Chills & Thrills Paranormal Boxed Set (15 page)

"You is a woman now, but the heart of you got left when
you ran from the bayou."

He pressed an object in her hand. She looked down and saw a
gris-gris
bag. An especially nice one made of chamois instead of the usual flannel. Her
mother had made charms like these for the people who came to her for mystical
advice on getting their hearts' desires.

Liz raised her eyes to Harris in mute question.

"It be an evil thing inside," he said, "but
some of the time it take evil to fight evil. I put with it a stone and a powder
that will keep it under your power—the two to keep the one at bay. This will
protect you for now,
cher
, but it be not enough in the end. It take
another kind of strength to fire up the opal and defeat Ankouer. You find it in
your heart, the part that got left behind with Izzy. Look for what Izzy knew.
It is in the book your
maman
wrote. Study it, and remember who you are.
Other-the-wise, we all go back to the dark—man, woman, child, all fall into
dark. We, us, everyone, need you. Mind what I say."

The music still played, and the cells in her body felt like
lead, and she doubted she could move if she tried. She didn't feel like trying.
It was a good feeling, really, rather like the aftermath of a massage . . . or
of incredible sex.

"Yes," she said dreamily, his every word making
perfect sense although, in fact, none of it made sense.

"Good on you," he answered. "And for the
last. The man you run from, him, he is your defender. Trust him, 'cause he is a
good man, and when the battle time come, he stand by your side. Be good to
him—he love you for true."

She felt, rather than saw, Harris stand, and when he moved
away, she continued sitting in her chair, caring about nothing, worrying about
nothing, just sitting. The next thing she knew, Harris was taking her arms and
lifting her from the chair.

"Come, Izzy, sleep now."

"Where's Zach?" she asked groggily, wondering how
everything had changed so fast. She'd been talking to Harris just a minute ago,
but now the band was gone. The room was completely dark except for a glowing
light above the liquor cabinet behind the bar.

"Gone sleepy time." Harris nodded to a
blanket-covered heap on a bench of one of the booths. "Just like you soon
to be."

Right, she remembered hazily Zach had argued with the
gargoyle. The man's ugly face popped in her mind and she giggled. Zach might
have been drunk, but it hadn't hurt his eyesight any. Harris smiled, but didn't
ask why she'd laughed as he led her to another booth, where he'd already placed
cushions from the chair. "Lay you down. Morning come soon. Old
soleil
,
he will be rising. You got toil ahead,
cher
, so rest now."

He helped her into the booth, then draped a big scratchy
blanket over her. As she tucked her hands beneath her head, she turned her
droopy eyes up to him.

"How come you Frenchies hardly ever call a woman by her
given name?"

"It be much too dangerous."

She was too tired to convey her question by anything but
raised eyebrows, but he got it anyway.

"If a man make a mistake during that loving time, why,
cher
,
he'd'a be sleeping with that old dog till his hair turn white as mine."

Then he chuckled and walked away.

Liz was fast asleep before the echo of his chuckle faded,
but she had one last thought before drifting off. Zach often called her Liz.
That must mean something.

* * *

"Exactly where you tied it," Liz said when she
spied the shirt scrap tied around the tree. "That was smart
thinking."

"Sometimes the brain works," Zach replied, and she
knew it was an oblique apology for last night. She sighed. It wasn't as if
she'd never witnessed that kind of behavior before. Although her father often
drank excessively, he rarely lost his temper. But she'd been there once or
twice when he had, and he'd acted very much the same as Zach. Maybe worse.

"You're lucky Harris showed up before the giant tossed
you all the way back to the Port."

"Gargoyle," Zach muttered.

"That pretty well says it." She laughed.

So did Zach. "I'd probably be looking worse than him if
he'd gotten hold of me."

"Un-huh."

He slanted her a glance of mock offense, and Liz laughed
again. They shared a moment of warmth that felt good after the argument, and
for a brief time she just smiled up at him.

Zach broke it short, saying in a gruff voice, "Time to
check out the attack site."

Liz kept pace with him as he turned into the thick stand of
brush and trees. She felt good this morning despite the lack of sleep, and
she'd had a lovely dream she couldn't quite remember, except that it included
Harris. The man had awakened them shortly after dawn, with Zach looking a
little worse for the wear. But Harris produced a razor and plenty of hot water.
By the time they sat down to a breakfast guaranteed to put ten pounds on Liz's
hips, Zach showed no signs he'd downed more vodka than she cared to think about.

When they approached the clearing where the raccoon had
attacked, Zach put out his arm. "Hold on." He stepped between the
trees. She wasn't exactly uneasy, standing in the cool shadows without him, but
she dearly wished he'd hurry.

"Is the raccoon gone?" she asked when he returned.

"Not exactly, but it isn't a danger anymore."

Liz cocked her head. "You sure?"

"Yep, dead as a doornail." He motioned for her to
come forward and started walking to the boat.

"How?"

Zach shrugged. "All that matters is he didn't do much
harm. He did get into the storage bin, scattered stuff all over the place,
and—well, you'll see for yourself."

He leaned forward, grabbed the rail of the boat, and swung
his body over it. Then he turned and stuck out his hand. Liz took it and used
his lift to vault up.

"Why didn't we use the ramp?" she asked.

Zach inclined his head in that direction.

The raccoon. Dead, all right. Rolled on its back with its
small, handlike paws curled up, and its dark round eyes staring through its
mask at the sky, it now seemed sad and harmless.

"Who knows what kind of disease that crazy thing was
carrying," Zach said. "I'll get rid of it as soon as we clean up the
boat."

"You think it had rabies?"

"I dunno. All that matters is it can't hurt us
now."

Liz nodded, gazing around the ravaged boat. All the bins had
been opened, their contents scattered. Oddly, it looked almost like the animal
had been searching for something, because the location of the tossed objects on
this side of the craft wasn't random, as might be expected from a rabid
creature.

Liz leaned to check the other side and saw the same loose
organization. "It missed a bin," she said suddenly. She rounded the
benches, stepping over clusters of charcoal to avoid getting too close to the
ramp. "It's the one I stored my purse in."

She bent and examined the site. The vinyl had been shredded
by sharp little claws, and frantic scratches marked the aluminum side wall
around the latch.

"For some reason it couldn't get in this one," she
said in bemusement, still bent over and staring.

Zach made his way around. Charcoal dust was already getting
on their shoes, leaving tracks on the wooden deck. "No wonder. Luckily you
completely secured the latch. Hardly anyone does that except in a storm."

"Lucky is right. My cell phone's in there, and it could
come in handy later."

A visible shiver ran through Zach's body and he stared north
for an instant. "I hope we don't need it," he replied. "But I'm
worried about the weather patterns. It's an eerie place we're headed to."

Liz recalled what he'd said about unpredictable water and
weather when Maddie first mentioned Quadray Island, but thought he was lapsing
into over-caution.

"Heavens, Zach. The day's as clear a one as I've ever
seen."

"Never pays attention to a thing I say," Zach
said, turning his eyes to heaven.

Liz smiled at him, fascinated by how fiercely masculine he
looked standing above her. A mild breeze rippled his hair like a field of
wheat, and his blue eyes glowed against his tanned skin. He was all muscle and
sinew, and she remembered then how close he'd come to kissing her on the dance
floor, how thrilled she'd been at the prospect.

What if he hadn't frightened her by talking about her
girlhood self? What would she have felt? Would she have let him enter her life,
putting her in the agonizing position of leaving him again to prevent her
illusionary self from shattering into a million pieces?

. . . he loves you, for true.

Harris's voice, as clear as if he stood in front of her. Liz
had an urge to shake her head. She didn't recall Harris saying those words, and
they spoke of a sentiment she preferred not to dwell on.

Then why did they warm her heart?

She cleared her throat and straightened up. "First
thing, I need to clean up all this charcoal. It's making a mess of the deck.
Where's the bag?"

"In shreds."

"Okay, I guess I'll have to empty a crate. You take
care of the raccoon."

"Sure, give me the easy job."

He picked up one of the less-shredded tarps, then searched
for a grappling hook, which he ended up finding wedged against the side of the
boat.

"Almost as if the raccoon was hunting for
something," Liz said, still troubled by this unlikely organization.

"Sure, Liz. Food."

She turned toward the shore. "Then why didn't it eat
our dinners?"

The plate Zach had left on the ground was untouched, and the
kettle still sat upright on the grill. Even the remains from Liz's meal hadn't
been eaten.

"Like I said, it was probably sick. Which is why I want
it out of here." He shrugged, but Liz thought his nonchalance seemed
feigned.

He dropped the tarp over the raccoon, then rolled it down
the ramp by pushing it with a foot. When he reached the bottom, he used the
grappling hook to shove it to one side.

"You plan on giving it a Christian burial?" Liz quipped.

"I'm going to burn it." He came back to the ramp
and picked up a gallon of gas. "I'd just as soon make sure it doesn't
spread something catchy. There a shovel around here?"

Liz scanned the boat and spotted a small camp shovel hanging
from the gunwale. He lifted the shovel, then returned to shore. In seconds, she
heard the scraping of the carcass being dragged across the ground.

She resumed scooping up charcoal, using pieces from a roll
of paper towels to drop them into a garbage bag.

Afterward, she found some rags, which she wet down in the
bayou and used to mop up the deck.
 
While
she worked, the shovel scuffed at the dirt on the shore below. By the time she
was ready to pack the other items into the storage bin, she smelled gasoline
fumes.

"Any matches left?"

"Yep." She'd found them spilled inside the crate
that once held the charcoal, and had already put them back into their box,
which she now handed over the rail to Zach. As he started to turn away, she
spotted something flying from the brush. "Zach!" she yelled.

"What the—" He whirled, then stopped dead still.

A pack of raccoons surrounded the shrouded corpse.

"Git coons!" Zach bellowed.

"Come on in the boat," Liz implored, terrified the
raccoons would attack him. "Please."

The pack clawed furiously at the tarp. At Zach's shout, one
of them stopped clawing and lifted its head to regard them with intense
hostility.

"Git!" Zach roared again.

The creature ignored him and returned to its task. The
animals had now uncovered a paw belonging to the dead raccoon, obviously
preparing to drag it away.

"Please, please get on the boat," Liz begged.

Finally, Zach spun for the ramp and raced up it to the bow
of the boat, where he pulled a flare gun from beneath the console. He whirled
back to point the gun at the raccoons.

It discharged with a crack, ejecting a flash of red that
streaked toward the pack and the gasoline-soaked tarp. As a group they fixed
their eyes on the whir of light. As it descended, the flare nicked one of the
raccoon's flank. It shrieked, causing the others to spring for the brush. The
scent of burned hair rose from the struck animal's smoldering coat. With more
pained shrieks, it thrashed around in the dirt, then flipped to its feet and
took off after the rest. With a whoosh of heat and light, the gas ignited. The
tarp went up in flames.

"Well, that's that," Zach said calmly. A muscle
twitched in his jaw as he bent to put the flare gun away. "Sure glad this
baby was loaded."

Still speechless, Liz watched him sit down and start the
engine. "Let's get out of here," he said. "it's been wet enough
that the fire'll burn itself out."

"No argument from me." Liz walked forward and sat
beside him. "Have you ever seen anything like that?"

"Nope."

"I was afraid not."

He steered the boat into deeper water. She could see him
itching to give the craft more speed, and as soon as they reached the middle of
the bayou, he gave in to the impulse.

"Something really weird happened back there," he
said.

"There's a logical"—acrid smoke blew from the land
and a cough broke her reply—"explanation, I'm sure"—another
cough—"there is. We simply . . . don't know what ... it is . . .
yet."

Zach looked back at the receding shore, prompting her to do
the same. The blaze had ebbed, but a thick cloud spiraled up, carrying the
stench of burning hair and flesh. The raccoon pack stood at the water's edge
and followed
 
their retreat with beady
eyes.