parish;
she would have heard anyway. He was surprised she hadn’t just asked Marsh. But somehow
him telling her was like a declaration. Of what, he was afraid to ask himself.
“Are you close?”
Her question took him by surprise. She’d asked sincerely, honest interest clear in
her tone. He wondered if she’d forgotten she was holding his arms. He hadn’t forgotten
anything.
“No.”
Silence fell heavily between them. Her gaze dropped to where she touched him. He felt
her fingers tense on his skin, then she carefully relaxed her grip and let her hands
fall away.
Only when she moved back enough to put pressure on his own hold, did he find the will
to drop his hands as well.
“This is the first thing he’s asked me for in a very long time.”
“Well, I’m grateful he asked, and more grateful you agreed. Whatever your reasons.”
He didn’t want her gratitude. But that begged the question of just what it was he
did want. He refused to think about that.
His reasons for being here, for bringing her here, precluded his ever answering that
question.
“We’d better move.”
At that instant the drums stopped. The sudden cessation of the beat, the final echo
through the trees, froze them both momentarily in place.
Before Teague could move, the underbrush rustled to his left. Without thought he turned
toward the noise and pulled Erin behind him. There was a whisper of sound, then in
the next instant, they were surrounded by at least a dozen
hounsis
, all dressed in white cottonshifts. The glow of their clothes against the dark background was surreal, almost
otherworldly.
Erin tugged at the arm he’d wrapped around her, trying to step past him. He turned
and pulled her forward, so they were side by side, staring down the silent wraiths.
“Initiates?” Erin whispered.
“Yes. Followers of Belisaire,” Teague answered back, keeping his voice low.
She looked at him, then turned back as the trees rustled once again. A small figure
eased into view, almost as if she had been part of the trees, but now stood separate,
alone. Also dressed in white, the woman was small, both in height and build. But the
power radiating from her was almost palpable.
“Teague.” The woman’s voice was strong, commanding, and, he knew, surprising to those
who had never heard it before.
He glanced down at Erin, needing to see her reaction, as if it would somehow make
everything that was to come understandable. He knew it wouldn’t. And yet he didn’t—couldn’t—look
away. The only time in his life he’d known Belisaire’s presence not to hold his full
attention.
The creeping dawn helped to illuminate Erin’s face. Avid curiosity and sharp awareness
lit her eyes. Her even expression couldn’t hide the almost tangible excitement he
swore he felt growing in her. Strange, hypnotic.
Teague worked hard to shake the unsettling feeling.
“Belisaire is the
mambo
.” He turned to face the woman. She did nothing but stand there, yet she commanded
the attention of all those in the clearing. Including Erin.
“She is also my
grand-mère
Comeaux.”
FIVE
Erin swung her gaze to Teague. “Your grandmother?”
“Yes, Dr. McClure,” Belisaire answered for him.
Erin turned back to her. The woman had somehow managed to close the distance between
them without a sound. She stuck out her hand. “I’m very honored to meet you.”
Belisaire studied her proffered hand, then laid her small dark-skinned hand over Erin’s.
The slow scrutiny of her black-eyed gaze was more than a bit unsettling. Erin had
been subjected to examinations before, by chieftains of little-known aboriginal tribes,
leaders of warriors in countries still more untamed than civilized. None had made
her feel so exposed. She felt naked to her soul.
After what felt like hours, but was certainly only seconds, the priestess lifted her
hand and spoke. “You have faced the darkness before, Erin McClure. You
she would have heard anyway. He was surprised she hadn’t just asked Marsh. But somehow
him telling her was like a declaration. Of what, he was afraid to ask himself.
“Are you close?”
Her question took him by surprise. She’d asked sincerely, honest interest clear in
her tone. He wondered if she’d forgotten she was holding his arms. He hadn’t forgotten
anything.
“No.”
Silence fell heavily between them. Her gaze dropped to where she touched him. He felt
her fingers tense on his skin, then she carefully relaxed her grip and let her hands
fall away.
Only when she moved back enough to put pressure on his own hold, did he find the will
to drop his hands as well.
“This is the first thing he’s asked me for in a very long time.”
“Well, I’m grateful he asked, and more grateful you agreed. Whatever your reasons.”
He didn’t want her gratitude. But that begged the question of just what it was he
did want. He refused to think about that.
His reasons for being here, for bringing her here, precluded his ever answering that
question.
“We’d better move.”
At that instant the drums stopped. The sudden cessation of the beat, the final echo
through the trees, froze them both momentarily in place.
Before Teague could move, the underbrush rustled to his left. Without thought he turned
toward the noise and pulled Erin behind him. There was a whisper of sound, then in
the next instant, they were surrounded by at least a dozen
hounsis
, all dressed in white cottonshifts. The glow of their clothes against the dark background was surreal, almost
otherworldly.
Erin tugged at the arm he’d wrapped around her, trying to step past him. He turned
and pulled her forward, so they were side by side, staring down the silent wraiths.
“Initiates?” Erin whispered.
“Yes. Followers of Belisaire,” Teague answered back, keeping his voice low.
She looked at him, then turned back as the trees rustled once again. A small figure
eased into view, almost as if she had been part of the trees, but now stood separate,
alone. Also dressed in white, the woman was small, both in height and build. But the
power radiating from her was almost palpable.
“Teague.” The woman’s voice was strong, commanding, and, he knew, surprising to those
who had never heard it before.
He glanced down at Erin, needing to see her reaction, as if it would somehow make
everything that was to come understandable. He knew it wouldn’t. And yet he didn’t—couldn’t—look
away. The only time in his life he’d known Belisaire’s presence not to hold his full
attention.
The creeping dawn helped to illuminate Erin’s face. Avid curiosity and sharp awareness
lit her eyes. Her even expression couldn’t hide the almost tangible excitement he
swore he felt growing in her. Strange, hypnotic.
Teague worked hard to shake the unsettling feeling.
“Belisaire is the
mambo
.” He turned to face the woman. She did nothing but stand there, yet she commanded
the attention of all those in the clearing. Including Erin.
“She is also my
grand-mère
Comeaux.”
FIVE
Erin swung her gaze to Teague. “Your grandmother?”
“Yes, Dr. McClure,” Belisaire answered for him.
Erin turned back to her. The woman had somehow managed to close the distance between
them without a sound. She stuck out her hand. “I’m very honored to meet you.”
Belisaire studied her proffered hand, then laid her small dark-skinned hand over Erin’s.
The slow scrutiny of her black-eyed gaze was more than a bit unsettling. Erin had
been subjected to examinations before, by chieftains of little-known aboriginal tribes,
leaders of warriors in countries still more untamed than civilized. None had made
her feel so exposed. She felt naked to her soul.
After what felt like hours, but was certainly only seconds, the priestess lifted her
hand and spoke. “You have faced the darkness before, Erin McClure. You
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