Possess Me (24 page)

“Isabel! It’s late. Your papa wishes to know if you are coming down for breakfast.”

Marcel’s growl rumbled against her back at the voice on the other side of the door, his thrusts increasing in speed and power, filling her, shaking the furniture with his need. “Tell her you’ll be down soon. Tell her to go away, Isabel. That you’re coming.”

“Go now and tell him, um, oh, I’ll be down soon. Tell him I’m coming. I’m coming!”

 

 

 

OH GOD, BETHANY WAS COMING. STANDING AT THE SINK IN
her friends’ house, she was moaning and trembling as though she’d just had the best sex of her life.

“What the hell?”

She hesitated before glancing in the mirror again. Her skin was flushed, her eyes sparkling, and her body trembling from the waves of pleasure rocking through it, but she was still her. Still Bethany Sorelle.

“Good lord, talk about jet lag.” Maybe it was the wine. The medicine definitely should have worn off by now. Besides, if one of them had a side effect of spontaneous climax, there’d be a run on the pharmacy.

It was that letter, and the romance in the air. Combined with all their talk of the sexual Loa, Bone Daddy, surely that supplied her fertile imagination with enough fodder for a highly detailed fantasy.

That was her story and she was sticking to it.

She needed to go to sleep. Forget the day and the plane ride and that erotic missive. She would wake up in the morning refreshed and ready to help Michelle study Isabel’s treasure. She had to remember to avoid her boyfriend Ben’s touch, since the last thing she wanted was for him or anyone else to know about her strong reaction to an old musty love letter. They might think she was a lonely, desperate woman.

They might be right.

Bethany snuggled back into the four-poster bed, staring at the folded letter as though it would come alive at any moment. The man’s masculine scrawl was burned into her brain. Bold, strong, confident.

He had seduced Isabel—that much was obvious. His words made it clear he wasn’t about to let her forget what they’d done together. That explained the sexuality of her dream. But where had the other parts come from? The friend, the servant, her concerns about the difference in their stations, not to mention her internal conflict about her own desires. It was so detailed. So real.

Maybe because she desperately wanted it to be. Wanted to be Isabel, just for a moment. To have that kind of passion directed at her.

She rolled onto her side and heard the jangle of the locket chain. She’d forgotten she was wearing it. She reached up to take it off and then hesitated. She didn’t want to. Her fingers stroked the intricate flower engraved in the brass of the locket and it soothed her, lulled her.

She’d take it off in the morning. Take it off and show Michelle, adding it to the other things her friend had found of Isabel’s. But she wasn’t sure she wanted to show her the letters. Not just yet. Not until she’d had a chance to read them first.

“Marcel.” She breathed the name on a sleepy sigh, a part of her hoping she’d dream of him again. Even if he wasn’t real.

HE WAS IN THE ST. LOUIS CEMETERY NEAR BASIN STREET.
Drawn before the first rays of dawn, compelled to this place, though he wasn’t sure why. He’d arrived in time to witness the departure of the teenagers in ghoulish masks who’d dared each other to brave Halloween beside the mausoleums and grave sites.

Luckily for them, the Ghede looked after foolish children. In his experience, when humans looked for trouble, they usually found it.

He reached a beautiful marble mausoleum, smaller than the others. The profile of a lovely woman’s face was carved into the doorway like a heartbreaking cameo, just above the image of a small boy at play. She looked young. Had she died in childbirth? He searched for a name, but there was none. No family name, nor the years she’d lived and died. Why would someone go to all this trouble to make a remembrance so lovely, only to keep the dead’s identity secret?

That was his idea of hell. To be unremembered and unsung.

“You’re here.”

Bone Daddy whirled around but saw only shadows. Still, he knew the old man’s voice.

“I am. I thought All Saints’ didn’t require me to possess a body. Please don’t tell me I must pry open a dead grave and take over a corpse.” He shuddered. “I would not enjoy my last day on earth in a state of decay.”

The laughter wrapped around him like an embrace, making him smile.

“No, son. You’ll have a body all your own, fresh and living, as promised, for the day. I’ll tell you why you’re here, but first I have to warn you to be careful. You’ll be human. No powers. No magnetism other than your own natural charm. You’ll feel hot and cold, suffer the pangs you never felt, even when you rode Rousseau. And you’ll feel strong emotions, just as humans do. And just as with humans, there will be repercussions for your actions. If you step too far out of line, you may not like the consequences.”

Bone Daddy rubbed his hands together in excitement. His mentor was always so ominous. He really needed to lighten up. “Sounds like fun, old man. Want to join me? I know a few spots down the road that you would love.”

The deep sigh was a breeze in the damp morning air. “Some of us have to stay behind, to keep the home fires burning. It’s time, BD. Time for you to have your day. Use it well. Try not to waste a moment.”

“Why aren’t the others here? You said you’d tell me why I had to come to this cemetery.”

“One journey begins where the last met its end.”

He knew the old man was gone, he could feel it. “A riddle. Lovely.”

Bone Daddy didn’t care. The dawn was coming. The sky had lightened, setting the stage for the new day. His day.

He would seek out his friends, have as much food as he could fit in his stomach, and take as many lovers as he could. Maybe he could convince Rousseau to put the past behind them. He’d grown fond of the boy.

He’d grown rather attached to all of them. Michelle and Ben, Allegra. He’d come to the conclusion over the last few days that the other Loa were right. He’d lost his perspective. He was no family ghost. No pet. He was supposed to help. To guide humans as the others did toward a better life. Or in his case, a better sex life.

Attachment was not wise.

Soft morning light hit the graying stones and monuments around him, and he began to feel it. A shimmer. A tingle. Little ants on his skin.

Skin?

He looked down and saw himself change. Slowly. With every second it hurt more. Everything hurt. Heaviness, like lead in his limbs, dropped him to his knees.

“Damn.”

What was going on? The ants on his skin had become a vicious mass of fangs and stingers, piercing him, sending fire racing through his veins. Blood. Blood pumped by a heart beating far too fast to be natural.

Something was wrong. This couldn’t be right. Would he be given life just to die? Surely the others didn’t willingly go through this year after year. Was this part of his punishment for staying so long?

Dizziness swamped him, and bile rose in his throat as he smelled the stench of garbage and death. Smelled the staleness of sweat. His own?

He gagged, but nothing came out. His stomach began to spasm and he looked up wildly, seeking purchase, balance, in a world gone sideways.

And saw her. The carving in marble. She looked so serene. So lovely.

Familiar.

Why did she look familiar?

He collapsed, looking down in surprise to see a wound carving itself into his side. He cried out, but before the blood could flow the wound healed, a scar forming before his eyes. A raised, ugly slash.

It felt as though he’d been gutted. His hands closed into fists, body curling into a fetal position as the pain overcame him.

This was
not
what he’d been expecting.

The last thought he had before he fell into unconsciousness was of her. The woman in the carving. At least he’d be lying beside her as he died.

The thought was comforting.

 

 

 

“YOU REALLY DIDN’T HAVE TO COME, ALLEGRA. YOU’RE
getting married tonight. You should be relaxing.”

Allegra slipped her arm through Bethany’s, sending her an impish wink. “Are you kidding? This is perfect. A morning adventure. I’ve never been here this early, but I love this place.”

Michelle rolled her eyes. “You love cemeteries? I should have known. Why do I always befriend the weird ones?”

Bethany noticed how uncomfortable Michelle was, and it took her a minute to realize why. “Is it, um, busy this morning?”

Michelle rubbed her arms briskly, keeping her head down. “It’s All Saints’ Day. It’s like Times Square on New Year’s.”

Bethany shuddered. “That’s more than a little unsettling.”

Allegra’s eyes were wide as saucers. “I’m so sorry, Michelle. I hadn’t even thought about ghosts. Well, other than Emmanuel. Are we sure he knows where we’re going?”

“He knows.”

Now she felt like a heel. Bethany trudged along beside the two women, her head swimming. She hadn’t considered Michelle’s ability when she’d asked to come here this morning. Hadn’t considered anything but Isabel.

She was obsessed.

She’d spent the last two days immersing herself in Isabel’s journal and studying the trinkets she’d saved behind the panel.

Isabel’s treasure wasn’t what she had expected. An intricate silver hair comb, a smooth river stone, and a puzzle box they still hadn’t been able to open had been tucked away in her hiding spot along with her diary.

She was an interesting character, Isabel. Bethany had been learning so much about her. Her father was an ass. That much was clear. He had been using his daughter’s beauty to barter, holding her hostage to his own greed. He’d sent his wife away long ago, and the elder Spaniard missed no opportunity to blame her French mother for all his woes and each of Isabel’s flaws.

Her only solace was her maid, Millie, Millie’s cousin Catherine, and her little brother, Emmanuel. They protected her from her father’s abuse as much as they could. Keeping all of her secrets.

She also spoke of a man in her journals. A man she referred to as M. Just M.

It was like
her
dream, and it was damned eerie. Bethany hadn’t told anyone about the letters yet, or about her nightly visits from Marcel. She wasn’t afraid they wouldn’t believe her. But it was hers. He was hers.

Her secret lover.

She looked forward to going to bed each night, knowing he would come to her again. Sometimes it was a repeat of that first night. Sometimes she was Isabel when he’d found her in the library. Or in their favorite spot in the park. Always passionate, always fiery.

She was falling a little in love with M herself.

Bethany knew it was crazy. But she didn’t care. They were just dreams. Though the more she read Isabel’s journal, the more she wondered. Was the mysterious M
her
Marcel? If it were true . . . but how could it be?

“The reception will be good for him. I think Rousseau needs to realize that his father’s way is not the only way. That people like your mother practice the voodoo religion for positive ends. With faith and love instead of greed. He needs to find peace. Come full circle.”

Michelle shook her head at Allegra. “You know my mama. Her celebrations are unique. I’ll understand if you and Rousseau don’t stay too long after the ceremony. Hell, if Ben wasn’t holding it in his backyard, I wouldn’t stay long.”

Bethany listened to their conversation with only half her attention. Poor Rousseau. Another bad father. Like Isabel’s. Like Michelle’s. Bethany often wondered about her own parents, but they’d died when she was a baby, leaving her in the care of her less than demonstrative Aunt Sally.

She’d read Allegra’s notes and a few chapters of the book she was writing. If it had been fiction, she would have been lost in the eroticism of it, the sensuality of this spirit who mounted a human host, riding him into one decadent experience after another. But she knew it was true. Rousseau had lived it. And in his mind, at least from what Allegra had told her, it had felt more like a punishment than a gift.

Allegra was good for him, though. She wouldn’t let him feel sorry for himself. Wouldn’t let him forget the good and cling to the bad. She was a joyful person, full of life. Beth hoped they lasted.

Personally she was both dreading and looking forward to the evening’s celebrations. Michelle’s mother was a mambo, a voodoo priestess. A fact Michelle had neglected to mention until recently.

After the minister married Allegra and Rousseau in the mansion’s backyard, which was being beautifully decorated by the team Ben had brought in, the All Saints’ celebration would begin. People would bring liquor and food for the Ghede, the Loa family who celebrated the night, and maybe someone would even be taken over, or mounted, by a spirit. Eventually they would all make their way to the cemeteries where their loved ones were entombed, to lay flowers, cards, and food.