Siren's Call (Dark Seas) Page 12

  Sam nodded, as if understanding and accepting otherworldly guidance. His hands eased their grip on the chair and he unfastened the small medicine pouch looped at the waistband of his pants. He withdrew a couple pinches of a green herb. He picked up the empty offering bowl and dropped in the herbs. Next, he opened the larger medicine bag strapped across his waist and pulled out the head of a dried cattail, a withered root, fresh silvery-green sage and a single, sharp leaf from a saw palmetto. In the mortar and pestle he emptied a vial of liquid and slowly added snippets of the herbs and roots, crushing them to form a paste.

  “What’s he making?” Lily whispered by his side.

  Nash laid a finger against his lips, not wanting anything to disturb his grandfather’s concentration.

  Sam ladled out the paste with an index finger and scooped it into the mason jar. He screwed on the lid and signaled Nash it was time for his part in the ceremony.

  Nash stood and felt heat rise at the back of his neck when everyone stared. Buck up. This is for Grandfather. For a sick child. He undid his own medicine pouch from the waistband of his jeans and opened it, conscious he’d never done so in front of another person before. His grandfather had insisted he be a part of this healing. Had told him that when the time was right, he would be called upon to use an item from his own pouch and he would know what to do.

  But what if he failed? What if he was the reason Kevin didn’t heal? The soft brush of feather against his fingers stilled his hand. A whooshing came from above, with all the force produced by an eight-foot wingspan. Nash looked up but could barely discern a solid shape in the shadows. Citron-colored eyes surrounded by white feathers pierced through the shadow realm. The large chocolate-brown body of the bald eagle blended into the deep purple sky. A shrill piping escaped its golden beak.

  Kuk-kuk-kuk. I will help you.

  Nash grasped the tip of the eagle feather he’d found as a child, never realizing its discovery had been planted for this future moment. He withdrew it from his pouch, meeting Lily’s curious eyes. Twyla, J.P. and their child focused on him, as well. No one looked above. No one else saw or heard what he did.

  Except his grandfather.

  Sam cocked his head toward the child and Nash knew what to do. He went to Kevin and the child reached out a hand, grabbed the feather and clutched it to his chest.

  Nash returned to Lily’s side and Sam rose from the chair, opened a sealed plastic pouch and sprinkled the brown leafy contents at each circle direction. Nash knew from times past this was tobacco, a sacred herb offered in gratitude to the spirits for their assistance.

  Sam exited the circle holding the lidded jar. He ambled over to Twyla, who held her son against her right hip and arm, and placed it in her left hand. “Rub a pinch of this on his stomach every night for the next week.”

  J.P. eyed the green mixture with narrowed eyes. “What all is in that?”

  “Nothing that will harm your son. A mixture of cattail, galangal, fresh sage and saw palmetto. His stomach ails him,” Sam explained. “This will balance his digestion.”

  “Couldn’t hurt, I guess.” J.P. reached for his back pocket. “How much we owe ya?”

  Sam stiffened. “I take no money for spirit work.”

  Twyla shot her husband a warning look. “I’ve already got it covered.” She dug in her purse and pulled out a sealed pouch. “Will you accept this gift of tobacco?”

  Sam nodded and stuffed it in his large medicine bag. “And this is for you.” He produced a small dream catcher, the size of a salad plate. Feathers were attached to its wooden hoop with leather strips. “Place this by his bed at night. It will help his guardian spirits keep away those spirits who would steal your son’s energy.”

  Kevin grabbed the dream catcher and tugged it to him, giggling as feathers tickled his face.

  A look of mutual admiration passed between Sam and the child. A ping of understanding hit Nash. Little Kevin was going to be okay. The sallow skin looked pinker and the listless eyes held a newfound spark.

  “You think he’s cured?” Twyla asked in a rush, her voice a mixture of hope and desperation.

  “The spirits have confirmed your son is fine. But I always recommend people follow up with their doctors to be safe.”

  Nash shook his head. Even mystical healing these days required a “cover your ass” disclaimer.

  “Would save us a boatload of cash if we didn’t have to travel to Birmingham,” J.P. observed. He hung his head and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Not that we wouldn’t do everything possible for Kevin.”

  “Of course,” Lily agreed. She shot Nash a look of such awe and gratitude it made him squirm.

  He’d done nothing to earn this respect. For years he’d barely acknowledged Sam’s or his own abilities. Nash saw how selfish he’d been, even if he still wanted no part of shamanism or further development of his own earth magic.

  Perhaps Sam had agreed to the healing partly to show Nash why he should respect and honor his heritage.

  He moved to his grandfather’s side and addressed everyone. “I think my grandfather needs a good meal and rest now. This kind of work is tiring.”

  Twyla and her family offered profuse thanks and hurried away. Twyla clutched the jar of green salve as if her son’s life depended on it. Perhaps it did.

  Lily hesitated. “Can I fix a meal for y’all before I leave?”

  “Not necessary,” Sam objected. “I have a pot of stew on the stove. I’ll eat and then head off to bed. You two can go about the rest of your evening.”

  “You sure?” Nash asked. “Today’s been tiring and with your—”

  Sam cut him off. “What are you going to do? Hold my hand while I sleep? I’ll be fine.”

  Nash grasped his grandfather’s hand and gave it a firm shake, hoping it conveyed his love and respect. He’d been away from the bayou too long, had neglected the person who best understood him. Somehow, he had to atone for the thoughtlessness.

  Sam squeezed his hand. “I am well pleased with you, Nashoba. Always knew you’d return when the time was right.”

  Nash covertly watched his grandfather as they made their way back to the cottage. Sam’s steps were slow but sure. He’d make it up to him, would arrange to stay in Bayou La Siryna until his grandfather’s heart beat for the last time.

  “What did he mean about returning when the time was right?” Lily asked in a low voice.

  “I’m not sure,” he admitted. “Sam often speaks in riddles.”

  They waved goodbye to Sam and climbed into Nash’s truck. Lily snuggled against Nash as best she could, considering the truck’s bucket seats that separated them.

  “Thanks again for talking Sam into helping them.” She shot him a sideways glance. “Think it worked?”

  “My grandfather says it’s up to the spirits to decide if there’s to be a healing, especially with babies and young children. But I believe Kevin will be fine.”

  “You sensed the spirits, didn’t you? That’s how you knew what Kevin needed from your medicine bag.”

  “It’s not easy to explain,” he hedged.

  Lily tapped her fingers against her lips. “Will you take Sam’s place one day as a healer?”

  “Hell, no.”

  His answer surprised her. Nash had acted like a natural at the ceremony. She stared out the window at the dense clumps of saw palmettos and the occasional one-story cottage. After spending months at a time undersea, this was the one constant place in her life—this bayou where generations of Bosarge women had shape-shifted and found a second home of sorts. In Jet and Shelly’s case, it was their primary home.

  Nash turned sharply onto Main Street and drove past the drawbridge where large shrimping vessels returned with the day’s harvest. “The healing art will probably die with my grandfather. Speaking of which—” Nash
hesitated.

  “Go on.”

  The sharp planes of his face grew sharper. “Sam suspects he won’t make it to the Green Corn ceremony later this month.”

  Damn. “Can’t he call on the spirits to help himself?”

  “He says it’s his time and he’s ready.”

  “Surely the doctors can do something. He doesn’t look so bad for his age.”

  “He’s already had one bypass surgery and refuses another. At first, I thought he looked fine myself, but after spending time here, I see how easily he tires.”

  “Is that why you really came home? To help him and to say...goodbye?”

  “Pretty much. Finding this assignment was easy. Gave me an excuse to hang around indefinitely.”

  Lily guided a hand underneath the leather cord that pulled back his long black hair and rubbed the stiff muscles at the nape. “Bet he’s glad for the company.”

  “Mmm.” He softened under her touch. “That feels incredible.”

  Lily reached up with her other hand and kneaded the top of his shoulder blades. “How about a full-body massage when we get to my house?” she whispered.

  Nash moaned. “You do that and I might never leave.”

  The words lay between them, heavy and tantalizing.

  “My plan is working,” Lily said hoarsely.

  “Sweetheart, if that’s an invitation, I’m in.” He laid a large palm on her bare thigh.

  Her flesh burned and rippled, heat spreading upward like a current to her core. Nash slid her a molten look and shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

  She cast a feverish glance out the window at the tree-lined street. Another mile. She groaned and nestled her head into his chest. Nash threaded the fingers of one hand through her hair, while the other hand gripped the steering wheel like a lifeline.

  He wanted her. Really wanted her like she wanted him. It was time. She wanted to be with him as much as possible, in every way possible. The thought of him eventually leaving the bayou pinched her heart. She wouldn’t think of it now. Anything could happen in the next few weeks. Tonight was for exploration, and she intended to make love to every inch of his body.

  Nash hit the accelerator and she grinned into the soft cotton of his T-shirt. Soon. She sniffed, heady with the earthy male scent that belonged to him alone. “Nashoba.” She whispered his name, a muffled sound that warmed his shirt against her lips.

  “We’re here.” Truck tires crunched against the ground shells of the driveway.

  Lily raised her head. Through a haze of lust, something tickled in her consciousness, a feather prickling warning sensors in the deep, primitive cerebellum. A distant warning that the world had shifted in a minor, yet important way. She cocked her head to one side, considering. No unusual sounds or smells or out-of-place objects. She scanned the yard, but nothing ominous hovered in the gathering twilight.

  Ring around the rosie...

  Annie’s voice flashed in her memory, singing in that high-pitched creepy cadence.

  Pocket full of posies...

  Da duh da duh da, it chimed in a familiar singsong pace as Lily searched the shadows.

  Evil surrounds me...

  The evil had something to do with shadows. It was too dark—

  We all fall DOWN.

  Down.

  Down.

  At the crescendo of down, Lily’s mind heaved like the turbulence of a strong undertow, pulling her down into its dark depths. Darkness—that’s what was wrong—the house was too dark. The porch floodlight was off again.

  Nash stopped the car and shot her a wary glance. “Is something wrong?”

  “Looks like the porch light must have burned out.” No sense alarming him until she ran out of options. Damn it, they’d been minutes away from the ultimate intimacy, and now this.

  “I’ll check it out.”

  Nash got out of the truck with the silent, fluid motion of a cat. Hands on hips, he surveyed the yard and house. Lily was certain he could sniff out danger, see and sense what she could not. Undersea, she had the same ability. Echolocation allowed her to perceive the shapes and natures of moving creatures at far distances.

  Lily climbed out the passenger side and quietly approached, not wanting to disturb his concentration.

  Without looking at her he raised an arm and drew her into his side.

  “Go back in the truck and lock the doors.” He pressed a set of keys into her hand. “I’m going to take a look at the porch light.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  He leveled her with a stern gaze. “As stubborn as you ever were.” But he held her hand and proceeded forward.

  “The porch light’s in that corner.” Lily pointed to the far right wall, and Nash picked his way through the white wicker rockers and potted ferns.

  He reached up and turned the bulb, which fell immediately into his hand.

  “Must have come loose?” she asked, relieved to see it hadn’t been smashed.

  “Must have been deliberately unscrewed.”

  He returned the bulb to its socket and light burst upon them with shocking intensity.

  “Hand me your keys,” he commanded.

  Lily turned them over, thankful she wasn’t alone.

  “Stay behind me. And this time do as I say.”

  Lily snapped him a salute. “Aye, aye, sir.”

  He scowled, not amused. “And keep quiet.”

  A familiar click of the lock and he eased open the door, stepping cautiously over the threshold. Lily placed her hands on either side of his waist, face almost pressed into his back. She inhaled the earthy sandalwood scent that made her feel protected and safe. Once inside, she let go and took two steps toward the kitchen.

  The iron band of his forearm blocked her path.

  “Behind me,” he hissed. “Light switch?”

  She pointed to the left interior wall of the kitchen.

  Nash flipped it on and a massive chandelier cast brilliant prisms of amber, coral and teal light into the kitchen.

  Lily exhaled and spoke without bothering to keep her voice low. “I must have forgotten to turn it on when I left earlier.”

  “There’s still the matter of the front porch light. I don’t like it. Not after you told me about the phone calls.”

  “I’m sure it’s nothing.” Yet she glanced around the pristine room where everything appeared in place.

  “Let’s check the rest of the house to be sure,” Nash said with a frown.

  Lily led him through the downstairs rooms, which showed no signs of disturbance. She was beginning to feel foolish. Maybe that trip to see Tia Henrietta had done more harm than good, had put unwarranted suspicions in her mind. They proceeded upstairs and did a walk-through of the bedrooms, saving hers for last.

  The closed door to her bedroom gave her pause. The only time she’d ever kept this room shut was after Jet’s dog, Rebel, had chewed on a pair of her designer shoes. Now that her sister and the dog were gone, there was no reason to shut it. Lily halted, hand on the knob, a faint echo of a child’s song bouncing in her mind. It’s okay. Nash is here.

  Nash laid a hand over her own. “I’ll go in first.”

  She stepped back. “No argument from me this time.”

  He snapped on the light and a fusillade of color bombarded Lily. The worst damage was at the back wall where her easels and paintings were stored.

  Slashing X tears ripped through her latest watercolor. An explosion of acrylics had been smeared across her other works mounted on a drafting table in the far right corner. Angry rainbows of blues, greens and purples marred her delicate artwork. Paint tubes lay scattered on the floor, twisted and empty. In the middle of her lavender-flowered bedspread was a huge blob of red paint in the shape of a severed heart.

&n
bsp; Her ears buzzed as if a cacophony of ricocheting bullets had been fired.

  Someone hated her. Hated her with a primal fury that wouldn’t be sated until her own heart was gutted and bared like the painted one on the bedspread. Why? She stepped forward, dazed, fingers outstretched and trembling, wanting to touch the red acrylic, wanting to prove this was real.

  “Don’t touch anything,” Nash said harshly. “The police will want everything undisturbed. I’m calling them now.”

  “What if someone’s still here?” She glanced at the frilly lace bed skirt, wondering if the childhood bogeyman she imagined living underneath might have morphed into the real thing—ready to snake out a hand and grab her ankles if she neared its lair. Her gaze shifted to the open closet door and then the attached bathroom.

  Nash stopped mid-dial, fingers poised above his cell phone. “Right. Better check first.” He stuffed the phone into his back pocket, grabbed a broom that leaned against a wall and strode to the closet. He ran it through the rows of clothing as if he were wielding a weapon, ready to impale anyone hiding among the clothes. “Nothing there.”

  Lily jumped out of his way as he headed to the bed; the fury on his face was wild and primitive. She wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of such raw anger.

  Nash lifted the bed skirt and slashed through the underbelly of her bed with the broom. “All clear there.”

  He straightened, eyes unfocused, as if sensing something beyond the immediate.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Lily urged. “What if there’s someone here? Someone armed?”

  He was past reason, intent on finding the culprit. Nash acted as if he didn’t even hear her.

  “There’s something here,” he murmured. “Something alive and deadly.” Ever so slowly his neck swiveled toward the bathroom door. “There.”

  Lily raised a hand and laid it over the vulnerable, exposed carotid artery and windpipe beneath her neck. “Don’t go in there,” she rasped.

  But Nash lifted the broom in his right hand and didn’t turn. “Stay where you are.”