Black Magic Lover

by Cynthia Cooke

  Over Drew’s shoulder, Randal was grinning from ear to ear and patting Drew’s back, until his gaze caught Laura’s. Randal’s hand froze in midpat. His mouth dropped open. Slowly, he stepped back from Drew then moved to the side to get a better look at her. Which allowed her to get a better look at him.

  The first thing that struck her was how tall he was, how polished. He moved with a poise and regal demeanor that set him apart and begged to be noticed. His suit was cut to fit his form perfectly and portray worldly elegance and Southern charm. He was in great shape and sported a full head of thick, silver hair that lent him an air of distinction.

  This was a man of power, a man used to getting his way. Laura couldn’t help but feel intimidated by the intensity of his gaze. Especially when his eyes, dark and deep-set, hardened and fixated on her. There was nothing familiar about him, yet as he stood there staring at her, a wave of unreasonable fear broke over her, tensing her muscles and turning her stomach. Before either of them could utter a word, the car’s passenger door swung open and Laura heard a loud gasp.

  “Goodness me, is that our Laura?” A petite, dark-haired woman in an expensive taupe suit stepped out of the car, her eyes widening in shock as her hand rose to cover her mouth.

  “Hello, Jeanne,” Drew said. “Yes, Laura’s come back.”

  The woman ran around the front of the car toward her, her arms opened wide and tears glistening in her eyes. “Oh, Laura. My God, I would have known you anywhere. You’ve grown up to be so beautiful, just like your mama.”

  The small woman almost knocked Laura off her feet as she pulled her into a big hug. She seemed happy to see her. Really, truly happy!

  Smiling, Laura relaxed as her unwarranted fear dissipated.

  “She’s the spitting image of her mama, isn’t she, Randal?” Jeanne said.

  Randal stepped toward them, his lips widening into a smile that did not reach his winter-gray eyes. “Welcome home, Laura,” he said with as much practiced phony sincerity as a politician could muster. In fact, Laura might have even believed he’d meant it, if she hadn’t seen the blood drain from his face the moment he’d laid eyes on her.

  Laura felt Drew’s hand on the small of her back and couldn’t help the rush of warmth spreading through her.

  “And, Drew, it’s wonderful to see you back home again. Look at you, you must be six feet tall! I’m getting a crimp in my neck just looking at you,” Jeanne said, laughing.

  She had a nice laugh, genuine and lighthearted. A warm tug of recognition filled Laura.

  “Come on, honey,” Jeanne said, and grabbed Laura’s arm. “Let’s go get you a Southern treat. I bet you haven’t had a praline since you left us.”

  As Jeanne swept her along, Laura tried not to notice that everywhere she looked, people were staring at them. They stopped in front of a small stand where a young man was selling large pecan clusters.

  “Two, please,” Jeanne said, and handed one to Laura.

  Laura took a bite of the soft candy and was surprised by the incredible burst of butter and brown sugar. “Oh, this is good,” she murmured and took another bite.

  The teen selling the candy stared at her, his eyes narrowing as if trying to remember how he knew her. But he couldn’t know her. He was too young.

  Something brushed up against her leg. Laura looked down and saw a large blue ball next to her foot. A little girl with Goldilocks curls and a wide cheeky grin came running toward her, her arms outstretched. Laura smiled, bent down and picked up the ball, holding it in outstretched arms.

  “Isn’t she just adorable?” Jeanne said.

  “Ball,” the toddler demanded.

  Laura laughed and placed the ball in her arms. Running toward them, a woman scooped up the child so fast she began to wail. Stunned, Laura glanced up at the mother and was horrified to see fear contorting the woman’s face. Clutching her toddler against her chest, she turned and hurried away.

  “Come on, sweetie,” Jeanne said, and patted Laura’s shoulder.

  Laura stood, her gaze tracking the fleeing mother and child. “What was that about?”

  “Who knows? First-time mothers can be ridiculously overprotective.”

  They were halfway across the street when Jeanne stopped and turned. “You coming, Drew?” she called.

  Laura didn’t hear his answer. Like the little girl so fascinated with her ball, Laura was spellbound by crystals and faeries hanging in the window of a small shop directly across the street. Several primitive dolls with large black empty eye sockets sunk in skeletal heads lined the picture window, their stick bodies liberally decorated with feathers, twine and rough-hewn cloth.

  A thick sense of foreboding skittered along Laura’s spine. “Are those voodoo dolls?”

  The lace curtains behind the door moved and the stone-cold eyes of the shopkeeper bored into hers.

  “You don’t remember Voodoo Mystique? Mary and your mama used to be real close. Every time she’d take you for a visit, you’d come home with fairy dust sprinkled across your nose.”

  A friend of her mother’s! Someone who might have the answers she needed, and yet, as Laura stared at the dark gaping holes where the doll’s eyes should be, she couldn’t seem to make herself move forward. Her legs felt frozen as an icy fear swept through her.

  “Laura? Is everything all right?” Jeanne asked.

  An engine revved to an ear-bursting roar drowned out Laura’s reply. The squeal of tires gripping asphalt vibrated the ground beneath her feet.

  Suddenly, a loud cracking convulsed through the air, sounding like shots being fired from the town’s square behind them. People screamed and scattered, running and ducking for cover.

  Laura and Jeanne hunched over, covering their ears. A large tan car raced down the street, barreling toward them. Laura’s heart slammed into the side of her chest. Jeanne yanked on her arm.

  They ran. Laura tripped and stumbled, falling. Asphalt bit into her knees and palms. She found herself alone in the driver’s path. A scream caught in her throat.

  “Laura!” Jeanne screamed.

  Laura scrambled to her feet and ran for the sidewalk. The car sped past her. The door to Voodoo Mystique flew open and a small woman wearing a long, flowing purple dress grabbed Laura’s arm and pulled her inside the shop’s doorway.

  Laura stared after the car, her heart pounding. Within seconds, Jeanne was by her side, her eyes widened with fear. “You okay, sweetie?”

  As Laura shut the door, she couldn’t seem to catch her breath and her palms stung from her brush with the pavement.

  “He tried to run me down.” She looked around her, scanning the room for the woman in purple. Where had she gone?

  “No, no. It was an accident,” Jeanne said. “Thank goodness you’re okay.” She patted Laura’s shoulder. “You’re okay,” she repeated.

  She had a funny look in her eyes, and Laura wasn’t sure which one of them she was trying to convince.

  Jeanne turned and peeked out the lace-covered window. “Did you hear all that racket? What in the name of heaven is going on out there? I don’t see Randal or Drew anywhere.”

  “Stay here,” a voice from the shadows ordered. “Don’t you go out there, Jeanne.”

  Laura’s eyes adjusted and she made out the shape of a small woman standing in the corner. Laura tried to get a better look at her, but the woman stepped deeper into the shadows and Laura couldn’t make out her features in the gloom.

  “Thank you for your help.” Laura stepped forward but stopped as she noticed several grotesque dolls hanging suspended from the ceiling above her head.

  A tight band encircled her chest squeezing off her breath. Images of horror surrounded her. Skulls of various animals, jars filled with hair, teeth and other weird-looking items lined the wall next to her. Bones, feathers, snake skins and alligator heads filled bookshelves.

  What was this place? She stepped back toward the door.

  Drew burst in. “Is everyone all right?”

  �
�How’s Randal?” Again Jeanne peered out the window. “I can’t see him.”

  “He’s fine. He’s in the car.” Drew walked toward Laura. Concern heavy in his eyes. “How about you?”

  A lump filled her throat, blocking her breath. She shook her head. She didn’t know how she was. She didn’t even know where she was. What kind of woman was her mother’s friend?

  Drew took her hands in his and lightly rubbed the scraped, reddened skin with his thumb. His gaze caught hers and her heart jumped. For a second she wished she could step into his arms and rest her head against his chest. If she could just feel his arms around her, she knew his warmth would chase away the darkness surrounding her.

  But the thought was crazy. This man wasn’t her friend. And he wasn’t pretending to be.

  Jeanne turned from the window. “Drew, I heard shots. Was someone shooting out there?”

  “Firecrackers.” He dropped Laura’s hands and turned to Jeanne.

  Laura crossed her arms over her chest and held herself tight to keep from pulling him back, to keep from bolting.

  “Firecrackers? That’s absurd,” Jeanne said, her voice rising. “Who would do that?”

  Everywhere Laura turned she saw gaping black holes in faceless skulls. Why did they scare her so much? She had to get out of there.

  “Someone who wanted to distract us from the car that almost ran Laura down,” Drew answered. “Did either of you get a good look at the driver?”

  Laura’s attention snapped back to Drew. Had someone tried to kill her? Who? Why?

  Because they don’t want you here. The voice from that strange phone call echoed in her head.

  She swayed, feeling unsteady on her feet.

  Drew stepped closer and wrapped a steady arm around her waist. “Are you all right?” he asked softly.

  She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Instead, she clung to him, smelling his spicy scent, feeling his strength and remembering what it was like to have him hold up her world.

  But they weren’t kids anymore.

  “No one even knows Laura is here,” Jeanne argued. “Lighting firecrackers sounds like teenagers stirring things up and messing around. I’m sure it has nothing to do with Laura or the car.”

  “You’re probably right.” Drew dropped his arm from Laura’s waist and joined Jeanne at the window.

  Laura reached for him then pulled back. She couldn’t use him as a shield against this evil place. She had to get through this on her own. She had to face it if she was going to find out the truth about what happened to her mother, and if she was even alive.

  Light flickered against the glass eyes of a reptile. Laura hated mysticism. Hated the tarot card readers that lined Haight Street in San Francisco, the palm readers who promised good fortune, the so-called psychics who could predict the future. She’d never wanted anything to do with any of it, and yet, here she stood in a den of evil.

  And it was a place frequented by her mother.

  “Besides,” Jeanne continued. “Why would someone want to run Laura down? Folks around here can be a little skittish, but just because she looks like her mama that’s hardly a reason to run someone down in the road.”

  “Revenge is always a reason.” The small woman still lurking in the shadows finally stepped forward. “They don’t want her here.”

  The woman’s words reached inside Laura and clamped a bony hold on her heart. She looked to Drew, who was suddenly standing next to the door as if he, too, wanted to get as far away from her as possible.

  “Revenge? What has Laura ever done to anyone?” Jeanne’s voice sounded loud and shrill in the small shop.

  “Not Laura. Delilah,” the woman said. “For killing Paul and Georgette.”

  Laura thought back to what Drew had said about the accident. She recalled her adopted father’s easy smile and wide, loving arms. She’d loved him. Her mother had loved him. Everyone had. What this woman said couldn’t possibly be true.

  Jeanne’s eyes narrowed and her tone deepened. “Mary, I don’t want to hear that. Delilah did not kill my son. It was an accident. A horrible accident. You know that.”

  Before Mary could respond, the door opened again. The tinkling of the bells echoed throughout the room and through Laura’s mind. Memories clicked into focus—the smell of sandalwood incense, her mother and Mary talking in hushed whispers, chanting as their fingers worked magic with the dolls.

  Voodoo dolls.

  Laura shivered as a bone-deep chill shook her. Randal stepped into the shop and Jeanne rushed to him. Laura stared into Mary’s black gaze, and watched it narrow. Yes, she remembered what Mary and her mother had done in this shop on those hot, summer nights so long ago. And Mary knew she knew. She could see the certainty burning like hot embers within the depths of her dark Creole eyes.

  Had her mother and this woman killed Papa Paul? The thought sliced painfully through Laura’s heart. Was that why her mother had disappeared and never returned?

  “The rally’s about to start,” Randal said.

  Jeanne nodded and without another word they walked out the door.

  Before Laura could join them, Mary shoved a little bag into Laura’s palm and squeezed her hand over it. “Trust no one,” she whispered, her big dark eyes rounding with dead seriousness. Laura’s stomach plummeted. She pulled her hand away and turned to Drew who stood in the doorway watching them. For a split second, Laura thought she saw fear shining in his eyes.

  He was afraid? Of what?

  And then she knew. As she held the lump of fabric clutched in her cold grasp, she knew that he was afraid, that, like her mother, she would disappear, too.

  Chapter 5

  Drew stood outside the doorway of Voodoo Mystique and wished he could step out into the street, into the light, away from the gloom. The spirits were all around Laura, hovering, surrounding…protecting? He wished he knew.

  All his life he’d worked hard at blocking them. It’d been years since he could hear them, and he’d thought he’d reached the point where he no longer saw them. Life had been good.

  Until he’d come back here.

  Until Laura.

  He should jump on the nearest plane and hightail it back to Atlanta. Back to his empty house. But he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep at night knowing he’d left her here. Knowing she was destined to end up in the swamp, which was probably what had happened to Delilah, and certainly what had happened to Paul.

  Destiny, like death, was hard to fight.

  Laura walked unsteadily out of Mary’s shop. Her face was ashen, her eyes wide and slightly dazed. He stepped forward and took her by the arm, suddenly angry that he was stuck in this impossible situation. Why couldn’t she just leave?

  “Come on, Laura. Let’s go back to the house.”

  She looked up at him and nodded.

  Her arm felt small in his hand, her bones fragile within his strong grasp. She was just a wisp of a girl. She had no chance out here. Not against the darkness or the power that was death.

  The old familiar feeling of defeat washed over him, making him clench her arm harder. He should tell her everything he knew and drive her directly to the airport, without stopping, without looking back.

  Chances were she wouldn’t believe him. He wished he didn’t believe.

  Jeanne hurried toward them. “It’s almost time for Randal to give his speech. Come sit with me.” Laura stiffened.

  “I’m sorry, Jeanne, but I think we should get back to the house,” Drew said, at once thankful not to have to play nice nephew and sit through the rally. Coming here had been a mistake. It was time to cut this visit short.

  Disappointment filled Jeanne’s face. “All right. I’ll see you later,” she said to Laura, then hugged them both.

  Drew settled Laura in the car, then walked around it and got into the driver’s seat.

  She held out a fist clenched so tightly her knuckles were white. “Take it please,” she said, thrusting her hand toward him.

  He pulled her
fingers open revealing a small felt pouch that had been crushed within her grasp. He took it, and she immediately yanked her hand back and rubbed it vigorously against her jeans.

  Dread worried the pit of his stomach.

  “What is it?” Laura asked.

  “It’s juju.” The colorful square bag had been completely stitched around the perimeter forming a small pillow decorated with buttons, feathers and ribbons. He wanted to throw it out the window, but instead pulled open the stitches and spread the contents in his hand. Herbs, dried blossoms, roots, nuts and feathers spread across his palm, still warm from her grip on them.

  He poked through the items and pulled out a bone. “A protection spell,” he said aloud, though he couldn’t be sure. He hadn’t seen the contents of a juju since he was young. Since he’d been forced to learn his spells the way other kids learned their catechism.

  “Protection? From what?”

  He turned to her and peered into her eyes, willing her to understand. “From the forces that want to hurt you.”

  “Why would anyone want to hurt me? No one even knows I’m here. At least they didn’t until I came to this freaky town,” she mumbled.

  Drew sighed and dumped the contents in his palm back into the pouch and placed it between the seats on the console then shifted in his seat so he was facing her. It was time to try a different tactic.

  “Laura, someone lied to bring you here, and now you were almost run over in the street.” He took her hand in his, and stroked her soft skin with the pad of his thumb. “You should go home. It isn’t safe for you here.”

  He read the warring emotions wrestling for position within the depths of her eyes. She was afraid, and yet she was determined to finish what she started.

  “If I leave now, I’ll always wonder what happened to my mother. Where did she go? Is she still alive? I need proof one way or another.”

  He understood how she felt, even if he didn’t like it.

  “And why would my mother be involved with something like voodoo?” She gestured toward the juju.

  That was easy.

  “When you grow up in the swamp, in a town like this one, voodoo is as much a part of your life as gumbo and crawfish étouffée. It’s in our blood. It’s who we are.”