This Wicked Game (9 page)

Claire’s pulse stuttered while she scrambled for a reply. “I have no idea. I walked home.” She was immediately ashamed of the lie, both because it was told to her mother and because it was a blatant denial of her relationship with Xander.

“Hmmm.” Her mother’s brow furrowed. She shook her head. “I could have sworn it was theirs, but I must have been mistaken.”

“Yeah . . .” Claire stood there silently, wanting suddenly to tell her mother everything.

“Claire?” Her mother was speaking to her. “Are you all right?”

Claire sighed. “I’m just tired. I think I’ll go upstairs and rest before dinner.”

Her mother was silent, pinning Claire with the icy gray gaze that seemed like it could penetrate all of her most secret thoughts.

“You may as well,” she finally said. “That’s what summer is for.”

She turned back to her book, and Claire headed for the stairs, her feet leaden as she climbed.

R
esting was out of the question. Claire’s mind was spinning with everything that had happened, her body still amped from the escape she and Xander had made from the house on Dauphine.

She uploaded the photos from her phone to her laptop, scrolling past the group picture and focusing on the letters. She enlarged them until she could make out most of the words, then hit PRINT.

There were three letters, starting with July 31, 1880, and ending with May 25, 1881. She put the French versions aside and turned her attention to the ones Xander had said were translations.

She put them in chronological order and started with the letter marked July 31.

July 31, 1880

Dearest Sorina,

It was with pleasure and surprise that I received your letter. I remember your father well and know he would be pleased that you continue his interest in the craft. I do not know how your country differs from America, but here it seems the new and modern impose at every turn. I’ve always said that progress is well and good, providing we don’t forget the importance of the past.

As for your interest in the darker parts of our art, my answers to your questions must also contain a warning. The craft is a higher calling, though many would vilify it. When used for its intended purpose, it can bring together those destined to love, heal those who are ill, and protect one from rogue spirits and energy.

With that warning, I must assume your questions about black magic are theoretical, and I have never been one to believe in keeping that which we fear in the dark. There, it grows and festers into something dangerous. Better that we should acknowledge all aspects of our craft and teach each generation to respect them in all their diversity.

It is, indeed, possible to curse someone with negative energy, though I advocate only spiritually positive uses of the craft. The recipes for cursing, hexing, and crossing are as old as those used to heal and protect, though passed down less now that reason has gained solid footing for most in the Guild.

As to whether or not I maintain my own crossing spells, it is irrelevant, as I don’t make it a practice to use black magic or to pass on that knowledge to my progeny or apprentices. I most humbly ask you to uphold this same standard, as it is one long held among those in our society.

I hope this letter finds you well and that you and your brother are getting along without your parents. I will light candles for you this evening and chant an abundance spell in your name.

Warmest regards,
Marie Laveau

Claire looked up, blinking and trying to bring herself back from another time and place. It sounded like the girl named Sorina had written to Marie for advice about hexing someone.

That anyone would even attempt to get that kind of information from Claire’s great-great-grandmother was a surprise. It was well known that Marie the First was a devout Catholic and abhorred black magic of any kind.

Even more puzzling, Marie didn’t sound like the superstitious high priestess Claire imagined when she thought about her great-great-grandmother.

Claire stared at the words, trying to get her head around what the letter meant, not only for the situation with Maximilian, but for her own perception of Marie and the craft that defined them both in such different ways.

She finally gave up and lowered her eyes to the second letter.

December 19, 1880

My Dear Sorina,

It is with some distress that I received your last correspondence. I thought the warnings in my previous letter, though mild in the interest of the long-standing friendship between our families, would have deterred you from this path.

I must caution you against further experimentation. Your mother and father would not wish to see you dishonor yourself and the craft in their names. They knew, as we all come to know, that everything has its time. And while their ending may have seemed premature—and certainly it was cruel—they would have said it happened just as God meant for it to happen.

The craft is a force all its own and not to be trifled with. That your desire for revenge has brought you to the brink of the dark arts is testament to your desperation, and it is never wise to travel the paths of the craft with desperation or anger at the forefront of one’s mind. It is far too easy for the darkness within to take over completely, enhancing the strength of a spell so that even its creator can no longer control it. That you have come so close to achieving success with this dubious spell brings me such horror I can hardly sleep, though it is true that I have not been well of late in any regard.

It is with these words that I beg you to cease your experimentation. I, of course, will have no part of it. Please consider this my formal refusal of assistance together with a warning. Should you continue along this path, your membership in the Guild—and sadly, that of your brother’s—will be terminated and we will be unable to offer you assistance of any kind thereafter.

I humbly ask you to honor me, to honor your parents and all that they stood for, by discontinuing these dark experiments with the craft.

They will be your ruin.

Marie Laveau

The words of the letter echoed through Claire’s mind as she finished reading.

Experimentation? What kind of experimentation was Marie talking about? What was this woman, Sorina, doing that would have earned Marie’s disapproval? That would have cost Sorina her membership in the Guild?

And what had happened to Sorina’s parents that would cause her to approach Marie so boldly for a spell to exact revenge?

Claire shook her head and turned to the final letter.

May 25, 1881

Dear Sorina,

It is with regret that I must inform you of your expulsion from the Guild.

I have listened in horror as accounts of your repeated attempts, and recent success, at using the Cold Blood spell have reached New Orleans. It saddens me greatly that my words of warning fell on deaf ears, for I fear you have used the craft to cross from the world of light into one of such utter darkness that it will surely devour you and any in its path.

It was never my intention that my spells and potions be used for ill. I have uncovered keys to the craft’s darkest door only to foil those with a less altruistic view of it, hoping to have some defense should it be used as a means to harm others.

It is a heavy burden to know that my attempts at safeguarding the world from those who would use the craft for evil have instead caused that evil to be unleashed.

I simply cannot suffer it, especially now, as it has become clear that my time in this world is short.

I can only appeal to the all-powerful loas to accept an addendum to the Cold Blood spell. One that will require an ingredient you will never obtain.

It is all I can do, and I can only hope as I prepare to leave this world for the next that you find enough peace in your heart to suspend this wicked game.

Marie Laveau

Claire set the letters down, her great-great-grandmother a palpable presence in the room. Whatever Sorina had done, whatever spell she had conjured, it was enough to scare even Marie.

But there were too many other questions. They twisted and turned through Claire’s mind, one running into the next until her head started to hurt, her mind so full of Marie’s words that she only wanted to make it stop.

She closed her laptop. She would have Sasha and Xander look at the letters tomorrow. Maybe they would read something into Marie’s words that Claire had missed. Something that would connect Marie and the woman named Sorina to Eugenia and Maximilian.

She hoped so, because right now, the only thing they seemed to have in common was fear—Marie’s fear of the woman named Sorina and the ominous sense of danger Claire felt around the man named Maximilian.

I
t wasn’t easy to keep her mind clear while Cecile took them through the poses the next day. Claire wanted—needed—to find some clarity, some serenity.

But no matter what she did, which mantras she repeated or how many peaceful images she imagined, she kept coming back to the house on Dauphine. To the man meeting with Estelle in secret and the pictures of Xander and Sasha and the unshakable feeling that they were all in danger.

She was relieved when Cecile finally closed the class with the customary bow and in-unison “Namaste.” Rolling up her mat, Claire grabbed her bag as Sasha did the same. Then they stepped onto the street, grabbed their bikes, and headed for the Muddy Cup.

“You planning to tell me what’s going on?” Sasha finally asked when they were sitting at their table, the sun softened by the tint on the big picture window.

“What do you mean?” Claire laughed nervously. She planned to tell Sasha about the letters, but she was still trying to figure out how much to say and how to say it in a way that wouldn’t make her sound crazy.

“I
mean
we’ve been best friends ever since we dressed up my cat in ritual garb when we were ten and my mother freaked us out by telling us Boots would get her revenge because cats could lay spells.” Sasha’s expression softened as she glanced at Claire’s cup. “Plus, you’re drinking Herbal Unwind, and you only drink that when something’s wrong.”

“I’m just stressed out,” Claire protested. “The last thing I need is caffeine.”

“Right. But why?” Sasha asked. “I know you. Something’s up.”

Claire played with her spoon. She was about to start talking when the empty chair next to Sasha scraped against the floor.

When Claire looked up, it was right into Allegra St. Martin’s blue eyes.

“Hey,” she said.

“Allegra!” Claire hoped she sounded surprised and not rude.

Sasha was less diplomatic. “Wow, have a seat why don’t you?” she said sarcastically, taking a drink of her coffee.

Allegra rolled her eyes. “What? I’m supposed to ask for an invitation?”

Claire gave Sasha a brief glare before turning to Allegra with a smile. “We’re just surprised to see you, that’s all. What’s up?”

Allegra leaned in, her glossy black ponytail hanging over one shoulder. “Why don’t you tell me?”

The words hung in the air for what seemed like forever before Claire was able to formulate a response. Even then, it wasn’t exactly brilliant.

“Uh . . . What do you mean?”

“Seriously?” Allegra tipped her head, looking from Claire to Sasha and back to Claire again. “That’s how you’re going to play it?”

Claire was relieved when Sasha stepped in. “Why don’t you tell us what you’re getting at, Allegra? Save us all time.”

Allegra leaned back. “You’re keeping secrets. I don’t know exactly what they are, but I’ve been seeing them.”

“Seeing them?” Claire repeated.

“I get these . . . visions . . . dreams,” Allegra explained. “I don’t know. Call them what you want. I don’t get them all the time, but when I do, they’re almost always right.”

Sasha’s face was guarded. “And you’ve been getting them lately?”

“Yeah, but I’m only getting pieces. Something about pictures and . . . letters, I think, and maybe a little girl or something. I can’t make sense of it.”

“A little girl?” Claire could explain the pictures and the letters, but the little girl didn’t fit.

Allegra waved her hand. “Whatever. You know how it is; I can’t always see the details right away.”

Claire didn’t know how it was, but she didn’t say anything.

“The point is,” Allegra continued, “something’s going on. I’ve been feeling a threat for a long time. A threat against the Guild. But I haven’t been able to see it clearly. Then the thing with the panther blood happens, and all of a sudden, I see all this other stuff.” She looked pointedly at Claire. “Then, I started seeing you.”

“Me?” Claire’s stomach turned over. This was the second time that someone from the Guild had told her they’d had a dream or vision involving her.

Allegra nodded. “I think it’s all tied together, but the parents have locked lips. No one’s talking, not even my mother, and you know how unusual
that
is.”

Claire considered her options. She could deny everything. Wait for Allegra to leave and fill Sasha in like she’d planned. But Allegra
knew.
Claire didn’t know Allegra well, but she was willing to bet that she wasn’t the kind of girl who would just give up and walk away. Not when she sensed a threat
and
a secret.

“What makes you think I know anything?” Claire finally asked.

Allegra shrugged. “Call it a hunch. Only my hunches are better than most.”

Xander wasn’t going to like it. He hadn’t even wanted Sasha to know.

Claire sighed. “Okay, but this is just between us. Between us and Xander. No parents and no Guild until we say so. You have to agree or I can’t tell you anything.”

“Done,” Allegra said without hesitation.

Claire looked at Sasha. “Sash?”

“You’re kidding, right?” Sasha sounded offended. “If you tell me not to say anything, I won’t say anything. You know that.”

Claire’s nod was slow as she tried to think of a place to begin. Finally, she reached into her bag and pulled out the letters she’d printed from her computer. She pushed them across the table.

Allegra reached for the stack of paper. “What is this?”

“They’re letters. Just . . . look at them,” Claire said. “I took them with my phone, but I transferred them to my computer and printed them out. I think they’re pretty clear now.”

Allegra unfolded the papers and shuffled through them.

“Who talks like this?” she asked, setting them down on the table. “It’s like reading Shakespeare.”

“Look at the dates,” Claire instructed.

Allegra sighed and picked up the letters again.

“Eighteen eighty?” She looked up.

“Turn them over and look at the signature lines,” Claire said softly.

Sasha grabbed the stack of paper out of Allegra’s hands. She shuffled through the pages, turning them over as she went.

Finally, she looked up to meet Claire’s eyes. “These are from Marie the First.”

Allegra sat up straighter. “What?”

Sasha looked at her. “Marie the First? Marie Laveau?”

Allegra rolled her eyes. “I know who Marie the First is. It’s just . . . Let me see those again.”

Sasha handed her the pages.

“Is this really her handwriting?” There was awe in Allegra’s voice.

“I think so,” Claire said.

“Claire . . . Where did you get these?” Sasha asked

It took Claire a minute to find the words, but once she did, she couldn’t stop. She began with the fact that Eugenia Comaneci had known her name, something she’d only told the Guild leadership and Xander. Then she told Sasha and Allegra everything else, only leaving out the conversation she and Xander had overheard between Maximilian and Estelle.

Some secrets weren’t hers to tell.

By the time she finished recounting their mission to the house on Dauphine, her hands were shaking.

When she was done, the two girls just sat there, staring at her with something like shock.

“My picture was there, too?” Sasha asked, her voice just above a whisper.

Claire nodded. “But yours and Xander’s didn’t have
X
s. We think the ones that are marked are connected to the families that have had break-ins.”

“So the pictures that had
X
s—including mine—are the ones whose houses have already been broken into?” Allegra asked.

“Well, we don’t know for sure,” Claire said. “But it kind of makes sense.”

“And what, Xander and I will be next?” Sasha asked.

“I don’t know,” Claire admitted. “But these letters could be a clue.”

Sasha picked up the papers and flipped through them again. “Why not just take them to the Guild?”

“We’re going to—eventually. It’s . . .” She struggled for a way to explain without exposing Estelle. “It’s complicated.”

“I think it’s smart to keep this from them,”Allegra announced.

Sasha looked at her in surprise. “You do?”

Allegra made a sound of frustration. “Come on. Do you really think our parents have any idea how to handle a threat? A
real
threat?” She continued without waiting for their answer. “They’ve only been in charge for what? Twenty years? And in that time nothing remotely interesting has happened. Everyone’s played by the rules and they’ve just . . . sat back, running their little stores in peace.”

Sasha frowned. “Not all of the Guild supply houses are small.”

“You know what I mean. The Guild has become another high society clique. Our mothers are more concerned with headpieces for the ball and which charitable board they’re on than with overseeing the use of the craft. And our fathers are more concerned about keeping peace with our mothers. The Guild could be working to keep voodoo relevant. The timing’s right. People are into all kinds of stuff: homeopathy, eastern religion, meditation, even paganism has made a comeback. But if the Guild has their way, the world of voodoo will stay a secret, just the way they like it.”

Claire blinked in surprise. She’d never heard Allegra speak so passionately about anything.

But that didn’t mean she was right.

Claire thought about her mother, saw her kneeling in front of the altar, her face smooth and calm. Claire didn’t know about anyone else’s parents, but her mother still practiced the craft. Still believed. It was hard to imagine that she didn’t want others to believe, too.

“Actually,” Sasha said, sounding surprised, “I kind of agree with you.”

“Right?” Allegra leaned forward, her excitement at finding a sympathetic ear apparent on her face. “Did either of you ask your parents about the panther blood? About what the Guild planned to do about it?”

“I did,” Claire said.

“What did they say?” Allegra kept going. “Let me guess; we’ve got it all under control. Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”

“Not exactly,” Claire said.

“Did they give you answers?” Allegra asked. “Even after you attended the meeting?”

“No,” Claire admitted.

“Right. Because they don’t have any. They’re going to look the other way and pretend this—whatever it is—isn’t happening, because the truth is they don’t know what to do about it. They don’t
want
to know.” She leaned back in her chair, looking at Claire. “I think we should find out what the letters mean before we tell anyone else. Maybe then we’ll be able to figure out what’s going on.”

Claire wondered when “we” had become not only her and Xander and Sasha, but Allegra, too.

“I guess you have a point,” Sasha conceded. “But how? I’ve never heard of this woman named Sorina. And to call the letters vague is the understatement of the century.”

“True,” Claire admitted. “But they’re all we have.” She looked at her phone, checking the time. Xander was waiting for her call. Waiting to hear how it had gone with Sasha. “I have to call—” She stopped herself, remembering that she and Sasha weren’t alone.

Allegra raised her eyebrows. “Xander?” She rolled her eyes. “Please. I’ve known about you two forever.”