Dark Sacrifice (18 page)

Landry massages my shoulder. “I feel like I'm pressuring you to do this.”

“You are.” He frowns, and I shake my head, saying “No, don't get your panties in a bunch. I almost put out your other eye when Acker attacked. I need to learn how to control these powers.”

A cold shiver runs down my spine. “Do you feel that?”

“Is it—”

A gust of wind kicks up. My arms go over my head. “No! Not now.”

A disturbance ripples at the edge of the woods. One minute it's empty, and the next, Acker appears within a mini-tornado of leaves and dirt. It swirls around him like a giant blender and he's the smoothie filling. “You've done it now, girl!” he yells, and I scream. I dart toward the house, but Landry grabs my arms.

“Let go! We have to get behind the protective boundary,” I shout. My words float into the vortex and vanish.

“Magnolia destroyed it. Get in the car.” Landry shoves me toward the open back passenger door then opens the front. “Ms. LaCroix, get in. Hurry!”

Magnolia arches an eyebrow. “I don't run from spirits.” Her words pulse like a gong. The deep, chest-throbbing vibrations radiate outward from my center, through my arms, and down into my fingertips as she says, “Spirits run from
me
.”

My knees quiver. Then I realize my whole is body trembling. I'm incapable of walking. Hell, I can barely stand. It's like I'm sinking in quicksand again. I stare at my aunt, unable to tear my eyes away from her. Even the threat of Acker doesn't scare me as much as what happens to her.

Magnolia shimmers. I blink…but the image doesn't drift away. I see her—my aunt—the spooky but human old woman who sat in the rocking chair and taunted me with her gifts, but superimposed over her physical body is a shadow that slowly goes from dark to light, then Technicolor. I see the creature that came to me at the crossroads writhing beneath her skin, sucking at the marrow of her soul, while leaving dark holes of emptiness within.

A top hat sits jauntily on Magnolia's head. A trio of cigarettes hangs from her lips. Power turns her eyes golden. The color swirls and shifts, spilling out in a river of molten gold as if mere irises can't contain the raw energy contained inside her body.

The whirlwind in the form of a man stalks closer. Acker rips up clumps of grass and flings them in our direction. The car vibrates as debris smashes on top of the hood. His fury makes the hair on my head rise. Strands wave back and forth in the static-charged wind. The air crackles with the immense amount of electricity. I think if Acker touches me, the reaction will be ten times worse than the zing of power that shot through me when I touched Landry and Magnolia. Worse than biting into a power cord or getting struck by lightning, but just as Krispy Kremed D.E.A.D.

The ghost plans to kill me. Worse, I'm scared Magnolia plans to do the same. Only, hopefully, not right now. Landry and I are trapped between them. Two mortals on a supernatural battlefield, and we don't know the rules of engagement.

“You can't hide from me, girl. I see you,” Acker yells. “You and your meddlesome ways done ruined everythin'. I should've kilt you when I had the chance.”

Magnolia lifts a lazy hand and flicks the tips of her fingers. “Be gone.”

Acker screams. He clutches his chest and collapses. His body flickers like a dying computer screen, and I squint. Landry presses my face against his chest and covers my head with his arms.

“What's happening to him?” Landry asks, his gaze following Magnolia, who walks to the front seat without a single glance in Acker's direction. Etienne helps her inside the car.

Acker screams one final time then silence descends upon us.

I suck a breath into strained lungs. “How did you do that?”

“Come with me and I'll teach you all my tricks.” Magnolia meets my gaze. The vision of her I saw earlier has vanished. “You, the last LaCroix.”

T
he drive to New Orleans passes swiftly 'cause I'm out cold before we exit Paradise Pointe. The bright lights of the French Quarter now pierce the darkness but I don't want to open my eye. I sit wedged in the backseat with my head propped against the glass and my legs kicked out sideways. The seat belt strap digs painfully into the groove between my collarbone and neck. I suffer in silence, not willing to disturb Mala who, like a snuggly bunny, lies with her upper body draped across my chest and her legs curled up in her seat, perfectly secure in the protective circle of my arms.

A hissing laugh comes from the front seat.

My shoulders tense. The woman better not be reading my mind. I'm freaked out enough over the whole magic thing. I hope that's not a skill Mala plans to add to her arsenal. I have too many secrets rolling around in my addled brain. I don't want her having an all-access pass to my filthy thoughts. Still, the Acker-go-poof thing would be a handy thing to learn.

Mala yawns and does a full-body stretch. This means a wriggling Mala on top of me, and I'm gritting my teeth while thinking pure thoughts like...
an
icy Slushee shoved down the front of my pants
…anything to distract me from how her body feels rubbing across mine.

“Are we in New Orleans yet, Auntie Magnolia?” Mala asks, sitting up. When she looks out the window, she ogles. Yep. No other word describes how her mouth drops and her eyes widen at the sights flashing past the tinted windows. I'm having a hard time not getting all goo-goo-eyed myself, and I've visited New Orleans a few times. I bet Lafayette's the biggest city Mala's ever been to. It's nothing compared to what she sees now.

“Oh. My. Gosh. It's so cool.” She presses her nose against the window. “Do you see, Landry?”

I grunt.

She pinches my arm. “Are you asleep?”

I straighten, stretching my arms in front of me to undo the kinks in my back and shoulders. A cold spot replaces the warmth of her missing body. “How am I supposed to sleep with you manhandling me, woman?”

She giggles.

“I take it you've never been to New Orleans before?” I ask.

“Nope, first time.”

I poke a finger into her side. “Maybe we'll have time to take a tour of the place in between learning how to be Ghostbusters. What do you say? Beignets at Café Du Monde? We'll shop at the French Market. Maybe take a swamp tour.”

A passing streetlight illuminates her wrinkling nose. “Why in the world would I want to take a swamp tour? I want to see something new.” She glances with hesitation at the woman in the front seat. “Will we have time, Auntie Magnolia?”

“There's always time for beignets, Mala Jean.” Magnolia pats Etienne on the arm. “You'll take them around.”

He gives a ponderous grunt, and I stifle my groan. Should've kept my mouth shut and just snuck out without asking permission. Like I want a zombie for a tour guide? Not. The fool doesn't seem capable of speech, and he gives Mala the shivers with a single glance through the rearview mirror. She scrunches closer, and I wrap my arm around her waist.

The car parks in front of an ornate, five-story hotel.

“Wow,” Mala breathes.

I nudge her in the side. “Enough gawking. You look like a tourist. Come on.”

Etienne comes around to open the door for us. I step out and edge aside the “dead one” with a quick sidestep. Mala blinks up at me in the bright lights and takes my hand as I help her out of the car. I stare at the big guy, but my rudeness doesn't register on his face. If the situation had been reversed, I'd be pissed. But he's either in total control of his emotions or he doesn't care. He shambles two steps, opens Magnolia's door, and helps her climb out of the Cadillac.

A uniformed valet runs from inside. He bobs his head toward Magnolia. “Madame LaCroix, welcome home.”

Mala's jaw about drops onto the pavement. I'm pretty sure I have to lift mine up too. My parents and I stayed in this hotel the last time we came to New Orleans. Dad bitched and moaned about the price—six hundred dollars per night—way more than he wanted to spend, but Mom coerced him into it. The four of us shared a room the size of our living room. I still remember how cool it was though. Expensive, but freaking awesome.

I eye Magnolia with some awe.

Mala is still reeling in shock. “You live here?” she asks with an encompassing wave of her hand. “Really? We're staying here?”

Magnolia sweeps forward like the queen we
now
know she is. We mere subjects trail behind. The awe increases as the doorman holds the door open with a bow. The marble floor is shot through with golden flecks and shimmers beneath the light from the gold and crystal four-tier chandelier hanging from the vaulted ceiling. Double mahogany staircases grace each side of the room. To the left is the check-in counter, and Mala turns toward it.

Magnolia waves for us to follow her. I catch Mala by the arm and steer her in the right direction.

A man tries to remove Mala's suitcase from her grasp, and she slaps his hand. “Hey, that's mine.”

I chuckle at the fury in her eyes. The guy's lucky she didn't have her knife. She might've gutted him for trying to “steal” her bag. “Don't get the bellhop in trouble for not doing his job,” I say, handing him my own duffel bag.

“What are you talking about? Oh…” she breathes upon seeing the guy put my bag on the rolling luggage cart parked behind him. Her caramel cheeks turn cotton candy pink. I lick my lips. Damn, I'm hungry.

“Oh, I see.” Mala hands him her suitcase with a muttered “Sorry.”

Magnolia and Etienne have already entered the elevator and wait for us to join them. Mala can barely walk in a straight line. Her gaze travels through the lobby, touching on the potted palms and the paintings on the wall.

I drag Mala toward the elevator holding Magnolia, Etienne, and our bored-out-of-his-skull-looking bellhop. The door slides shut as soon as we board. I wrap my arm around Mala's shoulders. She blinks up at me, and the dazed look in her eyes clears. I know how she feels. Having her in my arms grounds me in the midst of chaos. All this beauty is window dressing. Mala's the real deal. Her touch, her smell, her warmth radiates into my side.

“How do you like your new home?” Magnolia asks her.

Mala's eyebrows draw together. “What do you mean, ‘new home'?”

The bell dings. The elevator door slides open to reveal a large apartment rather than a hallway. “Excuse me,” the bellhop says.

Mala and I step inside. Our feet sink into the plush carpet. I scan the room, waiting for the owners to come out and greet us or for Ms. LaCroix to join us, but neither happens. The bellhop removes our bags from the cart and sets them on the floor. Then he gets back onto the elevator.

“Do you live here, Aunt Magnolia?” Mala asks.

“No, I don't stay here.”

“Well, who does? I'd rather not be with strangers even if it's in a place as pretty as this.”

Magnolia laughs. “Child, you don't listen very well. What do you think I meant when I said you're the last LaCroix?” Her hand waves to encompass the entire penthouse suite. “You're my heir,
cher
. Everything you see belongs to you once I pass on. Just don't count your millions before you're sure I'm staying in my crypt. Might be I hang around for twenty more years.”

My arm tightens. “This hotel belongs to you?” I ask.

“This hotel, my shops, four or five houses in the Ninth Ward, but they still need some work. Got myself a seven-bedroom house in Gentilly, south of Lake Pontchartrain. The area flooded under eight feet of water during Katrina. I got the place for thirty-five thousand. The owners were real motivated to get rid of it once the mold started to grow. Other property you don't really want to hear about right now, I'm guessing.”

“I never…” Mala spins in a slow circle, taking in the scope of the room. “You're a real estate magnate.”

“Well, I'm no spring chicken, Mala. I've been around a long time. I've made a lot of deals. People owe me a lot of favors.” Her voice sounds bleak as night. “You learn to take advantage of others' vulnerabilities. Why don't you and Landry settle in for the night? Be ready by noon so we can get started on your training.”

With that, the elevator door slides closed, leaving me and Mala alone in a penthouse suite twice the size of either of our houses.

“Did she really say this belongs to me?” Mala stares at the spacious room. “You heard her say it, right? This place belongs to me and not just for the weekend while I stay here. This entire hotel belongs…to me?”

Yeah, I can't believe it either. This whole setup feels too convenient. What does the old lady want from us? Is she buttering us up 'cause our combined power is worth a multimillion-dollar hotel to her?

I focus on Mala, grinning to hide my unease so she won't worry. “Well, I'm kind of disappointed. I was hoping we could try out a vibrating heart bed, like the one at the Super Delight, but I guess this will do.”

Mala's eyes narrow. “How did you hear about the Heart Suite? I only know about it because Mama bitched about the cost of bribing the owner into bumping the other prostitutes' reservations for a high-dollar customer. It has a month-long wait, if you can believe that.”

“There's a girl I once planned on taking there. Then I got to know her and decided that she deserves better than the Super Delight.” I stare at her hard, hoping she reads beneath the surface to the emotions behind my words.

Mala's eyes drop to the carpet. At first I think she'll ignore the comment, but then she smiles. “As long as you're with the right person then it will be special,” she says, meeting my gaze. “Don't you think?”

“Yeah, I do.” Is that an invitation in her eyes? Does she want me to scoop her up and carry her into one of the bedrooms? I want her now. My hands itch to caress her body, like an addict searching for a fix. I'd abstained from touching her until today. Now it's all I can think about.

“Yeah, but how do you know if that person's the one, Landry? Especially when he keeps rejecting you. How do protect yourself from getting your heart broken?” Her eyes drop again.

God, I fucked up. Why did I keep pushing her away? And how do I tell her I've come to my senses without frightening her off?

She turns and bends over to slip off her shoes. Her heart-shape bottom shimmies back and forth. My hands tingle with the need to cup her firm cheeks. She glances up, and I turn away.

“I think we should take off our shoes.”

“Uh, sure.” I pull off my boots, and my feet sink into the plush cream carpet.

She wiggles her toes. “So soft.”

We separate to explore the room. Mala runs her hand along the black leather sofa with a sigh, heading toward the kitchen. I turn like a guided missile toward the TV. “It's an eighty-two-inch plasma,” I say, voice thick. “Isn't it beautiful?”

Love at first sight.

“I'm jealous,” Mala teases.

My eyebrow rises. “Let's check out the rest of the place.”

The kitchen has an electric range and marble countertops and island. I pluck an apple from a bowl and take a bite. “Ow, it's plastic.”

Mala laughs.

I wink at her. “Kidding.”

“You are so not funny.”

“Yeah, what kind of
girlfriend
are you? Laughing at me.”

Silence.

The thuds from my chest sound like someone banging on the front door. I almost expect Mala to mention it, but she acts like she's engrossed in checking out the china in the cabinets. Did she hear me? Should I say it again? No. Maybe pretending like she didn't hear is her way of shutting me down. God, I must be delusional. Why did I spring that on her out of nowhere? I should've waited for a more romantic moment.

Dazed, I walk down the hallway. I open the first door and peek inside. A queen-size bed with an ivory coverlet is against the west wall. A 60-inch television hangs from the east. An open door reveals a bathroom straight ahead. I shut the door and continue down the hallway, listening to Mala's gasps and giggles as she follows. I open the door to the master of all master bedrooms. It's a total chick's dream bedroom. Something Lainey would've squealed about like she'd turned into a Disney princess.

Much like what Mala does when she enters the room.

I'm kind of awestruck myself by the four-poster canopy bed with breezy, sheer white curtains. A large potted palm sits in a corner. French doors lead onto a balcony with an iron railing and two lounge chairs looking out onto the street. More palm trees. I don't know what kind. I'm not into trees or what kind of flowers are growing in the flowerpots hanging from the railings.

And the bathroom drives Mala into a tizzy. “It's a whirlpool tub.”

She runs back into the bedroom. I'm lying on the bed with my arms folded behind my head. Her eyes linger on my midriff. A quick glance down shows the bottom of my T-shirt has ridden up, exposing the line of hair running into my jeans.

“Uh, yum,” Mala says, staring.

I hide my grin 'cause, yeah, sit-ups do a body good. “Come here,” I say, beckoning with a hand.

She backs up. “What are you doing?”

“Testing out my bed.” I roll onto my side and pat the mattress. “Soft.”

My words slowly sink in. “Oh, no. I see what you're doing.” She launches forward, bouncing onto the mattress beside me. “This is mine. You can have the other room.”

“I'm bigger. I should get the big bed.”

“It's obviously a girly room. It's mine.” Mala stretches out her arms. I roll over, and my hand flops onto her stomach, accidentally on purpose. Taut muscles tighten beneath the soft, fleshy layer of her stomach. Did she deliberately tighten them? I poke her again to be sure.