The setting lends the impression that he thinks himself a king. And maybe, in his world of dark magick, he is. But kings can be dethroned.
Chuks the bokor has his face painted to look like a skull. He’s wearing a black suit and top hat, as well as countless beaded necklaces. He holds, at his side, in a most regal fashion, a long black cane with white, carved handle. I wonder if each one of the beads on Chuks necklaces are blessed as the beads I have gathered for Miri’s wedding and pregnancy.
The men seated at the tables are chatting, laughing. Playing card games, I think. At our arrival, the bokor glances up from his fellow festivities and narrows his gaze across the distance. The others in the room drop their voices, and then their conversation all together.
The hairs on the back of my neck prickle, stand on end. A shiver fights to rake through my body. I grab Jeanna and James’s hands and, before I lose my nerve, call on the elements to protect us. I say the word and focus on the thought.
My head throbs with dull pain, but the spices rise from my pockets. Swirl in a wall of herbal dust around us.
James is ripped from my hold. Knocked to the ground by his brother. I refuse to allow the change to affect my casting. Still, holes like a snag in nylon appear, growing and closing in size.
“Magick courses strong in your blood, little witch,” the bokor says. “Now, sleep.” He raises his open palm to his lips and blows. A powder swims across the room, penetrates my protective wall, and swims around us.
I try to hold my breath, avoid inhaling his spell. But oxygen is too sweet, too necessary. Plus, my head is spinning. I inhale. Stagger. Detect a hint of lavender and chamomile.
Jeanna lowers herself to the ground, curling up as if she plans to nap. Here. Now.
My muscles slacken, and my eyes wish to close, but I push against the desire. John grabs my arm and presses against my back. “Stop this. You’re making it worse, and I am trying to get you guys out of here alive,” he whispers at my ear.
I jerk. Snap my attention to him, and he steps away. Sneers. With a start, I realize he’s playing the double agent. He works for the bokor, be it directly or indirectly, and he’s trying to protect his brother at the same time. Maybe he’ll be able to help us get out of this mess.
“You’ve been up to no good, little witch.”
My gaze jumps back to the bokor, my breath catching in my throat and my heart jumping into overtime.
“By whose definition?” My voice is groggy and less authoritative than I care to admit.
“By my own, and that’s the only one that counts,” he replies. “I’ll tell you what...” He rises from his seat and waves his hand to the side in presentation. “You stop this nonsense, leave my business with the Flores family alone, and I will see to it that your mother is returned to you. No influence over her, other than her own, of course.”
“You can do that?” First Caleb offers to help return Luna’s parents; now Chuks the bokor is offering up mine. Everyone in our lives is being played like a bargaining chip.
“I can do anything I set my mind to. My power and influence are vast. I can bless your life or make it hell.” I push at my backbone, forcing myself to stand straight. Stand tall and unblinking.
His words… Lies. Lies and threats. All of it. I refuse to let him play me like one of the pieces on his board. And moreover, I refuse to simply step back and allow him to take control of Luna and her family.
My insides are churning and squeezing. I want to vomit.
Nerves, I tell myself. Everything I am physically experiencing is due to nerves, and I can do better, be better. Stand stronger. I can overcome the weakness, fear, and doubt pressing upon me. I suck in a deep breath and imagine Luna forever on the run from the bokor.
Friends stand by friends, through all the good, bad, and ugly.
“I’m sorry.” I shake and bow my head. Raise my gaze, sharp and unhindered. “But I’ll have to revoke any authority you think you have over Luna and her family.
His face widens, and a hint of humor touches his cheeks.
I thrust my hands up into the air, calling with the motion my spices from their pockets. Driving my palms toward the bokor, I command the attack of my spices. “Incapacitate and stupefy,” I yell.
The bokor whips the hat from his head and pulls it to his chest, opening out. “Within,” he says. My spices compress, sail into the opening.
I gasp. Take a step back.
“I, too, have tricks, little witch.” He drops his hat back into place, atop his head. He flares his hands and hisses. Speckled clouds, like salt and pepper, explode for the cuffs of his sleeves, from the opening of his mouth.
I want to run, but my feet refuse to move. James is hollering my name, telling me to duck. Only, I don’t move. I can’t move. I’m frozen, by no magick other than the emotions of the mind.
The clouds of black and white rush across the room, churning and swirling until it is one thick mass of grey. It slams into me with the force of a thousand and ten herculean punches. My feet leave the ground, and my body bows. The blast of energy tosses me like a toy across the space, smacking me into the back wall.
With a slide
