Chapter Four

Charlemagne saw me home with a promise that we would talk later. I really didn't want to. I was sad, drunk, and embarrassed. Overheated, I stumbled out of my shoes and coat before peeling my dress off over my head. I didn't bother to dress in my PJs, I didn't want anything touching my skin. I grabbed the remote off the nightstand and rolled onto my comforter and spread out.

The TV flickered on, and I tossed my remote to the other side of the bed. I didn't care what was on, and I'd already had my eyes shut before I'd even registered the blue light playing across my face. I was starting to drift, the soft edges of a dream dragging at me. The dark road unwinding. Streetlamps half-hidden by the willow trees and swampy mangroves. They didn't grow together in real life.

In the beam of my headlights, the man rose suddenly—

I jerked up in my bed, my heart slamming into my ribs. I'd been dreaming about the night Charlemagne and I had met, that moment right before he'd rolled over my hood. There'd been a faint thump. I could almost hear it. I started to drift off when the thumping noise came again, louder now.

Blinking sleep out of my eyes, I struggled to climb out of bed. What the hell was that? Someone knocking? I glanced towards the digital clock on my nightstand, the green letters winking four AM back at me. My heart thudded in my chest, pumping adrenaline through my body. Taking a breath, I put my feet on the floor, listening. Silence echoed through the house.

The TV was still flickering, an infomercial provided enough light for me to crouch down and find my cell phone in the pocket of my discarded coat. I grabbed my dress from the floor and slid it on over my head. Holding my phone tight, I slipped out of my room. I didn't want to turn on the light. Maybe if they thought no one was home, or everyone was still asleep, they'd go away. Please go away.

Swallowing, and on the verge of full blown panic, I crept towards the front of the house. The blinds were drawn and no light seeped in through the windows. My heart in my throat, I slid up to the front door and pressed my ear against the wood to listen. I didn't hear anything, but there was a faint…smell. Something vaguely floral and metallic.

I shifted to pull the blinds down, narrowing my eyes to peer outside, but there was no one on the porch. Fear contracted in my belly and sent splinters of ice through my body. I wanted Charlemagne. I wanted him right now. I didn't want to open the door. The metallic smell had registered late as blood.

Stumbling back from the door, I swept my gaze around my living room. "Frank?" I whispered, crouching lower to the ground to call for him. "Frank Langella, where are you?"

A pair of bright green eyes blinked up at me from the corner of the couch. Relief coursed through me as I held my free hand out for him. "Frank, come here, baby." I said, scooping him up once he was in grabbing range. "It'll be okay." I mumbled against his furry, little head.

He cuddled into me, his head jutting against my neck as I hurried back towards my room. I shut the door and locked it before I slid to the ground. I hugged Frank against my chest until he squirmed out of my grip. I pulled my knees up and unlocked my cell. Had Charlemagne gone back to the club? Had he gone home? Did I call the police?

There was an ancient landline at Fortuna. If Charlemagne was there, he occasionally picked up. Please pick up. I pulled up the number and pressed my phone to my ear. My stomach twitched as I counted out the rings until someone picked up. "Hello? Charley?"

There was a breath of silence. "Charlemagne is busy." A woman said into the phone, her French accent curling against my ears. "Do not call back here, little girl."

My heart sank and I expected the phone to slam back into the cradle when there was another silence and then Charlemagne's rumbling voice. "Sortir." He cut off any argument and then his tone softened in my ear. "Abigail? What's wrong?"

"Someone was here. At my house—"

"Abigail."

I nearly jumped, spinning around to straighten, fumbling with the lock to get my door open. Relief shuddered through me as I slammed into Charlemagne, my arms slipping around his waist. "I heard a noise, like a thumping noise outside the front door, but I was too scared to open it." I admitted into his chest.

Charlemagne slipped his arms around me briefly before he detangled himself. "Stay here." He said, starting for the door.

And of course, I didn't. I shut the door behind me to keep Frank from getting out and followed after him. I saw him falter by the door. "You smell it too?"

"Blood." Charlemagne confirmed, tilting his head to inhale deeply. "Not human." He held his hand out to the side, gesturing for me to stay back as he reached for the door handle.

Swallowing, I raised the collar of my dress to cover the lower half of my face, watching as he slowly opened the door. He growled low in his throat, the sound inhuman, as it vibrated through him. "Rester." He bit over his shoulder as he stepped outside and started to close the door behind him.

I moved quickly, grasping the edge of the door before he could get it closed and drawing my hand back as something sticky rubbed off on my fingers. "What is it?" I breathed out, reaching for the inner door handle.

"Abigail—"

"Charley."

He bared his teeth, fangs extended, but he didn't stop me from taking a step out onto my porch. I reeled back, stumbling into the doorframe and back into the house. I kept backtracking until the back of my legs hit the edge of the couch and I sat down heavily, my heart thudding in my ears. It'd only been a glimpse, but it would be enough to give me nightmares.

Someone had nailed a dead crow to my door. A crow full of black flowers. I started to raise my hands to my face when I remembered the sticky substance and hurried into the kitchen to scrub them clean. My mind was whirling, adrenaline was pumping through my veins, creating a violent tremor in my limbs. The crow appeared in the corner of my eye, spinning in and out of reality like a coin balanced on its side.

"Abigail." I jumped at the sound of my name and whirled around to face Charlemagne. He held his hands up in a placating manner. "I got rid of it, ma cherie, I cleaned the door, and will have someone stop by tomorrow to repair the holes left behind."

I swallowed hard, my gaze dropping to his hands. There was no blood, no evidence that he'd been handling something dead only moments ago. My eyes flew back to his face, they were wide in my skull, and I was having trouble forming words. My mouth opened, shut, and then opened again as my stomach lurched. I spun around just in time to spit up the contents of my stomach into the sink.

Charlemagne was at my back in mere seconds, pulling my hair back out of my face. He leaned close to my ear, murmuring in his native tongue, humming, offering me comfort. A shudder rolled through me, my stomach contracting, emptying out everything inside of me. Tears slid down my cheeks as I turned on the faucet and grabbed the hose to usher everything down into the garbage disposal.

I bent, bringing the hose up to my mouth to rinse it out. Another harsh shudder passed through me, but my heartbeat was slowing. Charlemagne tilted my head back to wipe my face with a cool cloth. I hadn't even felt him move, but he must have dipped into my bathroom because he brought me my toothbrush, toothpaste, and the mouthwash. "Thank you." I mumbled, reaching for my toothbrush first.

He waited there, hovering at my elbow as I got myself back to rights. I wiped down my face one more time before turning to throw myself back into his arms. "What the fuck was that, Charley?" I mumbled, pressing into his scent of powdered roses and the faint tang of blood that clung to him.

Charlemagne slid his arms around me and buried his face against the top of my head. "Truth?" He murmured, hugging me tight. He didn't go on until after I'd nodded. "There is a language to flowers, to nature. I keep calla lilies because they are a symbol of death and rebirth, a nod to my own undeath." He explained, his voice sending warm tingles down my spine. "Crows are death omens."

I tensed against him and shut my eyes. A death omen. "And the flowers?"

"Black roses." He murmured, hugging me tighter as if he could fuse us into one being with his will alone. "Someone is very angry. That was a threat, Abigail."

I woke up a few hours later, sunlight making the room dim, aware of the space Charlemagne had occupied next to me until I'd fallen asleep. It was easier and harder to look at the last few hours in the light of day. I'd kissed Charlemagne and someone had nailed a crow to my front door. Who had I pissed off that much? And what had I been thinking when I'd crossed that line with Charlemagne?

I raised a hand to slip my fingers through my hair, pressing my palm into my forehead. There was no way that threat came from something human. So, was it about our book? Or was it about Charlemagne? Groaning, I twisted around to glance at the clock on my nightstand. Settled in front of the clock face was a small sheet of paper taken from one of my journals.

I reached for it, dragging it towards me to unfold it. I recognized Charlemagne's flowery cursive immediately. I ignored the small flutter in my belly. Okay, so he'd left me a note. He did that all the time. I focused.

Abigail,

I will return to you after night falls. Do not leave the house until then.

Yours,

Charlemagne.

I studied the note, reading it over again, and searching for...something. Something to let me in to how he felt, to whether or not anything past the threat at my door bore talking about. My eyes lingered on the first sentence. I will return to you after night falls. Return to me. I glanced at the clock. It was just after two PM, I had plenty of hours of daylight left. I glanced back at the note. Do not leave the house until then. Well, the obvious command prickled.

If I was quick, I could leave and come back. Charlemagne would never know. Besides, it was daytime, the sun was out. Nowhere for monsters to hide. I was halfway across my room when the voice in the back of my head reminded me that shadows still existed even in sunlight. Okay, so avoid shadows and back alleys. There'd been an errand pressing at me since I'd woken up and it needed to get done.

I showered quickly and changed into a pair of worn jeans and a plain T-shirt. I tugged on my shoes, scooped up my coat from the floor, and grabbed my messenger bag. Frank Langella followed me out of my room, grateful to escape into the rest of the house. I skirted my glance around, making sure nothing was out of the ordinary before pausing in the kitchen to fill Frank's bowls.

Grabbing my keys off the hook by the door, I stepped outside and turned to lock it behind me. My heart stuttered as I came face to face with the door. No blood, no feathers, or roses, just two perfectly small round holes where the nails had been driven in. My throat tightened, a tremor ran through my hands as I managed to get the door locked and hurried off the porch.

I climbed into Beatrice and started the engine. I needed to be quick. As much as following Charlemagne's directions irked me, I wanted to be inside my house. I wanted to be where I still felt safe, where I knew he would return to me. I pulled out of the driveway.

Instead of heading downtown, I started towards the city limits. The nearest Walmart was in Donaldsonville, a decent hour away from home. If there was no traffic. And I didn't stop to eat. Which there was and I did. The sun had lowered, burnishing the tree line in pinks, oranges, and golds. The fairy lights were just turning on downtown as I drove through towards home.

I was considering stopping at Le Merveille for one of their eclairs and a coffee when I spied the golden palm from the corner of my eye. I pulled over before I really allowed myself to consider it. We'd been forbidden to go into Maman Laveau"s as children. A bad experience between my mother and a psychic. She'd never explained it and at some point you just stop asking.

Biting my lower lip, I leaned closer to my window to study the front of the shop. The golden hand had been painted in the style of the Hamsa, with a deep blue eye at its core. A ward against the evil eye. Over the hand, the shop name had been written in cursive and invited the world in to see the psychic. Deep purple curtains hung in the windows, outlining displays of crystals, amulets, and various books boasting of real spells.

I'd met real magic when I'd met Charlemagne, but I wasn't sure if I believed in psychics or their spell books. Did witches exist? Did it matter? Someone had used omens to mark my door, to threaten me, so maybe a little magic couldn't hurt. I cut the engine and climbed out of the car. Draping my messenger bag over my shoulders, I glanced both ways before crossing the street.

I opened the door and stepped inside, feeling a small thrill of the forbidden in the pit of my stomach. I was an adult and my mother never needed to know. Walking into Maman Laveaux's was like walking into another world. The sounds and smells of Main Street faded. Maman's held a strange warmth to it, an atmosphere of otherworldliness. It smelled floral and medicinal, like dried flowers and herbs. Display cases offered animal bones, pewter dishes, and incense. There were materials to make voodoo dolls, and love spells, and in the corners were the statues of dark gods, patron saints, and archangels.

Tingles spread across my scalp as I stepped further into the store. Lips slightly parted, a mix of awe and dread filled me. I didn't even know where to start. Or what I was even supposed to be looking for. Or if I should be there at all.

Beads clacked together at the front of the store, and I glanced up as a young woman stepped out of the backroom. Dressed in acid-washed jeans and a marigold yellow blouse, she was covered in gold bangles, rows of necklaces and charms dripped from her neck. She was pretty with a dark olive complexion and bright blue eyes, golden beads and colorful charms hung from the ends of her dark braids.

She fixed a smile onto her face when she saw me. "May I help you?" She asked, her voice rich with that familiar Haitian-Creole accent. "You have not been to our store before, no?"

I shook my head and slowly picked my way towards her. "Uh, no I haven't been here before." I said softly. "But I'm looking for protection."

The woman eyed me curiously, but her polite smile didn't waver. "What do you believe you need protection from?" She asked. "The more I know, the more I can help."

I chewed my lower lip as I considered what to say. "My name is Abigail Braden." I started slowly, watching her face to gauge her reaction. "I wrote a book called Sanguinem. About a vampire."

The smile slid off her face as she straightened her shoulders. "Give me your hand." She said, holding one of her hands out for mine. "Tanpri."

Frowning, I carefully placed my right hand in hers. I started to open my mouth again when she made a noise for me to be quiet, she brought my hand closer to her, her fingers exploring the lines of my palm. "You have been touched by Baron Samedi." She breathed out, the tip of her nail dragging along the center of my palm. "Blonde-haired Death has marked you for his own."

I blinked up at her, my stomach twinged as a shiver rolled down my back. Blonde-haired Death. "What else does it say?"

"It says you ought to be careful playing with those vampires, girl." She said, arching a brow at me. "They're not human any longer, no matter how pretty they look."

Heat flushed through my face. "Noted." I swallowed hard, taking my hand back when she released it. "Um, someone nailed a crow to my front door last night. They filled it with black roses."

Her eyes widened slightly. "You should have led with that."

"You didn't give me a chance."

She scowled at me. "Stay here." She said, stepping out from behind the counter to start gathering supplies from around the shop. "My name is Nannette, by the way."

"Nannette." I repeated, nodding to myself. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet." Nannette said, bringing back an armful of supplies. "You got to have some faith for these things to work, or else it's just dirt and water." She explained, settling her things on the counter as she turned around to grab four small glass jars to start divvying up herbs. "Black salt and bay leaves to remove negative energy. They have to go in the four corners of your home, understand?"

I nodded, leaning forward to get a closer look at what she was doing. "Four corners. Got it."

She finished with the jars and picked up a glass bottle full of murky liquid and some kind of green herbs. "Rosemary, sage, and swamp water blessed by the Maman, herself." Nannette explained. "Wash down your door and windows. You can also sprinkle some over your head for cleansing and protection. This is to repel move je." She held up a bracelet made of red twine with a hamsa charm dangling from it. "Now."

I looked up from the bracelet to her face expectantly. She moved to the other items she'd placed on the counter, touching a small satchel of herbs. "Vervain and ash. They won't kill the loogaroo, but it will slow the blood in them, make them sleep and dream terrible things. Blood from a dead man is like a poison, in large amounts it will kill them if you can get them to ingest it." She pressed the tips of her fingers to the top of a plastic bottle with the words Holy Water stenciled on them. "Well-water and silver oxide flecks. Unassuming, but it will melt the flesh off a loogaroo's body.

"Silver is key. Use it to pierce the heart or cut the head from the body. Burn it to ensure effectiveness." Nannette explained, holding my gaze. "You have been marked by one of these things, Madmwazèl Braden, and it has invited bad spirits into your house."

My throat tightened. One of these things. "Charlemagne is my friend." I mumbled. "He's not—"

"He is not a person." Nannette said, gentling her tone. "Listen, he has been kind to my family, and he and the Maman have a mutual respect for one another, but we are cautious. You cannot love a lion into a housecat any more than you can love a loogaroo back into being human." She murmured. "Now, will that be cash or card?"