look at her more closely. Energy rippled between them at his touch.

  “Oksana,” he breathed. “Christ. Your eyes—“

  She swiped at her cheeks, unaccountably embarrassed by the watery, rust-colored streaks that she knew would be there.

  “Sorry,” she said wetly. “Sorry, it’s nothing. I’m not sick or hurt—the blood in my tears is just a vampire thing. I’m fine.”

  Mason’s face lost its panicked edge, but he didn’t let her go. “You’re not bloody fine. You’re crying.”

  Yeah… bloody crying, she thought, a bit hysterically. Bloody tears…

  God. He needed to stop touching her like that, before she—

  “Please don’t cry,” he murmured. “Whatever it is, we can—”

  She surged forward and kissed him.

  For a moment, he froze, and so did she—appalled by what she was doing. Then, he made a low noise into the kiss. Before she knew what was happening, gentle, unassuming Mason—physician to Haiti’s hurt and frightened chil
dren—had his hands tangled in her hair and was taking possession of her mouth as though he would die without the feeling of her breath mingling with his.

  Oksana’s undead heart slammed against her ribcage, the ragged rhythm echoing the word home… home… home… along every fiber of her body. The spark of energy between them flared almost painfully, before settling, warm and intense, along her nerves. She changed the angle of their mouths, lips slanting against his as the kiss deepened.

  And just like that, she was no longer kissing a man she’d met only days ago—she was kissing Augustin. The sense of completion—of utter, incontrovertible rightness—flooded her until she thought she would overflow with it.

  “Oksana…” he murmured into their shared air. “God…”

  Their foreheads rested together for the space of a handful of heartbeats, and then he was delving into her mouth again, his tongue tangling with hers. She didn’t realize that she’d climbed onto his lap until the brush of her breasts against the hard muscles of his chest sent a wash of heat rushing through her to settle low in her belly.

  The sudden clench of need in a part of her had been cold and dead for so long was beyond shocking. Her body was still trying to get closer, closer, closer to his, as if she could somehow climb inside of him and disappear. As if merging their bodies might finally knit the torn parts of her soul back together.

  Someone was making a high-pitched, needy noise. At first, she didn’t even recognize the whimpering sound as having come from her. One of Augustin’s hands had abandoned her hair in favor of sliding down to rest low on the small of her back, pressing her hips to his where she straddled him. His hard heat ground against her liquid warmth through two layers of clothing, and with no further warning she was gone—completely lost in the past.