Possess Me (18 page)

Michelle collapsed to the floor. It was him. He knew her, where she lived. About her mother. A sob of panic choked her throat.

“Oh,
cher
. Don’t cry. I wish I could hold you. I can’t do a damn thing like this. Outside of a body, I don’t have the same power.”

She shook her head, not really hearing him. “It didn’t work. I tried to cast him out, but it didn’t work. I couldn’t save her.” She grabbed a handful of paintbrushes and bits of easel and tossed them across the room. “Why the hell do I have the ability to see something I can’t fight?”

“Michelle, you shouldn’t stay here. You need to go to your mother’s house. The priestess will know what to do.”

She looked up at the worried Loa, tears blurring her vision. “I haven’t told her about that.” She pointed toward the window. “I haven’t told her anything.”

“I have never understood it. This belief you humans have that standing alone makes you brave. You have family and friends who love you. It’s love that makes you strong,
cher
. That takes the power out of the darkness.”

“Who do you have?” Michelle wasn’t sure what possessed her to ask him, and she immediately regretted it when she saw the yearning that rolled in like rain clouds over his beautiful face.

“No one,
cher
. I have no one.”

 

 

 

THE DOOR TO HER MOTHER’S COTTAGE WAS OPEN, PUTTING
Michelle’s already frayed nerves into overdrive. “Mama? Mama, are you okay?”

Elise Adair came rushing through the kitchen, her finger to her mouth, more frazzled then Michelle could remember seeing her. She lowered her voice. “Where is she? Has something happened?”

Elise looked her over and gasped. “Michelle, honey, you’re bleeding.”

She glanced down. Her shirt was torn, a long bloody gash from her fall across her stomach. “It’s nothing. I need to see my mother.”

“I just need to tell you—”

“Your call sounded urgent. What’s going on?” Ben threw the screen door back with a bang, his gaze instantly honing in on Michelle. A pulse began to pound at his temple when he saw the blood. “Who did this to you?”

“I didn’t call about her, Ben. I was going to ask you to pick up Michelle, break the news gently.” She took a deep breath, looking over her shoulder before turning back and leaning closer. “Gabriel’s in the living room with your mama.”

Michelle stumbled, and Ben half dragged, half carried her to the nearest chair. He rushed to the sink to wet a washcloth, coming back to kneel beside the chair and clean up her wound. “You’re okay, Mimi. Move your hands, that’s right, let me see the damage.”

He focused on her injury while talking to his mother. “He just showed up, out of the blue? How long has he been here?”

Elise paced beside them. “Long enough. Annemarie is trying so hard to hold herself together. He isn’t exactly affectionate. I’ve never seen a more awkward reunion. I’m sorry, Michelle, but that father of yours better be glad he didn’t show his face, or I would have had to break it. Taking a woman’s own child away from her like that.”

Elise’s vehemence shocked Michelle out of her own shock. Her twin brother. Here. After all these years. “I don’t know how many more surprises I can take today.”

“Mimi, I need to know who did this to you. The wound is shallow, but ragged. You may need stitches, baby.”

She pushed Ben’s hand away absently. “I don’t need stitches, I need answers.” She stood up. “And I need to see my mother. Now.”

Michelle pushed past the concerned Adairs, heading into the living room. She stood in the doorway, watching her mother fiddle with her hands, a nervous gesture that was so uncharacteristic it almost seemed false.

A man, with his hair trimmed so close to his head there was no hint of curl, sipped iced tea slowly, warily, as though it might be poisoned.

He was handsome. His jaw was clean-shaven, his casual outfit perfectly pressed, even his nails were neat and trimmed, obviously manicured. And he had green eyes, just like hers.

Gabriel. Her twin brother. He set his glass down and glanced up, a friendly, if distant smile curving his lips. “I can’t believe it. Michelle? You look like you’ve been in a bar brawl, but I’d know those eyes, those curls, anywhere.”

He stood up and walked over to her, wrapping his arms around her in an awkward hug. “I’ve waited years for this.”

Michelle didn’t respond. Didn’t return his embrace. She wasn’t sure how she felt, but it wasn’t what she’d imagined she would feel. There was no instant connection, no affection for the brother she had adored. There was only confusion and doubt. “Hello, Gabriel.”

She walked over to her mother and put her hand on the trembling shoulder, trying to infuse her with all the love she felt.

Her mother looked up in gratitude and gasped. “What happened, Boo? Sit down, right now, and let me have a look.”

“I’m fine, Mama. Don’t worry about it right now. Gabe is here. How is your father?”

Your
father. Her brother raised one eyebrow, showing he noticed her emphasis. “Fat and happy. He’s vacationing in Venice with wife number five at the moment. He sends his regards.”

She doubted it. She remembered her father well. The way he used to look at her. The punishments. “What brings you state-side?”

“I come now and again for business. California. New York.” He laughed. “I actually thought I saw you once a few years ago at a gallery opening. Are you sure we weren’t triplets?”

“That was her. Michelle worked in one of the most prestigious galleries in New York. She came home to help her mother after the hurricane.” Ben came into the room, filling it with his energy, his strength. Michelle was grateful, since she felt she might shatter at any moment.

“Ben Adair, you old dog. Still following our Mimi around on her adventures, I see.”

“Michelle. No one calls me Mimi anymore.”
Except Ben.

Gabriel held up his hands. “My apologies. I can see this may not be the time for a long reunion. I’m staying at the Royal Crescent Hotel for the next few days, and I’d really like to catch up with my sister.” He walked over and kissed her mother lightly on the cheek. “You, this place, it’s all exactly as I remembered it. Thank you for being so welcoming, Mom.”

“Of course, Gabriel. I’m . . . so glad you came to see me. You’ll always be welcome here.”

“I appreciate it. I know this is all a little surprising to say the least. But better late then never, yes?” His smile didn’t reach his eyes, and he walked passed Michelle and Ben without another word.

Michelle watched Elise appear beside her mother, helping her out of the chair and walking into the back room without another word.

Her mother looked as lost as she felt. A stranger. Gabriel was a total stranger. Two demons from her past had reared their heads in less than two hours.

She needed a drink.

Ben slipped his hand in hers. As he had every time she’d fallen and scraped her knee, every time one of the kids on the corner made her cry. Always there. Until she’d pushed him away.

He tugged her into his arms. “You tried, Mimi. Lucky for you, I’m stubborn.” He drew her back through the kitchen and down the cottage steps, where his Harley sat glimmering in the fading light.

“Wait, where are we going?”

Ben looked at her with an expression she didn’t want to define, as much as she craved it. “The Mamas are going to be fine, Mimi. They have each other. I’m taking you home. My home.”

She didn’t have the energy to deny him. She didn’t want to. She needed to be with Ben. Needed to feel safe. Loved. She lifted her leg over the vibrating machine and wrapped her arms around his waist.

“Take me home, Ben.”

“Oh, I like the way you say that, babe. I really do.”

BEN TURNED ONTO ST. CHARLES AVENUE, TOWARD UP
town, and he was stunned to realize he was nervous. She knew where he lived. He’d moved her mother into his house for the duration of Katrina, where she would be safe from any potential flooding. The mambo’s cottage house had been fine, of course, she’d told him it would be. She’d only come to put his mind at ease, leaving to help those in her community as soon as he’d let her out the door.

The Mamas had been tireless in their efforts to get food and water to those trapped by the flooding and all that had come after. He and Rousseau had helped out wherever they could. It was during the aftermath, when he’d been helping to replace a shattered window in a nearby complex, that he’d realized Michelle had come back. That she was moving into the apartment across the street from Café Bwe
.
She was home.

Almost.

He pulled up the drive slowly, feeling her hands tighten in surprise on his waist as she looked up. Whenever she was confronted with symbols of his wealth, she backed away. He knew it made her think of her father’s family and their irresponsibility.

But this house wasn’t about his family’s wealth, since he’d split with
his
father’s company and had begun making his own investments years ago. The family gift had helped him know who to trust, when to go all in and when to pull back. Everything he had now was his.

Except the house. He’d bought it for Michelle.

Had he realized that was what he was doing at the time? Had he known, even then, even when she had a life so far away from home, a life that didn’t include him? Probably.

He’d gotten it nearly eight years ago, after a business trip to New York, business that could have easily been done by phone or computer.

He’d wanted to see her.

She’d been working the room at a gallery showing, looking so different from the wild girl he’d known. Her hair slicked back in an intricate knot, her black sheath dress sleek and backless. She’d had that smile. The smile his mother had long ago perfected for these types of social functions.

Ben had kept to the outskirts of the room, watching her flutter like an exotic butterfly through the crowd. When a man appeared beside her, his hand caressing the skin of her lower back, he’d left, sure the girl he’d known was lost to him forever.

Not two weeks later he’d bought the old place. To remind him of her.

“I knew you lived up here but . . . this white elephant? Ben, isn’t this . . . ?”

He helped her off the bike and came to stand beside her as she gazed up at the aging mansion. “Yeah. It is. I told you I’d buy it one day so we could find the treasure little Emmanuel knew was inside.”

“Isabel’s treasure,” she whispered, the remembered wonder in her voice making him smile.

Ben led her up the stairs and unlocked the door. “When the old man’s son decided to bring him to Florida to live with his family, they sold it to me. I haven’t found the hidden panel yet.”

Emmanuel had been a ten-year-old ghost, who, judging by his period clothing, must have lived in the early eighteen hundreds. He’d play with Ben and Michelle from time to time, and tell them about a secret panel that held a special woman’s most treasured possessions.

He showed them the old mansion where he’d lived with his sister. Isabel had been her name. And the treasure was hers.

Ben remembered how Michelle had loved hearing about Isabel. How she’d made the ghost go on and on about his beautiful older sister, her gowns, the dances he’d watched from the rafters . . . everything.

Ben walked Michelle through the cavernous foyer and pointed her in the direction of the music room. “I’m going to get you a new shirt and something to put on that wound.”

He raced to the second floor, making sure nothing was out of place in case she wanted to come upstairs. Gathering a white T-shirt, some Neosporin, and a bandage, he loped downstairs in time to hear her laugh. She walked slowly, noticing all the detail on the fireplace he’d restored. He paused at the piano just as she stopped, tilting her head up to notice the framed drawing on the wall.

“Oh, you’re kidding me.”

He set his supplies on the grand piano and followed her gaze. “What? I’m a collector of fine art. That thing’s gonna be worth a fortune someday.”

She shook her head. “I cannot believe you still have that. You should have burned it.”

“It belonged here.” And it did. A seven-year-old’s rendering of what she had imagined Isabel looked like fit perfectly in the warm room. Sometimes he’d look at it and just know he was about to hear a stampede of children’s feet and laughter.

He wanted those children with her.

She cringed, her hand coming up to touch her side, and he turned her toward him. “Let me take a look at that.”

“It’s fine, really.”

He ignored her and lifted her by her hips onto the top of the piano. “Don’t be a baby. Take off your shirt.”

Michelle glared at him. “I’m not a baby.” She wrenched off her shirt and winced at the movement. “Damn it.”

He focused on slowing his breathing as he tended to her wounds. There were other scratches, and a wood sliver or two, but the worst one had cut a jagged line down her stomach. “How did this happen, Mimi?”