by Megan Hart
“Fine. My name’s Annie Matthews, and I saw a strange light from my bedroom window. Like an idiot, I decided to check it out. Now, can you please get me out of here?”
He stared, those strange copper rays in his irises warming her insides. Abruptly, he turned his back and stepped away.
What a jerk. Annie’s lips tightened to a pinched line. “Hey—wait a minute. Are you going to help me or not?”
The man didn’t even look back but motioned with an arm for her to follow.
She let out a huge sigh. Jerk or not, her best bet was to follow him out of the swamp. Annie stumbled after him and onto the barest sliver of a trail. The narrow footpath was canopied by pines and oaks, obscuring the full-moon light. Her toe caught under a tree root, and she pitched forward, free-falling. She braced herself for the impact of packed dirt to face.
Strong arms grabbed the sides of her waist, and her chest bumped solid flesh. Annie raised her chin and stared deeply into the brown eyes. “Th-thank you,” she whispered. His hands above her hips held fast, steadying her—burning her. Annie’s hands rested lightly on his chest, and she couldn’t move or speak.
A low, thudding bass note, a drumbeat, pounded in her ears. Was it from her heart beating faster, or was sound escaping his controlled aura?
“I forget you can’t see like me.” He took one of her hands in his. “Stay close.”
Before she could object or ask what his remark meant, he pulled her forward.
She should be terrified alone in the woods with a stranger.
But for the first time since hearing the voice inside the wisp, Annie felt safe.
The narrow trail of dense shrubs and overarching tree limbs gave way to a wider, more open trail illuminated by the Thunder Moon. It was as if he were leading her down a silent passage that exited a nightmare.
At the edge of the tree line lay an open field. Weeds and brambles rippled, silver-tipped from moonbeams and glistening like drops of water dancing on waves. A glow flickered in Grandma Tia’s cottage, a lighthouse beam signaling home.
Annie glanced at the man’s chiseled profile. Harsh, fierce even. Handsome seemed too pretty a word to describe him. He was powerful, a force of the night.
“Beyond this field is a dirt road that leads to County Road 143. Know where you are now?”
She laughed, giddy with relief, and pointed to the cottage. “Of course. That’s my grandma’s house. Her name’s Tia Henrietta. Maybe you’ve met her before?”
“The witch in the woods?” Surprise flickered in his eyes. “I should have guessed. Are you one, as well?”
She tugged her hand away from his. “No more than you.”
His hand reached out and stroked the red flannel mojo pouch belted at her waist. “What magic is this?”
“Gris-gris bags. My grandma makes them. For protection.”
“Didn’t work, huh?”
“Sure it did. It brought you to me, and then you brought me home.”
His lips curled. “I don’t know what kind of magic your grandmother claims to have, but that pouch didn’t help you when the will-o’-the-wisp conjured you into the woods.”
“What do you know of them?” she asked, burning with curiosity now the danger had passed.
He ignored her question. “So you followed this light. What happened next?”
She bit her lip. “Looks like I’m the one doing all the talking. How about I tell you one thing, then you tell me one thing?”
He nodded. “Deal.”
“Okay, then. The light disappeared a few minutes. When it came back, something inside it spoke.” Annie took a deep breath. This wasn’t easy to talk about. This was partly what alienated her from everyone. The crazy sticker on her forehead.
But the man didn’t flinch. “What did it say?”
Annie hedged. Once again, she was doing most of the talking. “Tell me your name.”
“Tombi. Tombi Silver.”
She inhaled sharply, and his eyes narrowed.
“What is it?” he demanded.
“The voice. It mentioned you by name.”
He leaned in and grabbed her arms, not bruising-hard, but enough so that she couldn’t run away. “What. Did. It. Say?”
What the hell. This wouldn’t be the first time she’d been used as a conduit for messages. Best to relay it and get on with her life. Otherwise, the wisp or spirit, or whatever that thing was, would keep appearing in some form or another until it had its way.
“It said you were in great danger and to trust no one, not even in your inner circle. That there’s a betrayer in your ranks, and if you were ever his true friend you need to find the betrayer, so he can be released.”
She didn’t think it possible the man—Tombi—could look fiercer, but he did. He let go of her and shook his head.
“No. I don’t believe you.”
Annie hitched her shoulders and raised her palms. “Fine. But that’s what the thing told me.”
“Did it have a name?”
“Bo.”
* * *
Ringing flooded Tombi’s ears. There’s worse things than witches. Much worse.
“What did Bo say?”
Annie recoiled, and he realized he was shouting. With great effort, he lowered his voice. “Tell me what he said.”
“He’s trapped inside a wisp and wants you to free him.”
Guilt and anger heaved in his stomach. “I’ve been trying to find him for weeks. Why didn’t he come to me? I was his best friend.”
Bo. His blood brother and childhood comrade. Always reliable. Always quick with the jokes and the laughter. And the only man who could make Tallulah laugh. His sister hadn’t smiled in months. Not since Bo died. Sometimes he wondered if she ever would again.
“Was your best friend?” Annie’s eyes rounded. “What happened to him?”
Tombi gritted his teeth. Oh, she looked innocent enough. Standing there in her flower-print T-shirt and drawstring pajama shorts. Brown hair tumbling in waves down to her hips. At first glance, she’d appeared a mere slip of a girl—skinny and all legs.
His eyes shifted to the fullness of her breasts and slight swelling of her hips. Definitely a woman. A very sexy woman. Not that it mattered. Evil spirits roamed in many guises.
“He died. Snakebite.” He watched her closely, checking for signs of guilt or glee.
She shuddered. “That’s horrible.”
“Died right where I found you tonight.”
Annie crossed her arms and looked downward apprehensively. “I hate snakes. Was it a rattler or a water moccasin?”
“Rattler. He died alone out there in the woods.” How many times had he imagined Bo’s horrible death? Imagined him feeling the rapid, burning spread of venom in his veins, knowing he was doomed.
Tombi drew a rasping breath. “He shouldn’t have had to die alone.”
“Nobody should,” she agreed. “How—how did he get trapped in a wisp?”
“You really don’t know?” he asked sharply.
“No.” She squared her shoulders. “I’ve only been out here a few weeks visiting my grandma. Lots of weirdness down here, even more than usual this summer. Stuff I’ve never seen before. Or heard.”
“About what you heard...what did Bo say exactly?”
“I told you. There’s a betrayer in your ranks. He wanted me to warn you of danger.”
A likely story. Wasn’t that the way evil sank its fangs into people? It insinuated and manipulated fear and mistrust where none existed. Until you became paranoid and relied only on your own wits for survival. He’d seen it so many times over the past few years.
“I don’t believe you.”
She shrugged. “Suit yourself. Don’t shoot me, I’m just the messenger.”
&n
bsp; “You always go around hearing voices?” he sneered.
“Yes.”
Her quick, short response surprised him. “You do?”
“You already think I’m a witch, so—what the hell—yes, I hear things. Not voices usually. I hear music around people.”
“Music?” He snorted. What kind of strange magic was this?
Her lips compressed in a thin line. “It’s what drew me to the woods tonight. I heard the most beautiful music—it sounded like fairy bells.”
Tombi considered Annie’s words. “Did you smell anything?”
“Hmm? No. Not unless you count the constant smell of the ocean. Do the wisps have a certain smell?”
“They can. Will-o’-wisps appeal to different people different ways.” With him, they tried to mask their foul odor under the clean, sweet scent of balsam fir. He’d learned not to be drawn in by it.
“Your turn,” she said, casting him a curious look. “What are you doing running around the woods in the middle of the night?”
“Chasing shadows.” A half-truth.
Annie scowled. “Not fair. I answered your questions.”
As if there were anything fair about life.
The silhouette of an old woman appeared at the cottage window. Impossible to see her facial expression from this distance, but the prickling of his forearm skin alerted Tombi that she watched. Somehow, through distance and darkness, the old lady’s eyes clamped upon them.
Witch.
And this Annie girl was Tia Henrietta’s direct descendant. She was a perfect target for the dark spirit ruler and his host of creatures, potentially more valuable than a normal human who possessed no sensory power whatsoever. Had she been tainted yet by evil? Despite her scowl and crossed arms, she looked as harmless as a kitten with her big, wide eyes and skinny arms and legs.
Don’t be fooled by appearances. Tombi met her challenge with evasion. “There’s evil and dark shadows in the bayou that you’ve never imagined. If you’re not part of it, best you don’t learn.”
She cocked her head to one side and stilled, as if listening to something he couldn’t hear.
“What is it?” Tombi asked sharply. “Do you hear something?”
She nodded. “It’s faint, but distinct.”
Could this girl really hear others’ auras? Tombi shifted his feet and concentrated on containing his energy. The only sound in the night was the constant rolling of distant waves and the eternal screech of insects.
“It’s gone now,” Annie said. “But I heard your aura. Finally. I’ve never run across someone that I couldn’t.”
An undertow of intrigue tugged his mind. “Well? What do I sound like to you?”
“Drumming. A deep bass note. Steady as a heartbeat.”
He studied the delicate features of her face, the heart-shaped chin, small nose and wide brown eyes beneath arched brows. Air charged between them, an unexpected sexual energy that rolled over him. The jackhammer beating of his heart exploded through his normal wall of self-control. The darkening of Annie’s brown eyes said she heard it. Her gaze dropped to his lips, and Tombi leaned in...
“Annie?”
The old lady’s voice cut through the night. It felt like ice water dousing his fevered skin. At the cottage, Annie’s grandmother leaned her considerable girth half out of the window.
“Whatcha doin’ out there? Who’s that with ya?” she yelled.
Soft, moist heat brushed his left jaw. Startled, his gaze returned to Annie.
“Thank you for bringing me home.” Her voice was breathless, and her hair was tousled and wild. She stretched up on tiptoes and planted another quick, chaste kiss on his cheek. “I have to go now.”
Annie ran through the moon-silvered field, and he followed her slight figure until she entered the cottage. Bemused, he lifted a hand and traced his chin and jaw where her lips had momentarily caressed his skin. The memory of those quick kisses left him feeling anything but chaste. Why had she kissed him?
The light in the cottage blinked out, but Tombi lingered, reluctant to resume his hunt. For a small interlude, Annie had pricked through his armor, had touched something deep inside.
Bewitched him.
CHAPTER 2
Why had she kissed him?
True, he’d saved her from spending the night in the swamp, but he’d been evasive. Even accused her of being a witch.
But she’d been irresistibly pulled to his masculine strength, in a way she’d never experienced before. Kissing strangers was a novelty. Best to place the blame on the Thunder Moon and forget it ever happened. With a deep sigh, Annie shook off the question. It was done. Over. She might never see Tombi again. And she certainly would never go back into the night woods chasing will-o’-the-wisps.
Filled with resolve, she returned to preparing a new batch of mojo bags designed for attracting the opposite sex. Grandma Tia had awoken this morning declaring they would be in demand today, and supplies were getting low. Annie crushed lovage leaves with a mortar and pestle, releasing its unique lime and celery fragrance.
The cramped kitchen could almost be mistaken for one set in medieval times. Dried herbs from their garden hung from the ceiling. The countertops were wooden, as were the floors, table and cabinets. On the pine table, Annie had spread out over a dozen pink flannel mojo bags and mason jars filled with dried flowers and spices.
She emptied the freshly ground lovage into a new jar, humming contentedly. Next, she took a pinch of powdered substance from each jar and placed it in the bags, along with a sprinkle of salt and a tiny magnet. The base ingredients were set. Her grandma would personalize each bag as needed.
The murmur of conversation from the living room grew louder. Grandma Tia’s voice was low and calm, in contrast to the other woman’s high-pitched agitation.
“That hussy knew Jeb was my man, and it didn’t make no bit a difference to her.”
Every syllable of the woman’s words buzzed like angry bees in Annie’s ears. She hummed louder to block the buzzing and opened the pantry, which was lined with shelves of different-colored mojo bags, stones, nails, oils, graveyard dirt and hunks of dirt-dauber nests. A few murky jars were filled with liquid the color of swamp water, and she shuddered to think of what unsavory ingredients her grandma used in other kinds of spells.
Tia Henrietta popped her head in the door. “I need that there—”
Annie plucked two items from the shelf and held them out. “Here’s twine and a vial of Stay Me oil. You need to add these to one of the pink bags for a Taking-Back-Yer-Man spell. Right?”
“You a quick learner, child.” Grandma Tia gave a broad wink before closing the door behind her.
Annie shook her head in bemusement. It wasn’t too hard to learn the hoodoo basics. Grandma Tia had explained there were certain common spells: one for getting back a lover (mostly female customers), another for gambling luck (mostly men) and another for revenge or blocking enemies (popular with both sexes). That was in addition to using the all-purpose good-luck charms and cleansing waters she concocted.
The front door slammed shut, and Annie watched the wronged woman march to her sedan, tightly clenching the mojo bag in her right fist. The hapless Jeb didn’t stand a chance against her determination to cure him of his wandering ways. What a relief Grandma hadn’t insisted she join them for the consultation. Lately, Grandma Tia had been making her meet customers, saying she needed to come out of her shell. But she’d given her a break today and let her putter about the kitchen, allowing her to get her bearings after last night.
The teakettle whistled, and Annie poured steaming water into two mugs and carried them on a tray into the living room.
Her grandma was sprawled on the sofa, head in her hands.
“What’s wrong?” Annie hurried forward and set the mugs
on the coffee table.
Tia brought her hands down and smiled wanly. “Nothing. I’ll be just fine after tea.”
“It’s your heart, isn’t it?” Annie asked, helping her sit up and placing a pillow behind her back.
“Cain’t expect it to last forever.” Grandma Tia mixed a dollop of honey into the hawthorn-berry tea. “This will revive me right nice.”
But one day it wouldn’t. Annie nervously adjusted the pillow.
As if reading her mind, Tia spoke again. “Don’t you worry ’bout me. I’m ready to meet my maker anytime He calls.”
What would she do without her grandma? Her real home was here in Bayou La Siryna, always had been. Here she wasn’t surrounded by people and their constant cacophony of sound and music. Unwanted sounds she’d never learned to mute or tune out. And if Grandma Tia died, there went all hope of learning to control it.
Annie sat on the couch, legs crossed, and sipped coffee. None of that slimy grass-tasting herbal tea for her. Her right leg jittered in rhythm with the tumbled whirling of her brain.
“Ain’t hard to guess what yer thinkin’.”
Annie cursed the guilty flush that heated her face. No use denying her one-track wish. “I can’t believe there’s nothing you can do to help me. There must be something.”
“Why would you be wantin’ to block a gift?” Tia clicked her tongue in disapproval. “One day you gonna be thanking the blessed saints for that hearing of yers.”
“It’s ruining my life. Why can’t you see that?” Annie set down her drink and stood, pacing the floorboards. This time guilt did more than stain her cheeks; it burned her heart. Grandma Tia probably wasn’t long for this world, and Annie was impatient and snippy with the one person in the world who best understood and accepted her peculiarity.
“I’m going outside to cool off,” she announced, using her last bit of self-control not to slam the door on the way out.
Cool off? What a joke. The humidity slapped her as soon as she stepped onto the porch. Annie sat down and stared at the gigantic live oaks draped with moss. Beautiful in a gothic, eerie kind of way. Burning cement cooked her butt, and she shifted her seating position.
