Hidden Conduit- The Complete Series

by J. N. Colon

  “Can someone explain why we want to call on Baron Samedi’s wife of all people?” My voice was a high-pitched squeak.

  Bastien chuckled. “She’s cute when she’s nervous.”

  My eyes narrowed on the older Benoit. “She is right here. And of course I’m nervous!”

  Etie stopped in a clear spot within the headstones and dropped the bag he had slung over his shoulder onto the lush grass. “You’re not calling anyone, cher.” He motioned between himself and his brother. “We are.”

  Bastien ruffled my hair. “You’re just our little cheerleader.”

  I slapped his hand away, giving him a narrowed glare. “You know what I mean.”

  Etie pulled out a large jar, twisting the lid off. He began pouring the dark, dry mixture into a wide circle. “You’re going to stay over there, far away from this.” He pointed to a flat tombstone several yards away.

  “Not happening, buddy.” The last time I was in a graveyard watching Etie do some serious voodoo, my powers went haywire. I’d rather be near him so I could stop the ritual myself before things got out of hand—if it came to that.

  A shiver rippled over my spine remembering the way the ground writhed as the hundred or so vivankòs tried to reach the surface.

  A warm hand touched my face. “Angeline, it’s okay. That’s not going to happen,” Etie whispered, knowing the dark place my mind had traveled to. “I won’t let it.”

  “Neither will I.” I pulled his hand away and kissed his palm. “Because I’m staying with you.”

  His gentle expression hardened. “No.”

  My head snapped back. “You can’t tell me what to do, Etie.”

  “It’s dangerous,” he growled.

  “I can protect myself.” My powers rose to the surface, and the electric purple of magic bled through my irises.

  A blond head of hair poked between us. “Let me know when you two are done with your little lovers’ quarrel so we can get on with this.” Bastien flashed a mega kilowatt grin. “I had two girls at Chickarees fighting over me. I’d like to get back to that.”

  Etie rolled his eyes at his brother. “You can get your head out of your ass for a few hours, no?”

  Bastien scoffed. “Easy for you to say when you have a sweet little angel of your own to occupy you.” His arm wound around my shoulders.

  “She’s not as sweet as you think,” Etie muttered.

  “I bet.” Bastien’s brows wiggled in my direction.

  I elbowed him in the ribs and glanced up to catch Etie’s crooked smirk. “You two are impossible. I don’t know how your mom puts up with you.”

  “She loves us just like you do.” Bastien tugged me forward. “Come on, Etie. Let Angel sit here.” He plopped me down right outside of the circle Etie had drawn. “You know Maman Brigitte ain’t going to do her harm.”

  The pouvior bokor huffed. “Fine.” He laid a cluster of purple candles inside the circle and withdrew a brown paper bag, placing a bottle of pepper-infused rum next to them.

  What was it with voodoo loa and rum?

  Etie began to whisper in Vondou. “Pote yon kòk nwa. Pote yon kòk nwa. Vin nwa kòk.”

  Something moved among the headstones, low to the ground and barely visible. It couldn’t be Maman Brigitte unless she were crawling.

  Icy fingers slid down my back. That would be incredibly creepy.

  After holding my breath for several moments, the thing came into view and waddled into the circle. “Um, where did a black rooster come from?”

  The glow in Etie’s eyes flared brighter. “Magic, cher.”

  My stomach rolled. “You’re not going to kill it, are you?” Oh God. What if that was the real reason Etie didn’t want me to come? He had to slit the thin neck of an innocent little rooster.

  “Nope.” Etie drew out a ritual drum wrapped in delicate bones.

  “Is Maman Brigitte going to kill it?”

  Bastien’s laughter echoed across the cemetery. “Oh, Angel, you should see your face right now.” He shook his head. “Priceless.”

  Etie grimaced at his brother. “It’s an offering to Maman Brigitte. She’s not going to kill it.”

  Yet. It felt like that was silently tacked to the end of his sentence.

  Etie folded down next to me, and Bastien sat on his other side with another drum. Etie’s gaze settled on me. “Want to light those?” He ticked his head toward the dozen white candles surrounding the circle.

  “Ignis.” All twelve flames burned into existence, heating the space around us.

  Etie’s lips curled into a gentle smile. “Thanks, cher.”

  A light blush entered my cheeks. It was nice to be able to help for once instead of being the damsel in distress.

  Etie and Bastien began tapping out a slow rhythm as Vondou flowed from them. I’d never seen them perform a voodoo ritual together. They worked perfectly, forming a foreign harmony that sounded more like music.

  The Benoit brothers were a sight to behold. They were just as beautiful and exotic as the spell they wove. Bastien was calm and relaxed, right at home within voodoo. And for once, Etie wasn’t fighting the flow of magic. Voodoo had always been a sore spot for him, and he usually did it begrudgingly.

  But right now, the light and dark were balanced with his brother by his side.

  A warm tingle swept over my skin, and my conduit powers rocketed to the surface. With a sharp gasp, I reinforced my barriers, keeping those pesky receptors down.

  Etie’s eyes shifted toward me, worry swirling through them.

  I quickly shook my head and held out my hand to keep him from stopping. I was fine. I could handle myself. Lucas had taught me.

  A bright light manifested inside the circle, swirling to the same rhythm as the voodoo spell. Lilac and honey spilled through the night as the warm glow formed a tall, shapely woman. My jaw dropped. Baron Samedi’s wife was not what I expected. Not one bit.

  “What do I owe the pleasure of a call from the very handsome Benoit bokors?” Her voice floated like a soft wind.

  Bastien smiled. “Maman Brigitte, it’s always so good to see you. I really wish you would visit me more often.”

  She shook her head. “So cheeky, big brother.”

  “She’s a voodoo loa?” I whispered to Etie, trying to wrap my head around the pale porcelain skin and the flaming golden-red hair. She looked more like a Celtic goddess than a voodoo deity.

  Her emerald eyes slid to Etie, a familiar smile pulling at her cherry-colored lips. “Étienne, I’m so happy you’re here. You seem to be finding that balance you so desperately wished for.”

  Etie bowed. “Yes, Maman Brigitte. I think I’m starting to.”

  The loa’s gaze unexpectedly fell on me. “And I’m guessing this sweet girl is the reason behind it.”

  “She’s not so sweet.” Bastien choked on a laugh.

  I shot him a horrified expression. Now was not the time to be joking.

  Maman Brigitte’s tinkling laughter lessened my mortification. “I’m sure she’s going to prove that when I leave. She doesn’t look too happy with you, Bastien.”

  His smile fell. “Just leave my hair alone, little cher.”

  She took a seat in the circle, her ivory and amethyst dress pooling around her. “And yes, I am a voodoo loa.” She winked. “I originated from the druids, but that’s another story.”

  What? Did she marry Baron Samedi and convert religions?

  The black rooster waddled over and climbed into her lap. She gently stroked his slick feathers. “I know you’ve called me because of Baron Samedi’s recent indiscretions.” She uncorked the pepper-infused rum, smelling it as if it were a fine wine.

  “Do you know what he wants with Angeline?” Etie’s voice barely contained his anger. “Why he wants her gwo-bon ange so bad?”

  The loa took a deep sip of the rum, licking her lips. “I don’t know what my husband wants with the pretty conduit witch.”

  “He’s your husband,” I blurted. “You should know.
”

  Etie grabbed my hand, giving me a warning squeeze.

  She chuckled. “It’s okay, Étienne. The girl can speak her mind.” Maman Brigitte tipped the bottle to her mouth again. “My husband and I don’t always do a lot of talking when we see each other—if you know what I mean.”

  Ick!

  The loa laughed at my horrified expression. “Don’t knock it ‘till you try it, little witch. You’ve had a little taste of voodoo love.”

  Heat flooded my cheeks. I was starting to see why those two loa were married.

  “Whatever it is, we have to stop him.” Etie’s jaw flexed as angry tremors rippled through his body. “I can’t let him take my alimèt.”

  Maman Brigitte’s nose crinkled, scrunching the light golden freckles across the center of her face. “I understand you want to keep the baron from harming your witch, but you have to be careful how you go against him.”

  “What do you mean?” Bastien pulled his precious golden locks into a ponytail at the base of his neck, several strands falling out to frame his face. “Do you know how we can stop him?” He tucked those wayward pieces behind his ears.

  Her slender shoulders lifted in a shrug. “I know how you can’t.” She pulled a delicate clay pipe from the folds of her dress, lighting the tobacco without an ounce of fire. “You can’t kill a loa, but you can weaken one.”

  The horrific image of Baron Samedi jamming a knife through Papa Legba flashed through my mind. He’d put Papa out of commission for a couple of days.

  Maman Brigitte picked up one of the purple candles, sniffing it. “Unfortunately for you, you can’t permanently weaken my husband to keep him from using Angeline.” Her moss-colored eyes darkened as they fixed on Etie. “Bad things could happen.”

  Etie’s brows knit. “Is that a threat, Maman Brigitte? I never thought you’d stoop as low as the baron.”

  She tsked. “It’s not a threat. It’s a warning. And it’s not me that would bring bad things in my husband’s absence.” She took a pull off the pipe, and smoke drifted from her mouth, encircling her. “The baron is keeper of the dead. He decides what souls can and cannot cross over into the afterlife. If he’s not capable of letting those worthy cross over, they’ll be trapped on Earth.”

  What would happen if a bunch of ghosts were wandering around this world forever with nowhere to go? Ghosts were here now, but every living person who died would be stuck.

  Flashes of that Netflix show, Haunting of something or another house, played behind my eyes. Icy chills trickled down my back. No, thanks.

  “You see my point,” Maman Brigitte said, her head tilting in my direction. “And that’s not all.” She ran her fingers over the rooster again, painlessly plucking out a shiny onyx feather. She examined it, the moonlight glinting off the dark sheen. “If a bunch of souls roamed the Earth near the crossroads of life and death, Kalfou’s interest could be piqued.”

  Cold swirled over my skin at the mention of Papa Legba’s evil twin brother. I’d only heard of him once, but that was enough to make an impression. He was the one those darker than usual Louange le Noir casters were using children in the name of. They stole energy from several and killed one to worship Kalfou.

  According to Etie, Kalfou wasn’t a dark loa like Baron Samedi. He was the dark.

  Etie’s body was tense as stone next to mine. “Kalfou would use the innocent souls for black magic and allow the tarnished ones to wreak havoc on the living.”

  The beautiful loa gave a solemn nod. “Exactly.” She placed the feather behind her ear, her golden-red hair even more vibrant against the void of color.

  “What can we do then?” Bastien wore one of his few and far between serious expressions. “If Angel doesn’t give herself over to Baron Samedi on Fete Gede, he’s going to take her sister’s gwo-bon ange.”

  The loa’s lids fluttered closed, and she remained silent for several moments as if meditating. Maybe she was. “Baron Samedi is not evil.”

  Could’ve fooled me.

  Making a forbidden deal with a desperate ten-year-old seemed pretty malicious.

  Her eyes opened, the green irises churning with an iridescent glow. “The baron is a dark loa, and he loves debauchery and sin, but he isn’t evil.” Her gaze flicked between Etie and Bastien. “As bokors, you were raised in this world. You both know this.”

  Etie’s nostrils flared, and his power rose toward the surface. “He may not be evil, but what he’s doing is. The things he’s done—haunted Angeline, tormented her—that’s not just part of his so-called fun wickedness.” He punched the ground, a muted thud echoing. “It’s wrong, Maman Brigitte. You have to know that.”

  Her palm lifted, halting the next words lingering on Etie’s lips. “I know. That’s the point.”

  I shook my head. Was I the only one confused here?

  “What should we do then, Maman?” Bastien laid his hand on Etie’s shoulder, trying to calm him.

  She shifted, and the rooster crawled out of her lap. “The baron isn’t evil, but he’s doing evil things because he’s out of balance.”

  “Out of balance?” My gaze covertly flicked to Etie. “How does a loa become out of balance?” You’d think a deity would have pretty good control of his own powers.

  The loa took a puff of the pipe and blew out a cloud of smoke shaped like Baron Samedi’s vevè. “Louange le Noir casters have been worshiping him over us other gods for a few decades now. All that praise has gone to the baron’s head.”

  Etie scoffed. “That’s not an excuse—”

  Her sharp look cut him off. “You’re a pouvior bokor. I expect you to understand what the effect of unbalanced power is. You know this more than anyone, Étienne.”

  All bokors were born with magic, but a pouvior bokor was on another level. Etie was the true embodiment of voodoo. Light and dark magic resided in him, shaping his very soul. That was the cause behind his unpredictable mood swings and even his mismatched eye color.

  Etie was well aware of what an imbalance of power could do.

  “You think he’s gone to the dark side because he’s being worshipped too much?” Bastien asked, a line creasing between his brows.

  “The extra praise for so long made the scales inside him vulnerable. It made him vulnerable. The baron is a dark loa, but he still has light. Somehow that light has been dimmed, and he can’t see reason.” Her gaze softened, and she slowly stood. “Find a way to bring Baron Samedi back to normal, back to balance. That is the way to save Evangeline.” Her skin began to glow, and her shapely form blurred until nothing was left.

  The rooster, the rum, and the purple candles disappeared with her.

  Etie’s gaze was fixed on the spot the deity had been, his expression dark and unreadable. “How are we supposed to stop a loa if we can’t actually stop him?”

  “She didn’t say that,” I pointed out. “She said we couldn’t do anything to weaken him. If we fix his voodoo imbalance, then maybe we—”

  Etie shot from the ground, a wave of hot anger rippling over him. “We do what, Angeline? We ask him to stop going after you?” He scoffed. “I’m sure he’ll do that for us.”

  My lips formed a tight line as I stood. “Don’t get mad at me. This isn’t my fault.” I winced. “Okay, yeah, it is my fault, but you know what I mean.”

  Bastien sighed. “Don’t let him get to you, Angel. He’s in one of those moods.

  Etie’s nostrils flared. “I need to get some air.”

  I motioned around us. “We’re outside. How much more air do you need?”

  He gave me a narrowed glare. “You know I wasn’t being literal.”

  I grabbed his wrist before he could run off into the dark, angry mood he was falling into. “We’ll figure this out. I know we will. It’s only August. We’ll find a way to stop the baron before Fete Gede.”

  The tendons in his jaw flexed. “You don’t know that.”

  I tugged him closer, surprised he easily bent to my will. “Yes, I do.” Both of us couldn�
�t be hopeless in this. If Etie wasn’t capable of seeing the glass half full, then I had to. I peered up at him, his mismatched eyes growing more luminescent by the second. “Do you still want me to stay over, or are you going to give me the cold shoulder all night?”

  A low rumble vibrated through his chest. “I want you to stay.” His fingers reached up, tracing the lines of my toujou.

  A hot shiver spilled across my skin. Etie might be angry and worried, but that wasn’t going to stop him from kissing me senseless later. For the rest of the night, we’d choke back the anxiety this countdown clock to doomsday was giving us. We’d fret over how to stop the voodoo king tomorrow.

  Chapter 6

  I came to a screeching halt as soon as the scene in my kitchen unfolded. My dad, my mom, Abuela, and Lucas were sitting at the table, eating a massive breakfast. Marisol sulked at the end across from my father, her plate untouched.

  Things were bad if she wasn’t eating. A tornado wouldn’t stop Marisol from stuffing her face. I wasn’t about to join the breakfast from hell.

  I began to quickly backtrack when Marisol’s dark brown eyes lifted, catching me in the act.

  “Oh no you don’t, Flaca.” She pointed to the empty spot beside her. “If I have to endure this, so do you.” She flashed a tight grin. “It’s only fair.”

  My mother’s hazel eyes landed on me, pleading. Her auburn hair was brushed into a ponytail, and she wore jeans and a t-shirt—neither of them wrinkled. Was she taking a day off?

  Marisol wasn’t eating, and my mother wasn’t working or covered in animal hair. Hell had frozen over.

  “I’m sure you’re hungry, Evangeline.” Abuela used magic to float a plate to the empty seat.

  My lips thinned. It was another glaring reminder she’d lied to me my whole life. Just perfect.

  I folded down in the cushioned wooden chair, grimacing at my sister. It was only half sincere. At least we’d be together in our misery.

  The little things in life.