hand of hate 01 - destiny blues (11 page)

“I think this lady can help you.”
 

I wanted to scream. “I come to you for help, and you lead me to a tourist attraction? Are you kidding me?” The sauerkraut I’d eaten earlier threatened to make an encore performance. I took a step back.  Words failed me. Nothing would get me inside that house.  
 

Bitterness itched at the back of my throat. “I can’t believe you brought me here.” Rhys had been my last hope.  
 

“She’s not what you think.”
 

What an idiot I’d been. What the hell made me think a mage had any more credibility than a fortuneteller, anyway? I’d been so busy looking at his eyes, I’d forgotten my mission. At least Porter hadn’t made fun of me. Bang-up job there, Mattie.
 

I clenched my fists in fury at my own stupidity.  “I just remembered, I’ve got to, um, be someplace. My niece. I need to pick her up. She’s waiting.” I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.  
 

I tripped over a crust of broken pavement and fell sprawling, cracking my elbow and against the concrete. I winced and grabbed my funny bone, embarrassed by my own clumsiness. My own weakness.  My own everything.  
 

In a flash, Rhys was at my side, his face full of concern. I couldn’t stand to have him look at me like that.  He put his hand on my arm to help me up, but when his flesh touched mine, I twisted away before I could embarrass myself any further. My elbow hurt like the dickens, and I focused on the pain instead of the thrumming of my skin where he’d touched me.   
 

My cheeks burned. “I don’t believe in fortune tellers.” It was the best I could come up with on short notice.  
 

“She’s not a fortune teller.”  
 

“The sign says she is.” Against my will, I wanted him to touch me again, but I couldn’t bring myself to take one step closer to the monstrosity of a house. I wanted to disappear. I glanced up and down the street, hoping no one was watching.  
 

“Wait, you don’t understand. When I told you she could help, what I meant to say is I think she might be related to you.”
 

I whirled on him. “Like that’s supposed to make me feel better? I don’t think so.”
 

“The picture I showed you is of Madam Coumlie’s daughter, Oleanna. She got pregnant and gave up the baby for adoption. I think the child might have been your mother.”
 

Thunderstruck, I stared at him. “No.” I shook my head.    
 

Admittedly, the resemblance to my mother was pretty amazing. I searched my memories for the name, Oleanna. I’d never heard the name before; but I liked it. Was it possible? No. To think this ancient circus freak could be related to me made my face hurt. People called her the Oracle of Death, among other things. She was an embarrassment to the neighborhood, and like an old harlot, too colorful to ignore.
Just like my mother
. The thought of being related to yet another neighborhood joke horrified me.  
 

“I’m sorry I ever came to you for help.”
 

“You want help? I can’t help you. You’re going to have to talk to the Hand of Fate.”
 

I sighed.
I don’t need this
. I didn’t want to see what was behind door number two, thank you very much. I’d rather take Blix and Larry and my other little demon consolation prizes and crawl back home with my tail tucked between my legs. Perhaps Porter was right. Certainly some sort of pharmacological solution could be found; it might not get rid of my hallucinations, but I wouldn’t care anymore.  
 

All of a sudden, Rhys was standing too close to me, looming inside my personal space. He reached for my neck. Paralyzing fear stabbed me as he deliberately drew me to him. He leaned in and kissed me hard; full on the mouth. More like a bite with tongue than anything else. I got the barest whiff of spice cake and a hint of beer. It was over in a second, leaving me out of breath, my lips bruised and throbbing.  
 

“Welcome back.” That fantastic smile was back again. In fact, he seemed rather pleased with himself.  He chucked his finger under my chin and steered me up the stairs to the porch. He held open the old-fashioned front door, and motioned me inside.  
 

All my resolve disappeared, as I savored the unexpected pleasure fading from my lips.  
 

“We can’t just walk in.”
 

“We’ll be standing out here all day, if we waited for her to answer the door. She’s deaf as a fossil. You want to do this or not?”
 

He grinned and waited for me to make up my mind. I wanted to ask him why he’d kissed me, but this was not the time. What the heck, better not rock the boat. Maybe he would kiss me again.
Don’t be such a wimp, Mattie.
 
 

I sighed. I wanted to keep my job, I needed to get rid of these inner demons. If Madame Coumlie was the only person with the answers I needed, I was going to have to talk to her. Shit.  
 

“Let’s do it then.” I set my jaw and walked past him with as much dignity as I could muster.  
 

CHAPTER  14
 

I paused in a musty entry hall decorated in early bordello. Dark wood-trimmed burgundy walls surrounded the doorways and stairs. Across the foyer, a framed proclamation of some sort hung above a red velvet settee flanked by ornate sconces. To the right, an archway led into a lavender living room. An oriental carpet paved the floor, and a pink camelback sofa faced the soot-stained fireplace. The room appeared unused. I turned my attention back to Rhys.  
 

“This way.”
 

I licked my lips and followed him through a wide doorway to the left, which opened into a circular, high-ceilinged parlor, painted in the most garish colors imaginable. Flocked paisley wallpaper flecked with maroon, orange, and purple covered the walls. A border of hand painted gold stars and other hieroglyphs encircled the windows and baseboards. Faded photos, framed certificates, and yellowed newspaper clippings festooned the room like bonbons. A massive chandelier hung from the ceiling; dusty strings of old spider webs stretched between the prisms.  
 

The tiny woman sat at a low table in the front window. She must have seen us come into the house, but she did not turn her head to acknowledge us. I blushed to think she had watched me kiss Rhys.  
 

Rhys tapped her shoulder, and she swiveled in her seat to face me. Her eyes were her most arresting feature. The irises were a chalky copper color, with a fiery halo of yellow-gold around her pupils. Like a bird, she cocked her head and inspected every detail of my appearance from head to toe. I shifted uncomfortably; self-conscious in the power of her gaze. Her penciled-in eyebrows and rouged cheeks gave her the appearance of an ancient marionette. She grinned up at me through nonexistent lips. I was both repulsed and inexplicably fascinated by her.
 

“Madame, this is Mattie Blackman.” Rhys spoke with reverence and careful diction, presumably so she could read his lips. “Mattie, this is Madame Coumlie, the Hand of Fate.” He motioned me closer.
 

Had she been standing, she would have come only to my waist. She held both her blackened hands out to me, and I hesitated. Pale runic scars disfigured the soot-stained skin of her bony hands. An incised crescent moon had been carved into each of her palms. What kind of person does that to herself, I wondered.   
 

“What do you think, Madame?  Who does she remind you of?”
 

Her pale eyes washed over me, and stared back at her. I couldn’t have been more intimidated if I’d been facing a cobra. She’d dressed as for a special occasion, although she couldn’t have known we were coming.   Beneath a quilted vest of Persian blue, she wore a crisp white blouse. Ropes of polished silver and turquoise beads wound around her spindly neck. Thin white hair wrapped her skull in a tidy French twist. She gave the impression of fragility, but her eyes were flinty sharp. My determination wavered.    
 

“You are not my Oleanna, but there is no doubt you are of my line,” she said, in thickly accented French. She motioned me to a seat, opposite her at the banquette.  
 

“Tell me, mage. What do you think of her?”
 

His eyes settled on my mouth as he answered. “I find her irresistible.”
 

I blushed at the compliment. The old woman coughed, and horked something substantial into her cupped hand. I couldn’t keep the revulsion off my face, and even Rhys looked disgusted. She pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket, and wiped her hand. The spasm passed and she folded the whatever it was back into the pocket of her slacks. When she’d composed herself, I realized she’d been laughing.  
 

“Yes, well our line always affected those such as yourself in that way. But look at her and tell me what you see.”
 

“She’s like you, only more so.” Rhys put his hands out, as if he were warming himself before a bonfire.  “Even in here, she is hot with it.”
 

I wondered what he meant. Hot was good, right?
 

“What you are sensing, mage, are her djinn. As my powers fade, hers grow stronger.” She closed her eyes and appeared to inhale my essence. “Who could imagine such strength in one like this! She is a beacon to the djinn. Several hover in her aura.”
 

Djinn? In my aura?  
What’s a djnn?  
 

“And two named djemons.” Her eyes widened, and she looked directly to Blix and Larry. “What have you done,
chere
?”
 

“I didn’t do anything.”
 

She snatched my sweaty left hand between her cool bony fingers and I gasped. I attempted to pull away, but claws tightened into a vise around my wrist. Her fingernails dug painfully into the flesh of my palm.  She had me in a grip of stone, as immovable as iron. Regardless of her appearance, she was stronger than me. The sensation of being trapped was overwhelming. I wondered if I would be able to get away with my dignity intact.
 

“Don’t you know? Naming them gives them power. They cannot harm anyone if they aren’t named. Even your silly FBI knows that.” In spite of my resistance, she pulled me closer to her.  
 

“You didn’t tell me you’d named them.” Rhys stroked his moustache, his face grim.
 

“Let go.” I kept my voice calm. She replied with a lipless smile.  
 

“You’re hurting me.” I jerked my hand as hard as I could, but the old witch didn’t move a muscle.  I gritted my teeth and wished I’d never come here. I should have listened to my instincts about this house when I had a chance. Alice in Wonderland would’ve run screaming from this place.  
 

“I said, let go of me!”
 

She loosened her grip, finally, and I snatched my hand back, scared and humiliated. My palm seeped blood where her fingernail had dug into me. I wanted to leave, but for some reason, couldn’t force my legs to move.
 

“That’s not important now, mage. You found her and we don’t have much time. I had all but given up hope. You have done well.”
 

“What are you talking about?” I held my throbbing hand to my chest.
 

“Listen to me,
chere
. Time is short. You are unprepared for what is to come.”  
 

She’d given my wrist some sort of a burn. I flexed my fingers and stared at a shiny black crescent mark now centered on the palm of my left hand. She held up hers, and showed me she had one just like it.  
 

I rubbed my palm against my shirt, trying to rid myself of the mark, but it didn’t even smear. “What did you do to me?”
 

   “I knew it,” Rhys said. “Her resemblance to Oleanna is uncanny.”
 

Madame Coumlie merely nodded.  “You should be proud of your heritage. We are the last of the Fates, you and I, descended of the gods themselves. Our ancestors were born a millennium before the dawn of Christianity. Our bloodline has survived for thousands of years. When I die, all the powers of prophesy, destiny, and death will come to you, the only surviving woman of my line. The transfer of power has already begun.”
 

“No.” I got my legs working again and stood.  “I’m not listening to any more of this. I am not what you say. I came here to get rid of these things. That’s the only reason I came.” I glared at the mage.  “You were supposed to help me.”  
 

“This has nothing to do with what you want, chere. This is your destiny. When I die, my powers will pass to you and you will become the next Hand of Fate. It has always been this way. It is a great honor and responsibility. Even now, as I sense my powers waning, they bloom in you.”