Cajun Magic 02 - Voodoo for Two

Voodoo for Two

Elle James

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2013 by
Mary Jernigan
. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

Entangled Publishing, LLC

2614 South Timberline Road

Suite 109

Fort Collins, CO 80525

Visit our website at
www.entangledpublishing.com
.

Entangled Suspense
is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC

Edited by
Keyren Gerlach

Cover design by Karen Phillips

ISBN
978-1-62266-706-2

Manufactured in the United States of America

First Edition
April 2013

The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Audi, BMW, Coors Light, Jeep,
I Love Lucy
, Miller Lite, Mustang, Popsicle, Hooters, Bug B Gon, X-Men, Garfield, Odie, Pinoccio, Budweiser, “Whatever Boils Your Crawfish,” “Cotton Eye Joe,” Spock,
Star Trek
,
Times-Picayune
,
Wheel of Fortune
, Glock, Lincoln Navigator, Coors, Bud Light, Cadillac, Ford Taurus, Daughters of the American Revolution, The Gap, Guiness, Snoopy
.

This book is dedicated to my son Adam, who reminds me all the time that life is an adventure to be lived to the fullest. Love you, Adam!

Chapter One

Bayou Miste, Louisiana

Nothing was blacker than nighttime deep in the swamps. Stars couldn’t penetrate the cypress canopy laden with long tendrils of Spanish moss dripping down over land and water.

Silence reigned as if all the creatures of the murky waters and dense underbrush held their breaths for something—a cue, a signal, a happening—

A drum thrummed to life, stirring the night air in an ancient rhythm. The gentle sway of a breeze wafted through the gossamer moss, dancing in time to the placid swishing, lulling the insects and frogs into song.

“Breathe the air, touch the earth, stir the waters, and play with fire.”

Just when Lucie LeBieu thought she couldn’t stand still for another moment, the scrape of a match cut across the calm hum of the night. Bright flame slashed through the darkness, illuminating the faces of three women standing in a circle.

This dark and mysterious place in the midst of the Atchafalaya Basin, on the edge of Bayou Miste, just happened to be home to Lucie, her twin sister Lisa, and her grandmother, the locally infamous Madame LeBieu, Voodoo queen of the surrounding bayous.

“Do you feel de rhythm of de night?”
Mamère
LeBieu’s voice caressed the darkness, the sound an extension of the drum’s beat.

Lucie shifted, not liking the creepy feeling she always got when her family did these kinds of things. “Gran, this is silly.”

“Shh!” The older woman, dressed in a flowing red caftan, set the flame to a fat candle, then an incense stick, and placed them on the ground at the center of the circle. “We must commune with nature, become one wit’ de power, de energy present in de darkness.” Her grandmother’s accent was as thick as the humid air and tepid waters of Bayou Miste.

Lisa and Lucie had been raised in New York City for the first eight years of their lives. Any accent they might have acquired in Louisiana since then was out of pure self-preservation, and it wasn’t anything to talk about, in their grandmother’s book.

“Feel de magick ,” her grandmother insisted, tipping her face back as if soaking in the moonlight that wasn’t visible through the canopy of trees.

“
Mamère
, I never do it right.” She tried to shake off the sense of impending doom.

A hand reached out and pinched her arm. “Shut up and listen, Sis,” her twin grumbled. “Can’t you feel it? It’s hot, alive, and sensuous.”

“Lisa! Dis is not da time,”
Mamère
LeBieu admonished.

Lisa snorted, but kept any further comments to herself.

Lucie stood still, closed her eyes, and tried.

She really tried, but all she got out of the beating drums, the chirping crickets, and the croaking frogs was a healthy case of the heebie-jeebies. “It’s no use. I’m not cut out for this Voodoo nonsense.”

“It isn’t nonsense, Lucie,” Lisa said. “I’ve used it to get guys all hot and bothered on several occasions and it worked great.”

“You don’t need potions to get guys all hot and bothered, Sis. I’m just not cut out to do this. I mess it up every time.” Lucie slumped.

“Den be quiet while I work de magick,” her grandmother demanded.

When
Mamère
LeBieu took that tone, Lucie obeyed. The woman didn’t get angry often, but when she did, woe be unto whoever roused her ire. The woman had a wicked mean streak. Though Lucie didn’t believe in her own version of Voodoo, she’d seen what a dose of
Mamère
’s special powder could produce. Maurice Saulnier had the wickedest itch a man could have for two solid weeks after he’d trampled
Mamère
LeBieu’s favorite azalea bush.

She itched just thinking about it.

“Ezili Freda Daome, goddess of love and all that is beautiful, listen to our prayers, accept our offerings, and enter into our arms, legs, and hearts.”

“Here we go,” Lucie muttered. “Another spell.” She exhaled a long breath. Why couldn’t she have been born into a normal family, with normal parents and grandparents?

Her grandmother swayed with the candle’s flame.

“Goddess of light and stars from above,

Help dose who lost de way to love.

Grant dem de courage to open de heart

De intelligence dey need to make a new start

De humility to admit when dey been wrong

De determination dey need when dey mus’ be strong.

Ezili Freda Daome, goddess of light

Bring dis misguided woman de love tonight.”

Lucie backed away from the circle, holding up her hands, anger swirling in her gut. “You did
not
just work a love spell on me. Tell me you didn’t, Gran.”

“What do you care?” Lisa taunted. “You don’t believe all that Voodoo anyway. You said you didn’t.”

“I don’t believe in mine, but
Mamère
’s is a whole different pot of trouble. And it’s the principle of it. I don’t
want
to fall in love.” Lucie crossed her arms over her chest and glared at her grandmother.

The older woman ignored her protest, waved a filmy scarf, and sprayed perfume over the candle’s flame.

“You know the story. Been there. Done that. Have the scars to prove it,” Lucie mumbled. “For the love of cypress knees, don’t mess with my love life.”
Or lack thereof
.

“Mouthy tonight, aren’t we?” Lisa grinned at her. “That’s usually my job. But really, you need to get laid. How long has it been?
Mamère
LeBieu’s magick is the best. Let her help you.”

“Wow, you make me sound downright pathetic. Has anyone considered what
I
want? Doesn’t anyone care?” Lucie spun on her heels and marched back toward the little shack she’d shared with her grandmother and twin sister. “I’ll be at work until two. Hopefully, by that time, you two will be in bed and not out here playing Voodoo games.”

The drum still beat from the back porch of the faded gray house. “Oh, go home, Remy!” Lucie shouted. “Your drum-thumpin’ days are over.”

The dark-haired, dark-skinned boy hit the drum hard. “Miss Lucie, you gotta learn ta chill.”

“Chill, my fanny.” She stomped through the house and up to her old room. There she changed into the miniskirt and grabbed the high heels she’d brought with her from her apartment. Jean Dupree insisted his “girls” dress like Hooters waitresses as part of their jobs at the Raccoon Saloon. Lucie didn’t mind too much. When she wore jeans, she didn’t get nearly the tips she got when she wore the miniskirt. And Lord knew, they needed the money.

Seemed her grandmother never got ahead of the mortgage payment. Speaking of which, wasn’t she due to pay another one soon?

A loud knock echoed up the wooden stairway from the front door, rattling the screen against the doorjamb.

“Keep your shirt on, I’m coming,” Lucie called out.

Carrying her high heels, she raced down the stairs, eager to get away from her grandmother’s meddling.

Paul Renault, one of the two deputies employed by the parish, stood with his head down, scuffing his muddy black shoes on the faded deck.

“Paul? What are you doing out here at this time of night?” Lucie had gone to high school with Paul. She’d actually turned him down once when he’d asked her to go out. The man was just as shy now as he’d been all those years ago.

She regretted turning him down. How much courage had it taken for him to ask her out? And how long had it taken for him to get up enough courage to ask another woman? The man was still single, for the love of swamps and alligators. What would it have hurt for her to go out on one date with the man? A lot. At the time she’d been head over heels for one low-down, lying swamp rat, Benjamin Franklin Boyette.

“I’m sorry, Miss Lucie. I have a document for Madame LeBieu. I’m real sorry.” He didn’t meet her gaze, but instead looked over her shoulder. “Is she home?”

“Sure. Why don’t you come in while I round her up?”

“No, it wouldn’t be right, no.” He tapped an envelope against his hand. “I’ll just wait here.”

“
Mamère!
” She yelled as she turned toward the back of the house.

“You don’t have to yell, Lucie. I’m here.” Appearing out of nowhere, her grandmother stepped to the door, followed by Lisa, whose face paled, her dark eyes as big as ripe persimmons.

Gran LeBieu opened the door and held out her hand.

“Madame LeBieu, I didn’t have anything to do with this, I just want you to know,” Deputy Paul blurted. “It’s just part of my job. That’s all. Please believe me.”

What was wrong with Paul? Lucie had never seen him quite this nervous, not even when he’d asked her out. “What is it?”

Paul handed the older woman the envelope, immediately backing away. “Consider yourself served, Madame LeBieu. I’m really sorry.” With that, he spun and dove for the police skiff, peeling out like his pants were on fire.

Her
Mamère
stared down at the envelope.

Lisa slipped an arm around her grandmother in an uncommon show of affection. “What is it,
Mamère
?”

“Somet’ing terrible, I be afeard.” Her hand shook as she ripped the envelope open and stared down at the typewritten sheets.

Lucie stared at her grandmother’s face, her light mocha skin blanching in the light from the porch. The paper slipped from her fingers, fluttering to the floor. “It can no be.” The woman aged ten years in that one moment, her face graying, the wrinkles deepening in her care-lined face. “It can no be.”

Her heart hammering in her chest, Lucie snatched the papers from the floor, blinking back tears as she read the legal document.

A sob rose in her throat, and she fought to swallow past it.

“What is it, Lucie?” Lisa snatched for the letter.

“Talk about being up to our ears in hungry alligators,” Lucie whispered. “It’s a foreclosure notice on the house.”

…

“Whaddya gotta do to get a beer around here?” A mountain of a redneck slammed a meaty fist onto the table behind Lucie.

The loud smack made her jump. “Keep your shirt on, LeRoy. I’ll be with you in a minute,” she shouted over her shoulder. To the ladies at the table she was waiting on, she said, “I’ve had it. I’m tired of this bar, tired of the bugs and alligators, and tired to death of Bayou Miste.” More than anything, she was tired of living from paycheck to paycheck, worrying about money and the possibility of losing everything, including the roof over her head.

The foreclosure notice sealed the deal. She had to do something and do it soon.

“Girlfriend, you want some cheese with that whine?” Alexandra Belle Boyette beckoned with her fingers. “Gimme that beer.”

Lucie balanced the heavy tray in one hand and, with the other, set longnecks on the table in front of her two best friends. “Really. No matter how hard I try, I can’t make enough money here to pay the bills, much less start fresh somewhere else.”

“Good! We don’t want you to leave.” Calliope Ostelet sipped her beer and then ran her tongue across her lips. “Ummm
.
Nothing like a tall, dark one to whet the appetite.”

Lucie glanced around the Raccoon Saloon. Mounted and stuffed raccoons grinned down at her from shelves lining the bar’s faded wooden walls. If she never saw another raccoon again, that would be just fine with her.

She sighed. “I’ve been wasting my time. There’s nothing for me here.” As soon as the words left her mouth a pang of guilt followed, pinching her heart. Her sister, grandmother, and the best friends a girl could ever hope to find were in Bayou Miste. But the burden of providing for her little family weighed heavily on her. Lisa was too much like their mother to help. She drifted from dead-end job to dead-end job, rarely contributing to the family coffers.
Mamère
’s income consisted of barter and trade for her services as a Voodoo queen, but rarely did she get paid in cold, hard cash. “No offense, but you know what I mean.”

Alex’s dark brows dipped together. “You say you have nothing to keep you here. Do you mean nothing or no one?”

With a shrug, she loaded the empty bottles onto her tray
.
“Same thing.”

“You know what your problem is?” Alex set her beer on the table. “You haven’t had a decent date since my brother left. Admit it.”

Warmth stole up Lucie’s neck, and she thanked the poor lighting for disguising the color in her cheeks
.
“I haven’t had a decent date in Bayou Miste, period.”

“Hey, Lucie, you gonna flap yer jaw all night? I’ve been waiting for ten minutes for one lousy beer. You can forget any tip.”

She swung around and glared at the man, the empty bottles on her tray teetering dangerously. “LeRoy, you never tip, so what’s the difference?”

“Well, if I did, I sure wouldn’t leave
you
one.” He returned her drop-dead look with one of his own, drumming his stogie-sized fingers on the table.

Lucie raised an eyebrow at Alex and Calliope. “See what I have to choose from?”

“Oh, come on,” Alex said. “LeRoy’s married. Besides, he isn’t the only man in Bayou Miste.”

“No, but the rest are just like him—loud, obnoxious, and ugly enough to make a swamp gator look good to me.” Lucie lifted a mug of half-foam, half-beer from her tray, walked over to LeRoy’s table, and slammed it down hard enough that the foam slopped over the side. “Here’s your beer. Now quit yer moanin’.”

“I’d rather be moanin’ with you beneath me, sweet thang.” He leered at her.

“In your dreams, LeRoy.” Lucie turned her back, content—well, maybe content was stretching it—to ignore his rude invitation. As if!

A sharp pain zinged her right butt cheek.

“Ouch!” Adrenaline shot through her veins and she spun, fists balled, ready to take on the tank of a louse. “Tell me you didn’t just pinch my ass, you bottom-dwelling alligator-turd.”

“Lucie, don’t lower yourself to his level,” Alex warned. “Breathe deeply. Inhale, exhale.”

Through a blur of red, Lucie heard her friend’s calming words. She inhaled, then blew steam out her nose, repeatedly. When she could see straight, she forced words through her tight lips
.
“Don’t…
ever
…do that again.”

“Ah, sweet thang, face it.” LeRoy spread his arms wide
.
“You want me.”