Dark Sacrifice (20 page)

Sophia's perfectly arched eyebrow lifts. “Time rift.
Back to the Future
. I see. How quaint.”

Oh hell, no, she didn't.
“Are you insulting us now?” I step forward, not caring how powerful she is. I'm not a cockroach for her to squash. I didn't take Auntie Magnolia's insults, and I'm not taking this witch's either.

Landry takes my hand and squeezes. “We thank you for your hospitality.”

Sofia smiles, and Landry's hand drops from mine.

I let out a huff of air, narrowing my eyes. He doesn't notice my glare. She's bespelled him again. What will it take to knock some sense into him? Thrusting my boobs into his face again? Stupid boy. Only thinking with his other brain.

Ferdinand chuckles. The contrast between his dark skin and his white, toothpaste-ad smile makes me forget to breathe
. I'm doomed!

Ferdinand and Sophia steer us onto the elevator and out the doors of the hotel like they're herding their sheep. A smile here, a light touch there, and we follow along without having to get bitten. Although…um, biting. That might actually be pleasurable. Ferdinand smiles at me again, and I shiver.

Ugh, snap out of it!
I shake my head, trying to banish the fuzziness so I can think clearly. Sunlight beats down on my body, and I draw in a gulp of muggy air. Perspiration dots my forehead. New Orleans in the summer, the perfect weather to clear my mind. I flap the front of my T-shirt, trying to cool down. It's soaked with sweat, and we've barely walked a block.

“Where exactly are we going?” I ask after walking for about ten minutes. Yeah, I'm now totally lost.

“Your aunt mentioned you wanted to go to Café Du Monde,” Sophia says with a nod toward the café across the street. Coffee with a pungent hint of chicory and hot milk and the aroma of fried dough and sweet powdered sugar fills my nose when I inhale. I take in the crowd of people sitting at tables on a patio beneath a green-and-white-striped awning.

Landry rubs his hands together. “My mouth is already watering.”

I bounce up and down on my toes. “Mine too. Let's go.”

Landry and Ferdinand check out the inside while Sophia and I find a table beside the wrought iron fence surrounding the patio area, directly below a ceiling fan because it's damn hot. I lean back in my chair with a sigh, letting the cool breeze blow down the top of my T-shirt. I've never seen so many different types of people gathered in one place. Every ethnicity flows around us. I wish I could talk to them, find out what their lives are like, where they came from.

Sophia sits across from me with her legs crossed. Her tan slacks taper to reveal tan and cream heels. They look expensive.

“Do you like them?” Sophia twists her foot to the side.

I shrug. “They look like they pinch your toes.”

“Actually they're very comfortable.”

“Don't you have a hard time walking in them?”

“You'll get used to it.”

What does she mean?

I shrug. “So what are we doing after we eat?”

Sophia doesn't answer. She's too busy staring a hole into my already holey sneakers, then her gaze travels upward to take in my faded jeans and sweat-stained blue T-shirt. “Do all of your clothes look like this?”

I stiffen. “What's wrong with my clothing?”

“If you must ask…” Sophia's attention shifts to the white-clothed, bow-tied waitress who appears as if out of thin air, and I want to slap the jaunty pill-box cap off the waitress's head for interrupting.

I breathe through my irritation as Sophia orders beignets and coffee for all of us. When the waitress leaves, I lean toward Sophia and hiss, “Look, I'm not rich. Maybe my aunt is a gazillionaire, but I'm a swamp girl, and proud of it. I get my clothes from the thrift shop on Grant Boulevard.”
Why am I making excuses to her?

Sophia lays a hand on my arm. Warmth spreads through my body, and the tension in my neck and shoulders drain. So does my anger. “I don't mean to disrespect your choice in fashion,” she says. “Honestly, it works for you, but”—her voice lowers conspiratorially—“your aunt says I'm to dress you appropriately for the ceremony tonight. I've been told to take you shopping.”

T
he air conditioning is the main reason I haven't bailed out of the sitting room in the upscale woman's boutique. I lean forward in my chair so the full blast blows over my body. Women and shopping. I should've known better than to rush my own wardrobe selection to get back.

I glance at the dressing room door and sigh. I can't stop thinking about the kiss I got this morning. I'm still in shock. The memory of Mala's lips keep me grounded whenever Sophia's green eyes turn on me. The woman's beautiful. Like a work of art…the kind you stare at but don't dare touch 'cause you'll get your hand cut off. Bad things will happen if I give in to my lustful urges.

Then there's ol' Ferdinand. The guy's huge and more intimidating than an MMA fighter. Not that I'll ever admit this aloud. I
really
don't like the smoldering glances Mala keeps throwing in his direction.

The dressing room door opens, and Sophia walks out with a sultry smile. I pinch my arm. The pain helps me tear my gaze from her to focus on the woman who steps out behind her. The world rocks on its axis. My vision tunnels and wavers. I'm on my feet, not sure when I jumped up.

“Mala…” I breathe out the last bit of air in my lungs, too stunned to remember how to inhale. I blink, dizzy. Shaking my head, I take a step toward her.

Mala's bitter-chocolate eyes meet mine, and she smiles. “Do I look pretty?” She spins in a circle. The silky white dress clings to her curves, leaving nothing to the imagination. Hell, even in my wildest fantasy—and I've had plenty about Mala—I've never pictured her so stunningly beautiful.

Her traditional braid has been transformed into shiny spiral curls that frame her face in a layered cut that tumbles to her waist. The overhead lights bring out auburn highlights in her brown hair. She looks like she tumbled out of bed after having amazing sex.

I swallow hard, studying her face. She glows. “You have on makeup,” I accuse.

Mala blinks, then smiles with red lips.

Would her kiss taste like strawberries? How would her lips feel on my body? I fall back. Luckily I hadn't moved too far from the chair. I sit down hard, clutching the armrests.
Oh, God, why can't I stop thinking about sex?

Ferdinand strides across the room to lift Mala's hand. He brushes a kiss across her knuckles like some aristocratic dude from
Downton Abbey
. And she giggles. Giggles! What the hell? Why didn't I think to do that?

Makeup. That's the best I could come up with. Pathetic. I deserve to have her stolen from me. Except I can handle losing her to Georgie Porgie, but not to this guy. Never.

The heat of jealousy flows through my body. I cross the room and insert myself between Mala and Ferdinand, taking her hand from his and wrapping it around my arm. Mala's eyes widen, but she doesn't complain or make a joke at my expense. Instead she gifts me with a smile of my very own.

“You look handsome,” she says.

I glance down at the white flowing cotton trousers and button-up shirt. “Can't go to a party looking like the help.”

She brushes back my bangs, and I flinch. Her mouth tightens, but she doesn't ask why I didn't cut my hair. Maybe someday I'll feel comfortable enough not to try to hide my eye, but not today.

Sophia claps her hands. “You both look stunning.”

I snort. “We'd better, after spending the entire day primping.”

Mala steps on my toe.

“Oh, sorry,” she drawls, covering her mouth with her hand.
Faker.
She bats insanely long eyelashes at me. “I'm not used to wearing high heels yet.” She glances at Sophia. “You're right. They don't pinch.”

Ferdinand waves us forward. “We should go. Queen Magnolia's waiting,” he says, and again, I'm surprised by his thick French Creole accent. It's different from the one I'm used to. He sounds more like he's from Haiti than Louisiana.

I try not to roll my eyes over the queen business. It sounds ridiculous. Mala doesn't even try to be tactful. She hides a smirk behind her hand, and I prod her forward. Ferdinand and Sophia head for the front door. The tiny employee behind the cash register watches us leave with wide eyes.

“Hey, Ferdie,” I call to his back. “What about paying—”

“Magnolia owns this boutique,” Sophia says with a smile. “Come.”

Night has settled, but it's not dark. Not with the neon lights. A zydeco band plays one of my favorite songs, “
La Vielle Chanson de Mardi Gras
,” on the corner before a packed sidewalk of drunken tourists. The stench of ripe bodies, booze, and spices fill the heated air. Energy crackles, filling me with anticipation.

Mala stares around with shining eyes. “I love this song!” she yells up at me.

I nod, wrapping my arm around her waist, afraid she'll get lost in the crowd. She sways in my arms, her hips rubbing and dipping against me in time with the high-octane accordion and fiddle playing. She's totally pumped up. I've never seen her so happy. If anyone deserves it, she does. I'm just glad to be able share this with her.

Ferdinand stands curbside with his hand in the air. A white stretch limousine pulls up in front of us. It feels like I'm going to prom. The chauffeur gets out and runs over to open the door with a wide grin. Mala and I follow Ferdinand and Sophia inside. They sit in the seats stretching down the left side of the limo, while Mala and I sit in the seats by the open door. Along the right side of the limo is a full bar with a bottle of champagne on ice, wineglasses, and a tray of cheese and crackers.

Mala scrunches closer. She crosses her leg, and I suck in a breath when it rubs against mine. The sweet floral scent of her perfume fills my nose as she lays her head against my shoulder with a sigh.

“As fantastic as it feels to be dressed up and heading to a party in a limo, I kind of wish we could go back to the hotel,” she whispers. “My feet hurt.”

“I thought they didn't pinch?”

“My shopping-induced endorphins have run out.”

I lift her foot off the ground and slide off her shoe. I rub my thumbs along the indentation on the sole of her foot. She wiggles her toes and lets out a little moan that sounds an awful lot like a purr. “That feels so good.”

“We don't need to go to a party. I could entertain you for the night.”
Damn, did that sound cheesy?

“Tempting.” Mala slides her hand up my thigh. “Magnolia might not approve.”

Our eyes clash. I don't know what she sees in mine, but the heat filling her gaze transfers like I've set my hand on a hot skillet. It's probably for the best that we don't go back to the hotel. I love the dress, but I can't stop thinking about slowly stripping her one layer at a time. I can only imagine what lacy, frilly lingerie she's wearing beneath the dress. Or…what if she's going commando?

Would it be awkward if I kiss her?

Sophia leans forward, breaking the mood before I make a fool out of myself. “Would you like some champagne?” She nods to Ferdinand who holds up a sweating bottle.

“Why not?” I glance at Mala and shrug. “You?”

“Sure, we're celebrating tonight.” She leans forward, reaching for the glass. The front of her dress gapes, and her breasts spill forward in rounded mounds that would fit in my tingling palms, if not for the bra holding them hostage.

My hand trembles with the need to liberate them, and champagne sloshes over the rim of the glass to run down my fingers. I lick it off before it drips onto my white slacks and catch Mala staring at my mouth.

The tip of her tongue flicks her bottom lip, and my throat tightens. Heat rushes down to settle deep inside me. I've never been so turned on in my life.

Thank God the trousers I'm wearing are loose fit or I'd be totally exposed. I shift and cross my leg to block Mala's view, only to find another pair of eyes focused on the bulge in my pants. Sophia stares with glazed eyes. A slight smile lifts the corners of her lips. Her gaze travels upward slowly. When our eyes meet, she doesn't look away. I read the invitation in the slight tilt of her eyes, the knowing smile, and the way she runs her hands down her thighs as if imagining my hands on her body.

The predatory desire in her gaze makes my stomach twist with a flood of revulsion as the beautiful mask she wore all day slides off.

I down the champagne in one gulp, then reach for the bottle again.

Mala intercepts my hand and presses her glass into it. “Take mine. I don't really like it.”

“Not your thing?”

She shakes her head and leans forward to whisper in my ear, “It tastes like cat piss.”

Sophia pours another glass and holds it out to her. “It'll grow on you. Like the shoes.”

Mala waves the glass away with a flick of her manicured fingers. “I'm not cultured enough to enjoy it, and I'm too stubborn to fake it. Guess Magnolia's going to be disappointed. The hotel, fancy boutiques—I'm not fit to be an heiress. Hell, I'm not even sure if I want it.” Her fingers wrap around my hand. “I like my life the way it is.”

“Unfortunately, you don't have a choice. You have a responsibility to the people who will depend upon you when Queen Magnolia passes,” Sophia says. “You'll meet her followers tonight. When you look into their eyes, you'll see their need. You'll feel their desire. They will welcome you into their hearts.”

Mala stiffens. “Your sales pitch sucks. The last thing I want is to feel some strangers' desires or be in their hearts. That's fucking creepy.”

“I didn't mean to frighten you.”

“I'm not frightened, Sophia. I'm fed up with the cryptic bullshit. Where are you taking us? Why are we going?” Mala asks the questions so fast that Sophia doesn't have a chance to answer. “And why is it so damn far away? You know what's going to happen. Why won't you tell us…”

Her words echo in my ears. I close my eyes. The words float in the air, hanging before my eyes in vivid neon. I squeeze her hand to get her to stop. The words are blinding me. “Calm down. Magnolia probably told them to keep quiet.”

“But why?”

“Your aunt seems the sort who likes surprises. We'll find out soon. Whatever happens, I'll be by your side.”

“You'd better be.”

“I swear. You couldn't ditch me if you tried.”

The motion of the car changes as the road becomes bumpier. Each time the car lurches, my head aches. I press my fingers to my temple, rubbing the throbbing vein that feels like it's about to explode. Why did I down those glasses of champagne? I haven't had a sip of alcohol since my arrest—not even pruno, the fermented concoction my cellmate hid in the toilet tank. Obviously, my tolerance has lowered in the last months.

The tinted windows coupled with the glare from the inside lights makes it hard to see outside, but we've left New Orleans behind. Thick trees line the dirt road. It's secluded—the perfect place for a serial killer to dismember and hide his or her prey.

Mala's paranoia's beginning to rub off on me.

I glance at Sophia again, then focus on Ferdinand, who sits in the back corner playing with his cell phone. He seems completely at ease. And bored out of his skull.

“Does this property belong to Magnolia?” I ask.

Sophia sighs. “You'll see soon enough.”

Mala and I share a grimace. I hate not knowing what's going on. The vibe in the car gets even funkier. But maybe it's me. The tension ratchets up a level, but my body doesn't respond the way it should. My muscles loosen instead of tighten. I want to say something to Mala about it, but she's calmed down. I don't want to worry her again just 'cause I can't hold my liquor.

The car comes to a halt. The door opens, and the chauffeur is a bulky shadow in the doorway. I scoot out and reach inside for Mala. Her moist hand slips into mine and turns into a death grip that makes me wince. Sophia and Ferdinand follow us out while we try to get our bearings. The car's parked in a clearing with a bunch of other vehicles, but nobody's around but us. In the distance, the faint sound of drumming and singing echoes through the woods. The thick, humid air wraps around my body like a warm shower.

A flick of a lighter and the area lights up from the flame of a torch. Why don't they just carry a flashlight? It's not the 1800s, and I'm not impressed by the sideshow.

“This way,” Ferdinand says, leading us into the woods. The dirt trail almost disappears in front of us due to the fading light.

Paranoia replaces the lethargy sapping my energy. I feel eyes watching, an evil presence thick with malevolence. Each step leads us deeper into its grip. Soon we won't be able to escape. We'll be trapped, overwhelmed, and devoured. My breath comes hard and quick. I wipe sweaty palms on my trousers, trying to pull myself together.

A warm hand touches my arm, and I stagger.

Mala squeezes my bicep. “Are you okay?”

I don't know how to tell her I'm losing it without sounding like an idiot. If I could clear the fuzz out of my head, I'd be all right, but it's only getting harder to tell the difference between reality and delusion. I never should've drunk those two glasses of champagne. It's more potent than a bottle of Jack. I'm totally spun.

I take Mala's hand and slide her arm through mine. “I can't see. Everything's blurry.”

“Don't worry, I won't let you fall,” she mutters. “It'd be better to ditch the torch and go without. It totally ruins our night vision. The full moon's enough for us to see by.”

“For you, maybe. You're used to running through the bayou by the light of the moon.” My increasingly mushy thoughts make speaking the words a battlefield of effort, but I get them out without slurring. “Normal city folk would get lost in two seconds. Or start thinking about all the things out here that could eat us.”