Black Magic Woman (17 page)

Daphanie felt her mouth tighten. “I don’t think ‘charm’ is an appropriate description for whatever this is. ‘Charm’ makes me think of leprechauns and fairy godmothers, not voodoo priests who want me dead.”

“Voodoo?” Erica sounded startled.

“What? Didn’t Asher mention that was what started all of this? I pissed off some witch doctor, who apparently seems to be having trouble getting over himself.”

Erica shot Asher and Graham a disgusted look. “No, they left that little detail out. Huh, men.”

“Does it change things?”

“It most certainly does. Voodoo is a highly sympathetic form of magic. It relies heavily on the use of objects and tokens to effect change in the material world. Hence the famous voodoo doll. A curse laid by an ordinary magic user can be broken by any other practitioner, provided an equal or greater amount of will is used to effect the change. A voodoo curse is significantly more complicated.” She eyed Daphanie. “Do you know if this witch doctor has anything belonging to you?”

Daphanie snorted. “Hardly. The man isn’t exactly on my Christmas list.”

“Well, make sure it stays that way,” Erica advised. “That’s probably why the link is as weak as it is.” She saw Daphanie’s puzzlement and explained. “Like I said, voodoo uses objects to magical purposes. The dolls in particular are linked to the person they’re meant to represent through the uses of that person’s possessions, usually stolen. A practitioner of voodoo might steal a woman’s scarf, for instance, or a man’s handkerchief and use the fabric to make the doll’s clothing. Some of the person’s energy is tied up in his or her possessions and that helps to forge the link so that the actions performed on the doll are experienced by the intended victim.

“That’s what makes the voodoo curse so hard to lift. Because there is a physical object linked to the victim by magical energy, that object must also be destroyed in order for the spell to be broken. Devious people, voodoo priests. The
houngan,
or white magicians, are difficult enough, but the
bokor,
the ones who practice on the darker path, are even worse.”

“You mean someone out there might have a doll that looks like me and be sticking pins in it to make me act like an idiot?”

Erica smiled. “It’s possible, but it would be unlikely unless the
bokor
had something of yours to bind the doll to you. Something you’ve had for a long time and used or worn frequently is usually preferred, because the closer it is to you, the more of your energy it will have stored.”

“Like I said, I haven’t exactly presented any witch doctors with tokens of my favor—”

Daphanie broke off, her skin going cold.

While it was true she hadn’t given any scarves or hankies away lately, or suffered any unexpected thefts, she had nearly forgotten that something
had
been taken from her. Last Saturday night.

“What?” Asher demanded, reading her expression and stiffening. “What are you thinking, Daphanie?”

“Last week at the club,” she said weakly, her hands nervously tightening the sash on her belt. “It was such a little thing, I didn’t even really think about it.”

“What happened?” he snarled.

“One of D’Abo’s little flunkies, the one he tried to sic on me. I forget his name. But before you were able to reach us, the guy tried to grab me. He missed, so I just forgot about it. Only he didn’t really miss. He tried to grab my wrist and he grabbed the hem of my top instead. All he got was a tiny little strip of fabric. I was so relieved he didn’t hurt me and so angry about the whole incident that I completely forgot about it.”

Asher swore, long and low, and Erica looked uncomfortable.

“This is … unfortunate,” the witch murmured.

“It wasn’t like it was a favorite top that I’d had forever,” Daphanie struggled to reassure them. “It was fairly new. I just bought it a couple of months ago. I think that was only the second or third time I ever wore it. That means it wouldn’t have a lot of juice, right?”

Erica nodded. “Theoretically, that’s correct, but it would still be something, especially since you were wearing it when it was taken.”

A growl rumbled through the air. Daphanie glanced at Graham, but he only looked grim. No, it was Asher doing the growling. He looked ready to grind someone’s bones to make his bread.

“It’s good that it wasn’t something you were more connected to,” the witch hastened to reassure them. She’d realized who the noise was coming from, as well. “In fact, that’s probably the reason why I detected so much weakness in the attachment. The curse can’t take hold with so little of you to feed its power.”

“Then I’m safe.”

Erica’s lips compressed in a grim line. She shook her head. Daphanie already hated when she did that.

“You’re not at immediate and dire risk, but I wouldn’t call you safe,” she corrected. “The weakness of the curse prevents your enemy from certain, more immediately dangerous acts, but what Asher described to me as having happened earlier tonight is a fairly good illustration of the fact that you’re not out of danger.”

Daphanie gave a growl of her own, this one fueled mostly by frustration. “So what do I do? Sit around and wait to see if something worse happens? Go knock on D’Abo’s door and demand he give me my scrap of fabric back? What?”

Surprise flickered across Erica’s expression. “D’Abo? Charles D’Abo? Is that who threatened you?”

Daphanie nodded. “Why?”

The older woman shook her head. “I’m simply surprised to hear that. He is not one I would immediately have guessed would cause trouble for someone like you, especially considering those you number among your friends. He’s widely viewed as more cow—er, more cautious than that.”

“Well, I doubt he knew who my friends were when I spilled a glass of root beer on him.”

“Is that what started all this?” Erica sounded bemused.

“As close as I can figure.”

“Odd. Oh, not that D’Abo would make a fuss over something so trivial,” she assured her, “but that he would cling to it for so long. I wouldn’t have guessed him to have that long of an attention span.”

“I guess I made an impression.”

“I would say so.”

“The question stands, though,” Daphanie persisted. “You’ve said the curse is already on me, so I have to figure out a way to get rid of it. Or at least keep it from making me do the wacky.”

Asher touched her hand with his. “I will be with you at all times. You will never be alone, never be left unprotected. I’ll watch over you as you sleep, if that’s what it takes.”

Daphanie rolled her eyes. “Fat lot of good that’s going to do. You can’t beat up a curse, Asher. Whatever is affecting me isn’t something that will care if I have a live-in bodyguard. It needs to be removed.”

“Of course it does, but I’m afraid that removing the curse is not within my power.” Regret filled Erica’s tone, but somehow, that failed to make Daphanie feel any better. “Voodoo curses are tricky, and definitely not part of my area of expertise.”

“Who do we need to talk to, then, to get the curse removed?”

Asher’s fingers curled around Daphanie’s and squeezed with gentle reassurance. He asked the question automatically, as if there were no question that he was in this with her, that there was a “we” fighting this thing, not just a “her.” Her heart clenched again, but this time the feeling didn’t stem from fear. In fact, it might have even caused her a flutter of nerves. But in a good way.

“I’m afraid that the surest way to remove a voodoo curse is to confront the priest who laid it.” Erica’s expression filled with sympathy, and Daphanie had to bite back a curse.

Wasn’t that just the way of things?

“Right, because I’m sure that the people who like to lay curses are always just happy as hosannas to remove them when asked politely.”

“I didn’t say it was simple. I said it was sure.”

Asher squeezed her hand, cutting her off from speaking again. “If that is what needs to be done, then that’s what we’ll do.”

He looked down at Daphanie, and she could see that in spite of his customarily austere expression, his eyes watched her softly. With this man, she realized, the truth was always in the eyes.

“The sun is rising even as we speak,” he said, raising his head to glance out the window where the sky had indeed begun to pinken with morning light. “You need to get some more sleep, but later today, we will go and beard the lion in his den. Apparently, he did not understand when I told him that I had taken you under my protection. I believe it is time to enlighten him further.”

When spoken in that silky, menacing tone, the term “enlighten” took on an entirely new meaning, one Daphanie suspected might involve a great deal of pain.

“You’ll take me to D’Abo’s temple?” she asked. He might have used a plural pronoun, but in Daphanie’s experience, when alpha males used the term “we,” it was always better to confirm they hadn’t been speaking with the royal “we.”

He hesitated. “You are under my protection, Daphanie Carter. It is my duty to take you wherever you need to go.”

As answers went, that one made perfect logical sense.

So why did it leave Daphanie feeling so entirely unsatisfied?

Ten

In the human world, the term “alpha male” is often used to refer to a man with a certain sense of arrogance, machismo, and natural command. In the world of the Others, alpha is a formal title reserved for the male head of a Lupine pack.

Of course, that doesn’t mean certain Other men don’t have plenty of arrogance, machismo, and command of their own.

—A Human Handbook to the Others,
Chapter Three

Asher spent most of the morning feeling restless and dissatisfied. While Missy had finally prevailed upon Daphanie to get a couple more hours of sleep—mainly by having Erica Frederics dose her with a potion guaranteed to keep her from dreaming—he had been left at loose ends, with nothing to do but watch the clock and twiddle his damned thumbs.

“For the sake of the bloody moon, Grayson, if you don’t stop that infernal pacing, I’m going to have your liver for lunch.”

Asher turned to the Silverback alpha, who sat sprawled in a battered armchair lazily flipping through the channels on a wide-screen television, and glowered. “You had lunch an hour ago.”

“Yeah, but I’m a fan of alliteration, and ‘lunch’ and ‘liver’ both start with
l.
”

“What about dinner?”

“The only body part I could think of that starts with
d
is ‘dick,’ and there’s no way in hell I’m going to threaten to eat any man’s dick.”

Asher resumed pacing.

Graham growled. “Seriously, dude. You’re driving me nuts. If you’re just going to spend the damned day dying to get your hands on D’Abo, why don’t you go get it over with? I’ll even ride shotgun. Anything to get you out of my damned house.”

Asher paused for a moment, then continued pacing toward the far side of the room. “I promised Daphanie,” he mumbled.

Graham lifted a hand to his ear. “I beg your pardon?”

“I promised Daphanie I’d take her with me,” Asher bit out, fixing the alpha with the dirtiest look he could manage. “I can’t go without her.”

“Ohhh.” Graham smirked, drawing out the word and embuing it with worlds of meaning, all of them snide. “You promised the little human girl you’d do whatever she asked you to. Now I understand.” He held up one finger, like a maître d’, and adopted a snooty tone of voice. “Pussywhipped, party of one, your table is now available.”

“Fuck you.”

“Very eloquently put.” The alpha continued to grin at him. “I didn’t think you Guardians were allowed to get involved with humans.”

“I’m not involved with Daphanie,” Asher protested with a growl. “But there aren’t any laws against it.”

“Ahhhh, so you
checked
!”

“Asshole.”

“Puppy.”

“I’m not involved with D—with the human.” Asher caught himself and tried to infuse his voice with conviction. All the conviction the rest of him lacked. “I don’t
get
involved with humans. I protect them; it’s my job. Which is why I know that they’re too ignorant and too fragile for any other kind of relationship.”

Graham nodded, pursing his lips around a smile. “Yeah, I know. I told myself the same thing before I met Missy. Hell, after I met her, too. Right up until I realized she smelled just like warm, ripe peaches.”

“She smells like myrrh,” Asher murmured before he could catch himself.

Graham pretended not to hear. “I mean, I’m the first to admit that part of Lupine culture can seem … primitive to outsiders. We’re not exactly sweet, fluffy lapdogs, after all. I knew perfectly well that no human woman would be strong enough to deal with our traditions. I mean, can you imagine a human woman running through the woods on a mate hunt? She’d be dead meat.”

“Exactly.” Asher nodded in agreement. A Lupine mate hunt was notoriously savage. In it, all the unmated members of the pack gathered in a rural or wooded setting and at a predetermined signal, the female would flee, leaving the males to give chase. When a male caught his chosen partner, he would mount her and take her right there, cementing their bond as a mated pair in the most primitive way possible. The idea of a human woman in that situation didn’t even bear consideration.