Hidden Conduit- The Complete Series

by J. N. Colon

My mom’s laugh was hollow. “Of course not. That’s ridiculous. That kind of thing isn’t real.” Her gaze averted to the stack of magazines she was spreading neatly across the coffee table. “What’s with all the questions about the Benoits?”

  My brow knit as I fiddled with the wrapper. “I’m working with them this summer. Etie’s kind of my boss.”

  Her head snapped up. “You’re what?”

  I stepped back, surveying her shocked expression. She couldn’t be that scatterbrained. Didn’t Abuela tell her? “I’m working with them at the Leroux house.”

  She shook her head, her ears close to spewing steam. “Absolutely not, Angel. You need to quit.”

  I scoffed. “I’m not quitting my job. I like it.” Well, I secretly liked the company.

  Her lips thinned into a tight white line. “I don’t want you working with them. They’re a bad influence.”

  I rolled my eyes. “They’re not going to corrupt me. Besides, Abuela got me the job. You guys agree on everything.”

  Her mouth hung open long enough to catch flies—or at least some of that animal hair floating around. “Your grandmother did this?”

  I nodded.

  Her hazel eyes narrowed. “I need to have a discussion with your grandmother.” She spun around and marched toward the back.

  “I’m not quitting,” I called after her.

  My brow furrowed at her retreating form. My mother was never judgmental of anyone, and she rarely listened to the town gossip. What was it about the Benoits that had her ready to hunt them down with a pitchfork? What did she think was going to happen?

  Crickets and the slap of my flip flops echoed through the dark night. The air was thick with moisture, and the scent of rain hung heavy. My gaze lifted to the sky as dense clouds rolled in.

  We certainly needed some rain to break the heat that had settled over Carrefour so early this summer. If things continued, we’d reach triple digits in no time.

  The Leroux house finally came into view, standing like a haunted southern mansion slowly sinking back into the land. Why did I have to leave my phone there of all places? And I didn’t even realize it until way after the sun had set.

  The dilapidated porch creaked as I made my way up the steps. I pushed the door open and tiptoed inside, weak moonlight drifting in through the grimy windows. I fumbled around for the switch on the wall, the lights flickering before my hand found it.

  My brow furrowed at the ancient chandelier. The whole house probably needed rewiring. I slipped Abuela’s phone out of my jean shorts pocket and dialed my number, listening for the ring. When I didn’t hear anything, I drifted toward the kitchen and still nothing.

  A shiver skittered down my spine as the eerie chants from the other day played on a loop in my mind.

  My phone eventually went to voicemail. I hung up and dialed it again, slowly walking toward the stairs. A sigh slipped out. This search might take longer than I thought.

  My feet reluctantly climbed the steps, my nape prickling and the hairs on my arms standing on end.

  Being in this house during the day with Etie and other people was one thing, but traipsing around it at night alone gave me the creeps. It was too big and had too many dark places for things to hide.

  At the landing, I dialed my phone again, straining for the ringtone.

  Finally, the familiar sound floated through the hall.

  I turned left and followed it into one of the many bedrooms, my phone lighting up the opposite wall.

  How did it end up here? I’d never been in this part of the house.

  I snatched it off the floor. The air shifted, and the temperature dropped so low my breath fogged in front of me.

  Oh crap. Why did I get the feeling I was about to star in my very own scary movie?

  Goosebumps melted across my skin, and my breath quickened, a sudden panic on the horizon.

  Only a few steps separated me from the hall when the door violently slammed shut, the sound echoing like a gunshot.

  I froze, my eyes wide as they lingered on the heavy solid oak.

  Oh no. Oh no…

  I reached for the handle, turning it back and forth without success. It wouldn’t open.

  That panic was no longer on the horizon. The world was shoving it down my throat.

  This kind of thing was only supposed to happen in my nightmares. Why was Baron Samedi tormenting me? Was he trying to send me to an early grave?

  A heavy presence descended, and my heart rioted against my ribcage. The air thickened. It was hard to breathe.

  I was not alone.

  Gwo-bon ange se li. Gadò moun ki mouri ar. Ou pa ka chape anba.

  Lightning flashed outside, highlighting dark shadows slithering across the walls. The chanting continued. A dry rustling tickled my ears, and the scent of death clogged my throat. A hand brushed my back.

  I screamed, and both phones tumbled from my fingers.

  When I spun around, nothing was there.

  My muscles trembled. I wiped cold sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand. My breath came in loud, heavy pants.

  Gwo-bon ange se li. Gadò moun ki mouri ar. Ou pa ka chape anba.

  Chilling laughter slithered through the room, and the chant transformed.

  Gwo-bon ange se li. W fè pati nan l '. Aswè a ou se jwèt jwèt.

  My hair stirred as if someone was breathing down my neck.

  I turned again. A dark shadow in the shape of a man wearing a bowler hat was behind me. The ominous cadence of his laugh filled my ears.

  I choked back another scream and lunged for the door, twisting and pulling the knob. My fist beat on the wood, crying for help that wasn’t coming.

  Without warning, an invisible force dragged me backward. My flip flops scraped the ground and tumbled off. I struggled until I was roughly shoved against the far wall.

  “Stop!” My voice shook. “Leave me alone!”

  My only response was more laughter.

  It wasn’t the voodoo king’s deep rumbling chuckles. This was higher and filled with a sinister kind of glee.

  “What do you want?” My muscles strained against the phantom hold.

  “We are Baron Samedi’s voodoo spirits.” The masculine voice twisted with others and seemed to come from everywhere. “We follow him from the spirit world.”

  My body was slid up the wall until my bare feet dangled midair. A dark shadow merged in front of me, that same man with the bowler hat.

  “Our only purpose is to entertain. To have fun.”

  The top button on my shirt came undone, followed by the next. I understood what their idea of fun was.

  “Get off me!” Hot tears blurred my vision. Sickness twisted my stomach, oozing acid up my throat.

  A chorus of laughter joined his. The other spirits were just as cruel as the man holding me hostage. They were here to watch my torture.

  Or join in.

  When the last button was undone, my shirt was torn open, exposing my bra. Cold fingers slithered across my torso.

  I squirmed against the invisible grip, fighting in vain to free myself. Tears broke free and rolled down my cheeks.

  The price of my deal with the voodoo king was worse than I thought. I couldn’t have known what was in my future when I was ten. Not only did I have to relinquish my soul to him, but I had to endure torture first.

  Was it to soften me up before I was his? Was he trying to break me until I had no fight left?

  If this was what the voodoo king liked, I could only imagine what was in store for me when my soul entered the spirit world.

  A cold pair of lips covered my collarbone, a slimy tongue slithering across my skin.

  A ragged cry slipped free, falling on deaf ears. Help wasn’t coming. I was at these spirits’ mercy, and I only had myself to blame.

  The door suddenly exploded.

  The entire Leroux house shook like a bomb had gone off. Wood splintered everywhere as a wave of energy flooded the space. A flash of lightning outlined the h
ulking figure filling up the doorway, not one single fleck of debris touching his skin.

  My sharp intake of air was drowned out by a boom of thunder.

  Étienne Benoit stalked into the room, another streak of lightning catching the hard planes of his face. And those eyes. They were lit up like smoldering fires in the darkness.

  Chapter 8

  The rough wall dug into my back, my heart violently slamming into my ribcage. My brain couldn’t comprehend what was in front of me. I was afraid to believe someone was here to stop my torment.

  Was he just a hallucination? Some evil trick?

  Etie’s hand shot up, his nostrils flaring. “Lage ti fi a!”

  The male spirit hissed and dropped me, my body crashing to the ground.

  Nope. That hurt too much to be a figment of my imagination. Etie was real.

  I ignored the pain and scrambled into the corner. My trembling hands barely held my shirt closed.

  Dark shapes slithered across the wall, converging around Etie. The wind kicked up, tousling the Cajun’s dark hair. He stood his ground while more energy gathered. It popped against my skin like static electricity.

  The shadow man drifted toward him. “Li nan aswè a jwèt mwen.” That sinister, chilling voice coiled through the air.

  Etie’s muscles flexed beneath his clothes. “Not happening,” he ground out.

  The spirit didn’t seem fazed by Etie’s protests. Instead, he laughed as a tendril of blackness coiled around my savior’s feet.

  My heart slammed into my throat, and my mouth opened to warn him, but words failed me.

  As it turned out, he didn’t need my help.

  He kicked at the shadow. “Deplase ale!” The tendril hissed and shrank away.

  “Ah, caster,” the male spirit’s form undulated and darkened. “This will be fun, but you should know you can’t really protect her. Not in the end.”

  “Wrong again.” Etie’s eyes glittered with power, and his hand shot out. “Fè wout nou!”

  The shadows exploded with one great heave of energy. Ash rained down, disappearing before even one flake hit the ground. An acrid scent filled the air, washing out the stench of death.

  The spirits were gone.

  My heavy, erratic breathing was the only sound in the suddenly quiet house.

  I stared up at Etie, trying to process what just happened. If there had been any doubt before, it shattered the moment he walked into this room.

  Étienne Benoit was no stranger to voodoo.

  I should have been terrified. I should have screamed my head off. He’d used magic. Voodoo.

  Instead, only one thought played through my mind.

  He saved me.

  Etie blinked, his mismatched eyes losing some of the unnatural glow. “Angeline?” His husky voice was no longer filled with danger. It was softer. Sweeter.

  His long, powerful legs ate up the distance between us, and he kneeled in front of me, taking my shoulders in his warm hands. “Angeline, are you okay?” He still vibrated with magic. With power.

  Tears blurred my vision, turning his face watery.

  “Angeline, talk to me. Say something, cher.” He pulled my chin up, his gaze surveying me with an intensity I wanted to hide from.

  “I guess those rumors about you are true,” I blurted. The shake in my voice hinted at my oncoming breakdown.

  “I think you’ll have to be more specific,” Etie said. “There are a lot of rumors about me.”

  I swallowed hard and bit my lip to keep the sobs at bay, but one slipped out. “Sorry, I just…” I shook my head and averted my eyes before he could see the terror in them. “I’m a mess.” Another sob tumbled free. And then another and another until tears flooded my cheeks.

  Humiliation could drown me later.

  Etie’s strong arms wrapped around me, and I buried my face in his chest. His spicy herbal scent descended over me, washing away the lingering memory of decay those spirits brought. “You’re safe now, Angeline.”

  He had no idea how wrong he was.

  With my body securely wrapped around his, Etie carried me to his truck. My hands reluctantly slid away, fisting in my lap as he sat me on the tailgate. I was afraid they’d reach for him again.

  The clouds were swollen and heavy with rain as lightning and thunder crashed. Soon, the heavens would split wide open. Humid air collected on my skin—lots of skin. My cheeks heated, and I frantically tried to fasten the buttons on my shirt.

  Yeah, not happening. Tremors made my movements uncoordinated.

  “It’s okay, cher. Let me.” Etie pushed my hands out of the way and quickly redid the top button and then the next. His fingers brushed my skin, leaving behind trails of heat.

  “Thanks,” I muttered.

  He sat so close his warmth soaked through me, and a low hum of electricity vibrated between us. I turned toward him, his eyes back to normal. “You really can do voodoo spells.” It wasn’t a question. It was a freaking fact.

  “Yes, I’m a voodoo caster.” He scrutinized me with furrowed brows. “You don’t seem surprised or frightened.”

  A voodoo caster. The term fit him.

  I shrugged. “Rumors.”

  “Hearing whispers is one thing, but seeing magic in action is another,” Etie pointed out.

  “What language were you speaking?” The spirits’ chants had a similar sound.

  Etie surveyed me for a few moments. “Vondou is the language we use to cast spells. It’s a mixture of Haitian, French, and a few African tongues only people and spirits of voodoo know.” His fingers brushed a strand of hair from my shoulder, the casual touch warm and electric. “Stop avoiding the subject. Is there something you’re not telling me?”

  There was a lot I wasn’t telling him.

  My arms wrapped around my waist. “You first.”

  His jaw ticked. “Does this have anything to do with you hanging outside of my house that one night?”

  Blood rushed up my neck and into my cheeks. I swallowed hard. That solved the mystery. He had known it was me. “Maybe.”

  “Why were you there?”

  My fingers picked at the hem of my shirt. “With all the talk around town about your family and voodoo, I thought…there might be something you could help me with.”

  Deep lines creased his forehead between gaps in his unruly hair. “Does this something have to do with the spirits attacking you?”

  “Maybe.”

  He sighed loudly. “Do you maybe want to tell me?”

  I chewed on my bottom lip, my nerves frayed and not just from what happened. I didn’t want to hear the inevitable SOL line he was going to feed me. Ever since the voodoo king visited me yesterday, my dilemma felt more hopeless than ever.

  “You know who Papa Legba is, right?” I asked.

  He nodded. “He’s the protector of voodoo.”

  Oh man, this was going to be bad. “And he grants favors.”

  “Sometimes,” Etie slowly drawled, a vein in his neck beginning to throb.

  I dragged my fingers through my hair, hesitating. “When I was ten, Marisol was really sick. Dying actually, and I did something to help her.”

  I recounted the events of that night, and the more I spoke, the more energy fumed from Etie. My gaze remained locked on my lap, unwilling to see the stupidity of my actions reflected in his face.

  When I finished, a heavy silence stretched between us. The distant rumble of thunder and leaves dancing on branches was the only break in the tension-filled air. My lungs were going to implode if something didn’t shatter it.

  Etie abruptly jumped from the bed of the truck, the hasty movement nearly causing me to fall off. “You traded your soul to Baron Samedi! What the hell’s a matter with you!”

  I flinched from the force of his voice and the furious expression twisting his features. “I-I didn’t know what I was doing.”

  Etie tossed his hands, and a myriad of French poured from his mouth.

  I groaned. Abuela would go off on a r
apid Spanish tangent when Marisol got into deep doo. At least I knew what the hell she was saying.

  Etie’s eyes were blazing and taking on that glowing sheen again while energy rolled off of him in excited waves. The air held a sharp, electric scent.

  “Shut up already!” My fingertips massaged my temples. “I can’t understand a word you’re saying.”

  A growl slithered between his teeth. “How could you be so stupid, Angeline?”

  “I was ten,” I reminded him. “My sister was sick. What was I supposed to do? Let her die?” I crossed my arms over my chest with a huff. “And don’t tell me you wouldn’t do the same for Bastien.”

  His lips thinned. “No, I wouldn’t. I would have found another way.”

  It was my turn to toss my hands up. “Oh, excuse me. I’m so sorry I wasn’t a voodoo child. This was all I had.”

  Etie raked his fingers through his dark chocolate strands, messing them up even more. “How did you even know to call on Papa Legba?”

  “I found this book in the library.” My toes curled around the straps of my flip flops, absentmindedly smacking them against the bottom of my feet. “I figured it wouldn’t hurt to try.”

  He scoffed. “And how do you feel now?”

  I rolled my eyes and jumped from the tailgate. “You can go home if you’re going to lecture me. I’m not really in the mood for your temper. I was just attacked, remember?” I headed for the road.

  “Yeah, and I saved you.” His presence was close behind, a hand coiling around my arm to stop me. “How did you expect me to react when you tell me you made a deal with Baron Samedi?”

  My lips puckered as I gave a one-shouldered shrug.

  “He’s not like Papa Legba. The baron is the keeper of the dead, and in case you haven’t noticed, he and his spirits are big fans of debauchery. Everything’s a party to them. They like drinking, and they love promiscuity.” He motioned toward the house, referring to the sort of attack I’d been under.

  Bile rose in my throat, and the blood drained from my face.

  Etie tucked a lock of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering on my cold cheek. “I don’t mean to frighten you.” His voice had softened. “I just want you to know why I’m so angry. You’ve put yourself in a terrible position.”