Voodoo Burning

by N. M. Catalano

  This is bothering him as much as it is me.

  “Well, this is not how I’d planned our first night.” Ignatius gives me a cocky grin, it’s tight, but still cocky. And I appreciate it so much.

  “I heard how you planned our first night.” And despite everything, the heaviness in the air and the circumstances, the thrill of all his filthy promises cuts through everything and sends a rush of heat through me.

  “The night’s not over yet.” He gives my hand a light squeeze. He doesn’t release me as he closes the car door and leads me to the back door of the restaurant.

  No, it’s not. I take in a steadying breath as the memories of us fucking like animals flash in my mind.

  I think it’s odd Ignatius didn’t head for the front door but directly to the back of the restaurant. As he pulls the back door open for me, I ask, “How did you know to come this way?”

  He gives me a crooked grin. “This is the way my mama used to come when she came to Hattie to get her fortune read.” He leads me in with a hand at my lower back. “I’d sit right there and wait for her. Except it seemed a lot bigger in here back then.”

  Inside, straight ahead leads to the kitchen and storage room, to the right is a closed door where I smell incense seeping from behind it. I stop and give a slight tug to Ignatius’ hand. “So, you know a little about Tante Hattie then, what she does.”

  “Yes, Dominique, I know. I figured that’s why we’re here.” There is no judgement in his tone, no accusation or condescension. His eyes search mine, and I wonder if he knows that’s the reason I was called in to work the cases. Because of who I am.

  “Come on in here, child,” Hattie’s voice comes from behind the door.

  “It seems she’s expecting us.”

  I want to breathe a sigh of relief. I’ll hold off on that until after we finish tonight.

  I steal a glance at Ignatius, and he chuckles. It’s a relief he’s not running in the opposite direction, I almost want to relax, but that would be a terrible mistake. Just because he’s aware, doesn’t mean he knows. He turns the knob and opens the door to Hattie’s private room. Not many people come back here anymore, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t respect what’s in here.

  It’s a small space, with just enough room to hold what Hattie needs. The room is lined with shelves along the walls and a table with a couple of chairs in front of them. Glass bottles filled with frogs and other creatures swim lifelessly in clear solutions. There are baskets with roots, bottles with oils and tinctures, boxes with feathers and bird claws, plants, herbs, and on and on. There’s an altar with incense and a photograph, a white candle, a bowl of water, and some bread. Hattie is at the candle-covered table wearing a red headdress with a bowl in front of her. She’s holding a mortar and pestle and is crushing the hell out of some herbs.

  “Come in, child, there be work to be done,” Hattie says, her French Creole accent thick. It always was in here.

  I won’t ask how she knew we were coming. She just knows.

  “I have some questions I want to ask you, Tante.” I take a seat at the table, and Ignatius silently takes the one next to me. There’s a white sheet of paper in front of Hattie on the table with some writing on it.

  “I know what you be wanting to know, Dominique. But first we must do the uncrossing.” She levels her gaze first to me, then to Ignatius.

  Uncrossing is the spell to undo any harm or bad luck. Apparently, Hattie is going to do the uncrossing on both Ignatius and me.

  Neither of us argue with Hattie or question what she’s doing, or why. This is as normal as taking aspirin when you’re sick, it’s just another day in New Orleans.

  Hattie turns to the photo of our ancestor Marie Laveau sitting on the altar in a frame behind her and begins to chant, her voice low and sultry. “I, Hattie Paris, honor you, Marie Laveau. I come forth with a pure heart and these offerings.” The water and the food.

  We don’t say a word as Hattie talks and prays to Marie Laveau, and all our ancestors who have come before, and since her, and she does so with both Catholic and African prayers. We watch with reverence as she calls on her for help and guidance, as we watch the powers possess her. As Hattie becomes one with all the ancestors who live on through us.

  Hattie picks up some burning incense and starts to recite psalm 37 as she encircles us with the incense smoke. When she’s finished with that, she picks up the mortar and pestle, mumbles something in tongues, then scoops up some of the powder from the bowl and blows it into each of our faces. It’s disorienting. It doesn’t blind us or cause us any discomfort, but surrounds us with a smoky cloud that seems to dull everything. The flame on the large white candle on the table sparks and grows in a flash, then returns to its peaceful flicker in the center of the pentagram on the table.

  Hattie lays her hands on the cloth and closes her eyes. Ignatius and I sit silently and wait.

  Finally, with her eyes still closed, Hattie says, “Child, leave me the things you have questions about.”

  I glance at Ignatius. I’m not supposed to do this, leave evidence with a civilian in an ongoing investigation. But this is Hattie, and we’re talking about Voodoo and Hoodoo and Santeria, and everything else. I need answers.

  After a moment of internal battling, I come to a compromise. I decide to leave her only what was on my car.

  “I was at Ignatius’ house today, as you know, and someone went there and spray-painted this on my car.” I retrieve a printed photo of the markings from my files. “I was hoping you could help me decipher what it means.” I have my own ideas, but I’d like to get hers. Two sets of eyes are better than one.

  My head is still a bit foggy from whatever Hattie used in her incantation, and I hope Ignatius and I don’t look like a couple of miners stepping out from the bowels of the earth with our faces covered in soot.

  Hattie barely gives the print a second look. “Leave it with me and I’ll think on it for a while. These things can’t be rushed, as you are aware.” She turns and picks up a box from the shelf behind her. Facing Ignatius, she hands it to him. “This is fixed for the Beauchamp house. Spread it around the entire thing. All around. Don’t you let no breaks happen to it.” Then she reaches over and plucks a strand of hair from my head, then Ignatius’. She puts it in the mortar bowl, grabs some leaves from behind her and throws them in too. She snatches a wooden match from the box on the table, lights it with the candle, then throws it into the mortar bowl. The flames burst from the small dish, then go out just as quickly. She then dips a finger in the ashes and smears an X over top of the writing on the sheet of paper and folds it four times. She picks up the candle and drips some of the melted wax on the fold to seal it. She hands that to me. “Take this to the house and burn it in a fire.” She levels her gaze at me, and I feel it reach down deep into my bones. “Then take it to the biggest tree toward the swamps and spread the ashes around it.” The instruction was for both of us.

  Ignatius hasn’t said a word, only nodded when Hattie spoke to him. It was his eyes. They seemed to be alive and wild with whatever’s going on inside him.

  “Now go.” Hattie heaves a deep breath.

  We stand and turn to leave as Hattie remains standing at the table, head bent, palms resting on the flat surface, the photo I left her sitting in front of her. Ignatius holds the door open for me as we step into the dark night air, the sounds of the city all around us. As we get into the car, what just happened might be over, but it’s truly only beginning.

  Nine

  The Powers, They Want

  We stopped at my hotel so I could pick up some things I might need, which turned out to be about half of everything I brought from Memphis. Honestly, I was tempted to bring everything, I felt like I should, but I didn’t want to freak Ignatius out like I was some crazy stalker girl he’d never be able to get rid of. Even though we hadn’t discussed it, it seemed obvious I was staying at his house, at least for the time being. Frankly, I was grateful. I couldn’t deny the whole incident w
ith my car had left me shaken, especially after the crimes. Because of the crimes. Ignatius knew, he’d been witness to it, he’d seen how deeply I was affected. It bothers me that I got upset. I don’t get upset. Ever. But this, it left me feeling violated and attacked. I saw in Ignatius’ expression he was very angry, and I really couldn’t blame him. Because it happened on his property, I could understand how he might somehow feel responsible. He isn’t, not at all. I just happened to be there. The sergeant said I was most likely targeted because I’d been named as a lead investigator. Which is probably why Ignatius assigned himself my personal watchdog, at least for tonight. I’ll take it. Honestly, I’m looking forward to it. It’s exactly what I need to forget the horrors I’ve faced recently, of the threat made directly to me, and why I’m here in the first place.

  I just need to forget.

  It’s late by the time we arrive at Ignatius’ house. We were wound up from the events of the incredibly long day, but I knew, and I believe Ignatius did too, we have to put at least one of the things Hattie had given us in place. As we drove through the darkened streets, as the city scape slowly morphed to thick swamp vegetation, I could practically feel the letter hum with energy on my lap. There’s no doubt you have to believe, magic is just like prayer. I didn’t believe. It was more than that. It was a part of me.

  We pass through the two brick pillars at the beginning of the long driveway at the Beauchamp estate and approach the front of his house. I turn and speak to Ignatius for the first time since we left Hattie’s. “Are you okay with this?” I turn the folded piece of paper over in my lap for the hundredth time, running a fingertip along the edge and imagine what’s written on it.

  I know it’s some kind of protection spell, however, I was caught off guard when she’d taken something, our hair, from both of us. I shrugged it off and attributed it to my attack being at Ignatius’ home. It makes sense really, because if there was some kind of hex or curse placed on me, it could have included Ignatius. It’s possible. But just because he knows about this stuff, doesn’t necessarily mean he believes in it or condones the practices.

  “Yes,” he responds, his voice deep, as he parks the car.

  Something inside me stirs and makes my heart flutter, some unknown memory that flickers at the recesses of my mind. Something that you know, but aren’t exactly sure what it is, or even how you know it. It’s a sense of déjà, vu you have no idea of the what or the how.

  Ignatius twists and reaches for the box in the backseat, then exits the car with it. My eyes are fixed on the darkness at the edge of his property, on the lightning bugs and the soft sway of leaves I can see silhouetted by the moonlight, grateful there’s only a light breeze tonight.

  My door opens. I lift my gaze to Ignatius’s face as he peers down at me. My God, he’s arrestingly good-looking, with a face carved to perfection. It shouldn’t be humanly possible. Every nerve in my body reacts to him, to his presence, the heat of his body, his masculine scent, the sound of his voice. My loins clench with hunger and my breasts ache with need just from looking at him.

  “Come, Dominique,” he commands with a tone that’s full of dark promises. His voice is gravelly, the sound sizzles down my spine like an electric current.

  He steps back as I set a foot outside the car, ready to follow him wherever he leads me.

  We go around to the back of the house, not bothering to enter yet. When we get to the rear of the property, close to the edge near the embankment that dips down to the swamp, Ignatius tells me this is where he’s going to build the fire. When he goes to the woodpile, I mark the ground with runes and symbols. Then I begin to chant.

  It’s impossible to accurately describe what it feels like, the energy that possesses you, when you summon the powers. Intense, hallucinogenic, alert, massive, all encompassing. You feel larger than life, it’s like all the mysteries of the universe are in the palm of your hands ready for you to command.

  The words I murmur slip from my lips like a snake, smoothly and seductively, powerful and full of danger if provoked and unleashed.

  Something like a trance envelopes me as I stand beneath the moonlight and murmur the words. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss this. It’s intoxicating, that and the lust running through my veins makes my body hum and my nerve-endings sizzle. My skin is sensitive to the slightest stimulation, even the light breeze feels like a caress.

  The heat from the fire Ignatius has started warms my cheeks as the flames leave a dancing glow across my body. I can feel Ignatius’ eyes on me, watching me. Devouring me. He walks slowly toward me, his steps measured and sure. Predatory.

  I don’t stop repeating the chant as his arms slide around my waist. With his mouth at me ear, and his erection pressed against my back, he whispers hoarsely, “I don’t know what you’re conjuring, but I’m going to fuck you while you do.”

  My entire body pulses with his filthy declaration as wetness pools between my thighs.

  He releases me, only to glide his hands up my back. He gathers my hair, then slips it over one shoulder. Everywhere his fingertips touch me, my skin tingles with heat. He grips my dress at the back neckline. Then he rips it from my body right down the middle.

  Oh, my God! My mind reels as goosebumps erupt along my now naked flesh.

  My words stumble, but I don’t stop. Neither does he. My bra falls to the ground next, then Ignatius nudges my underwear down until they, too, land in a pool around my ankles. I step out of them, then kick my shoes to the side. I’m now completely naked as he steps around me to stand in front of me.

  “That’s better,” he whispers roughly. “A goddess needs to show her glory.” His eyes appear to glow in the moonlight, bright and wild, they call to the magic inside me. He lifts his hands and palms my breasts. My loins clench with hunger at his touch. He takes both nipples between a finger and thumb and places his mouth at my ear. He drags his tongue around the shell as he pinches them tightly, and whispers, “Your orgasms are going to be the sacrifices tonight, Dominique.” I shudder at his promise. “The spirits want badly. They’re hungry.” My heart pounds. “They want to hear your cry. They want to feel your pleasure.” He takes the lobe between his teeth, and slowly bites. The pain swirls with the lust flowing through me, it mingles with the pain of my nipples as it travels down that invisible cord to my groin and explodes into ecstasy. “They want to feel your pain.”

  I push my breasts into his touch. “Yes,” I moan softly.

  He straightens and releases his hold on me. Then he slaps first one breast, then the other. The shock of exquisite pain bursts through me and blossoms into wanton pleasure. My head falls back as my eyes dip closed and I raise my arms out to the side, offering myself up to him, to this, to the night and to the power.

  He gathers my hair and wraps it around his fist. He tilts my head back with a tight hold and presses his still fully clothed body against mine, then closes his mouth over mine and kisses me. It’s rough and hard and brutal. He slips his other hand between my thighs, then captures my clit with the same unforgiving hold he’d held my nipples with. I can feel the orgasm rushing forward, ready to blow. With the nub pinched tightly between finger and thumb, he rubs it mercilessly. I come almost instantly. I scream with pleasure into his mouth and take hold of his arms because my legs want to give out.

  He pulls my head back by my hair and stares down into my eyes as he releases my clit only to plunge two fingers into my dripping entrance. My hips thrust into his hand as he penetrates me. “What do you need?” he growls.

  I search his eyes, his face, the spaces between his words. That’s where his darkness lies, the spaces in between. That’s where I want to drown.

  “I need,” I pant. His grip tightens and makes my scalp sing with pleasure from the pain.

  He curves his fingers and rubs that spot inside me that makes my toes curl and my eyes roll back in my head. “Say it, cheri.”

  I can’t focus on his face, not when he’s doing this, and not when we’re getti
ng caught up in the energy and power of the night.

  “I need you to break me apart, Ignatius.” My back arches as another climax rolls through me, preparing to peak. “I need you to tear me apart, so you can put me back together.”

  “Très bien, very well.” He grins wickedly as he presses down on my clit with his thumb while his fingers work their magic inside me.

  My body curls so far back from the intensity tearing through me, Ignatius has to hold me up. I’m his to command, his to do with as he pleases. I’m merely an instrument, a vessel.

  When the tremors dissipate, he pulls me up so my chest is pressed against his. This time his kiss is slow and deliberate. He takes his time as he tastes me and gets his fill.

  “On your knees and take my cock out.”

  My mouth waters and my body yearns for him.

  I slide down his front, his hand still holding my hair, and get on my knees at his feet. In that moment, we aren’t Dominique and Ignatius. He is my master and I’m his servant, I’m his to command, and he’s mine to worship. At this moment, we cannot be without the other. This isn’t us fucking, this is the powers owning. We are all that they are, and they exist through us.

  I undo his pants and release his thickness. The slickness at his tip glistens in the moonlight. I flick my tongue and lick it clean; his hiss of pleasure is my reward. I take him into my mouth, flatten my tongue around his girth, and take him deep in my throat. His hips rock into my face as I open my throat until my lips press against his abdomen.

  “Christ,” the word escapes through his clenched teeth as he pulls out.

  I look up at him from where I am, and pure joy fills me at the sight of him coming undone because of me.

  Spit drips from my mouth and down my chin. He tilts my head back. He says, “You look absolutely glorious,” as he rubs the saliva over my mouth. “Open,” he commands. I do. He slips the two fingers he had buried inside me into my mouth and my taste mingles with his on my taste buds. “How do we taste together, cheri?” His tone is gruff and full of need.