by Megan Hart
“Like you do the fairies. Maybe you just haven’t seen them yet. Are they said to be dangerous?”
“No. Their worst trick is to throw stones or rocks at people as a joke. Supposedly, they’re only a couple of feet tall and dwell in the deepest recesses of the bayou.”
“They don’t sound so bad. Anything else?”
Tombi hesitated.
“Go on,” she prodded. “Nothing could be stranger than the half-man, half-deer creature.”
“Just in case you’re ever roaming the woods and decide to take a dip in the waters to cool off, be sure not to swim anywhere there’s a white patch, because that’s where the Okwa Naholo live.”
“Underwater creatures?”
“Yep. The translation is ‘white people of the water’ because they have light flesh like the skins of trout.”
Annie tingled inside. “Mermaids?”
He gave a crooked smile. “Exactly. And if you invade their territory, they’ll capture you and turn you into beings like themselves.”
“Pretty cool, actually. Not getting captured—but the idea that mermaids exist. Most little girls dream of being one. I think they represent the epitome of feminine power and beauty.”
Tombi shrugged. “It’s another one of the tales I’m skeptical about.” He leaned back in his chair. “Anything you believe I should know about hoodoo?”
“Not really. We try to bend the natural laws for healing and to bring us luck in love and money.” She laughed self-consciously. “Not that my life is an example of either.”
Tombi regarded her soberly. “Your luck could change.”
Annie’s heart hopscotched along her rib cage. Did that mean he loved her? Secretly, she believed her fortune had changed. Despite the setbacks, she knew what it was like to love a good man. A man worth fighting for. A man worth risking her heart, her pride, her life.
Pop. A large ember from the fire flamed and jumped in the air, breaking the moment.
“I still can’t believe we didn’t get the flute,” Annie complained.
“More than likely, it never existed.”
She couldn’t believe it. There was some reason Ms. Belle and the hawk had arrived at the moment she read about the legend. Some reason that Tia had visualized the grimoire while in a coma.
“All that was in the book was that the flute helped contain Nalusa and where to find it. Is there more to the legend than what I read?”
“It’s said our ancestors used it whenever Nalusa grew too strong and disrupted the balance of light and shadow. If that happened, the tribe would gather for a full-moon ritual and play the flute. Nalusa would be drawn to the music, but could only appear in his visible, half-human form and not sneak up on them like a snake.”
Annie shuddered, wondering if that version of Nalusa was less scary than the snake. “What does he look like in this half-human form?”
“He’s named after his half-human form. In Choctaw, Nalusa Falaya literally means a ‘long black being.’ It was said he resembled a man but had tiny eyes and long, pointed ears.”
She couldn’t picture it. “I’m thinking of snake eyes and donkey ears, and the two don’t seem to go together.”
“Is it any harder to imagine than the religious tradition of a pitchfork-carrying devil with a red body, hoofed feet and horns for ears?”
He had a point.
“But why would your ancestors want to draw Nalusa to them—no matter what shape-shifting form he chooses? Personally, I don’t ever want to see him again.”
“According to legend, while he’s exposed in human form, he’s vulnerable. The legend also says that only in this form can we force him back into his resting place and bind his power.”
She remembered the tightness in her chest as they approached the tree, the lingering miasma of evil. Some of his malevolent energy had marked his former prison. “He was trapped inside the hollowed oak, right? I felt a heaviness there, the way misery feels when it crushes you inside.”
“That’s his mark. He feeds on human grief and misery. It’s what makes you vulnerable to his will. It weakens your fight and warps your thinking.”
“Like it has the betrayer in your group,” she said softly. And who among his circle had suffered the most?
Tallulah.
She’d been grief-stricken over Bo’s death. And the mourning had left her susceptible to Nalusa’s voice whispering in her mind, murmuring dissent as poisonous as his venom injected in a blood vein. Couldn’t Tombi see the obvious? But Annie kept her mouth shut. Blood’s thicker than water. He’d known her a week; he’d known his twin since the womb.
Time to pay Tallulah a visit. Maybe invite her over for dinner and slip a little hoodoo concoction in her drink. Once her guard was down, Annie would listen in on her aura. Not something she was looking forward to. Annie imagined the noise from her damaged aura would be akin to nails scraping chalkboard—times a million. And how could she ever break the news to Tombi?
His mouth pressed into a grim line. “Whoever it turns out to be, I’ll have no sympathy. A warrior’s mind and body never breaks.”
“Not everyone has your strength.”
“I would expect any of the hunters to confide in me if they were in danger of succumbing to the shadows.”
He was in for a huge disappointment. “Could be they are too ashamed. Or maybe the darkness in their minds crept up on them so gradually they didn’t realize the danger until it was too late.”
“He should know better.”
Or she should know better. But Annie wasn’t brave enough to speak the words aloud. Tombi had been angry before when she’d suggested Hanan—how much more upset would he be if she suggested his sister? His twin, no less.
“Enough talk of Nalusa,” he cut in, his voice as rough as oak bark. “We’ve done all we can do for tonight. Tomorrow will be here soon enough with its worries and duties.”
Annie reached out a hand and touched his knee. “And whatever comes, I’m here to help. Anything you need me to do.”
His mouth twisted. “If there’s any way possible, I’ll shield you from seeing Nalusa again.”
“Don’t even think it. You need me with you, and you know it.”
Tombi stood and stretched. “We won’t speak of it anymore tonight.” He took her hand and lifted Annie to her feet. “We’ve better things to do.”
She couldn’t agree with him more. Tombi might skirt expressing his feelings for her, but his body had a language all its own. And his body said he loved her, too, even if his lips never formed the words.
CHAPTER 14
The dark of the moon settled into the night, smothering the bayou like thick fog. Annie lit every candle she’d gathered from her grandma’s cottage, until Tombi’s cabin glowed as if a thousand stars were contained within its rough-hewn walls.
The past two weeks had been filled with training sessions as Tombi, true to his word, initiated her more deeply into blocking external stimuli as well as containing the amount of energy she released into the world.
Too bad she and her grandma didn’t call on the questionable, seamier side of hoodoo, since amoral spirits were more accessible at the New Moon. She’d been so tempted last week during the dark-moon phase. She could use some extra supernatural help—if the old tales were true that she’d overheard in whispered conversations behind closed doors.
Don’t go there, Grandma Tia had warned a hundred times, wagging a finger. The ends never justify the means. You start dabbling in that mess, you might get sucked into their evil forever.
As a child, whenever Annie had heard those warnings, she’d pictured a giant hand rising up from the swamp and curling its fingers toward her, beckoning her to come and sink into the murky depths from which it supernaturally emerged. A quicksand of destruction for the unwary.
Frightened the hell out of her.
For the second time in her life, Annie considered the consequences of calling on a dark spirit. Only a few weeks earlier she’d also contemplated the same—desperate to stop the blaring music that assaulted her mind. But the childhood nightmare of the beckoning hand always stopped her from such invocations. Better a quick death from a venom-filled fang than the agony of a slow drown in the swamp.
Pick your own poison, Annie-Girl.
The choice was easy.
Annie frowned at the kitchen window. The gleaming black pane seemed like the core of a pupil in a giant eye that watched her and waited. If Tombi had bothered with curtains, she’d have drawn them over the window like an eyelid, sealing shut the outside world. She quit stirring the large iron pot and rubbed her forearms that prickled with unease.
“Something wrong?”
Annie spun around. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
His smile was quick and warmer than the heat emanating from the stove. “I’m known for sneaking up on wisps, but for you not to hear me is quite a feat.”
“All your lessons are helping me block sound for longer periods of time.”
“Good.” He sidled up beside her at the counter and peeked in the oven. “Chicken’s done. Another fifteen minutes on the huckleberry cake.”
“Hominy’s ready and water’s boiling for the banaha.”
“I’ll take care of the bread,” he said, giving his hands a quick wash at the sink, before mushing together the cooked field peas and cornmeal.
Annie watched his dark, muscled forearms as he shaped small rectangles from the mush and set them to the side on a dish. Quickly, she removed the roasted chicken from the oven and put the dirty mixing bowls in the dishwasher. “I can help with that,” she said. “Let me finish the patties while you wrap them.”
They fell into a companionable silence as Tombi enfolded the rectangles in dried corn husks and dropped them in boiling water. She’d been skeptical at first, but the traditional Choctaw bread, banaha, was surprisingly good. Tombi had explained that for centuries, hunters had eaten this bread for the sustained energy provided by the complete protein.
“We make a pretty good team,” she remarked.
Tombi shot her a slow, sexy smile that made her insides flame. A smile that promised another night of passion and enchantment. Heat chased across her neck and cheeks.
“Still shy?”
Tombi playfully slapped her ass, and she laughed.
Annie had never been this happy—so long as it was just the two of them alone in the cabin. Each day, Tombi let go of his reserve a fraction and spoke to her of happier times before Nalusa had broken his confinement and began wreaking havoc. Each day she’d opened up more on her difficult relationship with her mother. And each night they made passionate love, interspersed with such moments of tenderness that Annie felt sure of his affection, even if he hadn’t professed his love—yet.
But to Annie’s frustration, she could never catch the sly Tallulah unawares. They were no closer to naming their betrayer. As usual, she pushed the reminder aside, determined to enjoy their shared meal. Every moment they spent together was precious. In her heart, she tried to impress every detail to memory, wanting to remember everything in case... No, it didn’t help to dwell on the possibilities of everything that could go wrong at the next full moon.
They sat down to eat the mini feast. Tombi eagerly eyed the golden and purple huckleberry cake throughout dinner. Annie delighted in his pure enjoyment of her cooking whenever he spooned in mouthfuls of the baked berries crusted in a butter and flour pastry.
“How’s your grandma doing at rehab today?” he asked.
Annie swallowed a spoonful of the hominy. She still preferred grits but accepted hominy as its grainier cousin. “Grandma’s giving the physical therapists hell. Which means she’s feeling a whole lot better. They told me she can come home in another two or three weeks.”
“When I visited yesterday, she was barking orders at the staff, saying all she needed was to go home and pray at her altar and drink her special tea. The staff thinks she’s a bit of a crackpot.”
Annie laughed. “I can’t see her staying more than another week there before the doctors gladly sign off on the release papers just to stop hearing her fuss.”
“She can complain all she wants,” Tombi said firmly. “I’ll never forget that she saved my life. If there’s a way to repay her for—”
A heavy thud bumped against the kitchen window where a ruddy-colored ball of fur rustled. Ker-thump. Annie dropped her spoon and watched as it whacked against the window again. A scraping of talons against glass made her entire body wince and curl in upon itself.
“What the hell?” Tombi pushed away his plate and jumped up. “Your hawk’s here.”
The raptor had drawn closer every day while she hunted with Tombi and had appeared with increasing frequency in her dreams, but it hadn’t been this close since it had made its first appearance at her grandma’s cottage.
“What do you think it wants?”
“Only one way to know for sure.” Tombi hurried to the den, grabbing his knapsack filled with rocks and slingshots.
“Don’t you dare hurt him,” she said, following close behind.
“Of course I won’t. I’m bringing ammo in case he’s alerting us to trouble outside.”
Trouble. Her stomach roiled, but she needed to buck up and go out there with Tombi and face the hawk. Her hawk. Annie sighed as she quickly slid into her shoes by the front door. Why couldn’t her animal guide have been something friendly and nonviolent like a cute little chipmunk?
Kee-eeeee-ar. The screech erupted the moment they opened the door. The hawk beat its wings and flew toward the woods, glancing back at them in a command to follow. Kee-eeeee-ar.
Tonight, its squawks were higher-pitched and the cries closer together. Annie didn’t need Tombi to explain that this signaled distress. Something was wrong.
Everything raced—feet, heart, mind—as she sprinted through the field after Tombi. Had Nalusa struck again? Had the wisps killed and captured another’s soul?
The world darkened a shade as they entered the woods. Annie tried to keep up with Tombi as he forged ahead, chasing the hawk’s cries. The crunch of twigs and dried leaves underfoot was a symphony of disaster. Over the jarring sounds of brokenness, musical notes clamored for attention. Annie halted and put her hands on her knees, panting. “Stop!”
Tombi came to her at once. “Out of breath?”
“Do you hear music?” she asked, holding a finger to her lips.
He cocked his head for a moment. “I don’t hear anything.”
The notes tantalized her memory. They were familiar, haunting... Excitement inched up her spine. “It’s the flute!”
Tombi’s expression was blank.
“The flute,” she explained eagerly. “The one I heard through the pages of the grimoire. The one of legend. My hawk’s leading us to it.”
“How can you know it’s the same flute?”
“It has a more primitive sound, with a reedy kind of twang. I’d recognize it anywhere.”
His face tightened. “Who would have it? And why would they summon Nalusa? This might be another trap.”
Annie shook her head. “My hawk wouldn’t draw us into danger. He’s trying to help us.”
“Maybe.”
A whoosh of wings, then a cry, bleated above them.
“We should go.” Annie tried for a smile of encouragement, even while the thought of Nalusa made her lungs freeze with fear.
Tombi remained rooted to the spot, frowning. “I hate exposing you to danger.”
Every cell in her body screamed run, but Annie overrode the scared demand. “You need me. Besides, this could be your chance. Get the
flute, and Nalusa is yours.”
He squeezed his eyes shut and nodded. “I know. Stay close behind me and let’s try to be a little quieter.”
Annie lifted her neck and stared at the piercing eyes upon her. Quiet, she mouthed, placing an index finger on her pursed lips. She placed a hand on Tombi’s shoulder. “If you’re planning a sneak attack, I’ll lead since I’m the one tracking the sounds.”
Tombi’s mouth twisted in a grimace, but he nodded his acceptance.
Hesitantly, Annie walked forward, pausing every few steps to listen to the faint music. Above and in front, her hawk flew low, giving her confidence that she was headed in the right direction. On she plowed, heart hammering in anticipation. Tombi didn’t say it, but whoever was playing the flute must be the betrayer. Any of the other hunters who came in possession of it would have alerted the group immediately, and they would have rallied together to fight Nalusa and his shadow creatures.
And if the betrayer was playing it, why did he want to speak with Nalusa? It could only be to share more damning information on the tribe’s secrets and plans.
The flute grew louder, and she recognized where they were—the ancient tribal ground said to house Nalusa. Slowly, stealthily, they made their way to a parting in the trees. A person sat on the felled oak, elbows lifted and crooked, a flute held to their lips. A long black braid fell down their back, which could have been any of the hunters.
Annie studied the figure. As the betrayer shifted their position on the log, the profile gave away the identity. Damn. Why couldn’t it have been anyone else?
Tombi’s swift inhalation from behind meant he recognized the betrayer at the same moment she did.
Tallulah.
* * *
Na haksichi. The rogue, the betrayer.
His very own twin, the only one of two people in the world who had heard their mother’s heart beat from the womb. Pain flayed inside Tombi, a vivid crimson that burned and coated his retinas like an infrared filter, obscuring his normally keen vision.
He plunged through dense saw palmettos, uncaring of the noise. Let Tallulah see him, let her view his full fury, let her know that he found her utterly despicable.
