by Angie Fox
The drums beat louder.
I rushed across the wide-open space, ignoring the insects buzzing around my head and the aching in my bones. My boots splashed in puddles and sunk down into the muck. I was sweating like a pig. My heart pounded hard as the drums. I blinked in relief when I reached the trees beyond, kind of amazed I'd pulled it off. Still, I couldn't shake the unsettled feeling in my gut.
Perhaps the biker witches had rubbed off on me because I found myself preferring an all-out fight to all this sneaking around. I drew closer, careful to keep an eye out for the guards, and saw women in white dresses twirling and dancing in front of an immense bonfire. Painted, shirtless men, their backs shining with sweat, joined them, thrusting their bodies in a primitive dance.
A well-built man stood just beyond, his arms raised high. White body paint, drawn to resemble a skeleton, caked his chest and formed a macabre image of a skull on his face. "We beseech the Loa! Come to us!" The music changed. The drums stuttered out a staccato beat and the people screamed with abandon, thrashing their bodies.
I'd be willing to bet I'd found Osse Pade, Voodoo Bokor.
The crowd had spread. A man near the fire spun in a circle. He pulled a knife from the waistband of his jeans and, grinning to the heavens, he slashed the blade across his belly.
"Holy…" I uttered, unable to turn away. Somebody had to help him. Others saw. They had to. He'd sliced deep. Only the wound didn't bleed.
The crowd cheered.
I wiped the sweat from my forehead, not sure what to make of it.
A woman crouched near the bonfire and drew a heated poker. She smiled broadly, dancing with the scalding hot metal like she held a party balloon. I wanted to peel the sharpened rod of metal from her hand, to order her to drop it and back away. It glowed at the tip as she brought that burning edge down hard on her tongue. She did it again and again, and she didn't burn. Her tongue remained pink and whole.
Impossible.
Yes, I'd seen group magic before, but not like this. I didn't know what to make of the crowd or their worship or…oh my God. There was Carpenter.
Guards held him on both sides and dragged him to the center of the crowd. The necromancer struggled, bare-chested and hands behind his back. Black tattoos wound over his skin. He'd been gagged and beaten. The bokor laughed heartily, his long face held serenity and delight. He raised a gnarled stick with beads and feathers and an honest-to-God human skull on top. The priest began shouting something I couldn't decipher while his men tied Carpenter to the pole near the fire. I didn't even want to think of them burning him.
But I wouldn't put it past them.
I needed to do something. Fast. So far, the priest had brought an alligator back to life, which was wrong on about a hundred different levels, but it didn't deserve a death sentence. He'd tangled with black souls, but could I kill him for that? And what about his followers? Men, women, white, black, Asian, and all races in between. They looked like people I'd stumble upon on the streets of New Orleans. Save the wild dancing and the paint. Just because they'd taken part in this gathering, didn't mean they couldn't be redeemed. At least I didn't think so.
If I could only get closer…
I inched around the outside of the circle, still hidden by the trees. I was so focused on Carpenter that I almost stumbled over a burly guard before I saw him. Thank heaven he was distracted, entranced by the ceremony.
I'd have to sneak around the other way.
The woman who had been dancing with the poker, raised her hands in front of the fire. "Blood sacrifice to the loa!"
Pade held aloft a live chicken and made a great show of it, his muscular arms stretching high, spinning his body several times to display the squawking, frightened bird. The congregants pressed close, turning their faces up in rapture as feathers floated down to catch their cheeks and eyelashes.
With a knowing smile, he thrust the bird to the ground in front of Carpenter, who struggled, his hands lashed behind his back, his neck and feet bound to the pole.
The voodoo priest pointed his skull stick at the bird. He grinned manically as the animal let out a piercing squawk. Blood bubbled up from its chest, without him touching it, without him doing a thing except pointing that cursed stick. Church members collapsed to the ground, kicking and flailing as the bird thrashed, crying out as its blood splattered the congregants. It soaked the ground as it died at the necromancer's feet.
A sharp wind tore through the clearing and the drums stopped.
The people crouched—some crying, others silent—as a dark power seeped into the air like poisoned smoke.
I held my breath, as if that would protect me.
I knew better than anyone—there was nowhere to hide.
"It's the dark loa," one of the men hissed.
The bokor grinned like a madman, the white skull paint breaking into the wrinkles at the corners of his mouth, the black around his eyes making him look like a wicked demon. "The loa has blessed us." Feet bare, toes winding into the sandy soil, he stepped over the dead chicken and drew close to the struggling necromancer. "And now we have you as well," he said in a gravelly voice. "It took many moons to draw you to us. I was beginning to think we must slip that white gator into your bathtub. Call forth the loa in your living room."
Carpenter grimaced and tried to speak around the gag, his voice coming in angry, garbled bursts.
The bokor patted him on the cheek and turned to address the crowd. "It is the spirits of our ancestors who made us wait. They decided tonight was the night. They know the power of the blood moon." He stretched his arms out to the red-tinged full moon overhead.
The drums began to beat in a low, steady rhythm.
"Melona," the priest called.
A woman in white rushed to him, her head bowed. Hands shaking, she held out a plain, burlap sack to Pade. When he took it, she quickly bowed and backed away.
The corner of his mouth twitched in anticipation as he reached into the bag and drew out a heaping handful of dust "We call upon our ancestors," he said, casting the dust into the fire. It sparked when it hit, sending up a billowing cloud of smoke. "The dead who live among us." He reached deep for another handful, scattering it over the fire. More smoke hissed from the flames. It was thick now, and I could smell the sweet, cloying scent.
The priest breathed in deep, his nostrils flaring, while I tried to do the opposite. I shielded my mouth and nose against my wrist. The smoke made my head feel light. I began to see shadows among the flames.
"He is ours," the priest said with relish, his eyes closed, his head shaking back and forth. He held a hand out. "Bring me the knife!"
Holy Hades.
The woman in white brought up a wicked looking machete.
The smoke made the crowd go even crazier. They danced, their movements wild, the beat quickening. I stood. I had to get Carpenter out of there.
It was the last thought I had before the Osse Pade grabbed the machete and sliced the blade across Carpenter's chest. He choked out a cry and bled freely. It ran in rivulets down his abdomen and onto the ground. I reached for a switch star as I caught the necromancer's wild-eyed stare. I didn't even know how he saw me in the tangled edges of the underbrush.
Carpenter shook his head, 'no.'
It was the only thing that could have halted me.
What the hell?
No telling how deep they'd cut him.
The priest now held the cup under the wound on Carpenter's chest, catching the streaming blood. If he drank it, I didn't know what I'd do.
I watched in horror as he poured it out over the dead chicken.
He clutched the cup, his entire body shaking. "We call to you, loa! We call to the mother of death!"
The feathers, soaked in blood, ruffled and for a second I thought I saw the dead chicken twitch. But that was impossible and horrible and holy God—the thing started beating its wings against the ground. It had been dead, sliced open. Now it turned in a sick, struggling circle.
; "The mother of death brings life!" The priest screamed as the drums pounded so hard I thought I was going to be sick and the damned bird was actually alive and taking short, flying hops as if it needed to flee the noise and the press of the crowd.
But there was nowhere to go.
I had to get Carpenter out of there. They'd lured him, trapped him, and used his blood to bring a dead bird back to life. I knew better than to think it would stop there.
I drew a switch star and dashed straight past the startled worshippers toward the circle. Nobody stopped me. My legs felt hot as I jumped the fire, levitating to give me an added burst, praying I didn't overshoot as I landed directly in front of Carpenter. The smoke was thicker here, suffocating. The bokor reached for me. I elbowed him in the face, sending him sprawling into the dirt as I bent to slice open the bindings at the necromancer's feet. Pade grinned at me, blood running through his bottom teeth and down his chin.
Don't think about it.
My lungs burned as I unwound the rope from Carpenter's neck. The bokor knelt several feet away from me on the ground, bloody teeth clenched, arms raised, fingers winding towards me.
I began to see misty faces in the smoke.
Please let this be a hallucination.
Smoky hands reached for me. Hollow faces emerged from the mist. Their mouths moved as if to speak. Their voices crackled like the fire.
I freed Carpenter's hands, catching him as he stumbled forward.
"Run!" I ordered. I spun to avoid the disembodied figures in the mist. But they were behind me as well. I drew a switch star. Threw it at them, hoping to break them apart. It cut straight through the smoke and disappeared.
The spirits weren't real. They couldn't be.
"The loa…" Their broken voices called. "Embrace the loa…"
I felt the chicken flopping against my boot. I scooped it up, drew a switch star used it like a knife to slice the bird's head off.
Screams erupted as the followers around me scattered and fainted. My own knees felt weak, but I forced myself to stay strong. I tossed the bird's body into the fire.
Osse Pade was nowhere to be seen, neither were his guards. Or Carpenter.
We had to get out of here.
"Carpenter?" I called, trying to see through the remains of the smoke. "Carpenter?!"
Chapter Seven
I dashed to where the clearing ended and out onto a large dock that clutched the swamp bank. Two guards and the priest had Carpenter in a black pontoon boat. I watched helplessly as it sped away.
My head felt thick from the smoke and my attention was so focused on them it took me an extra second to notice the guard staggering up behind me, his machete drawn.
He was off balance, too. He made a clumsy swing at me.
I shoved past him and ran full out toward the orange light of the bonfire. I had to get out of here or the witches would never know what had happened and we sure as heck wouldn't be able to help Carpenter.
Then again, I couldn't just leave him.
Osse Pade had lured him here. He was using the necromancer for his magic and I had a feeling this was only the beginning.
Think.
The fastest way out was straight through the mess. So that's the way I'd go. I skirted the moaning followers and the blazing fire, sprinted straight through the underbrush, and over the deserted land bridge.
I found Carpenter's boat where we'd first landed and jumped into it way too fast. My heart lurched as it rocked hard to the side. As long as I didn't capsize this frigging thing, I could do this. I could drive a boat.
At least in theory.
I started it up. How hard could it be? In truth, I didn't want to know.
A long handle thrust from the motor. I gripped it and steered out into the bayou, toward the smoke and fire and the chaos I'd just left. With any luck, I'd be able to discover where they'd taken Carpenter—without getting captured myself.
I focused my power and used it to open myself to the danger ahead. My demon slayer senses craved anything that could drown me, burn me, chop me into fish bait, or leave me at the mercy of a crazy voodoo bokor. It was a pain-in-the-butt power, but one that would serve me well now.
I wasn't startled at all to discover they were all around me.
Fine. We'd do this the old-fashioned way. I skirted past the smaller island and rounded it toward the land bridge. There I saw a fleet of pontoon boats tied together. They stood mostly empty for now.
I slowed my engine, attempting to sneak past…
"There she is!" Shouted a man on the shore.
I froze.
A red flare arced over the water and landed five feet in front of me, hissing as it sunk into the bayou.
"Go, go, go!" I heard more of them yelling as they loaded into the boats. Engines flared to life.
I made a U-turn as fast as I could without tipping and opened up the motor, cursing myself that I didn't have any spells with me. I could really use a Mind Wiper, or six.
Demon slayer weapons weren't made for boats.
The wind tore at my hair, the hard water slapping the hull and lurching the boat with bone jarring impact. But it didn't matter. I wasn't going fast enough. The roar of their boats grew louder. They were gaining on me.
The high-pitched whirr of an engine seared my ears as one of the pontoons drew up on my right. I drew a switch star and fired it into the hull. It sliced through it like paper and I realized with a start that this was the first time I'd ever fired while moving.
But the boat didn't slow down. In fact, it drew closer. And my switch star didn't boomerang back to me. It must be behind me. If it did arc back this way, I hoped to Hades it didn't slice through my motor.
The nose of the ship next to me dipped and I heard the whistle of my weapon directly behind my head. I ducked, grabbing it out of the air, the handles almost too hot to touch. I sheathed it as the boat next to me spun out.
With both hands, I banked hard left, nearly flipping over.
The out-of-control boat smashed into the pontoon behind it, tipping it and dumping my attackers into the murky swamp.
Waves rocked my boat. I clutched the motor handle, said a quick prayer, and steered toward a dark, narrow inlet. I had no idea where I was, where I was going. My demon slayer instincts screamed to turn around and dive into the mess behind me.
But all the heroics in the world wouldn't help Carpenter when I was outnumbered and on the run. I had to be smart about this or neither of us would make it out of here.
I slowed, knowing it was dangerous, but I had to figure out where I was. I turned down another tight tributary. The canopy of trees above blocked out the moon, leaving me in almost complete darkness. That was fine. If I couldn't see, neither could they.
Water lapped against fallen logs and trees. Insects buzzed all around, their chorus broken by bird calls and bullfrogs. It was the most crowded, loneliest place I'd ever been.
No telling how many miles of swampland they had out here, but it had to be a lot. Something splashed into the water next to the boat and I steered away from it, keeping as far as I could from the towering cypress trees, and wincing as water dripped onto my cheek and down my back.
The air felt hot even for night, the humidity stifling. I spotted the outline of something coming up on my left and nearly swooned when the familiar shape of the old shine shack came into view, the one Carpenter and I had passed on the way in. I used it as a beacon as the channel opened up.
Another island loomed ahead. I allowed myself hope as I picked up speed. This had to be it.
I wiped my forehead in relief as I saw the run-down dock we'd used earlier in the night. I tied up the boat, and ignored my sea-weak legs as I ran for my bike.
It was still there. Thank heaven.
I rode it like an insane Red Skull back to the house, and I didn't stop there. I drove up the front walkway and parked it by the fountain before taking the porch steps two at a time.
Grandma had the front door open before I reached
the top. "What's wrong?" she demanded, her heavy boots making the old boards creak as she stepped out and closed the door behind her.
My hair tangled with sweat and clung to my cheeks and forehead. "I found the alligator and got rid of the black soul." I'd tell her how later. I dragged the hair off my face. "Only it was an ambush. Osse Pade has Carpenter."
A frown etched deep into the corners of her mouth. "Damn it. I knew this wouldn't be easy."
"They used Carpenter's blood to bring back a dead chicken."
She stared at me. "Fuck," she said under her breath. "I hate voodoo."
"I'm not a fan right now, either." At least of the dark stuff. "Pade's power is something else. I've never seen anything like it." I drew closer to her. "It wasn't just the chicken. He pulled spirits out of the fire. It may have been an illusion." But I wasn't going to take that chance. "I'm wondering if that's how he got those two black souls."
She winced. "This is bad, Lizzie."
"I got that. I stopped him tonight. They ran off before they could complete whatever ceremony he had planned."
"Doesn't mean he won't start right back up." She sighed. "I wish I could have seen what he had going with those spirits." She ran a hand over her face. "Those who practice voodoo—even the good and the light side—they claim our loved ones never really leave us when they die. They say our ancestors are near us, with us, on another plane that's a breath away from ours."
I didn't like where this was going. "Do you believe that?"
She grit her jaw. "Nothing is impossible."
"We've got to rescue Carpenter." The sooner the better.
Grandma nodded. "Do you know where they took him?"
"Not exactly." I reached into my pocket for the purple flowers. "I found these where I last saw him."
"Drop them," she said.
I turned over my hand and let the flowers fall onto the porch.
Grandma crushed them under her boot. Tiny sparks shot out from under her heel. "Don't even touch his brand of voodoo," she warned.
I hated to break it to her, but, "It's going to be tough to avoid." In fact, there was nothing to do except focus on the problem at hand. "I'm not sure where they took Carpenter, but he did mention that the voodoo temple is on the edge of the bayou. If they were going to work magic on him, I'd have to think they'd start there. Pade also runs a business on Royal Street."
