Blue Voodoo: A Romantic Retelling of Bluebeard (The Hidden Kingdom Series Book 2)

by Jennifer Blackstream

  “I am no husband to you anymore—any of you,” he growled, chest heaving. “’Till death do you part, remember?”

  Esther, the youngest sister, frowned, swaying as if she wanted to come closer but didn’t dare. “Husband, do you remember nothing we taught you? We—”

  “I remember that you are power-hungry madwomen who care for nothing beyond your own magic.” Julien curled a lip in disdain, making sure his face showed every speck of derision he held for them. “It brought you death once, and it will bring you death again.”

  Power oozed from the three women like thick slime. Being this close to them, Julien couldn’t rid himself of the sensation, the sticky, gooey feeling of their power licking his flesh. They had not been this strong before. Nowhere near.

  Fabienne sneered. “You still have not figured it out? It is no wonder your kind are relegated to mere servitude. You have no mind for the big picture.”

  Ignoring the chills racing down his spine, he jutted out his chin in defiance. “I am no servant. I thought you would understand that, at least, by now.”

  Fabienne snorted, and took to examining her fingernails, nose wrinkled in distaste at the dirt caked beneath them. “You think you broke the bond we formed with you? My dear husband, you were able to shed that particular shackle only because we allowed our desire for equality to blind us to reality. Sadly, your kind are not powerful enough to sustain a bond with three different magic users. Trying to fit the power of all three of us inside you was like trying to pour the entire bottle of bourbon into one, tiny shot glass.” She pursed her lips. “This time, only one of us will bond with you.”

  “Let me have him.” Gaelle tangled her hands in her skirts, bunching them up against her belly like the anticipation was just too much. “Oh, please, Fabienne, Esther, let me have him.”

  “You will have his body even if you don’t bond with him,” Esther mirrored the nonchalance and poise on her eldest sister’s face, her dark eyes too soft to carry off the look with the same menace. “You are his wife, after all.”

  “You are not my wife.” Julien pointed to Dominique’s body, finger trembling as he saw her up close, fully registered the complete blankness in her eyes. “That is my wife.”

  The three women glanced at Dominique, like they’d all but forgotten her.

  “Ah, yes,” Fabienne rolled her eyes, “the voodoo queen.” She said “voodoo” like it was a bad word, her nose wrinkling as the syllables passed her lips. “Yes, she is powerful. But then, we knew that, didn’t we, sisters?”

  “We did,” they answered.

  Julien glared at them. “How did you know of Dominique? I never brought you here—would never have brought you here.”

  “Why, your lovely beard, Julien.” Gaelle sauntered over to him, all sashaying hips. The teasing effect completely ruined by the blood she left in a flaky trail behind her. He stiffened as she cupped his cheek in her palm, rustling the blue strands of his beard. “We knew as soon as we met you that someone with great power had touched you. The magic she infused into this petty curse told us all we needed to know.”

  “That she was very powerful,” Esther added.

  “And very naïve,” Fabienne finished. “Only a child would use such strong magic for such a paltry curse. A child…or a scorned woman.”

  Gaelle petted his face in a cruel mockery of comfort. “I knew that no woman who had sampled your charms could ever forget you—could ever resist you if you came back.”

  Nausea rose in a wave, bringing bile to the back of his throat. “You used me to get to Dominique.”

  Fabienne smirked. “So adorable when you’re trying to think.”

  Gaelle leaned over to press a hot kiss to his throat. “Don’t worry, we wanted you for your body too.”

  The crust of blood was scratchy against his skin, but it was no more distasteful that the slide of her lips, the sickening caress of her tongue as she licked a stripe over the pulse in his throat. Julien clenched his hands into fists, barely resisting the urge to tear out her windpipe. They were far too powerful, especially together. He never would have managed it the first time if…

  He snatched Gaelle by the jaw, and rubbed the dried blood from her cheek.

  “I like it when you’re rough,” she rasped, voice strained by his grip on her face.

  Julien ignored her, the dread curled in his stomach thickening with every flake of blood that broke free, every inch of skin bared to him.

  There were no wounds. The sound of heavy breathing raked his ears and it took him several long moments to realize it was him. Impotent adrenaline poisoned his blood, filling him with the desire to scream, to fight even as he knew full well he had no chance against them as he was. He dragged a harsh thumb across her smooth cheek, wishing he could flay the skin from her skull. Gaelle drew back like whatever she’d seen on his face gave her a brief moment of pause, her bottom lip betraying her in a tremble.

  He met Fabienne’s eyes. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

  “What a simple-minded fool you are, husband. We are not dead, we were never dead. If you had ever had the courage to look upon what you’d done, you would have realized long before now that we merely slept. A hibernation of sorts, a ritualistic death necessary for our rebirth. We needed your little harlot to pour her power into us—a great deal of her power. Deceiving her into performing the desounen was the perfect solution. And all we had to do was convince her—convince you—that we were dead.” She shrugged an elegant shoulder. “It was a simple spell. You were so very fond of your rum.”

  “No.” He shook his head, releasing Gaelle’s face to catch her throat. That horrible smugness had returned to her lemon-drop eyes. “No. No, I remember digging your eyes out, shredding your skin, digging for your hearts. You’re covered in blood!” Sweat broke out on his forehead, but he ignored it along with the hysteria creeping into his voice. This was a nightmare. No, it was worse than a nightmare. It was real.

  “Pig’s blood.” Fabienne scratched some of the dried blood from her cheek. “Not my favorite memory, but it was necessary. Nothing helps a violent glamour along like the scent of real blood.”

  Esther stepped forward, hand held out as if to calm him. “You never shifted, Julien. It was just a dream of sorts, a glamour and a little hallucinogenic herb in your rum. It had to be this way.”

  He threw Gaelle away from him and back-stepped from them both, the revelations too much, the thought of touching any of them for any reason suddenly unbearable. She coughed, but didn’t touch her throat. And she didn’t stop smiling at him.

  “Oh, lover, don’t be so dismayed.” Gaelle swept up from the ground, the movements stiff, the fabric of her dress creased from the new folds in the filthy skirts. “Aren’t you pleased to hear that you didn’t actually hurt us?”

  They’d played him. Expertly. Picking up on Dominique’s magic, convincing him that he’d killed them… Every new realization sparked another, running like a stream of stars through his mind, each revelation more horrible than the last. “Our marriage. I wondered how I could ever marry you, what would ever possess me…”

  “We only built upon the attraction you already felt for us,” Esther protested. “The spells we used didn’t force feelings on you that weren’t already there. They merely…” She hesitated, her eyes beseeching. “Strengthened them a little.” She clasped her hands in front of her. “You have to admit, Julien, if we hadn’t used those spells, you would have lain with each of us and been gone in the morning—just as you did to Dominique. You never would have stayed to marry us.”

  “Don’t you dare even speak her name.” Julien put himself between the three and Dominique as if he could physically sever their magical hold on her. “You will never be half the woman she is.”

  “Oh, but we are so much more than that now.” Fabienne raised the glass bottle hanging on a rope around her neck. She waved it at Julien. “I have Dominique’s ti bon ange. It is all the power we need to be the new queens of this pathetic
kingdom—and soon, every other kingdom as well.”

  “You’re mad.” Julien closed his fingers into fists, fighting the desperate urge to tear Fabienne’s still-beating heart from her chest. “No one would follow you.”

  All three women smiled this time. It was a skin-crawling sight.

  Fabienne stroked the bottle like it was a beloved pet. “You cannot imagine the planning that has gone into our rise to power.”

  “We studied for years,” Gaelle agreed.

  “We prayed and practiced, ingratiated ourselves to the loa,” Esther raised her hands as if she would offer a prayer on the spot.

  Fabienne took a step toward him. “Unlike your Dominique, we did not merely accept the power we were born with, assume that that was the limit of what we could do. We took the power we had, and we worked out a way to get more.”

  “We found an ancient ritual that had been largely abandoned because it was too dangerous.” Gaelle leaned forward, her eyes bright with excitement.

  “Too dangerous only to those without the strength of faith needed to see it through,” Esther clarified.

  “A ritual from a time when people knew what it meant to truly dedicate oneself to one’s faith, knew that death was necessary to be reborn into the service of the loa.” Fabienne held her hands out as if in worship, serenity in the lines of her face.

  “All we needed was someone powerful enough to raise us, to share their power with us.” Gaelle twirled a strand of hair around her finger, her eyes caressing Julien.

  “And that’s where Dominique came in.”

  Esther looked over Julien’s shoulder at Dominique as she said her name. He shuffled to the side to once again block her view. The infuriating woman didn’t flinch, the peaceful expression on her features unchanged.

  “Julien, if you would only listen, you would understand. Dominique is a nice girl, but she is not a true priestess. She knows nothing of real faith.” She gestured at Dominique. “She uses her power to put herself in a place of importance here in her little corner of Sanguennay, but it never occurs to her to spread the joy of the loa, to travel and instruct others in their glory.”

  “We will not be so small-minded,” Fabienne promised. “We will travel and when people witness our power, they will flock into the service of the loa.”

  “And you will rule them.” Julien fought the urge to close his eyes, trying to block out the images that flowed into his mind. The world his former wives described was too horrible to imagine. It was zealousness at its worst, hunger for power parading as faith. He had seen places destroyed by that kind of delusion, entire faiths vilified because of the actions of a few. If Dominique could hear what was being said from inside her prison, it would torment her as no other future could. The notion of her faith being painted with such putrid colors, such evil intent.

  No. It will not happen.

  Julien took a couple steps back, feeling out his body, getting an idea of how much of his strength had returned. Every tendon woven in his back protested, his calves and hips tight. His body moved too sluggishly, muscles like hard taffy. Shifting twice so soon had sapped his strength, the drain worsened by healing. He gazed up at the sky, swearing he would make Parlangua pay for its part in this. But he would be useless against the three in this form, with no weapon—no clothes—to speak of. He had to shift. Or else.

  Keep them talking.

  They seemed to think he was slower than he actually was, waiting patiently for him to come to some kind of conclusion about their master plan.

  “Your greed will be your undoing. You have bitten off more than you can chew this time.”

  “Greed?” Esther’s lips parted, eyebrows rising in true surprise.

  “Yes, greed.” Julien pointed at them each in turn. “You were richer than the gods, living in your father’s house like royalty, an entire island rushing to fill your every desire, every whim. But that wasn’t enough for you. You had to have more.”

  “Money? You think this is about money?” Rage heated Fabienne’s voice now, filled her eyes with red, glittering light. “Anyone can get money, Julien. Anyone can have riches. What is gold compared to power? To influence?” She waved the bottle at Julien. “Even your foolish voodoo queen knew that.”

  “Oh, let’s not spend our first night back together again fighting.” Esther rushed between them. “Fabienne, please, Julien meant no disrespect. He just doesn’t understand.” She gave Julien an encouraging look. “Yet.”

  “No, he doesn’t, and I don’t believe he ever will.” Fabienne stared at him as though she held a dagger over his heart, sharpened tip pressing into his flesh. “It doesn’t matter. After I bond with him, he will do what we say without the relentless questions and whining.”

  Gaelle anchored her hands on her generous hips. “I want to bond with him!”

  Esther shifted on her feet, drumming her fingers against one another. “I would like to bond with him as well, Fabienne.”

  Fabienne folded her arms across her chest and huffed. “We cannot all bond with him, we learned that last time. He is not strong enough to fully bond with all three of us, and we must have a solid bond if he is going to stay with us willingly. Do you want to fight with him all the time? Have a prisoner instead of a loyal servant?”

  “No,” Esther admitted.

  Gaelle bit her lip. “I suppose not.”

  “But surely we could discuss the matter, decide which of us will bond with him?” Esther suggested.

  Fabienne rolled her eyes. “All right, fine. We will discuss it.” She plucked at her skirts, hardened with dried blood. “I want to get cleaned up anyway. Narcisse should be in place by now with our new clothes.”

  Gaelle perked up. “Oh, yes, I forgot about Narcisse.” Her head swiveled, searching the clearing like a baby bird seeking its mother. “Where did he go?”

  “He is getting the house ready for us. It is our rebirth celebration, remember?” Fabienne looked out over the forest as if seeing far beyond the trees. “I hope we weren’t wrong to count on him being able to handle whatever servants remained behind.”

  “I’m sure most of them went to the Midsummer Celebration.” Esther tried to smooth her hair into place, foiled by the coppery residue clinging to the black strands. “And Narcisse can be so convincing when he wants to be.”

  Gaelle clapped her hands, then suddenly tilted her head at Julien. “You won’t be too hurt if we take another husband, will you, Julien? After all, you will have three wives.” She closed the distance between them, and brought her lips close to his ear. “We will make certain you stay…satisfied.”

  Julien closed his hand around Gaelle’s neck. Her pulse—her pulse—fluttered against his palm, but it was the excitement of arousal, not the panicked beat of fear. His hold worsened around her throat, but she only pressed closer.

  “Dominique, remove Julien’s hand from Gaelle’s throat.”

  The blood in his veins chilled to ice water, painful, biting frost flowing down his limbs. He stared over his shoulder as Dominique’s body lurched like she’d been jolted with a stray streak of lightning. She doubled up and shambled to her feet behind him. He wheeled around, dragging Gaelle with him, horrified when Dominique did as she was commanded and sledged toward him, reaching for his arm.

  Panic fluttered in his chest, and he surprised himself by dipping to catch her blind eyes. They were glossy. Unfocused. Gone. “Dominique. Dominique, you have to fight it.”

  She wasn’t strong enough to force him to let go if he didn’t want to, but that hadn’t been the point.

  A hoarse chortling came from Gaelle, the air wheezing past his grip. Julien ignored her. Yes, he was well aware Fabienne was demonstrating what she could do, showing him that she controlled Dominique completely. It was a threat. “Dominique, please, you have to fight.” His gaze slid to the bottle Fabienne held, the bottle Dominique’s spark had vanished inside. “Give it back.” His voice came out low, more of a death threat than a request.

  “Such
a dire look for someone in your position,” Fabienne commented lightly. “Perhaps it would improve your focus if I simply removed the other half of her soul as well? She could have a new home in our crypt, now that we won’t be needing it anymore…”

  “You don’t need her, let her go!”

  Julien tried to keep his eyes on Fabienne. There had to be some way to get that bottle away from her, some way to free Dominique. She tugged at his hand, trying to make him let go of Gaelle’s throat. He gritted his teeth, but released the wench, not wanting to hurt Dominique. He had to stay calm, keep his temper until releasing it could do him some good.

  Gaelle sucked in a breath, swaying slightly. Still she smiled at him. “I forgive you, love.”

  Dominique stood there, motionless now without orders. Bile burned the back of Julien’s throat again.

  “I don’t suppose you bothered to try asking Dominique to mentor you.”

  Fabienne bared her teeth. “Mentor us? She knows nothing of the true ways of voudun. Her craft has been tainted by immersion in Sanguennay, twisted by influences outside the true land of our ancestors.” She dropped the bottle with Dominique’s spirit so that it thumped against her chest. “I’m done answering questions, done, having a conversation with a man who knows less of us than he does himself—if such a thing is possible.” Pointing at Dominique, she barked, “Bring him to the house.”

  Dominique’s body moved again, pulling at Julien’s arm, trying to follow the sisters as they paraded back to the house—his house. Dominique’s house. Their house. He swept her off her feet, cradled her in his arms, and lurched to the side in preparation to make a run for it. He would get her away from here. Maybe Drust would know a way to save her.

  “Dominique, scratch out your eyes if Julien leaves this property.”

  Fabienne’s voice was calm, matter of fact. Dominique raised her hands to her face, fingers poised over her eyes as she hung limply in Julien’s grip. He froze, stomach rolling with such violent intensity he nearly vomited with the force of it.

  “Put her down, Julien.” Esther clasped her hands together as if in prayer. “Please, stop fighting it. Everything will be all right, you’ll see.”