by Unknown
Chapter SEVEN
Complications
Rhys hadn’t moved. He just stood there, straight, tall, and looking utterly shocked by what had unfolded before him. Mama stood with a megawatt smile full of pride on her face. She had known all along that I was capable of taking on the shadows and that I could save myself. That was what I let myself believe anyways. Now, I think I was beginning to understand what the old woman was saying. Power. I had destroyed the creature with the simple command of a phrase. I had done that! Me, Maya Thibodeau, orphan and nobody special had done something magical for the first time in my twenty-four years. Staring down at the pile of the thing that had stalked and instilled so much fear in me, I felt free and light. I could move on from this and live my life. It was over. Now, I just had to get Angie back. Brad had a few screws loose. Maybe calling the police would help now that the mysterious shadow partner had been taken care of. With a small triumphant smile on my face, I walked towards the pair who had stayed back.
Mama was the first to speak, “Ya defeated a Bacalou wit nothin’ but untrained power, child. Do ya see what I been sayin’ now? I ain’t some crazy ol’ woman wit a head full o’ fuzz.”
My brow furrowed. “Bacalou?” Was that what that damn thing was called? I thought demon spawn from hell and overall disgusting creature was a more appropriate name, but hey, what did I know?
“Goodness, yes, child! The spirit demon. Looks like a dark shadow an’ wants to eat ya soul. Nasty ol’ thing,” Mama explained.
A light touch landed on my shoulder, thoroughly scaring the shit out of me. I jumped before comprehending that it was Rhys. I melted into the palm of his hand. He appeared concerned and leaned in to take a closer peek at my arm.
“You’re hurt. Let’s get you inside and cleaned up so we can take a closer look at that. Are you in pain anywhere else?”
I took inventory of my body, noticing bruises and small scrapes, otherwise I felt more or less unharmed if you don’t count the near suffocation. There was surely going to be one hell of a bruise on my neck. I guessed it was time I got creative with my makeup artist abilities. My self-conscious inner princess spoke up apparently deciding that we needed to be at our best on the off chance that Rhys was mildly interested.
He was steering me towards the front of the small house when I peered back at Mama Yansa, who had hung back, not immediately following us. Ayida was wrapped about her shoulders, flicking her tongue about excitedly. The old woman was speaking to the snake again. I rolled my eyes; she had a serious thing for that snake and I wasn’t sure I’d ever met someone that talked to nonresponsive things as much as she did. But I think, in part, that was what endeared her to me. She was a character that was certain. The old woman caught my undivided attention when she bent down and began scooping up the charred ashes of the shadow and stuffed the remains into a small cloth pouch about her neck.
Rhys realized my diversion and stopped. He observed me while I watched Yansa. I tore my gaze from the old woman to glance up at him.
He placed his hand on my back to steer me back towards our initial destination and said softly, “We’ll explain everything once I’ve gotten you patched up.”
His slight drawl was smooth as warm caramel. It warmed me that he was so concerned with my wellbeing. I hadn’t had anyone care about me like that in a long time, at least, not in the way he did. Angie always wanted what was best for me, but she often got so caught up in her own life that she didn’t always see when things were wrong in mine.
His hand on my back was making me hyper aware of everything he was doing. The slightest touches were setting me on fire. He was graceful for a man as large as he was. The fight against our chemistry had quickly become a losing battle and now I clung to the hopes that I didn’t make a fool of myself. He couldn’t be interested in someone like me. Avoiding heartache was a high priority on my list.
I’d been so caught up in my fantasy that I didn’t notice that we’d entered the cabin and Rhys had gathered gauze and an antiseptic, ready to get to work, all the while, there I was in LaLa Land. A blush stole across my cheeks and up my neck. I sat down in front of him in the small kitchen, laying my arm on the table so he could access it easier. The adrenaline had begun to wear off and my arm was burning as feeling came back. Everything above my elbow stung and the gash was still bleeding fairly heavily causing a bone deep ache underneath. My shirt sleeve was hanging against my arm in shreds which is exactly what it felt like was left of my arm. Wincing, I tried to pull the shirt by the hem up over myself. However, the pain in my arm was making it difficult. After two attempts at removal, Rhys reached over and helped take the remains of the bloodied shirt off, leaving me in my black camisole and nude bra. My breathing grew shallow and stopped all together as he leaned in to get a better visual of the damage done to my arm. As he got up and walked to the sink, I relaxed slightly. Water ran briefly at the sink, though I didn’t pay close attention to what he was doing. He returned with a bowl and cloth soaking within. He set the items down on the table in front of me.
Wringing out the wet cloth, he peeked up at me from beneath his dark, thick lashes briefly before setting to his task. He braced one hand near the edge of the wound, opening it slightly and I hissed at the pain. Quickly, he set about wiping away the dried blood and dirt that was clinging to my arm. As the grime fell away it revealed three deep slices dug into my flesh thanks to the Bacalou’s talons. The newly re-opened portion began to bleed again, along with the longest of the three gashes, which still hadn’t quit bleeding. The sight of the shredded arm and probably paired with blood loss was making my head spin.
“You’re going to need a couple of stitches on the big one. Other than that, it shouldn’t be too bad,” Rhys said reassuringly.
I didn’t bother acknowledging him. The energy to just wasn’t there.
Rhys poured antiseptic over the wound causing me to hiss in discomfort. The distinct burn of alcohol sizzled through the three lacerations, leaving me thankful that the intense searing was brief and it subsided quickly. The swamp was so humid and lush that any number of nasty type infections could easily take hold and wreak havoc on my body in very little time. He poured something else over my arm I didn’t know what exactly it was, something lidocaine-like, but my arm grew numb within several moments. He didn’t bother with the smaller gashes at first and set to work stitching my torn flesh back together. Pinching the top edges of the long cut and pushing the black wiry threaded needle through, tying off one end. From there he got into a rhythm, pinching the angry puckered edges together and lacing the wound up like new pair of shoes while I watched on in morbid fascination. I could tell this was not the first time he had done an impromptu stitching with the ease by which he went about his work. Maybe he’d some type of medical training at some point? I wasn’t sure, though it would explain the scene before me. He didn’t speak a word to me throughout the entire procedure nor I to him. Both of us were completely enraptured by the task he was working on. By the time he was finished, the four-inch-long tear was being held together by an impressively sewn twelve stitches, more than either of us had anticipated but at least it was through. He smeared a large amount of Neosporin over the stitched wound and the two smaller ones before placing a large gauze pad over them. A thin cloth wrap was wrapped and layered over that and fastened with tape. The finished product covered the majority of my upper arm from a couple inches below my arm pit to mid bicep.
Leaning forward, I stretched my arm down to get a better view of the bandaging because it brought me closer to him. “Nice work Doc,” I said, I watched him from beneath my lashes. He hadn’t moved from his spot when he’d finished with my arm. We were sitting almost uncomfortably close; I could see him watching me with heated eyes. My breath caught in my throat, emitting a small, eep. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife and I was too afraid to move and lose the moment. Right then, I was wanted, I was the center of someone’s universe. Maybe that made me selfish, but I couldn’t find it i
n me to care right then. The air was sizzling between us. My mouth was quickly becoming drier than the Sahara and my palms were starting to sweat. What the hell was wrong with me? Was I fifteen again? His gaze drifted down to my mouth when my tongue darted out in an attempt to wet my dry lips. Then it happened, almost before I could register what was even going on. Rhys closed the distance between us and pressed his sweet, lush lips to mine. His hands cupping my cheeks, allowing the kiss to deepen, leaving the possibility of something more on the table. His lips moved slow and luxuriously against my frozen ones before my brain caught up and could respond. His warm tongue brushed the seam of my lips, asking permission. Carpe diem, right? I kissed him back with the same enthusiasm and hopeful curiosity he was expressing. Our tongues caressing each other in a sensual dance. He was good. Really good. My heart was racing, our breaths were coming quicker as things escalated. The press of his mouth against mine melted everything else away I drank as much of him in as I could. One of his hands had moved downwards, to clutch at my back, holding me to him while the other rested on the side of my neck tipping my face to intensify the kiss. Heat filled my belly. Our tongues explored each other, feeling each other out like our souls were becoming acquainted. The kiss came to a close when he brushed his lips over my swollen and ravaged bottom lip giving it a tiny nip. I sat back slightly, allowing myself some room to breathe without being sucked back into the intoxicating presence that was Rhys.
We watched each other, while hope and wonder bloomed within my chest. He leaned back in to rekindle the fiery kisses but it was not to be. Mama Yansa took that moment to make her entrance. The two of us broke apart, seeming as guilty as can be.
“Ooooweee, it’s ‘bout as steamy in here as a Louisiana sauna in July! What y’all been doin’?” Mama asked with a knowing chuckle.
Blood was rushing into my face and heating my cheeks, I knew I was beet red. I shook my head, not wanting to admit to anything uncouth and give the old woman the confirmation she was searching for. Exactly how long had she been standing there was the real question. We both had been otherwise pre-occupied. Braving a glance at my partner in crime, his cheeks were deeply flushed with guilt. The blush had crept down his neck and disappeared beneath the collar of his white V-neck T-shirt. The lusty feelings he had conjured proved hard to eradicate quickly, leaving me wanting to run my hands over his rippling abs and chiseled chest muscles.
He stole a brief peek in my direction, I hurried and turned away just as quickly. Was he embarrassed? Or was he ashamed of what we were doing? The logical side of my mind finally took hold of the racing thoughts, reminding me that I was reading too much into it and that his reaction didn’t mean anything. The kiss could’ve just been an in the moment thing and not meant a thing to him or maybe it did and he was just hesitant to show emotions to people. Becoming vulnerable to someone and seeing their weakness was an incredibly powerful, yet humbling feeling and I felt like I had just glimpsed his.
Mama and I both watched him and his indecision towards how to act in the given situation. Turning on his heel, he took off out the door with surety in his strides, putting an ever increasing distance between us.
As he crossed the threshold to the small dwelling he mumbled, “I’ll be back in a bit, going to get some supplies.”
Even seconds after his abrupt exit, I could keenly feel the lack of his strong and supportive presence. Maybe it was his magic that reached out to my own, acting like a balm to my very soul.
An ache formed in my middle and worked its way up, forming a knot in my throat and making it difficult to swallow. His rejection hurt more than I cared to admit, although I wasn’t upset enough to cry. Never let them see you cry. Words to live by. Emotions, those were my weakness and had come back to bite me several times throughout my life, now there was too much at stake to allow those messy little bastards to run free. Caring for Rhys wasn’t going to end well and I had no choice other than resume my initial plan and stuff anything I felt for him into a little box and lock them away. Otherwise, I didn’t think I could take another rejection like I had with Michael and things getting messy like that could mean Angie getting hurt. It wasn’t a risk I could afford to take. I had people counting on me. If I was to believe what Mama had told me, more people were relying on me than I knew.
Mama Yansa seemed disappointed. In what, I could only guess and my guess was Rhys’s departure. It was likely that the old woman had wanted his help in explaining everything to me, or so I surmised. I had been difficult to say the least. So, I understood her apprehension when approaching the subject of voodoo again. That was before though, before the Bacalou, and I had witnessed what I was capable of with my own eyes. My reality had shifted. My logical brain was blown away by events that could only be explained by the supernatural world. I was sure I was ready to hear whatever it was that she had to say. Taking a deep breath, I took the plunge.
“Well, let’s get down to it, shall we?” I said.
The old woman’s skin stretched tightly as she raised an eyebrow questioningly, like she couldn’t believe that I was ready to have this huge life changing conversation. Not that I could blame her. I was shocked by how excited I was to learn more about my new discovery and find out what I could do. Mama gestured to the chair across from her as she backed herself into the old wooden chair placed beside the kitchen table. Questions raced through my mind and I wasn’t sure where to begin.
“How did I do that? I don’t even know how to speak French fluently, only a few phrases and that doesn’t happen to be one of them,” I blurted out, unable to wait any longer. The anticipation was welling up inside of me and if I didn’t get the answers I was seeking soon, I was sure to explode.
“That’s how voodoo works sometimes. Da spirits of our ancestors speak through us, guide us down da path that we need to take,” Mama explained. “They protect us and speak to us, whispering ‘bout da past and ‘bout thing yet to come. Da spirits of great ancestors long passed on is where we draw our power from. They speak to da Great Spirits or you might have heard them called Loas. They pass on knowledge, demand sacrifices, and some are even as fickle as men.”
“You speak about Loas like they are gods to be worshipped,” I stated. The image of an old man in tribal garb holding a blood covered, sacrificial knife flashed through my mind. How stereotypical of me.
“Many ways, they are. They worshipped like Gods wit’ powers equivalent, they hold secrets dat may never be known. They can look as ordinary as you or I. Damned naughty too, howeva’ they not to be trifled with.” The old woman’s eyes were twinkling.
“They sound like the stories I had to read in high school about Greek mythology.”
“Not a bad comparison, to my understandin’ da Greek gods weren’t real and da stories about them fightin’ and pullin’ da strings behind all da major events in history was true just stolen from da old Yoruba slaves during conquests. They just retold them and got most of da relations and what not wrong. But da Loas are as real as you or I. That I promise ya.” Her explanation made sense. History had repeated itself many times with god being stolen by conquering nations and reformed to fit their own needs. The Romans, Greeks, and Babylonians came to mind. Many great ancient civilizations worshipped multiple gods and a good many of them had routine conflicts between divine figures the same as mortal men would.
“So, you still haven’t answered my question. How did I do that? And how did I speak French and understand it like I was fluent when I’m not?” I questioned.
“Patience, child.” The old woman went quiet for a moment, letting me stew and understand her meaning. After a few beats longer than was comfortable she picked back up her explanations. “Da spirits spoke through you, giving you da tools you needed at da time. I suspect ya got a French speakin’ ancestor lookin’ over ya.”
“Who? Do you know?”
“I do, but so do you,” Mama answered cryptically.
I sat there pondering who it could be. No one in my life, that I knew personal
ly, was dead and French-speaking. I didn’t know nearly enough about the rest of my family’s lineage to hazard a guess. With a last name like Thibodeau though, I obviously had French ancestors and ancestors that had been in the Louisiana territory from an early period. A long New Orleans history was something my family prided themselves on.
As I sat there, thinking about what all of it could mean and who could be the mystery ancestor who had saved my ass, Moonbeam snuck up on me and had agilely vaulted herself on to my lap. She butted her head against my chin several times before snuggling into a comfortable position while remaining perched on my lap. She was my baby and I had been neglecting her since arriving there. She needed attention every once in a while, too and I had been to wrapped up in Angie’s kidnapping and everything going on out in the swamp that I had forgotten her. I promised myself that I could make amends and spoil her rotten once everything was over with and in the past.
“She’s a good one, ya know,” Mama said gesturing to Moonbeam.
“Yeah, she’s great. We’ve saved each other.”
“No, child, that’s not what I mean.” My face must have been the picture of bewilderment because the old woman didn’t wait for me to answer. “Guide, girl. Da cat is ya spirit familiar. Another being to help ya tap into the spirit magic.”
“Familiar? You mean, she’s not just a normal stray cat that I found?”
“Lawd no! If I were a bettin’ woman, I’d say that cat found you, am I right? And I’d say that sometimes the cat seems like she knows more than a cat should. Does any of this sound familiar to ya?” she said.
Thinking about it, I realized she was right, yet again. My mouth popped open. Moonbeam had been waiting on my porch one day and I took her in. She always seemed like she was waiting for something to happen. Maybe she had been. Maybe she had been waiting for me to discover my magic or was trying to guide me to it. Had the magic been a part of my life for so much longer than I had realized? The thought made me uneasy. It was hard to think that it had permeated my life and been such a large part of me without me ever realizing it.
