Black Heart Loa (39 page)

Kallie would bet that Layne’s ex-wife led the list. “No doubt. But
she’s
wrong.”

“Y’all wait here,” René said, striding past the three of them, then trotting up the stairs to the porch. He rapped his knuckles against the door lightly before opening it and disappearing inside.

The door opened again a moment later, spilling soft light onto the porch. A woman stepped out wearing a purple silk robe, her auburn hair sleep-tangled and tumbling past her shoulders. She was followed by an athletically muscled black man in blue-striped pajama bottoms carrying a lit Coleman lantern. He closed the door firmly behind him. René remained inside.

Must be the
traiteur
and her mate, the man Devlin Daniels named to be a
shuvano,
a nomad healer and conjurer like McKenna.
The lateness of the hour hit Kallie when she took in their nightwear.
Pajamas and robes, shit—it must be 4, maybe heading on 5 a.m.

“C’mon up out of the rain,” the woman said. Light flickered across the porch as the man rested the lantern on the railing. Her lambent gaze skipped over all three of them, taking careful note of each before settling on Kallie. “I understand you’re looking for someone—among other things.”

“My cousin, ma’am, Jackson Bonaparte,” Kallie said as she climbed the cypress stairs to the porch, flanked on either side by Belladonna and Layne, then stopped a couple of yards from the waiting pair. “My apologies for showing up at your door so late.”

“And what makes you think you’ll find him here?” the
shuvano
asked. Swirling Celtic-style clan tats were blue-inked into his dark skin, covering his torso and swooping across his shoulders and down his arms.

“
Loups-garous
rescued him from a grave in Chacahoula,” Kallie replied, “and I’ve got reason to believe he was brought here to Le Nique because his papa was
loup-garou.
”

The Coleman lantern emitted a steady hiss, loud in the sudden silence. The pungent odor of kerosene mixed uneasily with the mint from the window boxes.

“Are you Kallie?” the
traiteur
asked.

Tension unspooled from Kallie’s muscles, unknotted her fists. “
Oui,
I am. Jackson’s just a couple of months older than me, but—”

“He used to brag about being older,” the woman finished with a smile. “Said it made him the boss of you—when he was little. Before he stopped coming to Le Nique.”

Kallie laughed in relief. “That’s Jackson, all right. You
do
know him.”

From inside the cottage, Kallie heard the faint click of claws against wood, the jingle of a metal collar, then a familiar and pulse-quickening
whoo-whoo.
Excitement spilled through her like wine.

“Cielo! Bell, that’s Cielo.”

“The Siberian husky I saw in the back of the truck?” Layne asked.

“Yup. That it is,” Belladonna said. “I’d know that
whoo
ing anywhere.”

A long string of
whoo-whoo-whoo
s sounded behind the door as Cielo launched into a long Siberian-husky-style explanation of events.

“That’s my cousin’s dog, so he
must
be here,” Kallie said. “Where is he? Is he okay? I’d like to see him.” Her heart fell when she saw the look the
traiteur
exchanged
with her husband, an uneasy blend of reluctance and apprehension that spelled nothing but bad news. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

The woman shook her head, auburn locks brushing against her silk-draped shoulders. “We’ve got a few other things to discuss first. René said you claimed to be the reason magic is ricocheting and the reason Evelyn’s headed for Louisiana, that you told him you needed help from a
traiteur
and her
shuvano
mate. That would be us—I’m Angélique Boudreau and this is my husband, Merlin Mississippi.”

Kallie quickly introduced Belladonna and Layne. Merlin and Layne acknowledged each other with friendly nods, Merlin’s short twists of bead-locked braids jabbing out in all directions around his skull like a multiple-armed star.

“Fox,” Layne stated.

“Squirrel,” Merlin answered. “Welcome,
drom-prala.
”

“Road brother,” Layne translated before Kallie could ask.

Meeting and holding Angélique’s eyes, Kallie said, “René’s right on all counts. And I’ll explain everything, tell you anything you want to know, but I need to see Jackson first. I
need
to know that he’s okay.” Tension returned, ratcheted her muscles wire-tight. She looked from Angélique to Merlin, then back. “
Is
he okay?”

“No, he’s not okay, Kallie,” Angélique said in a soft voice. “But he’s still alive.”

Kallie nodded, not trusting her voice. Still alive was good. Still alive suggested he could remain that way. But if he needed more than potions and salves? If he needed a healing or uncrossing trick?

“What’s his condition?” Belladonna asked for her. “Maybe we can help.”

“Can you help a half blood
loup-garou
enduring his First Change?” Stark and furious emotions tightened Angélique’s features. “A Change made even more dangerous because it comes years later than it should’ve? A Change made impossible because his mama carved a spell into his flesh binding him to just one form—a spell that suddenly ended?”

A horrifying thought occurred to Kallie. She felt sick. She glanced at Belladonna and saw the same realization in her eyes. “Because of me,” she whispered. “Because of the goddamned black dust and the
loa.
”

“Now, hold on, Shug—” Belladonna began.

“Ain’t your fault,” Layne said, stepping in front of Kallie and gripping her shoulders. “Doctor Heron—”

“Mighta laid down the hex, but
I’m
the one who took it back inside of me when I unraveled that
fi’ de garce
’s goddamned soul.” Kallie twisted free of Layne’s tight-fingered grip, walked away from the comfort he offered. She locked eyes with Angélique. “Take me to Jacks. I’ll tell you everything, just let me see my cousin.”

The
traiteur
regarded her for several moments, radiating a strong, steady energy—a healer’s deep river aura. Then she nodded. “Fair enough.”

W
olves loped along either
side of the path leading to the small stone cottage beneath the old, twisted oak, raindrops pearling their fur in the slackening downfall, a
loup-garou
escort.

Kallie noticed that their eyes either shimmered silver or emitted a pale green, absinthe glow—like Jackson’s had that long-ago summer night, seemingly glittering with green fairy dust. Had he already been enchanted, trapped into one form even then?

“He’ll be okay,” Belladonna soothed, as though reading her mind. “Jacks was bayou born and raised, so he’s bayou tough. He survived that bastard Doctor Heron. We’ll get him through this.”

But Kallie was afraid all the bayou-born toughness in the world wouldn’t be enough to counter the double-whammy of magic gone bad and a mother’s broken binding. All the same, Kallie nodded. “Damn straight.”

Angélique led the way while Merlin, now dressed in jeans, a blue tee, and scooter boots, followed a few yards behind his wife, his Coleman lantern lighting the way for those lacking preternatural sight—like himself.

The jingling of Cielo’s collar told Kallie that the invisible stealth husky—thanks to the goddamned magic snafus—still padded beside her. She had a feeling, after Cielo’s prancing,
whoo
ing greeting, that the dog was very pleased with her new condition.

A fierce rush of wind kicked Kallie’s damp hair over her face, pushed at her back. Tree limbs creaked ominously. She smelled brine and ozone and wet fur.

“Wind’s picking up,” Belladonna commented.

“Yup,” Layne replied, voice tight. “Ain’t Evelyn supposed to be twenty or thirty hours out?”

“The wards could be doing more than just summoning her, they could be hurrying her along too,” Kallie said, giving voice to a grim possibility.

“Virgin Mary in a leaky boat. There’s a fucking cheery thought.”

They drew to a stop in front of the cottage and Angélique grabbed hold of the iron ring in the stone door’s center. She glanced at Kallie from over her shoulder. “Remember,” she said. “He ain’t gonna look the same.”

Kallie nodded, throat tight.

The muscles in the
traiteur
’s arms corded and stone scraped against stone as she pulled the heavy door open. Heated air reeking of wild and wounded animals, dark and musky, rife with the odors of blood and straw and piss, washed over Kallie, tugged at her breath.

Releasing the ring, Angélique stepped back. “She’s here, Ambrose.”

“Send her in,” a male voice replied, low and just a little weary.

The quick click of claws against stone and her jingling collar indicated that Cielo had already dashed inside.

“Dog too, apparently,” the male said in dry tones.

Angélique’s eyes flashed silver beneath Merlin’s lantern. “Kin only,” she reminded, her gaze skipping from Belladonna to Layne. Both nodded their understanding.

“We’ll be right here, Shug,” Belladonna said, slipping a companionable arm around Layne’s leather-jacketed waist. “Give Jacks my love and tell him to get his fine ass feeling better. Wait. Is it a
furry
ass now?”

Kallie tried to smile, but felt her effort falter. “I’ll tell him,” she managed. Heart pounding, scared of what she’d find, she stepped into the cottage. The stone door thunked shut behind her, cutting off all light. She stood, blinking, waiting for her eyes to adjust, and for her heart to calm.

“He’s over here, girl.” The speaker’s eyes glinted green in the thin light trickling in through the window slit from the dying night outside. “I’m Ambrose Bonaparte, Nicolas’s
frère
and Jackson’s
nonc
. I understand you’re a cousin on his mama’s side.”

“That I am,” Kallie replied. “His only cousin on that side of the family.”

Making out a man-sized shape sitting against the north wall beside a darker, wolf-shaped form, Kallie hurried across the straw-strewn floor. A soft sigh, followed by a jingle, told her that Cielo had lain down near her Daddy.

Kallie knelt beside the dark-furred wolf lying on its side on the cold stone. “Jackson,” she whispered, heart clenching. She studied him, struggling with the change in him—fur and paws and fangs. Her hand shook as she reached out and gently touched her cousin’s side. Thick, warm fur greeted her fingertips.

Their shared long-ago summer night of fireflies and
wolf whispers pulsed through her mind. And Kallie drew on its magical possibilities as she remembered Jackson’s pride that night.

“I won’t do a big Change into a real wolf, but I’ll do a little Change, me, and be a two-legged wolf someday.”

“I wish I could be a wolf. I’d howl all night and eat up the people I don’t like.”

“He surprised me,” Ambrose said quietly. “Him, he did something I ain’t never seen a half blood do before—transform to full wolf.”

Something in his voice made Kallie look up and meet Ambrose’s lambent gaze. She felt a sharp pang as she realized how much he looked like her long-dead uncle. “Is that bad? I know he didn’t expect to, but …”

“Normally, I’d say it was a damned good thing, an amazing and wondrous thing,” Ambrose replied, “a thing to be proud of. But in this case …” He shook his head. “First Change ain’t done, ain’t a success, until transformation is made, then reversed.” His attention returned to Jackson. A muscle played in his jaw. “He’s had so much going against him: the late Change, all the blood he’d lost, exhaustion.” His voice roughened. “Me, I don’t believe he has the strength to Change back—not from full wolf.”

“You giving up on him?” Kallie bristled, eyes burning. “’Cuz I ain’t.”

“Ain’t giving up, girl. Just being realistic. Boy’s done wrung out. If Change had happened at any other time, maybe …”

Wind moaned through the windows slits—an eerie chorus of ghosts.

“Then feed him, pour potions into him, have the
traiteur
work on him!”

“We’ve done all that and more,” Ambrose said, and his gentle tone scared her even more than the slow, labored rise and fall of Jackson’s chest beneath her fingers. “He’s got nothing left to give.”

Kallie shook her head, blinking away tears.

Don’t do it, child. It ain’t yo’ place.

If she’d listened to Divinity and had allowed Doctor Heron’s black-oiled soul to escape into the night, then the trick
Tante
Lucia—for whatever goddamned reason—had fixed to keep her son in one form would still be working, and Jackson wouldn’t be dying.

But she
hadn’t
listened. And guess what? Divinity had been right. What she’d done had been wrong, no matter how she justified it. In the end, she’d been no better than Doctor Heron himself.

“Jackson, hey,
cher,
” Kallie said, stroking her hand along her cousin’s side. “I ain’t gonna let you give up. I know you’re tired, but you gotta fight through it, just like you taught me how to box, how to aim my anger through my fists and into the bag.”

Jackson’s muscles twitched underneath Kallie’s hand. His eyelids fluttered open and he looked at her with eyes that held a faint and dimming absinthe-green glow. His muzzle worked, like he was trying to talk, but the only sound he made was a combination gargle-
whoo.
She furiously blinked away more tears.

Cielo gave a soft answering
whoo.

“I know a way to fix all this,” Kallie said, voice husky. “But you’ve got to keep fighting,
cher,
until I can. I promised
Ti-tante
that I’d bring you home safe and sound and you know I can’t break a promise—so don’t make me kick your scrawny ass.”

Jackson offered up another gargling attempt at speech, then swiped at the floor with one paw.
Okay
.