Black Heart Loa (34 page)

“I can just imagine,” Kallie muttered. “Well, whether we like it or not, we’re probably going to need the woman to exorcise Babette from Layne, so maybe it’s just as well that she’s here.”

“Well, tha’ makes me feel so mooch better, tha’ it does. Tae be needed by the likes of you,” said a voice with a genuine Scottish brogue, rolling and full of brambles.

“Speaking of the pixie-leprechaun-devil …” Belladonna mumbled.

McKenna marched into the room in black jeans and a tight leather jacket, boot heels tapping against the hardwood floor, a mocking smile on her lips to match the mocking words. She stopped at the foot of the bed and Kallie caught a whiff of wet leather and body-warmed amber.

She met the pint-sized nomad’s scornful gaze and offered her a praline-sweet smile. “Goody. ’Cuz making
you
feel better is my
raison d’être,
after all.”

“Aye, right,” McKenna scoffed. “Well, at least ye have clothes on this time.”

“I had clothes on
last
time. In fact, I was wearing clothes
every
time.”

“If ye reckon bra and tiny skivvies tae be clothes, then aye, ye were clothed—stripper-style. And most likely clothed by accident.”

As Kallie and McKenna tried to murder each other with increasingly strained and saccharine
Die bitch die
smiles, Belladonna piped up with, “Speaking of tiny skivvies, I think that’s what you both should wear during your inevitable cage fight. We can even call your sure-to-be-epic battle the Die-You in the Bayou. Sell tickets.”

McKenna blinked—breaking the death match—then joined Kallie in staring at her best friend. A triumphant smile curved the mambo-in-training’s lips.

“Bell, what the—”

Belladonna arched an eyebrow. “You think the two of you could maybe focus on what Layne needs instead of picking each other apart?”

And yet another reason in an endless list of reasons why Belladonna was her best friend, Kallie reflected.
She always manages to redirect my attention to what’s truly important. Not that I plan to tell her so. I’m worried she’ll
poof-turn
into the Cheshire Cat if I do.

“Yeah,” Kallie agreed. “I can do that.”

“Aye,” the pixie-nomad growled. Leather creaked as she folded her arms over her chest. She shot Kallie a look, one that said,
For now.
Then McKenna’s dark eyes shifted
from Kallie to Layne. Worry glimmered in their depths. “How’s he doing, anyway?”

“He’s doing better.” Kallie kept her fingers firmly folded through Layne’s.

“Thanks to yer aunt,” McKenna agreed. Her gaze shifted to Kallie and it was easy to read what she hadn’t said:
But no thanks to you.

“Pixie, please,” Belladonna purred, voice a low and dangerous swipe of the claws. “
We’re
the ones who found him.
We’re
the ones who hauled his fine nomad ass off the ground, into the car, and brought him back here”—she paused to eye-molest Layne before adding—“every hard-muscled inch of him.”

“Aye,” McKenna growled. “So ye did.” She seemed to choke on any other words she might’ve added, like,
Thank you
or
I appreciate you rescuing my ex-husband’s fine nomad ass.
Instead, she said, “I ken tha’ he has another ghost in the cargo hold.”

Kallie nodded. “Yeah, he does. Babette St. Cyr stowed away while he was unconscious. That’s why he needs an exorcism as soon as possible.”

Another voice entered the conversation, speaking in a posh British accent from Layne’s lips, “That he does, Ms. Rivière. In fact, we need to commence with the exorcism immediately. Mrs. St. Cyr is about to break free.”

Layne—or rather, Kallie realized, Layne with Augustine at the controls—eased himself up into a sitting position on the bed. One honey-blond eyebrow arched up as he regarded their linked hands. “Going steady, are we?” he murmured, gently unthreading his fingers from hers.

Kallie felt a smile tug at her lips. “Only because
you
insisted.”

“I’d like tae speak wit’ Layne,” McKenna demanded.

Layne-Augustine shook his head, a look of annoyance passing over his face as he felt Layne’s dreads sweeping across his back. “Damned things,” he muttered before saying, “Not possible, Ms. Blue. Valin has been secured in his so-called Fortress of Solitude at the moment, hopefully safe from any memory meshing or unraveling due to contact with Mrs. St. Cyr. If he were to—” He stopped speaking abruptly. His gaze turned inward for a moment, then a muscle jumped in his jaw.

“Augustine?” Kallie asked, muscles tensing.

Layne-Augustine shuddered, then said, voice grim. “May I suggest we hurry?”

W
hile she waited for
Belladonna to get dressed so they could start the search for Le Nique and Jackson, Kallie helped Divinity gather the candles, incense, and sea salt that McKenna had requested for the exorcism.

The fierce leprechaun of a nomad was kneeling in front of the rocker, dark brows knitted together in concentration as she drew chalk symbols—spoked wheels, suns, and other runic patterns—on the wood floor.

The other two nomads, Maverick and Jude—a guy with an action hero’s impossibly ripped physique and a gal with ash-blonde hair and a gymnast’s light-footed grace—propped themselves against the wall nearest the consultation room’s doorway and snickered like two schoolgirls whenever Layne-Augustine spoke.

Seems the sound of a upper-crust British voice coming from their clan brother’s mouth is the equivalent of a stand-up routine,
Kallie mused.

Dressed in the freshly laundered jeans and Inferno tee, Layne-Augustine sat in the rocker beside the bed and strapped on his flame-painted scooter boots, dreads snaking over his shoulders to the floor. He’d winced as he’d
bent over and Kallie figured he’d felt the painful pull of the road rash stretching along his right side.

“You okay?” she asked, bending to set the candles, incense brazier, and jar of salt down beside McKenna to join the fragrant incense, charcoal, and sand her aunt had already deposited. Straightening, she pushed her hair back from her face.

“I am indeed, all considered,” he replied, ignoring the snickers shadowing his words. “No nausea, no dizziness, headache down to a dull roar. My considerable thanks to your aunt.”

“Well, now, I didn’t do it fo’
you,
” Divinity said, parking her hands on her hips and leveling her gaze on Layne-Augustine. “I did it fo’
Layne,
so him, he be welcome. Now as for you—yo’ foolish Hecatean Alliance is gonna bring nothing but—”

“Hey, will the magic misfires affect an exorcism?” Kallie hastily interrupted before her aunt could wind her anti-HA diatribe up to full swing. “Gabrielle’s invocation to Baron Samedi went south in a big way.”

“Dat be a good question,” Divinity agreed. “Could end up inviting possession instead o’ ending one.”

The sound of the chalk scraping across the floor stopped. McKenna looked up, expression uneasy. She glanced over her shoulder at Divinity. “Ye never mentioned a spiritual invocation going bad,” she said, “just spells.”

“Musta slipped my mind,” Divinity said, shaking her head. She quickly filled the nomad in on what had happened following Gabrielle’s invocation to petition the Baron for Jackson’s life.

“Shite.” McKenna raked chalk-dusted fingers through
her black hair, leaving pale smudges in her angled anime-hero locks. “Shite!”

“This might pose a problem,” Layne-Augustine mused, stroking his chin. “But we need to do something, and soon.” He looked at McKenna. “Does an exorcism involve magic and incantations or a ritual of mental focus, individual power, and will?”

Kallie noticed that Maverick and Jude had corralled their snickers—for the moment, anyway—switching to a respectful silence.

“It involves the latter, aye,” McKenna said, voice low. “So this still might work.”

Divinity frowned. “It be de same way fo’ an invocation—focus, power, and will. But it still went wrong.”

“Shite,” McKenna muttered.

“Maybe it wasn’t the invocation itself that went wrong,” Kallie said, her pulse drumming in time with the possibilities racing through her mind. “Maybe it was the fact that Gabrielle was summoning a
magical
being.”

Layne-Augustine’s green eyes lit up, cool and considering. “Yes. That makes sense, given the circumstances. Fortunately, Babette St. Cyr is
not
a magical being, just a dead one. I say we proceed. As soon as you’re ready to begin the ritual, I’ll exit Valin’s body.” Strain showed on his face—Layne’s face. Sweat beaded his forehead. “We’re almost out of time.”

McKenna nodded. “Aye. Someone tie him to the chair.”

“I’ve got rope and a roll of duct tape out in my pack,” Maverick said, shoving himself away from the wall, leather jacket creaking.

“We’ve got duct tape here,” Kallie said, glancing at her aunt. “In the supply closet, I think.”

“Dat we do,” Divinity confirmed.

“Are ropes or duct tape going to hold him if Babette takes over?” Belladonna asked as she walked into the room, her woodsy patchouli perfume preceding her. She was wearing black cords, a short-sleeved blouse the purple-blue of ripe blueberries, and square-heeled black boots. The strap of her black leather bag was looped around one shoulder and across her chest.

McKenna snorted. “They’ll hold. We’re dealing with a ghost using a man’s brawn, not the bloody Incredible Hulk.”

Kallie chewed on her lower lip, troubled by one thought, one she decided to voice. “Once Babette’s out, what’s to stop her from jumping back inside of Layne?”

“A ghost forced out by exorcism cannae return tae tha’ particular Vessel ever again,” McKenna replied. “It’s as though the Vessel becomes poisonous or radioactive to the ghost, or maybe the exorcism just seals the Vessel against the evicted ghost’s energy.” She shrugged, a frown on her lips. “I dinnae ken why. Wish I did.”

A measure of relief trickled through Kallie. “If it works that well, I’m surprised you don’t perform an exorcism every time Layne gets possessed.”

McKenna snorted in utter disdain. “Tha’ shows how little ye ken about Vessels.”

Kallie’s hands clenched into fists. “Then enlighten me.”

“From what Valin told me, an exorcism isn’t particular,” Layne-Augustine smoothly interjected before the pixie could reply. “His spirit could also be evicted along with that of the ghost.”

A chill brushed against Kallie’s spine. “Meaning his body would be forever closed to him too?”

“Aye,” McKenna growled. “But there’s another reason I dinnae perform exorcisms each time a ghost jumps into Layne’s body. Sometimes the bloody fool
offers
himself so a ghost can say their farewells to loved ones or reveal who their killer was if they’ve been murdered.”

Kallie could picture that, Layne offering himself to lost souls, giving them a chance to find their bearings, to adjust, before traveling on to the realm of the dead or heaven or wherever they were destined to go.

“I don’t think that makes Layne a fool,” Kallie said. “I think it makes him a man of compassion and heart. A man who accepts what he is.”

“Then that makes
ye
a bigger fool than he is. And when he no longer remembers ye, then ye’ll know why.” Still kneeling in front of the rocker, McKenna began arranging the candles—white and purple and black—around the chalked symbols, the conversation clearly finished.

When he no longer remembers ye …

Kallie stared at McKenna as she filled the brazier with sand before topping it with a circular piece of charcoal for the incense. Whatever the hostile little nomad had meant by that, Kallie would just have to find out later.

“You ready to go, Shug?” Belladonna asked.

“Just about.”

Inclining his topknotted head respectfully toward Divinity, Maverick asked, “Where’s the supply closet, ma’am?”

“I’ll show you,” Kallie replied, and started forward. Divinity stopped her with a hand to her shoulder.

“I’ll show de boy,” she murmured. “You girls get going, you. Find yo’ cousin. Bring him back befo’ dis blowdown hits.”

Kallie nodded, anxiety and dread a cold knot in her belly, a knot that had been growing larger with every passing minute since she’d learned that Evelyn had powered into a category five storm and was less than thirty-six hours away, maybe even less than twenty-four.

And if I’m—I mean, if the
loa
inside of me is—the reason for the tainted wards, the hurricane? What then? The goddamned storm is winnowing away time.

Drawing in a calming breath, Kallie decided that once she had Jackson home safe and hopefully sound, she’d do whatever was necessary to blunt the hurricane’s devastating fury. Her mouth dried as she pondered the odds of her survival, then she shoved the thought and her fears aside. Not now. Plenty of time to be scared later.

“We’ll bring him back,” she promised her aunt.

“And yo’selves too.” Divinity’s stern-eyed gaze skipped from Kallie to Belladonna, then back.

“Yes, ma’am,” Kallie and Belladonna replied in unison.

Divinity nodded, then eyed Maverick’s tall, powerful form. A hint of approval glinted in her hazel eyes. “Mmmhmmm. Now, you look like a man—unlike those shotgun-waving boys. Let’s get you some duct tape.”

“Uh, yes, ma’am.” A bemused smile on his lips, the red-haired nomad followed Divinity out of the room and into the botanica proper.

Not caring what McKenna thought, Kallie carefully sidestepped the chalk symbols and went to the rocking chair. As Layne-Augustine looked up at her, she bent and pressed her lips against his in a tender kiss.

“Pass that onto Layne,” she whispered. “Keep safe, y’hear?”

“I shall endeavor to do my best—on both counts,” Layne-Augustine replied, voice dry as sun-bleached kindling. “The first presents an interesting challenge, but one I accept.”

Smiling, Kallie straightened and turned; then, without looking at Layne’s prickly ex, she crossed the room and joined Belladonna at the doorway. Belladonna arched an eyebrow. “You know that wasn’t Layne you were kissing, right?”