by Jana DeLeon
“I’ll keep that in mind in case I want something,” he said as he took a seat at the kitchen table. He took a drink of the coffee and sighed. “You’re right. If John wouldn’t shoot me, I’d kiss Olivia, too.”
Justine laughed, then caught herself and opened the pantry door again, pretending to inspect the contents. It unnerved her how easily she’d slipped into a comfort level with Brian. She always had her guard up, for good reason, and now, despite the best reasons of all, this man was able to get her guard down. She wasn’t even going to assess the reason why, as that might lead to all sorts of questions she didn’t want to address. Not now, nor anytime in the future.
She felt his eyes on her and looked over at him. Despite the stellar coffee he frowned, and Justine steeled herself, knowing that whatever he was thinking was probably some thing she wasn’t going to like.
“How’s your head?” he asked.
“It’s fine. A little tender still, but my headache was gone when I woke up. It aches a little now, since I’ve been moving around, but nothing unexpected given the circumstances.”
“I think we should call the sheriff,” he said. “You could have been seriously injured or even killed when you fell last night. The fact that someone attacked you the first night here doesn’t sit well with me at all, but ultimately it’s the sheriff’s responsibility.”
Justine closed the pantry door. “You really think he’s going to do anything about it? He wasn’t exactly a big help for Olivia, from what I heard.”
“No, he wasn’t. And no, I don’t really think he’ll do much of anything. Quite frankly, I don’t know that he’s got the skills to, but what I do think he’ll do is spread the word around that you have a bodyguard and I’m not afraid to fire a weapon. It shouldn’t take long for that bit of gossip to spread through Cypriere. Maybe someone will think twice about that stunt last night when they realize how deadly the outcome could be.”
His words made sense, but the last thing Justine wanted to do was deal with more cops. More people who might dig into her past. “Whatever you think,” she said finally, knowing that he was going to do it whether she agreed with him or not. Putting up an argument would only make him suspicious when notifying the cops was the normal thing to do.
“Let me know when he’s here,” she said. “I’m going to start setting up in the library.” She refilled her cup of coffee and left the kitchen before Brian could clue in on her sudden case of nerves.
DESPITE THE THIRTY-MINUTE reprieve she had while setting up in the library, Justine felt a lump in her throat when Brian called to her from the front entry that the sheriff had arrived.
He’s just going to ask some questions. Olivia told you he was useless. He’s nothing to fear.
If she kept telling herself that, maybe she’d start to believe it.
She walked down the hall into the entry, assessing Sheriff Blanchard as she shook his hand. He was older, probably late fifties, if his silver-and-black hair was any indication. His expression was one of clear annoyance, even though he politely shook her hand and addressed her as “ma’am.”
Brian directed them to the kitchen, and Justine took a seat across the table from the sheriff while Brian leaned against the kitchen counter to her left.
Sheriff Blanchard studied her for a moment and she struggled not to look away. Finally, he spoke. “Mr. Marcentel says you had a bit of trouble here last night. You want to tell me about it?”
Justine looked over at Brian and he started telling the sheriff about the figure standing in the courtyard.
“Standing in the middle of the storm wearing a dress?” Sheriff Blanchard stared at Brian as if he’d lost his mind. “Someone would have to be crazy and have a death wish. Besides, how did they get here and where did they disappear to afterward? You said yourself there were no tracks.”
Justine saw Brian’s jaw flex and knew he was getting angry. “Are you saying I imagined what I saw?”
Sheriff Blanchard shrugged. “Wouldn’t be the first time people saw stuff that wasn’t there. This house has a history that can play with the mind. All I’m suggesting is that, maybe with everything that happened to your friend before, you’re looking for something to be wrong now.”
Brian straightened up, but before he could respond, Justine said, “So, did we share a delusional vision, Sheriff? Because I saw the same thing that Brian did. I might agree with a diagnosis of collective insanity if Brian and I shared a close past raised by people rooted in those beliefs. But considering I just met him yesterday, I seriously doubt we formed that sort of bond while unpacking.”
“Now don’t get your back up,” Sheriff Blanchard said. “I wasn’t trying to suggest—”
“Yes, you were,” Justine said, “and you’re wrong. Tell me, Sheriff, if that figure outside was just our imagination, then who hit me on the back of the head? I’m not imagining the gash or the headache, and I fell in the middle of the entryway where there is nothing for me to strike my head on.”
Sheriff Blanchard sighed. “What would you like me to tell you? That you hit your head somewhere else and wandered into the entry before you collapsed? That you and your friend here spooked yourselves and imagined it all? I don’t have any other answers. Until Olivia Markham came to this house, hadn’t nothing untoward happened here for a hundred years. Maybe that should tell you all something.”
Justine felt heat rise to her face as the sheriff talked, and she was ready to attack when she felt Brian’s hand squeeze her shoulder. She looked up at the former Marine, who gave her an imperceptible “no.”
“I understand your position,” Brian said to the sheriff. “Cypriere being such a close-knit town and us being outsiders, you don’t want to get involved. I’ll be happy to call the state police to look at the situation. That should relieve you of the duty of investigating your friends and family, which would probably be a conflict of interest, anyway.”
Sheriff Blanchard rose from the table and glared at Brian. “Are you saying I’m not capable of doing my job?”
“No. I’m saying it’s inconvenient for you to do your job.”
“Fine,” Sheriff Blanchard said, his jaw clenched. “You want me to see if some kids are pulling pranks on you, I will. You want me to figure out how she got that knot on her head, I’ll need to go over this entire house to find what made that cut. But as my only deputy is on his honeymoon, I can’t manage that sort of investigation for a couple of days. I still have a town to protect.”
Sheriff Blanchard shot one final look of disdain at Justine and Brian, then spun around and left the house. As the door closed behind him, Justine realized Brian’s hand was still on her shoulder. Suddenly the room was too small or he was too close, or both. Before she could move, he dropped his hand and stepped away from the table.
“I don’t think he’s going to be much help,” Brian said.
“Doesn’t look like it. What do you think the problem is?”
Brian shrugged. “No telling, really, but my guess is he’s probably getting ready to retire and doesn’t want this mess interfering with his coasting along to those pension checks. He’s probably turned a blind eye to things happening out here for years, dismissing it as kids or thrill seekers.”
“He doesn’t believe us.”
“No.”
“Why didn’t you tell him you were a cop? Don’t you guys have some kind of unspoken code where you have to believe each other?”
“I don’t trust the man. Maybe he’s just incompetent and lazy, but either way, I’m not offering up any information. If he wants to know anything about us, he’s going to have to ask or run a background check.” Brian grabbed a bottled water from the refrigerator. “I’m going to start installing the security system. If you need me, I’ll be within yelling distance.”
Justine watched as he exited the kitchen through the sitting room. He was clearly aggravated with the sheriff’s attitude, but he hadn’t pushed the issue. In fact, he’d prevented her from causing a scene, and f
or that she was glad. The last thing she needed was the sheriff digging into her past and determining he had a good reason to accuse her of imagining things, but the way Brian had left things, that may be exactly what the sheriff did.
Instantly, her mind flashed back to the photo of her mother and the message she’d found in her room the day before. Someone in Cypriere already knew who she was or someone had followed her to Cypriere. But who? And why?
Justine touched her shoulder where Brian’s hand had rested. It was almost as if he’d sensed her discomfort as soon as she felt it and stepped away from her. Was he really that intuitive?
If so, Justine had to be very, very careful around Brian Marcentel.
JUSTINE PLACED the two stacks of journals on the table in the library and plugged in her laptop, ready to get to work. She’d organized by date the journals written by Marilyn Borque, the murdered mistress of laMalediction, and the journals written by her personal maid, Sissy Dubois. She hoped that by reading them together, she could form a clear vision of the events during that time.
Olivia had already filled her in on Marilyn Borque’s background. The poor woman had essentially been sold to Franklin Borque just before the Civil War by her father to seal a business deal. Franklin built the monstrosity, laMalediction, when no town existed within a hundred miles, effectively cutting his young wife off from civilization. The remote location made it easy for him to beat her without coming under question.
Franklin left for the war the following year and Marilyn sent for her lover. When Franklin returned, he was more crazed than before and had obtained a lion statue with giant emeralds for eyes. Marilyn was certain the acquisition was not legal, but Franklin’s obsession with the statue was a far bigger concern. Sissy sent Marilyn to her cousin, a voodoo priestess, for help and the two formed a plan to contain the evil that rested in the emerald eyes of the statue. When Franklin discovered that his prize possession was missing, he murdered Marilyn and was then struck by lightning the same night in the middle of the courtyard.
Justine opened a marked spot in one of the diaries to reread the entry Olivia had flagged.
June 15, 1863
I took the statue to Sissy’s cousin tonight. She had a violent reaction to the piece as soon as she saw the eyes. The emeralds, she said, are cursed. She removed the emeralds from the statue and placed them in a pouch for safekeeping, then performed a spell on the statue to separate it from the evil in the stones. We then broke the statue and crushed the pieces until they were dust. We collected the dust in a jar and will fling it far into the bayou, where the spirits that inhabit the water can prevent it from resurfacing. She will bind the emeralds in metal and cast a spell two nights from now when the moon is full. Then I will hide them in a safe place.
I know this is the only way, but I feel overwhelming guilt for the future I am creating for my descendants. The stones will not remain bound forever. One day, the emeralds will call on those of my lineage to fulfill the prophecy that I have set in motion.
Even if it costs their lives.
Justine set the journal to the side and opened a document file on her laptop. She began to make notes on possible avenues for research. Sissy’s cousin had lived in a Creole village with other descendants from Haiti who still practiced the old ways. Memories from her childhood gave Justine an understanding of the purpose behind binding an object in another the way the woman had bound the emeralds in metal to cut off the energy that emitted from them. But Sissy’s cousin would have insisted on a double binding if she thought the emeralds were cursed—the first binding by man, the second by nature.
Justine blew out a breath and leaned back in the chair. Olivia had been right. Her knowledge of the old ways would give her an edge, as much as she was loath to admit it. The most logical way to bind the stones with nature would be to bury them, but where? Certainly, Sissy’s cousin would have insisted the stones remain on the estate, as it was the family’s responsibility to watch over the evil they’d brought to this place. But the estate consisted of not only laMalediction but hundreds of acres of swamp.
There had to be a clue in the journals about where Marilyn had hidden the emeralds. That was the angle she’d start working on first. With any luck, her research of the journals would provide her the answers she was looking for in her personal quest—the real reason she’d taken the job. Even if the journals yielded nothing, she was still convinced the answers she sought lay somewhere in laMalediction. And she was going to find them.
“How’s it going?” Brian’s voice broke into her thoughts, causing her to jump.
“Sorry,” he said as he stepped into the library. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“It’s not your fault. When I’m lost in the work, I tend to filter out everything around me.” She gave him a rueful look. “Probably not the best trait, given the situation here, right?”
Brian shrugged. “You’re a researcher. If you couldn’t focus on your research to the exclusion of everything else, you probably wouldn’t be very good at your job. Let me worry about catching the bad guys—that’s what I do naturally.”
Justine leaned back in her chair, considering Brian’s words. “So you think the man upstairs had a master plan for all of us, and doled out talent accordingly? Then where do people like Franklin Borque fit into your theory? I assume you know the history.”
Brian nodded. “Olivia told me what she found. I don’t know what makes people like Franklin Borque, but I do believe I’ve stared evil in the face in Iraq.”
Justine sat upright in her chair. “What does it look like? Evil?”
“Sometimes beautiful and seductive, sometimes so normal that it never registers on your radar…until it’s too late.” He stared out the library window for a moment, then looked back at Justine. “But there’s always those moments…and if you’re paying attention, you can catch one of them. When the facade relaxes and just for an instant, you see it in their eyes. Then in a flash, it’s gone, leaving you wondering if you ever saw it in the first place.”
Justine crossed her arms across her chest, a sudden chill running through her body. “Do you still wonder when you see it now?”
“Not anymore. I would recognize it now.” He paused. “It’s funny, you know. Good can take on many appearances, many faces, but evil always looks the same.
“Anyway,” he said, “I came to tell you there’s a storm brewing. It’s almost three, so I figure we may as well head into town and get everything settled with the rental house. I’ve got to load a couple of boxes in my Jeep, so just meet me out front when you’ve wrapped up in here.”
Justine stared out the library window, watching Brian as he rolled up the soft top on the back of his Jeep. What kind of horrors had Brian Marcentel seen? And more importantly, would he see them again in Cypriere?
Chapter Five
Justine waited in front of laMalediction as Brian loaded the last box. He couldn’t help but notice how striking she was as she stood in front of the stained-glass windows, her long hair rippling in the breeze. She looked as if she fit here. He’d thought the same thing when he saw her deep in thought in the library. He’d like to think it was because the house was deep in a swamp and Justine was Creole, but there was something more to it than that. Something that he couldn’t quite place, and that bothered him.
“I put my suitcase in my car, but I can move it if I’m riding with you,” Justine said, breaking him out of his thoughts.
“I figured you could follow me in your car. The road should have dried from the rain yesterday. We have a better chance of getting in and out of here every day using my Jeep, so I figured we’d leave your car at the rental house, assuming you don’t have any objection. I’m not convinced it would be safe here at night.”
“No. That sounds perfectly reasonable.” Justine pulled her keys from her backpack and hopped in her car.
Brian climbed in his Jeep and waited until Justine gave him a wave before pulling away from laMalediction. He checked h
is rearview mirror to make sure Justine was behind him, then continued at a slow pace down the rough dirt path that led to Cypriere. In his mirrors, he could see laMalediction fading into the swamp, and with every foot he put between himself and the house, it was as if a weight lifted from him.
Surprised, he mulled that bit of revelation over in his mind. He hadn’t realized that being in the house cast that much of a shadow over him, and it was something he needed to carefully monitor. It was easy to take on the emotional energy of a place and the people. He’d learned that in Iraq. That level of intuition had saved his life on more than one occasion, but on the flip side, if he allowed himself to become mired in the energy surrounding him, it took the edge off his response time and dulled his critical thinking.
Feel, then analyze.
Apparently, his mind had decided he’d entered hostile territory, so he needed to keep his mantra in mind. Odd, that his ability had never once surfaced while working as a cop, but it had come back full force when he arrived at laMalediction. Odd and disconcerting.
He cut off his train of thought as he drove into Cypriere. The owner of the rental house promised to leave the keys with the café owner, Tom, so Brian pulled into a parking space in front of the café. Justine pulled in next to him.
“We’re supposed to pick up the keys at the café,” he explained to Justine as she joined him on the sidewalk in front of the place. “If you’re hungry, I figured we could eat supper here. We’ll need to stock the rental house, and quite frankly, I don’t feel like grocery shopping at the moment.”
She hesitated for just a second then nodded. “Fine by me. I totally skipped lunch.”
Brian opened the door and waited while she stepped into the café, wondering if during her hesitation she’d decided that eating with him in a public place was preferable to eating with him alone in the rental house. He’d been warned that she was reclusive, but from what he observed, Justine acted guarded.
It took him a minute to realize that she wasn’t moving forward. One look around the café filled him in on the why. Every patron in the place sat frozen in time. Even the waitress had stopped serving to stare at them. Feeling as if he’d trespassed onto private property, Brian took Justine’s arm and steered her to a table in the far corner at the front of the café, away from the curious patrons.
