Hoodoo Woman (Roxie Mathis Book 3) Read online

  His mouth quirked into the smirk I loved. “Yeah, but I thought I’d leave out the elemental tests my teacher used on me.”

  “What were they like?”

  “He’d shackle me somewhere, set the place on fire, and leave me to get myself out. If I made it back alive he’d continue teaching me.”

  Good God. No wonder Blake had so many issues. “I don’t think Shelby would take too kindly to that.”

  “No, she’s fine with writing a term paper.” He pushed the dishes aside and reached for my hands. “How have you been? It’s been almost a week.”

  We both worked a lot and didn’t see each other as much as we’d like. “I had a job yesterday. A séance with some girl country singers who wanted to talk to Patsy Cline.”

  “How’d it go?”

  “Not so great.” I shrugged. “No tip. How about you?”

  “Graham called. He wanted to know what I thought about creating a Qabalah class to go along with my one on ceremonial magic.”

  When Blake decided to stay in town last year, he’d floundered for a while. Occasionally he worked with me but as I developed more of a rapport with my secret supernatural assistant, I frequently “forgot” to call Blake. Eventually an old friend of Blake’s got in touch and asked if he’d be interested in creating a course for a witchcraft and magic school. Blake got deeply involved in it, aided by Shelby’s eagerness to learn. He taught long-distance classes in addition to Shelby and a couple of other local students. It was a big change from the dangerous sorcerer he’d been when I first met him, but he wore it well.

  I wasn’t sure if it suited me anymore. “Sounds like a lot of work.”

  He nodded, a slight smile curving his lips. “Be good, though. I like writing, I’m good at it.”

  “You are.” I squeezed his hand. “When does he want it done?”

  “We didn’t get that far. I need to figure out how detailed the class would be, how much history to get into. What sorts of practical lessons to create. Even just figuring out a proposal will take some time.”

  “You gonna be there tonight?” Daniel and I had a longstanding tradition of karaoke once a month, an indicator of how much I loved my ancestor.

  “I might be late.” Blake moved his chair closer, sliding an arm around my waist. The timbre of his voice changed. “I miss you.”

  “I’m right here now.” I turned toward him and put my glasses on the table. His star-field aura shimmered with silver and shades of magenta. I felt the magic humming in his blood, heightened by desire.

  He kissed me tenderly at first, taking his time. Passion soon followed, but it was a quiet kind of thing, tempered by the secrets I kept and the changes in him.

  Chapter 3

  Daniel Rambin looked like a movie star under the glow of the stage lights. Blond hair brushed the collar of his flannel shirt that hung open over a white Henley. Blue eyes scanned the crowd, locking onto the girl sitting next to me. Every woman in the room but me, and a few of the men, wanted that gaze on them. Wickedly handsome, devilishly charming, and sweet as pie when he wanted to be, Daniel would have been a great catch. Except for the part about being a vampire.

  He was also my ancestor, which was why I didn’t mind his smoldering gaze skipping me. We told people we were cousins to keep from being asked why we didn’t date. Not that any of my living family knew anything about him. Daniel had been a Confederate soldier, a slave owner who fell in love with a woman he owned. It was through their child, a son he never knew, that we were related. I looked white as the driven snow and so did the rest of my family. My mother and grandmother used to do genealogy until they abruptly stopped years ago. It amused me to think they might have found a slave on the family tree and couldn’t accept the fact. Amused and disturbed. This part of the country had a uniquely horrific history that could be hard for a modern Southerner to make peace with. Some kept trying desperately to relive it for reasons beyond my understanding. Some, like myself, pretty much ignored it until forced otherwise.

  The Civil War, slavery, and the woman he lost were not things Daniel liked to talk about. Nor were any of the other various wars he’d fought in or his earliest years as a vampire. Nowadays he enjoyed the beautiful but absurd antebellum home in which he lived just outside of town, going on the occasional ghost-evicting job with me, and karaoke nights like this. He was well adapted to modern life but there was a strain of something deeper and darker in him I thought had little to do with being a vampire and more to do with the world in which he grew up. On plenty of karaoke nights he belted out off-key versions of Conway Twitty, Kenny Rogers, and Porter Waggoner. The man had an abiding love of classic country. It suited the goofball side he was comfortable showing me. Tonight, though, he showed something else.

  Daniel’s voice was quiet, rather than its usual bluster when he sang. Like whispering a dark tale in a candlelit room, a story of secrets and ambiguity. He brought the raucous bar to a standstill with Ode To Billie Joe, the stage lights giving him an otherworldly glow. For once he didn’t holler out of tune and off key, didn’t exaggerate the Southern accent that lingered after more than a century. He needed no vampire mind powers to mesmerize the crowd, just his voice and the song. He transcended the song’s literal story, taking its late-in-the-day shadows and pulling them into an eldritch dusk. Closing his eyes every time Billie Joe jumped off the Tallahatchie Bridge, did he see those things from his past he never spoke of? Faces he’d outlived unnaturally by decades?

  I had a few secrets of my own but Daniel kept an ocean hidden beneath his placid surface that not even my supernatural vision could discern.

  The song ended. He took a bow, the applause bringing a smile to his face. A guarded smile, though, literally. His fangs were hidden. I lost sight of him as he walked off stage and the next person entered the spotlight to torture the bar with a Carrie Underwood number.

  Shelby Conrad flipped her sleek dark ponytail over her shoulder and toyed with the straw in her soda. “So, does he ever drink straight from the vein?”

  I nearly choked on a pretzel. “That’s not something we really get into.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s kind of personal, don’t you think?” I knew he kept himself supplied with black market blood bags but I was pretty sure he went out hunting sometimes. He’d told me once he never killed innocents, his demeanor insisting there would be no further discussion. Then later I found out he kept tabs on the local sex offender registry and I didn’t want to know anymore.

  “I was just curious.”

  “Did you ask him?”

  “He said it was none of my business.” She sipped her drink.

  I pushed the bowl of pretzels away and reached for my iced tea. “I guess that means it’s none of your business, then.” I dug my cellphone out of my bag to check the time. “You heard from Blake? He’s really late.”

  Daniel dropped gracefully into the seat between us, a beer in one hand and a shot glass in the other. Normally he preferred mixed drinks with a little blood added, but that didn’t really work well in public. “So what’d y’all think? I was in a Bobbie Gentry mood but I couldn’t decide between Ode To Billie Joe or Fancy. I went with Ode To Billie Joe. Did I make the right choice?”

  Shelby said, “It was better than that shit you were singing last week.”

  Daniel wagged his finger in her face. “Don’t you talk about George Jones like that. The man was a titan of country music.”

  She slapped at him. “Get your finger out of my face, old man.”

  The vampire blushed, a sight that never failed to make my eyes just about bug out of my head. Shelby Conrad calling him old man always did that, and she liked to do it a lot. I never knew whether to be amused or terrified.

  I said, “Bubba, I think what she’s trying to say is, maybe sometime you could sing something a little more current.”

  Shelby nodded. “Yeah, I’m tired of that geezer crap.”

  God damn it. I was not in the mood to referee another fi
ght between these two. I’d had enough country music of any decade, too. I tapped the table for Shelby’s attention. “Have you heard from Blake? He should have been here by now.”

  Guilty knowledge colored her face. “Um.”

  My heart rate sped up. “What?”

  “No, it’s cool. He just wanted it to be a surprise.”

  My heart nearly stopped. “He wanted what to be a surprise?”

  Daniel said, “What’s going on, Shelby?”

  She glared at the vampire but relented. “He just said he wanted a romantic evening for y’all. You’ve both been busy and he wanted to surprise you with something nice.”

  I sat back in the chair, relieved. “Let me guess, flowers and wine at his place.”

  Shelby smiled. “Yours, actually.”

  Shitshitshit. I launched from the rickety chair and ran from the bar. I was halfway to the parking garage when Daniel caught up. He must have argued with Shelby first, his vampire speed could certainly do better.

  He handed me the coat I’d forgotten. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing.” I couldn’t look him in the eye while lying so I concentrated on getting into my coat.

  “Bullshit. You don’t want him in your home. Why?”

  “I don’t want anyone in my house when I’m not there. Would you?”

  He grabbed my arm, careful not to hurt me though he definitely could have. I had no choice but to stop. It was like being held in a gentle steel trap. “This is me, Roxie. I know you better than he does, way better than Shelby. You’ve been hiding something for months. Ever since the Maple Hill job.”

  I tried to wrench my arm away but he wouldn’t budge. Even on a cold weeknight there were plenty of people out on Broadway. If he didn’t let me go soon, passersby would notice. “Let me go, Bubba.”

  He lowered his hand to grasp mine, his skin cold but not from the weather. “Whatever it is, you can talk to me.”

  I still couldn’t meet his eyes. Instead I stared at our joined hands.

  He lowered his head so only I would hear. “For Christ’s sake, I’m a vampire. There’s not a damn thing you can tell me I’m likely to pass judgment on.”

  I knew that was true but for some reason I still couldn’t do it. And it wasn’t embarrassment over unintentionally summoning Stack. Maybe I wanted Stack all to myself. If no one knew, there would be no questions about his origins. No questions about the magic I worked with him. No questions about the way I could feel it changing me.

  But if there was anyone I could talk to, it was Daniel. Finally I raised my head and made eye contact. “I’ll tell you. I promise.” I squeezed his hand. “But not right this minute. Okay?”

  He studied me for a long moment. “Think you got a mess waiting on you at home?”

  “I sure hope not.”

  “Call me if you need me.” He kissed my cheek and let me go.

  Chapter 4

  The front door of the trailer was ajar. I steeled myself and opened my senses. For years I’d relied mostly on my auric vision, using my glasses to shield me from a sensory overload of color and emotion. In recent months I’d developed a new technique, one I should have taught myself ages ago: a focus of will followed by opening my senses, with an emphasis on viewing the auras and spirits. That led to working on other senses, most important of all learning the taste of magic in the aether.

  The tang of whiskey and smoke lingered. Stack had been here but since left. A cold, dark diamond of power shone through my own tangled earthy imprint. Blake. His starfield aura had always fascinated me. Experiencing his energy signature in a different way made me look at him in a new light, but I still couldn’t verbalize how I felt about it.

  He was seated on the second-hand couch, staring at an empty bottle of bourbon.

  I said, “I don’t remember giving you a key.” I tried to keep my tone light but I couldn’t hold back the words. Having my home and privacy and the sanctity of my protective wards violated didn’t sit well with me.

  Blake took his time answering, just staring at the damn bottle. I shut the door a little harder than necessary and hung my coat on the peg by the door. He kept staring at the bottle. Okay, he didn’t want to talk, fine by me. I walked to the tiny kitchen and began preparing a cup of tea. My back was to him when he finally spoke.

  “When were you going to tell me?”

  I wouldn’t insult us both by pretending I didn’t understand. “Once I figured out more about it.”

  “Didn’t you think I could help you? All things considered.”

  I didn’t know what he meant. “Why would I need any help?” I was careful not to say your.

  Blake came into the kitchen, gripping the bottle. “To banish him.”

  I froze. “What do you think Stack is?”

  “Some sort of demon or spirit. I don’t know exactly but whatever it is, you have to get rid of it.”

  The kettle began to boil. I flipped off the stove eye and moved the kettle to a cold one, forgoing the tea. I didn’t want to fight with Blake so I tried to calm down and keep my anger in check. “Look, I don’t know what happened here. You met Stack, you don’t like him. Okay.”

  Blake interrupted. “How did you summon him? Why did you do it? That’s the thing I don’t get. You know what this kind of thing can lead to. God knows you lectured me about it enough when we first met. What the hell made you do something so stupid?”

  To give myself something to do with my hands and time to count to ten, I cleaned my glasses on my shirttail. “You need to dial it back a notch.”

  “Dial it back a notch?” He slammed the bottle onto the counter. “You summon some kind of evil spirit and you’re telling me to dial it back a notch?”

  I scrunched my face. “Oh come on. Stack isn’t evil. Annoying maybe, which hardly counts as evil or you’d have it tattooed on your forehead.”

  He picked up the bottle and flung it against the wall behind me, missing me on purpose, the crash of breaking glass echoing through my nerves. I could still feel it as it passed, as well as his anger. It rolled off of him with far more intensity than any magic I’d felt from him in months.

  “What the hell is your problem?” I wanted to throw him out of my home, show him he couldn’t act like that with me. Shock kept me from doing it. This was a line he’d never crossed with me.

  “Your hypocrisy, for one. Your stupidity, for another. What the hell were you thinking and how many people are going to have to get hurt before you banish the thing?”

  For a moment all I saw was the boiling red of my own rage at everything he was accusing me of. In the middle of it was a pinpoint of clarity and I suddenly knew he wasn’t talking about me. This was about his own guilt.

  When I first met Blake I’d been hired by young friends of his he’d used to help him summon a demon. By the end of it three young men were dead, as was the girl who’d volunteered to be possessed by the demon. Only Blake and one other survived. Still struggling to put a lid on my own anger, I went back to making tea so I could clear my head and figure out how to talk to him.

  Blake seemed to realize a time out was needed as well. He cleaned up the broken bottle and took a seat at the rickety table. I brought two cups and sat opposite him.

  I said, “Do you want to know what happened?”

  “Yes! Please tell me because you doing this makes no sense.” He caught himself before getting too worked up again. “Yes, please.”

  I took a deep breath, running nervous hands through my hair. “It was the flood. I almost drowned and all I had to save myself was magic. I wasn’t deliberately trying to conjure anything. It just happened. I didn’t even realize it until months later.”

  His mouth fell open, then closed again deliberately. “What exactly is it? Do you know?”

  “He’s not a ghost or a demon. Disincarnate entity is the best I’ve got. I think he’s made from the power of the flood, impressions from this piece of land.”

  “What do you mean?”

&nbs
p; “I did some research while trying to figure out more about him. There used to be a juke joint on this parcel of land. I think that accounts for the smell of smoke and booze. Sometimes I hear music when he’s around, too. Old blues.”

  “You think the land is haunted and it somehow manifested in him?”

  “Not haunted in the traditional sense. Not by any specific person. But I think impressions were left. Energy markers. Whatever you want to call it.”

  “What do you think it would take to banish it?”

  I sipped my tea, trying to formulate words that wouldn’t lead to more screaming. “Stack doesn’t need to be banished. He’s not evil. He’s chaotic, he gets that from the flood. He’s uniquely attuned to natural magic, especially storms. He can be a pain to keep in line but he’s not malicious or destructive.”

  “Stack threatened to kill me.”

  “I’m sure you misunderstood.” Actually, I wasn’t so sure.

  “He said to me, if you step out of line I’ll be the one to put nine bullets in your motherfucking chest. I don’t think I misunderstood.”

  Well. Ha. No, Blake didn’t misunderstand. Stack’s message was loud and clear. Now for another delicate needle to thread. This conversation was a minefield and I was emotionally exhausted, but at least we weren’t yelling and throwing things anymore. I forced a laugh. “Remember the time I thought you were seeing someone else and worked a love spell on you? Only you did some defensive magic and sent it rebounding.”

  Comprehension sank into Blake, leaving his expression slack. “He’s fixated on you because he caught the rebounded spell.”

  Trying to sound nonchalant, I said, “It’s just a theory but yeah, that’s what I think.”

  “All the more reason to banish him. Let me help you, Roxie.”

  I shook my head.

  He said, “You helped me. You probably saved my life. Let me help you with this now.”

  “He can’t be banished. And even if he could, I wouldn’t do it. There’s no reason to.”