Black Dust Mambo (2 page)

T
WO
B
AD
B
LOOD

“You’ve already got one dead nomad on your hands,” Layne growled, swiveling around to face Belladonna, muscles flexing and hands knotting. “And this one plans to go down swinging.”

“Dramatic much?” Belladonna kicked the door shut behind her.

“Might ask you the same,” Layne retorted.

Belladonna rolled her eyes. “Nomad, please. I only tell it like it is.” She walked into the room, tall and boyishly slim, her skin the color of dark chocolate, her hair a bushy natural ’fro haloing her head in black and midnight-blue curls.

“About time,” Kallie grumbled, despite the relief curling through her. “I was starting to think you’d gone back to sleep.”

“Like I could do that after you uttered that mythical word
please
. I was stunned you even knew it,” Belladonna replied. Her nostrils flared as she caught the room’s thickening blood-and-brimstone stink, and although the teasing light faded from her eyes, her expression remained calm.

And that was one of the things Kallie loved most about her best friend—her composure under fire, a skill Kallie envied and hoped to learn one day. Not that she ever planned to say so. What, and give Belladonna a reason to curve her full lips into yet another cat-licking-up-all-the-cream smile? Please.

Shifting her weight to one black-jeans-clad hip and crossing her arms over the cobalt-blue silk tunic she’d pulled on, Belladonna said, “You’ve got interesting notions about what ‘alone’ means, girl. Who’s the road-rider?”

“Name’s Layne Valin, and I ain’t
with
her,” he said. “I’m here for
him
.” He nodded at the bed. “The man she murdered.”

“Murdered?” Belladonna held Kallie’s gaze, the morning light transforming her startling hazel eyes from river green to autumn leaf brown.

Kallie stiffened at Belladonna’s arched-brow expression. “Not by
me
.”

“Well, that’s a relief—not the ‘murdered’ part,” Bella-donna hastily clarified, glancing at Layne. “I meant the ‘Kallie being innocent and all’ part.”

“Yeah, well, that remains to be seen,” the nomad said, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets.

“What’s it gonna take to get it through your thick skull that I
didn’t
kill him?”

“Mama generally recommended solid whacks with a two-by-four,” Belladonna said, walking over to the bed. “Great cure for thickskullitis.” Her eyes widened as she took in Gage’s still form amid the blood-soaked sheets. “Hellfire, Kallie. What in God’s name happened?”

“I don’t know.” Kallie joined her friend at the bed. “I passed out in the bathroom and when I woke up, Gage was . . .”

“Oh, no. Gage?” Belladonna asked. “The nomad hottie you told me about?”

“Gage Buckland,” Layne supplied, his voice husky. “Fox clan.”

“What did he die of?” Belladonna asked, frowning. “Looks like he had some kinda dread disease like Ebola . . .” As though just realizing what she’d said, she recoiled from the bed and clapped a hand over her nose and mouth.

“He wasn’t
sick,
” Layne protested. “He was
murdered
.” Kallie sighed. “Place reeks of magic, not germs, Bell.”

“Mm-hmm. And being an expert and all on disease, you’d know what germs smelled like, right?” Belladonna arched an eyebrow.

“Oh, you mean a WebMD expert like you? Then no.”

“What the hell is it with you two?” Layne cut in. “
Magic
killed Gage, not the motherfucking plague.”

Belladonna glanced at him, her expression softening. “That it did. But it never hurts to look at less obvious possibilities.”

Kallie rolled her eyes. “Never hurts, no. Wastes time, however. . . .”

“I promise not to laugh when those words bite you on the ass, Shug.” Belladonna reached into the black leather bag slung across her shoulder, pulling out a small glass bottle. She unstoppered it and tapped a pale-green powder into the palm of her hand. The pungent scents of mint and wintergreen sweetened the air.

“What’s she doing?” Layne asked. “Giving us a little protection,” Kallie said. “Saint Michael, hear me. Please fill this room with your protective light and keep all within it that are still breathing safe from evil.” Lifting her palm to her mouth, Belladonna blew powder into the air as she swiveled to face each cardinal direction in turn—north, south, east, west.

Layne watched as Belladonna wove protection into the room. “She a hoodoo like you?”

“No, she’s training to be a
mambo
—a voodoo priestess,” Kallie replied. “Me, I’m a rootworker.”

“Rootworker? Ain’t familiar with that term.”

“It’s just another name for us hoodoos—rootworkers and root doctors—since we all work with roots and herbs and all aspects of nature in our conjuring and healing.”

“No such thing as
just
anything,” Layne said. “People are complicated.”

“Yeah. And that’s the problem.” Kallie studied Gage’s bloodied features, searching for clues as to the how and why of his death. The memory of his face awash with pleasure, his dark eyes aflame, was the one she yearned to keep, not this one.

Layne reached back and knotted his dreads away from his face. “You called 911?” he asked.

“No, not yet.”

“Don’t. We take care of our own.”

“I understand that, but we’re going to have to let carnival security know—”

“‘We’ nothing. And it ain’t carnival security you need to worry about, sunshine. You need to talk to my clan.”

Kallie stared at Layne, her hands knotting into fists again. “Look, I’m sorry Gage is dead and I wish I could change things, but I didn’t have anything to do with his death. Hell, even if I had that kind of power—and trust me, I don’t—I wouldn’t lay a trick like that.”

A dubious/cynical expression shadowed Layne’s face. “‘Lay a trick’? You saying Gage
paid
for your company?”

Belladonna’s soft prayers stopped. “Men, minds always and forever in the gutter.” She faced the nomad, a hand on one hip. “To ‘lay a trick’ means to cast a spell.”

“My apologies,” Layne said; then a smile ghosted across his lips. “Gotta say, men’s minds ain’t alone in that gutter you mentioned.”

“A good thing too, otherwise y’all would never figure out how to slither out of it,” Belladonna murmured, looking him over. Her expression said she liked what she saw. “You really ought to sign up for the wet-boxers contest. I’m one of the judges, y’know.”

Layne’s honey-blond brows slanted down. “Wet boxers? Could we focus here?”

“Fine. Focus it is,” Belladonna replied. “So how come you’re here anyway, Layne Valin? I don’t think Kallie called you, like she did me. What brought you to her door?”

“He showed up like he already knew something was wrong.” Kallie mulled over their initial encounter in the hall. “Said he needed to see Gage. How did you know where to find us, by the way?”

“Before he took off last night, Gage told me about the hot little hoodoo chick he’d met at the May pole dance and hoped to hook up with,” Layne said. “Told me about your long, dark hair and blue-violet eyes. Told me your name too. I bribed the clerk at the front desk for your room number.”

Kallie blinked. “Bribed? Really? For how much?”

“A ten was all it took, sunshine. Times are tight, and I guess tips ain’t been good.”

“Ten measly bucks? Goddamn.” Kallie shook her head in disgust. “Okay, but that doesn’t explain why you’re here. What did you need to see Gage about so early in the morning?”

Layne looked bleakly at the blood-smeared bed and the body on top of it. “Doesn’t really matter anymore, does it?”

Belladonna sauntered over to the bed, her gaze cool and assessing and focused on the nomad. “Maybe
you
should be the one doing some explaining to your clan, not Kallie.”

Layne stared at her. “Me? What the hell for?” Belladonna shrugged. “Maybe there’s been bad blood between you and your clan brother. How do I know that
you
didn’t hex him? Set Kallie up as convenient to take the fall?”

“Bad blood?” The nomad held Belladonna’s gaze, his good-looking face hard as granite. “I woulda spilled every last drop in my veins for Gage. I owed him my life, my god-damned soul. Who the fuck are you to point a finger at me?”

“You haven’t answered my question,” Belladonna said, arching an eyebrow.

Kallie remembered the expression on Layne’s face when he’d first walked into the room and seen Gage on the bed. Genuine shock and spontaneous grief. And damned hard to fake unless he was an Oscar-caliber actor.

She touched Belladonna’s arm. “No, he had nothing to do with Gage’s death. I’d stake my life on that. But how
did
you know that something was wrong?”

A muscle flexed in Layne’s jaw. “I had a dream. But I got here too late. And now there’s nothing I can do to reverse it.”

A pang of sympathy cut into Kallie.
Nothing I can do
. . . She understood his helplessness all too well. “Some things you just can’t stop.”

“Small comfort, that. But true.” Sorrow and exhaustion etched years into Layne’s face, leaving him looking temporarily older than the twenty-four or so Kallie reckoned him to be.

“Do you know of anyone who wanted Gage dead?” she asked.

“Gage had enemies, sure—what conjurer doesn’t? But hating him enough to do
this
?” Layne shook his head, and Kallie caught a whiff of sweet orange and musky sandal-wood from his dreads. “Maybe Gage knows. If he ain’t crossed over yet, I can ask. But I ain’t reeling him back if he’s gone. I won’t do that to him.”

Kallie stared at him, not sure she’d heard right. “Excuse me? What?”

Layne climbed onto the bed and knelt beside Gage’s cooling body, not seeming to give a damn about all the blood, then did what Kallie had wanted to do earlier, but hadn’t been able to—he closed his clan brother’s eyes. “Come back and speak to me, bro,” he whispered, bowing his head. “I’m listening.”

Power, focused and controlled, electrified the air, prickling the hair on the back of Kallie’s neck and goose-bumping her skin.

“Hellfire,” Belladonna breathed. “He’s a Vessel for the dead.”

A ghost ship.

Kallie had met mediums, had even participated in séances, and had always walked away disappointed. But she’d never met a Vessel before. A Vessel didn’t need ritual or séance or linked energy from the living to call to the dead or to open doors between the mortal and spirit worlds.

A Vessel
was
a living, breathing spirit cabinet. And most Vessels spiraled into madness by their late teens, usually ending their lives in messy and desperate ways.

Very few Vessels lasted into their twenties.

Kallie stared at Layne, wondering if he was actually younger than he looked and wondering how much time he had left before his mind and soul twisted in on themselves. She perched on the bed beside him as dark, deadly, and thorn-sharp magic scraped against her senses. And
this
magic wasn’t coming
from
Layne, it was coming
through
him. Black juju. Her blood chilled.

Her gaze darted to the long-fingered hand Layne was resting against his clan-brother’s face. If the whole trick hadn’t been used up on Gage, then touching him might—

Layne’s breath caught roughly in his throat. He stiffened as though snake-bit, his muscles cabling like wire stretched beyond its capacity. His face, tight with pain, paled, chalk-white.

“Let go of Gage!” Kallie barely stopped herself from grabbing Layne’s arm and wrenching it away. “Let go! Layne? Can you hear me?”

“Can’t . . . let . . .” Blood trickled from his nose, dribbled dark from his ears, and wet the lashes of his clenched-shut eyes.

“What’s going on?” Belladonna asked. “Speak to me, girl.”

“The trick ain’t goddamned done, Bell.” Grabbing a blood-spattered pillow, Kallie used it to shove the nomad off the bed, then tossed it aside—magic buzzing against it like hungry flies.

Layne hit the floor on his side, his skull bouncing against the carpet, his dreads snaking out behind him. What little air remained in his lungs whoofed out from between his lips. He lay there, limp and unmoving.

“Dammit, dammit, holy goddammit!” Kallie cried, jumping off the bed and dropping to her knees beside him. She seized his wrist.

Layne’s pulse—wild and rhythmless—fluttered. Then stopped.

T
HREE
V
ENOM

“
Dere will be times, girl, when all de potent herbs and oils and devout prayers in de whole wide world ain’t gonna be enough or even the right t’ing; times when all yo’ magic will seem to dry up like mud under de noonday sun, or even make matters worse.”

“
So what do I do when that happens, Ti-tante? And how will I know?”

“
You’ll feel it in yo’ bones, child, you’ll feel it deep down. And when you do, den you roll up yo’ sleeves and go to work using
beaucoup
elbow grease.”

“
For how long?”
“
Until de task be done, girl, and not a moment before, y’hear me? Now hand me my broom. Dat damned gator’s back on de porch.”

Elbow grease. This was definitely one of those times. Kallie rolled Layne’s body—all hard muscles and dead-weight—onto his back, then bent over him, locked her hands together, and started pumping against his sternum. As she channeled her adrenaline-fueled strength into each downward press, she both heard and felt several ribs crack.

“Guard us from evil, Saint Michael, protect us from murder,” Belladonna murmured as she knelt beside Layne. “Papa Legba, I humbly ask that you turn this one away from the crossroads, send him running back to the living.”

“CPR, Bell. Need your help here.”

Tipping Layne’s head back, Belladonna wiped blood from his mouth with the hem of her tunic. “He’d better not have AIDS,” she muttered.

“You can always hex his ass if he does.”

With a sigh, Belladonna bent over Layne, pinching his nostrils closed and pressing her mouth over his. She breathed into him as Kallie kept the compressions steady and rhythmic.

Beneath her hands, Kallie felt dark magic coiling around Layne’s heart like a water moccasin around a sun-heated rock. Felt venom pouring black and cold through his veins.

She only knew one good way to draw snake venom from a wound, to keep it from reaching a bite victim’s heart—suction. But would suction work with magical poison? More to the point, would it work with a heart already poisoned?

Worth a try. His life’s gonna be short as a Vessel, and not a god-damned second of it should be stolen from him.

A chant circled through Kallie’s mind, glimmering with a pure white light that she tried to channel into Layne with each compression of her hands against his chest: “
Heart beat, heart beat, keep the blood and air flowing neat. Death needs to be cheated, for this man is still needed. Heart beat, heart beat, keep the blood and air flowing neat.”

Kallie imagined white light circling his heart and filling his lungs, imagined it sparking opalescent fire in his mind. With each downward press of her hands, she visualized siphoning the hex’s black and oily magic up into her palms, through her body, and into the floor, drained of all power.

“Heart beat, heart beat, keep the blood and air flowing neat. Death needs to be cheated, for this man is still needed. Heart beat, heart beat, keep the blood and air flowing neat.”

Kallie shivered. Sweat stung her eyes. “Fight, damn you,” she panted. “You still need to avenge Gage. Fight, dammit.”

Layne. Something bad’s happening to Layne. But ye’ll never make it in time; he’ll be gone before ye find him, an’ his destiny nocht but ash.

Those words, as clear as if whispered from cold lips pressed against the cup of her ear, yanked Mc Kenna Blue up from sleep. She stared into the room’s curtained gloom, her heart hammering against her ribs. A ship’s low horn vibrated in from outside as if underscoring the words echoing through her mind.

Ye’ll never make it.

Aye, right. The hell I won’t.

She rolled away from the warm body nestled against hers—Raphael or Ramon, his name escaped her at the moment—and out of bed. She dressed as fast as she could in clothing she snatched up from the floor—jeans, a too-big shirt that most likely belonged to lover boy, and her black harness boots. Pausing just long enough to fetch her Kahr P9 and tuck it into her jeans at the small of her back, she dashed from the room.

A sharp feeling of dread propelled McKenna into the hotel elevator and insisted she push the button for the fourth floor. Once she’d exited the elevator, it led her down the Persian-carpeted hall with its embossed cream walls to a door marked 415.

With a belly full of cold stones, she rapped her knuckles against the door. She thought she heard someone speaking in a low, urgent voice on the other side, but what she thought she heard pricked ice through her heart:
Fight, dammit.
Mc Kenna reached back with her other hand and slipped her gun free of her jeans.

A quick flip of the handle confirmed that the door was locked. Not caring if she woke up the entire bloody hotel, Mc Kenna hammered her fist against the metal door and shouted, “Layne? You in there? Open the bloody door!”

Someone was pounding on the door hard enough to make it shake in its frame.
And
yelling like a madwoman. Belladonna lifted her mouth from the nomad’s and glanced at Kallie. But Kallie continued her compressions against Layne’s chest, her eyes closed, sweat beading her forehead, as though she heard nothing.

And maybe she didn’t. Girl was in the zone, totally focused on the nomad and the rhythm she’d created in hopes of jump-starting his hex-flatlined heart. The air crackled with power and seemed to ripple around her like silk fluttering in a breeze.

Belladonna frowned.
Never seen that before. How much of herself is she pouring into that boy?

“OPEN THE DOOR!” the madwoman screamed. Belladonna jumped to her feet, ran to the door, and yanked it open. A pixie of a woman in jeans and a huge Bourbon Street T-shirt stood there, her fist lifted for another door-shaking, hotel-quaking knock. Belladonna’s gaze skipped from the pixie’s short, black, bed-spiked hair to the blackbird V tattooed beneath her right eye.

Lovely.
Another
nomad.

Oh, and in the pixie nomad’s other hand? A gun. Natch.

Belladonna grabbed the woman by the arm and hauled her into the room, slamming the door shut behind her. “What the hell are you thinking, raising a ruckus like that?” Belladonna snapped. She waved a hand at the gun. “Put that damned thing away. We’ve got trouble enough, and you don’t need to be adding to it.”

The pixie’s doe-eyed gaze skipped to the dead nomad on the bloodied bed, then to just-technically-dead Layne sprawled on the carpet in front of the bed. She sucked in a breath, and the color drained from her face when she took in the sight of a nearly naked Kallie kneeling beside him and trying to stiff-arm life back into him.

Despite all that, the pixie didn’t do any of the foolish things Belladonna had been expecting given her performance at the door. No screaming. No fainting. No weeping and wailing or gnashing of teeth.

Instead the pixie nomad snugged her gun into the back of her jeans beneath her whale of a T-shirt. “Wha’ can I do?” she asked, a rolling lilt to her words.

“Before you interrupted me, I was breathing into him,” Belladonna replied. “You take over, and I’ll call for an ambulance.”

Without another word, the pixie hurried across the floor and dropped to her knees beside Layne’s body, then bent over him and went to work.

Using the phone on the nightstand beside the bed, Belladonna called the Prestige’s front desk and requested that paramedics be sent to Kallie’s room. Then, realizing what would happen when the medics got a good look at the carnage in Kallie’s room with its rapidly rising body count, she asked that the carnival administrators be contacted as well and a representative sent to 415.

Belladonna hung up the receiver and turned around. She opened her mouth, intending to tell Kallie that trouble in all shapes, sizes, and levels of authority was on the way, but when her gaze settled on her trouble-bait best friend, the words piled up in her throat.

A white aura streaked with deep purple and sparkling with pinpricks of full-moon silver crowned Kallie’s bowed head and flickered around her body like tiny pearlescent tongues of fire. Power—strong, deep, and pure, and unlike anything Belladonna had ever felt from Kallie before—radiated into the room. But something muddied the light spilling out from underneath Kallie’s palms and across Layne’s green tank.

Belladonna stepped closer, narrowing her gaze. An inky and virulent blackness seeped up from the nomad’s chest and into Kallie’s hands—as though she was siphoning the hex into her own body.

Belladonna’s heart kicked hard and fast against her ribs. A growing shadow pooled behind Kallie as the hex venom she pulled from Layne trickled from the soles of her bare feet and soaked into the carpet, staining it black.

Oh, that
can’t
be good—for us
or
housekeeping.

Belladonna fought the urge to grab Kallie by the shoulders and yank her away from the nomad. She realized it was too late in any case. Whatever damage the hex venom could/would do to Kallie had already happened. The only thing Belladonna could do now was to help her friend conquer and dissipate the nasty trick.

Stepping over to the thickening shadow, Belladonna reached into her leather bag and felt around for her bottle of uncrossing powder and pulled it free. She drew in a deep breath and centered herself as she focused every ounce of her attention on the tainted juju slicked like oil upon the floor.

The heady scents of sandalwood, five-finger grass, patchouli, and myrrh wafted into the air when Bella-donna tapped the dark gold-and-green powder into her hand. “I call upon the powers of Gédé in the names of Baron Samedi and Maman Brigitte and ask for your help in unmaking this unholy trick.” She traced a cross over the darkness oozing across the carpet.

A final twist of black wormed out from Kallie’s foot and merged with the puddle.

Belladonna knelt beside the shadow, her heartbeat steady despite the fear icing the blood in her veins, and lifted her powder-filled palm to her lips. “Saint Michael, give me courage, and Saint Expedite, give me speed to end this bad trick once and for all before it claims another victim,” she whispered.
“Au nom du Père, le Fils, le Saint Esprit, si soit-il.”
She blew the powder into the liquid shadow.

The black puddle writhed as though touched by the finger of
bon Dieu
. Thick smoke stinking of bitter worm-wood, seared pine, and the rotten-egg odor of sulfur fogged the air. Coughing, Belladonna fanned a hand in front of her face and rose to her feet. When the smoke cleared, the pool of blackness surrounding Kallie had vanished.

“Hellfire,” Belladonna coughed.

“That’s it, Layne, keep fighting, damn you,” she heard Kallie mutter. “Don’t you give up.”

Belladonna glanced over to see the pixie lift her head and sit back as the nomad’s eyes fluttered open, dried blood flaking from his lashes. His heavy-lidded gaze fixed on Kallie.

“I
am
fighting, woman,” he whispered. “Quit pummeling me.”

The dark-haired swamp beauty in her red undies—filled out well enough to stop his heart again—quit pounding against Layne’s chest and opened her eyes. Just mere pinpricks, her pupils, as though she’d been staring into the sun, her violet eyes gleaming with light and heat—a heat Layne felt inside of him with each renewed pulse of his heart.

She lay a trick on me, or am I just bewitched?

Kallie blinked, her expression perplexed. And for a split second, Layne had the weird sensation that she was thinking and feeling exactly the same things he was—until she spoke, her words suggesting otherwise.

“About time, dammit,” she said, brushing sweat-damp tendrils of her dark coffee-colored hair from her face. “I was beginning to think you’d died just to spite me.”

“Nope. Don’t know you well enough to spite you.”

“Give it time,” she replied absently, pulling one dangling bra strap back up onto her shoulder.

“Shhh, you need to rest,” another voice interjected. “Medics are on their way.”

Layne recognized the soft, faded brogue. He turned his head and looked into Mc Kenna’s dark eyes. “Hey, buttercup,” he said. “Don’t think I need medics. Not now. What’re you doin’ here?”

She cupped her warm palm against his face. “Ye called me, luv. Now shut up and rest.” She glanced at the bed, sorrow filling her eyes. “I’ll check on our Gage.”

As she started to rise to her feet, Layne grabbed her arm, stopping her. “He’s dead,” he said, more roughly than he’d intended. “Don’t touch him. Just leave him be.”

Her dark eyes searching his, McKenna sat back down, crossing her legs underneath her. Layne slid his hand from her arm, the touch of her skin and the soft, pale down on her arm as familiar as his own flesh. And, as always, dammit, soothing.

“Mind telling me why?” McKenna asked. “Wha’ happened to Gage and to you?”

“Hexed,” Kallie volunteered. “And the trick that killed Gage still had enough juice to knock Layne on his ass when he touched him.”

“A hex that’s now gone,” said a flannel-smooth voice. Layne looked up at Kallie’s tall, slim-muscled friend with her halo of black and blue curls. She held up a half-empty bottle of amber dust. A satisfied, catlike smile stretched across her lips.

“Thanks, Bell,” Kallie said.

Mc Kenna looked at Kallie and her expression hardened. “And how did both men happen to get hexed in yer room?”

“I didn’t lay the goddamned trick, so how the hell would I know?” Kallie replied, sitting back on her heels and meeting Mc Kenna glare for glare.

Layne felt sick as he remembered what he’d felt—or rather what he
hadn’t
felt—when he’d touched Gage and had tried to summon his clan-brother’s spirit.

Absolutely nothing.

“Gage was more than hexed,” Layne said. “I couldn’t reach him.”

“How is tha’ possible?” Mc Kenna asked. “Yer a Vessel and—”

“Maybe he’d already crossed over,” Kallie cut in, earning herself another narrow-eyed glare from McKenna in the process.