He rubbed at the scruff on his chin. “Maybe it’s something different in Voodoo, but for werewolves, the Rougarou is the equivalent to the boogeyman. It’s a story parents tell their kids to keep them in line.”
Baron Samedi shrugged. “Eh, call him what you want, mon. The Rougarou is real, and he’s fully awake.”
Skepticism snaked into her mind, but she knew better than to doubt the word of a loa. At least out loud. But this cycle started with a power-hungry man. “Why is it after us? It must have something to do with Antoine, the one who killed Nicolas and Serafine. Did he make a deal with the monster?”
“Antoine is the Rougarou.” He looked at them both, holding eye contact with her and then with James as his words sank in. “He’s cursed.”
She sucked in a breath. Why didn’t she think of this before? “Serafine was a vodouisant.”
“Now you’re catching on.” He straightened his shoulders as if her statement made him proud. It was just like a loa to make a vodouisant find her own answers to her questions.
Odette wasn’t about to complain, though. She was lucky he’d shown up at all. Glancing at James, she chewed her bottom lip as the pieces of the puzzle clicked into place. “She didn’t curse him, though; she wouldn’t have had time. A family member did it.”
The loa looked at his hand and rubbed his fingers together as if rolling something between them. More answers would require more offerings.
She patted James’s leg. “Will you get the cigar out of my bag?”
“I’m on it.” He strode to her bag and returned with the cigar and a lighter. Handing the smoke to the Baron, he held out the lighter and lit the end as the loa puffed away.
Returning to his chair, James leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “How did it happen? And more importantly, what can we do to stop him?”
Baron Samedi examined the cigar and nodded, seemingly satisfied with the quality. “You were supposed to be the first alpha, yeah?”
James rubbed the back of his neck, his unease at the statement apparent in his pinched expression. “According to the past-life regression, I was, yes.”
“With Nicolas out of the picture, Antoine should have inherited the ability to shift, but he didn’t.” Odette cut her gaze between the Baron and James.
James scratched his head. “That’s how it usually works.”
Odette’s eyes widened. The puzzle was nearly complete. “Antoine didn’t realize he’d fractured Nicolas’s soul. When he didn’t inherit the ability, he went to a bokor, didn’t he?”
Baron Samedi nodded, tapping a finger to his nose.
“You mean like your uncle?” James asked.
Her breath caught, and she lowered her gaze to her lap. She glanced at the Baron, and his smile faded. “Yes.” She forced out the answer, her heart pounding against her breast. “But the bokor was related to Serafine, wasn’t he? Her uncle?” She nearly choked on the last word.
“He may have served the loa with both hands,” Baron Samedi puffed on the cigar. “But he did love his niece.”
Her chest ached at the memory of what happened with her own uncle, and she couldn’t help but wonder if the Baron’s statement was meant for both. “I’m sorry.” Her whisper was barely audible, but James heard it. He rubbed his hand across her back, comforting her, but she could never change what had happened that day. If it were possible to go back in time and undo all the damage she’d done, she’d go in a heartbeat. Instead, her sins would weigh heavy on her shoulders for the rest of her life.
“Doesn’t mean he didn’t get what he deserved in the end.” Baron Samedi winked, implying the double-edge of that statement as well. “Antoine went to the bokor to have the wolf gene activated, and he did get what he asked for. But the curse that came as the price was far higher than poor old Antoine ever imagined.”
“He became the Rougarou.” She reached for James’s hand.
“That he did.” The Baron extinguished the cigar and dropped it into the nearly-empty rum bottle. “Stuck somewhere mid-shift, he can’t take on a complete human form, but he can’t become a full wolf either. His body is in limbo, along with his soul.”
“Damn.” James shook his head. “I’ll never tell that story to scare the pack kids again.”
Baron Samedi rose to his feet. “Now the Rougarou sleeps somewhere in the swamp until the two of you meet. Then, he wakes up with nothing but revenge on his mind. As his power builds, demons feed on it and rise up from the underworld to come after you, weaken you.”
“Shit.” James leaned back in his chair. “But I can kill him? In wolf form, I can take him out for good?”
“There’s a Spirit guardian in the swamp that watches over the Rougarou, does his best to keep him sedated after his revenge is exacted. But the Spirit ain’t strong enough to make him sleep forever. The Rougarou’s hatred for the ones he feels are responsible for his condition is powerful. When you’re together, he knows, and he will kill you. Unless…”
James stood eye to eye with the loa. “Unless what?”
Baron Samedi’s eyes fluttered and began rolling up—a sure sign the loa was done with the conversation and taking his leave. Odette stood and motioned for Natasha to help catch Tyrell when he fell.
“Work together, and you can kill the Rougarou. You’ll need L’Acallemon. The traiteur in the swamp can lead you to him.” Tyrell collapsed, and James caught him by the shoulders.
Natasha helped them settle him in a chair and wiped the white chalk from his face with a damp rag.
Odette’s stomach soured, and she ground her teeth until sharp pain shot through her temple. Please don’t let it be the traiteur I think it is.
“Who’s L’Acallemon?” James asked.
Odette scrunched her brow. “The Gator Man. Another myth.”
“He’s no myth.” Natasha held Tyrell’s face as his eyes fluttered open.
“Who?” Tyrell tugged the glasses from his nose and took off the top hat. A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth as he examined the articles. “Baron Samedi?”
Odette nodded.
Tyrell chuckled. “That’s a first.”
“How you feeling?” James gestured to the nearly-empty rum bottle.
Tyrell held it up, his eyes wide. “The Baron drank all that?”
“With your body. Can you stand?” James tugged him to his feet and held his arm until he stood steady.
“Huh.” Tyrell looked at the bottle again. “He must’ve taken it all with him. I feel fine.”
James gave her a quizzical look, and Odette shrugged. “It happens,” she said.
“I hope you got what you were looking for.” Tyrell hugged Odette and returned to his drum.
She turned to Natasha. “What do you mean the Gator Man is no myth? He’s a story told to tourists along with the Rougarou.”
“If Baron Samedi says they’re real, then they are.” Natasha leaned in, her voice hushed. “Don’t doubt your met tet.”
“Then which traiteur in the swamp is he talking about? There must be dozens.” There had to be. This situation was a mess as it was. If they had to seek help from the traiteur her gut told her the Baron meant, they were screwed.
“Twenty years ago, maybe, but times have changed. There’s one traiteur left near New Orleans, and it’s Emile.”
The name pulled the breath from Odette’s lungs. She struggled to inhale, but a vise-grip held her chest, squeezing until her lungs felt like they would collapse. Not Emile.
Anyone but Emile.
A gasp from across the room drew her attention, and one of the dancers collapsed as a loa possessed her.
“Good luck.” Natasha squeezed Odette’s shoulder and scurried back to the ritual.
“Who’s Emile?” James furrowed his brow, concern dancing in his gaze.
“He’s…” Her cousin. The one other living being who knew the truth about the day she turned her back on Voodoo. She hadn’t dared speak to him since it happened.
Her head spun
, and she blinked rapidly as thoughts tumbled through her mind. She might as well seek out the Rougarou and offer herself to him now. Her cousin wouldn’t help her. Hell, he probably wanted to kill her. Raised by a bokor…no telling what the man was capable of.
Was this Baron Samedi’s way of punishing her? Sending her back to the place where she ruined everything?
“Talk to me, sweetheart.” James cupped her cheek in his hand, lifting her gaze to his. “We’re in this together, remember?”
She swallowed the bitter bile creeping up her throat and nodded. “Let’s go somewhere quiet. It’s not an easy story to tell.”
Chapter Seventeen
James shielded his eyes from the summer sun as he followed Odette out the door and onto Dumaine Street. Humid heat enveloped him, coaxing sweat from his pores the moment he stepped out of the shade. A bicycle bell rang, and he jumped back to avoid being run over by a grubby-looking guy with a scraggly beard, riding an old Schwinn. The scents of body odor and weed trailed behind him like the tail of a kite, and James wrinkled his nose as he jogged to catch up with Odette.
She stared straight ahead, her determined strides propelling her to her destination at a fast clip. Her fluid dancer’s posture tightened, her shoulders drawing toward her ears as she clenched and unclenched her fists.
Catching up to her, he matched her pace. “Why don’t we find somewhere to sit, so we can talk.” He rested his hand on the small of her back, and she slowed, blinking at him as if she’d forgotten he was there.
“Let’s walk and talk. I need to keep moving or I’ll…” She shook her head. “This is bad, James. Emile is… I don’t even know where to begin.”
“Take your time.” He slipped his hand into hers and strolled beside her. His presence seemed to calm her like it usually did, bringing her down from the steep cliff she teetered on, but he’d never seen her this worried.
Her palm slickened, and she chewed her bottom lip, glancing at him occasionally as she composed her thoughts. Whoever this Emile guy was, Odette was afraid of him…and her fear commanded his wolf’s attention. If Emile had done something to hurt her…
“He’s my cousin.” Her voice was thin, but as she relaxed her shoulders, it grew stronger. “The bokor’s son. He was there when Baron Samedi set the souls free, and when I killed his father.”
“You—?” James stopped, tightening his grip on her hand and tugging her to face him. “You killed him?”
She held his gaze for a moment, and a five-piece street band started up a brassy rendition of “When the Saints Go Marching In.”
“Come on.” She pulled him around the corner onto Royal Street.
“When you were twelve?” His childhood memory of her battled with this new information. Odette wasn’t a murderer. There was no way. She may have lived with one foot in the spirit realm, but she’d never send someone there intentionally. She didn’t have it in her. Not now and especially not as a kid.
She drew in a deep breath and blew it out hard. “I’ve told you my uncle was livid when Baron Samedi released his souls.”
“Yeah?”
“Once the souls were free to return to the bodies of the living, the Baron took his leave. I collapsed from the possession…like Tyrell did at the ceremony.” She rubbed at her throat. “I was weak and vulnerable, and when I came to, my uncle was on top of me, choking me. A few of the souls belonged to people who had already died, so their spirit energy lingered. They were as mad at me for trapping them as my uncle was for setting them free.”
She shivered. “Emile helped me. He dragged my uncle off of me, and then the asshole turned on him. He was in a fit of rage, going after his own son. I don’t think Emile even knew the souls had been trapped.”
James pulled her to his side. “What happened then?”
She hesitated, pressing her lips together, the muscles in her mouth working like she was chewing the inside of her cheek. “I used my magic. I was terrified, and I didn’t know what else to do. He was going to kill both of us, so I commanded the spirits. I gave them the energy to act and ordered them to attack him.” She stared straight ahead, her gaze growing distant. “The ghosts grew so strong they turned solid. They bombarded him, and one of them broke his neck. He was lying there dead, and the ghosts floated above him, waiting for their next command.”
She stopped and faced him. “They were like mindless soldiers. I could have made them do anything I wanted. It was the most terrifying thing I’ve ever done. I was trembling and crying, and Emile lay there, his eyes as wide as dinner plates, staring at me. I was scared, James, but it felt so good. All that power running through me.”
Shaking her head, she took both his hands in hers. “I crossed them over. No matter how good the power felt, I knew it was wrong, and I sent them to the Baron. To the other side. Emile didn’t say a word. We carried his dad’s body to the swamp and sank it with some cinder blocks. I tried to talk to him, but he wouldn’t even look at me. I left, told my dad what happened, and we packed up and moved away.”
And she’d been harboring that secret for nearly twenty years. No wonder her powers terrified her. He couldn’t imagine the pain she’d endured. The guilt. The suffering. He brought her fingers to his lips and kissed them. “Sounds like you did what you had to do. You saved Emile’s life.”
“By killing his father. I haven’t spoken to him since the day it happened. How can I go to him for help after all these years? Why would he want to help me?”
“It looks like we don’t have a choice. If we don’t stop the Rougarou tonight, someone else will die. He won’t be just helping you; he’ll be helping everyone in New Orleans.”
She huffed. “If he’s anything like his dad, he doesn’t care about anyone but himself.” She laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Natasha convinced me to do these past-life regressions to help me figure out why I was afraid of my powers. Of course, I knew what the problem was, but I couldn’t let the Mambo know I’d killed a man. I went through a few regressions to humor her, but when the pattern of death started emerging, I quit.”
He kissed her cheek. “It’s a good thing you did them. Otherwise, we’d both be dead by now and neither of us would have seen it coming.” He couldn’t fault her for not telling him before. He’d thought his wolf’s issues were too tragic to share, but this… He couldn’t imagine going through that at twelve years old.
Wrapping his arms around her, he inhaled the warm, sweet scent of her hair. A scent he wanted to experience every day for the rest of his life. “This is all going to work out. I’ve got your back with Emile…and after we kill this thing, we’ll go home, and I’ll have your front too.”
Her laugh vibrated in his chest, and she pulled away to look at him. The tension around her eyes eased, the worry lines on her forehead smoothing. “If we make it through this, you can have any side of me that you want.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Whenever I want?”
“Forever.” She gestured to a wooden sign hanging from the gallery above. “Have you been inside the Voodoo museum?”
He peered at the vévé carved into the plaque. A series of stars and swirls embellished two straight lines intersecting at a ninety-degree angle, much like the one Natasha had drawn in cornmeal to start the ceremony. “Can’t say that I have.”
“Come with me. I want to show you something.” Taking his hand, she led him through the door and handed a ten-dollar bill to the attendant for the entrance fee.
They paused at the entry as a line of tourists exited the narrow hallway, and then they continued into the museum. On the right, a row of portraits hung, each one representing a famous Mambo from the past. A twenty by thirty-inch frame contained a painting of Marie Laveau herself, with a white scarf wrapped around her head, a snake draped over her shoulders.
He shuddered. The only animals not afraid of werewolves, snakes didn’t hesitate to bite his legs when he got too close in the swamp. Their venom didn’t slow him down, but it burned like hell until his body ex
punged it. “What is it with Voodoo and snakes?”
She slipped an arm around his bicep. “The snake represents Damballa, the creator of all life.”
The beady, red eyes of the snake in the portrait stared back at him, and its forked tongue protruded between its fangs. “Ah, so kinda important then.”
“There’s a live one in the back. A python. Would you like to see it?” Her lips quirked into an adorable, kissable grin.
“No thanks. I see enough snakes when I’m hunting.”
She wandered down the hall, and he followed her into a small room filled with life-size portrayals of various loa. A science class skeleton wearing a top hat, black jacket, and sunglasses with a lens missing stood in the corner. They’d spoken to the guy in person; why did they need to look at a replica? “Why does Baron Samedi have cotton in his nose?”
“It’s a Haitian funeral tradition, but he’s not who we’re here to see. Look.” She pointed to two figures standing side by side.
He moved closer to the statues. “Wolf head, human body, red eyes. That’s the Rougarou my dad used to tell me about when I wouldn’t go to bed.” The same boogeyman he’d warned little Emma about when she’d thrown a fit in the bar a week ago.
The fake wolf’s lips drew back in a snarl, and its hunched posture and pained expression in its eyes almost made James feel sorry for the guy. Almost. “Hard to believe I’m related to that thing.”
He studied the other figure. An alligator head with a red mohawk sat atop a moss-stuffed mannequin wearing white coveralls. A small placard read, “The Gator Man (L'Acallemon) protects people from the Rougarou (werewolves).”
James huffed. “The Rougarou is not a werewolf. Nobody needs protection from us.”
Odette chuckled. “Relax. No one believes any of this is real, werewolves included. When you live in secrecy, outsiders make up their own stories.”
“But these.” He gestured to the statues. “These aren’t stories.”
“Apparently not.” She glanced at her watch. “We’ve got three hours of daylight left. We’d better pay Emile a visit.”
A Deal with Death Page 20
