This Wicked Game (2 page)

U
nlike the other kids in the Guild, Claire had never wanted to be invited to a meeting of its leadership. It was tradition for the firstborns to be brought into the fold sometime after their eighteenth birthday, but since Claire wasn’t eighteen until April, she’d hoped to put them off long enough to escape to college.

But now there was no avoiding it. An alarm had been sounded that echoed through the Guild, and a few hours later, Claire was in the backseat of their Lexus as her dad drove toward the Toussaint house, her mother silent and tense in the front seat beside him.

Claire was looking out the window, wishing she hadn’t been the one working when the woman placed her order, when her phone vibrated in her pocket.

She pulled it out, fully expecting to see a text from her best friend, Sasha.

WHAT’S GOING ON?

Sasha always wanted to know what was going on inside the Guild, probably because her parents never told her anything. Christopher and Pauline Drummond wanted their daughter to focus on the craft, not the politics of the organization that supplied it. That would come with time, they told her. When she fully understood the importance of her heritage.

NOT GOING TO BELIEVE THIS, Claire typed. ON WAY TO GUILD MEETING.

Sasha’s response came less than a minute later: ????!!!!

SOMEONE PLACED AN ORDER FOR AN ITEM ON THE BLACKLIST. I WAS WORKING THE COUNTER WHEN IT CAME IN.

WHAT WAS IT?????

Claire hesitated, wondering if she could get in trouble for telling Sasha. She started typing a second later.

BLACK PANTHER PLASMA. WILL GIVE YOU DETAILS LATER.

Claire put away her phone and looked out the window as they entered the Garden District. Her eyes swept upward to the great oaks that rose above them on either side, practically meeting in the center of the street.

She loved the Garden District. With its majestic old houses, massive trees, and old-fashioned streetcars, it was a throwback to a gentler time. That the Toussaints, the most powerful family in an underground organization devoted to the craft of voodoo, lived in one of the mansions on First Street was an irony few would appreciate.

“I hope Estelle doesn’t blame us for this,” Claire’s mother was saying from the front seat.

“Why on earth would she blame us?” Claire could almost see her dad rolling his eyes. “We weren’t the only ones who got an order.”

“Yes, but we were one of only three,” Claire’s mother said. “And you can bet they’ll find a way to make it our fault.”

It was an old argument. Claire’s dad, Noel, was an optimist when it came to human nature, choosing to believe that every slight was a misunderstanding and every catastrophe the result of a simple mistake.

Pilar, on the other hand, was not so forgiving.

Then again, it was easier for her dad not to care what the Guild members thought about them. As a great-grandson of Marie Laveau, the most famous voodoo queen in history, his membership was a birthright. But for her mother, a poor bayou priestess with no heritage to speak of, it mattered. She could never seem to shake the suspicion that their role as outcasts was the result of Noel’s marrying her.

Claire thought the prejudice was more about her. Despite the powerful blood running through her veins, she had shown as little aptitude for and interest in the craft as her father. To the members of the Guild, she was proof that the Laveau reign was dead.

Her father pulled through the scrolled iron gates leading to the Toussaint estate. The house came into view at the end of the drive, eight cars parked near the old carriage house at the back of the property. Her dad parked behind a familiar black Mercedes, and they climbed out of the car and headed toward the front door.

The Toussaint yard was perfectly maintained, the jasmine along the walkway and wild honeysuckle near the front portico scenting the air with heavy perfume. The house was one of the oldest in the District, its large columns perfectly spaced along the terrace and rising all the way up to the elaborate cornices at the roofline.

“Mrs. and Mrs. Kincaid.” Betsy, the Toussaint’s housekeeper, opened the door, waving them in. “The rest are in the library. I’ll see you in.”

Betsy led them down the hall, the wood floors polished to a high shine. They were almost to the library when little Sophie rounded the corner at a dead run, black hair bouncing on her tiny shoulders. She skidded to a stop when she spotted them.

“Claire!” Ignoring Betsy’s good-natured but obvious disapproval, Sophie grabbed Claire’s legs in a hug.

“Hey, pip-squeak,” Claire said, bending over to squeeze the Toussaints’ six-year-old daughter.

She and Sophie had a mutual admiration society. Sophie was always underfoot, always in trouble with Betsy, and always uninterested in the Guild’s business. Claire couldn’t help wondering if Sophie would grow up to be as apathetic as she was about voodoo.

Sophie gazed up at Claire. “You’re coming to the ball, right? I have a new dress!”

Claire nodded reluctantly. The Guild’s annual Priestesses’ Ball was in two days, and while it was far from her favorite event, there was no way she could skip it.

“Claire has a new dress, too,” Pilar interjected, smiling indulgently at Sophie.

“Okay, now,” Betsy said, swatting at the little girl with a dish towel. “Get! And if you don’t stay out from under my feet, I’m going to put you to work.”

Sophie stepped away from Claire. “Bye, Claire. See you at the ball!” She skipped toward the kitchen at the back of the house.

They continued down the hall to a pair of carved double doors. Betsy pushed them open and stepped into the library.

“Mrs. Toussaint, the Kincaids have arrived.”

Estelle Toussaint, her chestnut hair perfectly coiffed into a tight bun, rose from a chair by the mantel. “Thank you, Betsy.”

Claire felt an irrational burst of panic as Betsy left the room, as if the rotund woman could somehow protect her from the vipers in the Guild.

“Come in, come in,” Estelle waved them in, advancing on them with a drink in one hand. “We’ve all had
quite
a day.”

Claire’s mother murmured sympathetically while her dad joined the others near the fireplace. Estelle came toward Claire, taking her chin in one hand. Claire wanted to swat it away, but she was paralyzed by the look in the woman’s eyes and the utter silence that had descended on the rest of the room.

“My goodness!” Estelle said. “You’ve had a lot of excitement today, haven’t you?” She surveyed Claire, as if daring her to disagree.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Well, Claire.” She dropped her hand. “It seems you’ve secured your first Guild meeting early. Come have a seat with the others, dear.”

Claire looked around the room. There were Julia and Reynaud St. Martin. They owned a wholesale store in the business district and were one of three families that occupied seats of power in the Guild, together with the Toussaints, who ran everything, and Claire’s parents, who were just figureheads because of her father’s lineage. The St. Martins’ daughter, Allegra, was a gorgeous brunette rumored to have a powerful gift for the craft.

Claire let her eyes roam.

Delphine and Armand Rousseau, who ran the regional store for the nearby suburb of Metairie and didn’t have any children, sat on the sofa at the center of the room. Next to them were Inez and Gabriel Morgan. They owned most of the stores at the outer reaches of the city. Claire had always liked their oldest daughter, Laura, a quiet redhead with a shy smile.

There was Charles Valcour—a widower for as long as Claire could remember—and the Valcour twins, Charles Junior and William, who had just returned from college. Bridget Fortier was at the sideboard pouring herself a drink, probably still recovering from a messy divorce that had almost cost the Guild their much-coveted discretion. Bridget had inherited her father’s supply house after his death in a plane accident when she was just twenty-two years old. Despite her legendary temper, Claire couldn’t help feeling sorry for the woman. Raising eight-year-old Daniel alone couldn’t be easy. He was a “pistol,” as Claire’s dad liked to say.

The group was rounded out by Sasha’s parents, Christopher and Pauline Drummond, standing near the wall by the fireplace. They ran a members-only store not unlike the Kincaids. Claire smiled as they raised a hand in greeting.

She didn’t know how many members the Guild actually had—probably hundreds if not thousands. But these eight families were the ones who managed, ran, and controlled the supply houses and made policy to guide the organization’s rules and practices.

Claire had known them her whole life.

Her eyes came to rest on Alexandre Toussaint, Sophie’s big brother, leaning against the wall by the piano. On him, the posture looked sexy instead of lazy. He gazed at her from under thick lashes, and Claire had the feeling that he knew exactly what she’d been thinking while his mother had scrutinized her. Like Claire, he was seventeen, but he’d bypassed the formal-invite-on-your-eighteenth-birthday rule by virtue of his last name and address. All the Guild meetings were held at the Toussaint house, and Claire had never heard anyone question Xander’s presence.

Pilar moved over on one of the love seats and motioned to her daughter. “Sit, Claire.”

Having no choice but to play the dutiful daughter, Claire did. Besides, she had to admit to a grudging sense of comfort from being near her mother.

“Now, is everybody settled?” Estelle asked, looking around. She continued without waiting for an answer. “Good. Let’s get started then.” She turned to her husband. “Bernard.”

Bernard Toussaint rose, standing in front of the fireplace. Looking at him, it was easy to see where Alexandre had gotten his good looks. Bernard’s father had come to Louisiana from Haiti and married a rebellious Spanish heiress, a gene pool that had endowed his progeny with imposing stature, skin the color of caramel, and slightly exotic features.

But despite Bernard’s commanding presence, everyone knew it was Estelle who ran things behind the scenes. It wasn’t that unusual. The room was full of powerful women accustomed to sheathing their strength in velvet gloves. In the South—and in the world of voodoo—it was the women who really ruled.

“Good evening,” Bernard started. “Thank you all for coming on such short notice. I know our next meeting isn’t scheduled for two more weeks, but a situation has arisen that requires our immediate attention.”

Everyone shifted in their seats, a few casting glances at Claire. Given her attendance, it was only natural to think she had something to do with the impromptu gathering.

“This afternoon, three of the Guild’s supply houses received orders for a blacklisted item. The orders came in at precisely the same time—one through the St. Martins’ warehouse, one through one of our stores, and one through the Kincaids’ house. In each case, the customers in question had a key that garnered them access through the private entrances, though a preliminary investigation reveals that none of the clients in question have frequented the Guild stores in the city before today.”

“What was it?” Bridget asked from a chair by the fireplace. “The blacklisted item.”

Bernard hesitated, and Claire wondered if he would actually say it out loud. Even she knew it would cause panic.

Bernard continued. “The clients in question each placed large orders which included, among other things, the blood of black
Panthera pardus
.”

A gasp escaped from the room, followed by an escalating murmur.

Bernard held up one hand. “Please. I know you’re all alarmed, but we’re here to compare notes so that we can better understand the nature of the orders.”

“Better
understand
it? What’s to understand?” Julia St. Martin asked. “Black panther’s blood hasn’t been routinely used for at least a century.” She lowered her voice. “And with good reason.”

Bernard nodded. “Absolutely. But since I have your account of the event at the St. Martin facility, and I have the one phoned in to Estelle and me from the store on Lafayette, let’s hear Claire’s version, as well, shall we?”

It was a rhetorical question, and Julia sat up straighter, smoothing her skirt like that would eliminate the wrinkles from her pride.

“Claire.” Bernard waved her forward. “Please.”

Claire rose reluctantly. Making her way to the fireplace, she was torn between regret that she hadn’t listened to her mother and put on something more “appropriate” than shorts and a tank top and a vague sense of triumph that she’d stood her ground. At least she’d had the sense to twist her hair into a long braid.

She stood next to Bernard.

“Please explain what happened when the woman came in,” Bernard coached.

Claire took a deep breath and recounted the chain of events, starting with the woman’s entrance through the private door and continuing with her order and Claire’s explanation that there would be a delay for the panther’s blood.

When she was done, she hesitated, thinking about the woman’s use of her name, wondering if it was important enough to mention.

“Is there anything else?” Estelle prompted. “Anything at all?”

Sighing, she decided she might as well tell them everything so they could take it from here.

“The woman knew my name.”

Her father stood up, shock registering on his face as everyone else talked over each other.

Bernard held up a hand to quiet them. “What do you mean, Claire?”

She shrugged. “Right before she left, she called me by my first name.”

“And you’re sure you’ve never seen her before?” Gabriel Morgan asked.

Claire nodded, thinking about the woman’s distinctive clothing, her cold, dark eyes. “I think I would have remembered her.”

“Is there anything else you can tell us about the woman?” Julia demanded. “The other clients who placed orders were men.”

Claire thought about it. “Not really. I mean, she was pretty and . . . I don’t know, kind of glamorous, I guess.”

“Pretty and glamorous?” Julia said, disbelieving. “How are we supposed to identify her with
that?
”

“I don’t know. I’m sorry.” Claire paused. “She did say that she would come back next week, though.”