Prologue

 

Sunset prowled Louisiana’s Atchafalaya Basin, thieving glimmers from the swamp’s unrelenting black surface. Tributaries became dark wells. Slow-moving rivers grew bleaker than the Styx and twice as deadly. Like veils between worlds, Spanish moss hung from cypress branches, concealing more than most dared to imagine or understand.

Snakes sliced across inky surfaces as owls preened and readied for the night’s hunt. Here and there, crickets and toads rehearsed for a deafening performance, and a bull gator’s heart-chilling bellow cleaved the humid air. Birds struggled to find roost before they fell victim to the swamp’s insatiable appetite—and as for bipeds, human or otherwise, they hurried to the nearest refuge. Only fools and murderers remained in the Atchafalaya after nightfall, along with a few brave souls and yet a few more lacking sanity’s wisdom.

Rubie Breaux counted herself among the former, and sometimes the latter. Sometimes, Rubie thought she’d been born with the Atchafalaya, and when she died, the old Basin might just wither with her bones—or at least Daemon Swath, the isolated patch of mud, rock, and swamp grass where she lived and farmed and saw to ceremonies in her oum’phor, her Voudon temple.

“Foolishness,” she muttered. Talking to herself had become second nature long before Maman Rubie forgot how old she was getting. Now, she could scarcely remember the spelling of her name, who loved her enough to call her Maman, who knew her enough to address her as Tata, and who simply pointed and whispered about “dat old mam’bo on dat damn cursed island.” She could no longer fully remember even the gentle lines of her Haitian mother’s sweet face. She recalled what was important, though. What had to be done. She didn’t dare think about what would happen to the world she knew when she died. Those thoughts were simply too horrible to bear.

As darkness stole across her herb beds and chicken yard, covering her vegetable garden and her clothesline draped with newly laundered ceremonial flags, Rubie moved quickly despite her white-clad bulk. Adjusting her cotton dress and apron, she leaned forward and touched up the paint on the trunks of her reposoirs, the trees where the loas, the gods, lived. She took care to use the exact shade of each loa’s favorite color. She knew exactly what the gods liked to drink, what they chose to eat and how to cook it—and this was fortunate, for Rubie and her foremothers tended the most unforgiving of mystères. Maman Rubie and her people kept the Pethro Rites. They served—and to some extent, contained—the darkest of loas and the darker sides of benevolent gods.

She finished painting the base of the last live oak at moonrise, then glanced toward her two-room shack. It would feel like paradise to slip inside and take a short nap, but many hours of work awaited her in the oum’phor. The wooden building’s four rooms needed to be swept, and the packed-earth peristyle, or courtyard, too. The peristyle’s central post and the nearby pé, or altar, needed dusting, as did the two Pethro drums. Rubie’s asson, the calabash rattle filled with stones and snake vertebrae, sacred symbol of her power—well, that was looking dusty, too.

Rubie sighed. Sometimes, she wished to be a young initiate again, free of the burden of leadership. Or maybe just a hoodoo adept like most in New Orleans, casting love charms and simple spells, barely noticed or known by the loas. Such was not her lot, though. Rubie Breaux was a mam’bo, an empress of Voudon, and she knew her responsibilities all too well.

Mustering her waning strength, she started for the oum’phor—then froze and shivered.

A strange spirit energy had crossed onto Daemon Swath.

“Something that don’ come often.” Maman Rubie sniffed the thick night air, hoping for a scent, a perfume, some clue to tell her which loa had chosen to make a visit without being summoned by the drums, chanting, dance, and offerings of a proper ceremony. Such things were unusual, but not impossible, especially in times of trouble.

Rubie sniffed again. “Smells like…hmmph. Fancy European toilet water. What you be doin’ here, Mademoiselle Charlotte?”

Of course, the capricious loa refused to answer.

Heaving a sigh, Rubie changed course and hauled her old bones back to her cabin. It took her a good hour to collect and prepare what she needed: a cup of syrup-sweetened water, a glass of clairin, and a plate of just-cooked tender meat of a very young chicken. Rubie arranged all of this on a tray lined with pink, Mademoiselle Charlotte’s favorite color, and she carried it through the darkness, out to the edge of the yard, and placed it at the base of her only pink dogwood.

Minutes ticked by.

Mosquitoes worried Rubie’s arms and face. She swatted at them, but didn’t even consider going inside. Charlotte was the trickiest of tricky. Temperamental. Headstrong. She’d take her time, mais, oui. Just to be a dickens.

After another few seconds, the contents of the cup, glass, and plate vanished.

Before Maman Rubie could move or speak, Mademoiselle Charlotte’s presence seized her like a storm. Pictures flooded her tired mind.

A dark man, with wicked purpose.

A woman sought by a man outcast, even from his own heart.

A cursed man, bearing blood-burdens and grief.

And more. Infinitely more. Perhaps the breaking of all she had protected, the finish of all she held dear. Maybe even her own doom.

By the time Mademoiselle Charlotte departed and left Rubie to fall to her aged, aching knees, the mam’bo of Daemon Swath realized great good and great evil would come home to the Atchafalaya. The fate of many souls turned on the actions of the three people she had visioned. May the gods help them—and all the lives they would touch.

Two of them would be her visitors, no matter that they weren’t initiates, and no matter her personal feelings. One man was her long-lost foster son, heading to the swamp in great peril. Charlotte had instructed Rubie to answer the questions they would pose. For what purpose, Rubie could but guess.

Mademoiselle Charlotte, a mystery among mystères, rarely shared her intentions, be they fair or foul. Rubie knew one thing for certain, though. With Charlotte involved, nothing would be simple…and everything would have a price.

 

 

Le Mystère by Samantha Winston

 

He docked his boat on Daemon Swath and rubbed his face nervously. It was three-thirty by his watch. There was a light in the oum’phor though. As Luke stepped onto the rickety dock, a cool breeze caressed the back of his neck, sending gooseflesh down his arms.

“Merde,” he said under his breath. He hefted the burlap bag in his hands and from it an angry hissing sound came. On the way he’d spotted a water moccasin and he’d caught it. Tata liked presents. “Don’t worry, you’re going to like it here.” The snake just hissed.

“Hurry up boy. You plannin’ to stay there all night?” Tata called to him, her hands on her hips, her eyes flashing in the dark.

Luke winced. She sounded pissed, almost like she’d been expecting him. How would she—no, best not wonder how she knew things. Well, he was here now. He held the bag out in front of him. “Bonjour Tata. Here’s a gift for you. I know how much you like snakes.”

“If I didn’t like snakes, I wouldn’t like you.” She snatched the bag from him. But her voice was teasing and she reached up to ruffle his dark hair. “Luke Braquesmar. My favorite hood. So, what brings you out here tonight?”

“A ghost. Hey! Careful with that, you don’t want to stick your hand in that bag.”

She ignored him, reaching in and drawing out the snake. She held it just behind the head. It twisted its long body around her arm. “What kind of ghost?” she crooned to the snake.

Luke stepped back, his eyes on the serpent. “Jesse Dubois.” He slapped at a mosquito sting on his forearm.

“Jesse Dubois? The woman your daddy was accused of murderin’?” Tata’s eyes sharpened with interest. “So that’s what Charlotte tried to tell me. She showed up all in a fuss complainin’ that Pishou was givin’ her orders again and that Sir Quentin had insulted her because of a woman with a missing shoe…

“She didn’t make any sense at all, and when I questioned her she looked strange all of a sudden. Almost like she wanted to cry. ‘She’ll come if you call,’ she said, and then she vanished.

“Well, come inside boy, the mosquitoes gonna eat you up alive.” She led him into her house, not the oum’phor, and she put the snake in a wicker basket, verifying the lid was on tight. Then she put some water in a kettle and set it on the stove. “Sit down Luke. I’m making some tea.”

“Oh, granny says bonjour.” Luke sat on a wooden chair at the kitchen table. His eyes picked out the nicks and scratches he’d made as a child. How many hours had he sat here while his granny talked with Tata? He used to feel as home here as in his own house, as long as Tata wasn’t looking at him. He sighed, fidgeting in his seat. If only he hadn’t been such a crazy, stupid teenager.

“Luke, the past is the past,” said Tata, as if reading his mind. She put some herbs in the hot water and then poured it into three mugs. “Here, this will help you relax. I swear, watchin’ you is like watchin’ a June bug in a henhouse.” She sat down with her mug in front of her, and put the third mug between them in front of an empty chair.

“Which loa will come?” His skin was prickling again. “Is it Charlotte? Sir Quentin?” Tata’s eyes were closing and she was breathing deeply. The light flickered and went out. “Wonderful,” Luke muttered.

“Jesse Dubois, I summon you,” said Tata. “Come now, or leave my fiston Luke alone.”

“Tata, I…” Luke’s heart was hammering in his chest. Oh great, he thought, I’m going to die of a heart attack. Tata can cure snakebite, but I bet she’s never had to revive someone from a heart attack—

A white figure appeared in the third chair. “What the fuck!” In his hurry to get up, he tipped his chair over. The figure shivered, wavered, and then solidified into a person. Luke jumped backwards, his feet caught in the chair and he hit the floor with a crash.

The lights went back on, but the white figure didn’t disappear. She leaned over and looked at Luke. “Hello again.”

Luke’s mouth was so dry he couldn’t speak. His legs were trembling so hard his heels drummed the floor. Merde! Triple merde!

“Luke’s a bit shy,” said Tata, patting the girl’s hand. “Here is some tea, chère. Drink up, it will give you strength. Luke, get up and sit down properly. You’d think you never saw a ghost before.”

“Charlotte never shows herself to me, and besides, I didn’t know she would show up.” He didn’t want to look at her, but at the same time, he longed to grab her and hold her tightly. His heart pounded frantically and waves of heat washed over him. A ghost! Seeing her face in an old, faded newspaper hadn’t brought that fact home. Seeing her appear from thin air sure did.

It figured. He finally met a woman he wanted to get to know, and she was dead. His whole life was a fuck-up, why not his love-life too? Well, he wouldn’t have long to feel sorry for himself. His heart would give out any minute now.

“Luke, fiston, we have to talk now.” Tata’s voice was gentle and she took his hand in hers. She took Jesse’s hand too, and then Jesse took Luke’s hand, joining them in a triangle. A soft light flowed from Jesse and surrounded them. It didn’t feel like the same violent shock as when Luke had first touched her. This was a quiet, slow seepage of energy.

“That’s right,” Tata’s voice was soothing. “Ghosts ain’t nothin’ but troubled energy. Too much disturbance, and everything all knotted up. Got to sort all that out. Got to settle it down.” She closed her eyes. “You’re back for a reason, child. Got to find somethin’, that right?”

“Yes.” Jesse sighed deeply. “Something is lost, and I must find it. But what?”

Tata nodded, her whole body moving like one of her snakes. “Bones. You have to find your bones.”

“Why?” Luke couldn’t help blurting out. Damn, Tata didn’t like it when he interrupted.

Tata frowned but kept her eyes closed. She seemed to listen to a tiny voice in her head. She nodded slowly. “You have to find your body, Jesse child. When you find your bones, you’ll have solved the mystery.”

But, no one knew what happened to her body. Was that the mystery? Or would that solve the murder? “And then what?” Luke asked.

“That’s not clear.” Tata opened her eyes and peered at Jesse. “You have to hurry. Someone else be searchin’ for your bones.”

“Someone else? How do you know?”

Tata turned her gaze to Luke. “He came to see me an’ asked about her, that’s how I know.”

“Who was it?” Luke’s voice was hard.

“Jacques Lesnoire.” Tata let go of their hands and leaned back in her chair.

“But…” Luke sputtered. “Jacques Lesnoire? What the hell he be wanting with Jesse’s bones?” Lord, he must be tired. He was starting to sound Cajun.

Tata’s eyes narrowed. “I be wondering the same thing, fiston. If you want to know, I think maybe he has somethin’ to do with this whole story. Maybe this is the time to set things right.”

Luke frowned. “If Jacques had something to do with this, can’t we just call the cops?”

“And say what? You don’t know where her body is, so the police can’t do anything. You have to help Jesse, Luke. She came back for you.”

He looked at the woman—no, ghost. His fists tightened as fear churned his stomach. “I have a job to do, I can’t do this. I can’t help a ghost. I’m…” His thoughts flew like leaves in the wind, fluttering madly.

“Your job takes you into the bayou, into the swamp. Chances are her body is nearby where you found her. You’ll have to go back and seek out her bones.” Tata’s voice was stern. “You have to help her Luke. You were chosen. It’s time you cleared your father’s name.”

“How?” Clear his father’s name? Was it possible?

“First, you have to make Miss Jesse stay.” Tata looked up at the clock ticking on the wall. “The sun will be up in an hour. You’ll have to hurry, boy. In an hour, she’ll fade and she won’t be able to come back. It may be too late. She needs to be here in flesh and blood, and only you can do that. Give her your seed, she’ll be fixed here. Your seed or your blood. It’s up to you.”

Luke stared at Tata. His body trembled. “You don’t know what you’re asking of me,” he whispered. He would not panic, he would not. But did she mean what he thought?

“Please?” Jesse had been silent until then, but now her voice broke past his defenses. Her eyes were pleading. “I need you, Luke.”

Images of another night flashed in his mind. He winced. Why did Jesse have to look at him so hopefully? How could he ever tell her?

“I’m going to the oum’phor. I won’t be back before full daylight.” Tata chortled then patted Jesse’s shoulder. “My fiston will help you. I give my word.”

“Tata!” A feverish heat coursed through his body and his cock stiffened almost painfully. A sweet yet spicy taste clung to his lips. “What was in that tea?”

 

 

Embrace the Moon by Patrice Michelle

 

Prologue

 

Hanging moss slapped at his face as he dashed through the dark, murky swampland, adrenaline pumping through his veins in an all-time high. The squishy sound of the damp earth beneath his feet only echoed the vibration of his pursuer’s surefooted steps as he chased him deeper into the bayou.

Rafael Delacroix glanced back, his heart racing. He caught sight of the hunter’s silky dark hair as he gracefully jumped a fallen tree. Gritting his teeth, Rafael increased his speed, refusing to let the old childhood fear take over. But try as he might, he couldn’t completely extinguish that frightened feeling that came from deep within and now lurked just beneath the surface…a feeling he’d buried underneath a calm, cool exterior more than forty years ago.

Fuck the bastard who dared to wreck his private solitude. Clenching his fists, Rafael slowed his pace, letting the hunter draw near. Screw him and those like him who killed his family and by the nature of that act, his very security and identity right along with them.

Ripping his shirt open, Rafael tugged the damp silk from his body. The sultry night air, combined with his exertions, didn’t make undressing an easy task, especially while running. When he tossed his shirt away, a contemptuous smile tilted the corners of his lips as he slowed his pace, kicked off his pants and waited for the hunter to attack. He closed his eyes and inhaled, noting a change in the air surrounding him—an indication the hunter had leapt into the air.

Rafael turned and shifted to his wolf’s form right as the attacker connected with his body. Both wolves hit the ground hard, rolling until they tumbled over an embankment. As they slid down the incline, they inflicted damage, teeth ripping at fur covered flesh. They snarled and snapped, each trying to find the other’s weakness. Wet, slippery leaves, smelling of musky earth, clung to their bodies, making it difficult for Rafael to catch an identifying scent.

When they reached the bottom of the embankment, the adversaries slammed into the water. Rafael recovered first and managed to paw his way out of the sucking mud in the bottom of the swamp. But he barely had time to recover before the black wolf was on him, pinning him down with his thick paws as he clamped his massive jaw around Rafael’s neck—a jaw that could so easily snap it if he moved even an inch.

Fear me not, the wolf spoke in his mind. I’m your alpha. I mean you no harm.

Panting, Rafael responded mentally, his tone calm but commanding, I answer to no one.

The wolf growled and tightened his hold. Rafael fought the innate urge to submit to the obvious alpha above him. But he’d spent his entire life depending only on himself for too long to do anything less than rebel. Kicking his back hindquarters, he managed to rack the wolf good in his testicles. To his credit, the alpha wolf only flinched, never releasing his hold.

His attacker’s canines imbedded into his flesh and Rafael inhaled, accepting his fate. But the deep inhalation brought the alpha wolf’s scent deep within, unlocking a familiar smell that gave him strength in the early years after his family’s death and his prolonged isolation.

Before he had a chance to respond, he saw a gator out of the corner of his eye, ready to attack the alpha above him. At the bull gator’s bellow, Rafael instinctually growled deep in his throat and then touched the large reptile’s mind, telling him to shove off.

The alpha wolf had released his neck and stared at the gator. His body stiffened, ready to do battle, but the gator took heed to Rafael’s warning and slipped quietly back into the dark, murky water.

The wolf turned his crystal green gaze back to him, tilting his head in curiosity.

Now I know for sure. I’m glad you made it, Rand. The wolf panted, his jaw widening into a huge smile. Baine and I had hoped…

Rafael heaved a deep, pained sigh as his body naturally shifted back to human form. Holding the form for as long as he did outside of the full moon’s tide weakened his strength.

Lying underneath the alpha wolf, the confining position made him feel threatened—more than a little too much like the experience he’d had as a teenager. He pushed against the wolf’s chest, shoving the animal off of him.

Rolling away, the black wolf easily shifted back to human form, a wry laugh echoing in the woods. “You never could hold your wolf form for very long.”

Rafael slowly stood, heedless of his naked state as he brushed leaves and forest debris off his body. “And you always were a cocky bastard, Ethan. It’s Rafael now. With my new life, I created a new identity.”

Ethan gave an easy laugh and stood as well. He glanced at the gator swimming just below the surface. “I’m glad to see you’ve tapped into your vampire powers, my friend. The ability to touch animals’ minds is quite a gift to possess.”

“It’s both a blessing and a curse,” Rafael responded wanting desperately to shake the man’s hand who had saved his life years ago. Yet, at the same time he fought down the desire to punch him square in the jaw for not giving him a choice to stay and protect his family. Even though Ethan and his brother knocked him unconscious, he did owe them a debt of gratitude. Without them, he would have died four decades ago. During the lonely years that passed, there were many nights he wished he had died, but some inner demon never let him give up, driving him to survive, despite himself.

The emotions warring within him, churning his stomach and burning his chest, couldn’t stop the inner joy he experienced upon seeing another wolf after so many decades—one of the few he could call a friend.

Instead, he reserved his excitement at seeing Ethan as he awaited the man’s reason for seeking him out. He met Ethan’s emerald gaze and his lips twitched in amusement at the realization that Ethan had matured into a man a good three inches taller than his own six feet two inch height—such towering height keenly appropriate for a Chief Wolfen.

The memory of that very title caused fury to sweep through him. He clenched his fists and said in a low voice, “You’ve called yourself alpha. Tell me that means you’ve displaced Haden and sent his treacherous soul straight to hell.”

Ethan ran a hand through his shoulder length pitch-black hair and sighed. “No. Over the years, the older I got, the more Haden resented my ability to shift to wolf’s form at will and not be bound by the moon’s cycle.”

Rafael curled his lip in disdain. “Welcome to my world.”

Ethan turned a sad gaze his way as he placed a hand on his shoulder. “As half- werewolf, half-vampire, even at fifteen years old you represented a far greater threat to Haden than Baine and I ever did. If nothing else, with your vampire blood, you would have outlived the bastard. I’m sorry we didn’t get there in time to save your whole family.”

Rafael’s heart ached at the mention of his parents and sister. Their deaths hung heavy in his heart. If he’d been a little older and more in control of his powers, he could have stopped the killing frenzy Haden and the wolves in his pack—his very own fucking pack—had embarked on that early morning so many years before. When he tried to stay and fight, regardless of the odds, Ethan knocked him out cold.

He furrowed his brow. “Did Haden punish you for helping me?”

Ethan clenched his fists and snarled. “No. He was too busy going berserk to notice us carrying you out.”

Never one to mince words, Rafael got right to the point. “Why are you here, Ethan?”

Ethan walked over to the swamp and squatted, washing the mud off his hands while he spoke. “I left the pack. I’m too alpha to be under Haden’s rule. He knew it and I knew it. It was only a matter of time before he went on another ‘house cleaning’ spree.”

“Why didn’t you challenge him?” Rafael asked, incredulous. “Surely, the entire pack would benefit from his death.”

Ethan scooped water in his palm and let it trickle through his fingers. “The pack is Baine’s, Rafael. I couldn’t stay. I’m just as alpha as my brother. When Baine takes over, you know as well as I do two alpha males in a pack spell trouble.”

Rafael folded his muscular arms across his chest. “You still haven’t answered my question as to why you’re here.”

Ethan glanced over his shoulder and smiled, his teeth flashing white in the darkness of the dimly lit bayou. “I’m starting a new pack and I had hoped to convince you to come with me.”

He whistled softly three times and Rafael looked up at the sound of someone exiting the thick woods. When a white wolf emerged, it’s sleek stature smaller and more delicate, Rafael couldn’t help the slow smile that spread across his face.

“Hello, Tayen.”

Good to see you healthy and well, Rand. Or did I hear it’s Rafael now? she responded mentally in an upbeat tone. Brilliant blue aquamarine eyes, just as startling as he remembered, stared back at him.

She bounded around, turning in circles, still the same energetic white wolf she’d been as a young pup. He admired the positive aura she’d always projected, especially considering her plight. Everything about Tayen was polar to the rest of the pack. Her coloring was stark white while the others were shades of gray, brown, and black. But the most unusual aspect of Tayen was that she remained in wolf form all month, only shifting to human form during the full moon’s cycle while all the other wolves roamed on four legs.

The only reason Haden didn’t kill her was because she posed no threat, not to mention the fact that in human form Tayen had been the most striking young woman he’d ever seen. Rafael could only imagine what she looked like now that she’d fully matured.

“Tayen joined me when I left,” Ethan spoke, jerking him out of his reverie. “I had hoped to find you and offer you the same, Rafael—a home and a pack to join where you’d be appreciated for your differences, not persecuted.”