(Genie McQueen 03) Black-Hearted Devil

by Dean, Sierra

  “I don’t know what to tell you. I just know what it felt like in there, and it was a lot of anger, confusion, and pain, and all of it was directed at you.”

  “Are you saying my mother was one of those voices?”

  “Do I know your mother? Would I recognize her voice?” He rose a brow at me, his expression saying ask stupid questions, get stupid answers. “Voices don’t tend to announce themselves by name. These ones were mostly just shouting.”

  “Why are they here?”

  “Aside from getting some sort of revenge on you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Best I can tell, something happened to you. I don’t know if it was because of the incident in the house, maybe the demon marked you somehow, or if there’s another element at play here. But someone has done something to you that is calling back the spirits of those who you’ve wronged in some way. You’re being haunted.”

  “But they’re not ghosts. They can talk,” Wilder pointed out.

  “I know, and that’s what makes this so fucked up.” Santiago rubbed his arms, suddenly cold in spite of how warm the room was. “These aren’t ghosts. They’re, well, they’re alive.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “Whatever has happened to you, Genie, it’s brought the dead back to life. These aren’t spirits or apparitions anything like that. They’re alive. I don’t know if they’re alive until they fulfill their purpose, or alive permanently. I’ve never seen anything like this. But whatever brought them back, they’re all tethered to you, and I don’t think they’re going anywhere until they finish whatever business brought they have with you.”

  I glanced at Wilder, who was giving Santiago an incredulous scowl. “So someone with magical abilities did this to her.” He wasn’t even trying to hide the accusation in his tone.

  “Don’t look at me, wolf boy. Why would I curse her?”

  “For money? For power? For fun? I don’t particularly think you’re the kind of upstanding dude who has a morality clause against these sorts of things.”

  “No, maybe not. But I don’t make a habit of cursing the women I want to sleep with. Sort of bad form.”

  Wilder’s lip curled, teeth flashing. Oh boy.

  “He’s got a point,” I countered, grabbing Wilder’s hand and squeezing. “The things he wants from me he can’t get if I’m dead.”

  “I’d hope there are things he wants from you he can’t get even if you’re alive,” Wilder said, not looking at me, his fierce gaze all for Santiago. The witch didn’t look even remotely scared, which was only serving to make things worse.

  Couldn’t he cower just a little?

  “That’s not what we’re talking about here and you know it.” I wanted to tell him to cool it on the alpha-dog bullshit, but I wouldn’t give him a dressing down in front of a human. That wasn’t how we did things in the pack, and it would only embarrass him, which wasn’t my goal. But damn would I give him a piece of my mind once we got to the car.

  I got it, jealousy was a real thing, and I knew it wasn’t cool to let Santiago poke the open sore, but could the two of them at least pretend to be professional about this?

  “The dead have literally come back to life to kill me, so maybe we could focus?” I suggested.

  Wilder softened immediately, and I hadn’t even needed to raise my voice. Thank god for small favors.

  Santiago, too, sighed and scratched the back of his neck self-consciously. “Sorry.”

  Wilder didn’t apologize, but I could tell from his expression he felt bad about adding onto my existing drama. I had a lot on my plate, and he was well aware of everything I was dealing with.

  “You’re not going to like my next suggestion,” Santiago said.

  He didn’t even need to give voice to it. Like Cain had sent me here for answers, I knew all too well where the path would lead me next. “I know.”

  “She would be able to figure out who put the curse on you.”

  Yeah, she would. But a small part of me was worried she might have been the one to do it in the first place. La Sorciere was petty enough to curse her own family, absolutely, and she was definitely the kind of person who might do something like this for kicks, or to punish me for not visiting more, or for any number of grievances I might not be aware of.

  That didn’t feel right, though. It was possible but this seemed more personal, more vindictive. La Sorciere would want to teach me a lesson, but sending the woken dead after me felt a tad dramatic even for her.

  Admittedly, a big part of the reason I didn’t want to go to her was because of how much of a pain in the ass it would be to find her. It might take days. And to go through all that effort and get no answers would be the worst-case scenario. The dead might want to focus on me, but as Mercy had demonstrated, if they couldn’t find me they would just reap destruction in my orbit.

  “What’s he talking about?” Wilder asked. “Who is she?”

  “La Sorciere.”

  “The witch?” he translated.

  “Her great-grandmother,” Santiago clarified.

  I nodded. “She trained me, helped me hone my powers.”

  “And she’s powerful?”

  Santiago snorted. “Calling La Sorciere powerful is like calling the sun kind of bright. She is power personified. She’s the most powerful witch alive, as far as I know. And that was decades ago. She’s only gotten stronger since.”

  “She’s not here, you don’t need to blow so much smoke up her ass,” I grumbled.

  A grin spread over his face. “Are you jealous?”

  “All right, I think we’re done here,” Wilder announced, getting to his feet.

  At this point, I had to agree. It was obvious Santiago didn’t know why this was happening, though he had at least helped us figure out what was happening. So that was its own small reward. Unfortunately he was right. Going back into the bayou now seemed like my own recourse.

  Dammit anyway.

  My last resort was now my sole option remaining. Ain’t that always the way?

  Wilder was already almost to the door by the time I got up from the couch, keeping a wary eye on Santiago. When he realized we were actually leaving for real this time, he rose from the chair with a pained groan and followed us to the front hall.

  Before I reached the door, he took me by the arm and pulled me back, so we were just out of sight of Wilder. “I don’t think you’re taking this seriously enough, Genie.”

  “How much more seriously do you want me to take it? I mean, if this was just one thing, and the weirdest thing that had happened to me this year, I’d probably be running around ripping my hair out or something. But I’m starting to think bizarre bullshit like this is going to be par for the course from now on.”

  Again, that charming grin. He pressed his hand against my face, his thumb rough but not unpleasant as it grazed my cheek. “I’m here to help you, know that.”

  “Ha. That thing scared the shit out of you, don’t joke.”

  “Do you run from everything that scares you?”

  “I’d be participating in a lot of marathons if that was the case.”

  “You’re a tough lady, but you don’t need to face these things alone. You’ve got him. You’ve got me. I think between the two of us, and the rest of your pack, you have more help than you realize.”

  I wanted to tell him I couldn’t ask my pack to be a part of this, to explain to him that sometimes there was trouble I just couldn’t heap onto other people, but instead I smiled and nodded, brushing his hand off my face.

  “Thank you. But hopefully you won’t be hearing from me again about this.”

  “If you go see her…”

  “What, you want to be my plus one?”

  Wilder had drifted back into the room to see what was taking me so long, and I was grateful Santiago was no longer touching me. He was altogether too close for this to look innocent though.

  Santiago pursed his lips, like he was debating how to answer my ques
tion. “Just be careful. I’m not sure you’re going to like her answers.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked.

  “I just tasted a darkness in you that I’m not sure you even know is there.”

  “A darkness?” I darted a glance at Wilder.

  “You have the capacity in you to do incredible things, brujita. But one wrong push, and I think you could become an evil unlike anything this world has ever seen.”

  Chapter Eleven

  As much as I loved Magnolia, I was grateful she wasn’t at my house when Wilder and I arrived about twenty minutes later. We’d barely said a word to each other for the whole drive, and I don’t know if you’ve ever been in a Dodge Dart, but that’s not a lot of space to have filled up with tense silence.

  I felt like I needed an actual breath of fresh air when we got out.

  We were barely through the front door when Wilder sulked into the bedroom where I could hear drawers and cabinets opening and closing with alarming force.

  “You’re going to break my closet doors if you get much more passive aggressive. Also, it’s not really being passive aggressive if you’re smashing shit.”

  He returned to the kitchen, his face a stony mask. He was so pissed off I barely recognized him.

  “Why do you let him talk to you like that?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like you’re something he can have. Like it’s okay for him to have pet names, and be familiar. Like you don’t fucking mind it.”

  “Are we seriously doing this again?”

  “We are, and don’t think you’re going to distract me with sex this time.”

  I froze, narrowing my eyes at him, my cheeks and neck flushing hot. “If you think I want to have sex with you right now you have another goddamn thing coming.”

  We had a kitchen table between us, which was probably a good thing, because I wanted to smack him upside the head so badly.

  “Do you enjoy it?”

  “Do I enjoy being called weird pet names and having a strange man tell me—in front of my boyfriend—that he wants to have sex with me? No, you unbelievable idiot. No. It’s awkward, uncomfortable, and wildly inappropriate. But why do you think I brought you along? Do you think it was because I wanted to rub your face in his interest? I know he wants to sleep with me. He’s told me like a thousand times. So I brought you with me so you wouldn’t be sitting here, knowing he was saying that, and getting mad about it because you weren’t there. I was trying to do the right thing!”

  He growled.

  “Don’t get like that.” I took my jacket off and hung it on the back of one of the chairs. “I’m not trying to dismiss your feelings here, Wilder, I’m really not. I thought I was doing what you’d want, but apparently you’d rather be left to your imaginings instead of seeing it in person.”

  “That’s not what I said.”

  “Argh.” I balled my hands into my hair. This was hardly the first time I’d had a fight with a boyfriend, and it wasn’t even the first time I’d had a fight with Wilder, but it really wasn’t the best time for me to have to add personal issues to my growing roster of troubles. “I don’t want to have sex with Santiago. I want to have sex with you, and only you, maybe the exception of Oscar Isaac if opportunity allowed, so can you please just drop this?”

  Wilder, who right up until that moment had been almost vibrating with rage, took a step back from the table and gave me an appraising look. “Oscar Isaac?”

  “Oh like you wouldn’t want to bang Poe Dameron given the chance.” I still sounded mad, but it’s pretty hard to be convincingly furious when you’re talking about having sex with Star Wars characters.

  “Look, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be like this. But that guy just sets me totally on edge. As much as I hate to say it, maybe I shouldn’t be with you when you see him.”

  “If I had my way I’d never need to ask for his help again, but unfortunately we seem to keep finding ourselves in situations where having a witch on speed dial is beneficial.”

  The elevated emotions that had made the small kitchen feel even more hot and cramped than usual started to dissipate, and I could breathe normally again.

  “You know I didn’t bring you with me just to push your buttons, right?” I wanted to go over to him and hold him, but I was still frustrated with him for how easily he’d let Santiago get under his skin. Those two feelings were at war with each other and kept me rooted on the spot.

  “I know.”

  “And you know you don’t get anything resolved by getting mad at me about him, right?”

  Wilder nodded.

  “And you know I don’t belong to you.”

  He crossed the room so quickly it was as if he hadn’t moved at all. One second I was by the table, and the next he had scooped me up and lifted me onto the kitchen counter, his body nestled between my legs as if he had been born the exact perfect shape to fit there. A little gasp of surprise escaped my lips.

  He pressed his lips to the smooth line of skin below my ear and whispered. “You do belong to me.” He balled his hands on my shirt, pulling me closer to him, and dragged his mouth from my ear to my lips where he said. “You are mine and no one else’s.” A little growl escaped him, vibrating against my mouth, and a shudder rolled up my spine and made goose bumps spread all over my body.

  I should not think this was as hot as it was. I was a feminist goddamnit. Belonging to someone else was such an outdated, idiotic concept.

  “I don’t belong to anyone,” I whispered.

  But it wasn’t exactly true, was it? I belonged to my pack, something they’d never let me forget, because they needed me. I belonged to Ben, to Callum, to Secret, to Magnolia and the whole family I’d chosen. I belonged to so many people.

  He held my chin in place and forced me to look up at him. “You are mine. I am yours. We belong to each other.”

  I stared into his eyes, those complicated hazel pools with their flecks of gold. I tried to drink in the perfection of his too-beautiful face, the jawline so sharp it could cut diamonds, the mouth carved by the gods solely for me to kiss, and I tried to imagine life without him.

  I couldn’t. I simply couldn’t.

  I thought of the way he’d looked at me that first day we met, on the side of the highway, when he’d attached my dented car to his tow truck. He’d worn greasy overalls and a look of pure challenge. The same look he was giving me now, as if he was waiting for me to deny his statement.

  I found that I didn’t want to.

  “You are mine,” I said against his lips. “Mine.”

  I felt him smile because I was too close to see it. His arms snaked around my waist, and all I could feel was the perfect warm comfort of his embrace. I kissed him softly, because this was not the time for anything more, but I melted into him, the smell and sensation of his nearness, and it was so, so right.

  “I love you.” His words were said against my cheek, and they reverberated right down my spine and into my toes.

  “I love you, too.”

  When he pulled back we looked at each other. He brushed aside the hair that had gotten in my eyes and stuck to my lips. For the first time in two days he looked at ease, practically relaxed. Whatever had been building up inside him since we were at Callum’s compound looking for Mercy’s head had melted away, and was replaced with a kind of calm that I was jealous of.

  A loud knock on the kitchen door cut through the moment, and Wilder stepped back, helping ease me off the counter.

  It wasn’t Magnolia, she didn’t bother knocking.

  When I opened it up, Detective Bryce Perry was on the other side. He wore a rumpled dress shirt with the top two buttons undone, underneath what must have been a second hand suit jacket that was a size or two too big for him.

  “Detective?”

  “Ms. McQueen.” He tipped an imaginary cap at me. His ginger hair shone brightly in the afternoon light, and he’d shaved recently enough he almost looked presentable.

 
“Do you want to come in?” I couldn’t imagine what had brought him here. To my knowledge none of my pack members were in trouble at the moment—unless I counted myself. “Is everything okay?”

  “Well…” He stepped over the threshold when I opened the door, after wiping his already clean shoes on the mat outside. “See, I’m not sure how to answer that question.”

  Oh, this did not bode well.

  Bryce pulled out a chair at the table and took a seat, then rifled through the messenger bag he’d had slung over his shoulder. He withdrew a laptop and set it up on the table. It honestly looked like he was preparing to camp out and start work for the day.

  Wilder and I exchanged glances, but I decided to hold my tongue for the time being. The detective had obviously come here with a purpose, and as long as that purpose wasn’t moving in with me, I could grant him a little of my scant patience.

  He started going through some files on the laptop, and right when I was about to remind him he wasn’t alone, he said, “I don’t think I need to remind you about the situation you found yourself in in Franklinton last year, do I?”

  I swallowed hard. Bryce hadn’t been involved in that case, so I didn’t particularly love that he was bringing it up. I would have to be stupid to think the police didn’t have a file going on me and the pack, but it was still surprising to hear him bring up something he hadn’t been around for. Not to mention I had long since put the whole debacle with the Church of Morning and its cult-like leader Timothy Deerling in my rear-view mirror.

  “I remember it pretty clearly.”

  He nodded. “Great, so you probably also remember what happened to one Mr. Timothy Deerling.”

  Thinking his name to myself was one thing. Hearing it said out loud made a thin sweat break out on the back of my neck. “I remember he got half his face blown off by a deputy there.”

  Again, Bryce nodded, like he couldn’t agree more with my assessment. “Yeah, I read her report. I saw the video footage from inside the church. Congrats on not dying, by the way,” he said to Wilder.

  “Uh, thank you?”

  I pushed down the memory of Wilder, shot in the chest, bleeding out at my feet. He was fine, he was fine, everything was fine. Just thinking of it made my anxiety kick up a few more notches. Where was this going?