Resisting Samantha (Hope Parish Novels Book 10) (18 page)

She pressed her face
into my neck and I stroked her hair. “I’m sure losing a
family, especially a child, breaks a mother in a way that isn’t
fixable or solvable—ever. I’m not going to try to do
that—ever. You can only take the time you need to learn to move
forward, but I know your life will never be the same.”

“Chase…”
she whispered. “I can’t talk about him.”

I nodded and held
her tighter. “Okay,” I said, my heart heavy. I wanted her
to be able to tell me anything, open up to me like she’d done
two days ago, but there was no way to push this. “I can’t
understand your grief, but I care about you, and your grief is part
of you. I know you’re never going to forget them, and that you
have to find your own way to healing, or at least acceptance.”

She clutched at me
and kissed my jaw, her face feverish and wet.

“You are so
extraordinary,” she murmured, then kissed my jaw again.
“Amazing.” Trailing her mouth from my jaw, she pressed
her lips repeatedly over my cheeks, eyes, brows, and lips. When she
began to work on my clothes, I surrendered, knowing this time it
wasn’t about dulling the pain with a mindless act.

This was about being
alive, and her need to experience it with me. About touching,
connecting, meeting each other on this even, freaking awesome plane,
and taking what we had from the intangible to the tangible.

Body to body, heart
to heart, soul to soul.

There was no more
resistance.

“Please,
Chase. I need you. Like this.”

“I know,”
I said. “Take them off.” It was as if she scraped off the
top layer of my skin, I was so sensitized, as if she knew the very
code of my DNA, and I knew the secrets of her genes.

“There’s
no denying it to you or to myself. So take what you need. I freely
give everything to you. You’ve known deep sorrow. I want you to
experience unspeakable joy.”

“You have a
beautiful soul.” She kissed me right over the heart, her lips
lingering, as if it was so sweet, she couldn’t stop wanting to
taste it.

“So
beautiful.” She trailed her mouth down to the core where I
created life and took her time showing me the kind of natural,
soaring pleasure that was as intimate as breathing each other’s
breath.

When she touched me,
it was magical, warm, taking sex to a level I didn’t recognize.
It was about our skin touching and our mouths meeting. It was about
heat and sweat and feeling alive, and woke a starving need in me that
I had never experienced before. I thought I knew what making love
was, but this experience with Samantha wasn’t about stimulating
A and B, slotting C and D. It was about the whole damn alphabet in
one agonizing, slow, and deep understanding.

Our bodies were
extensions of our souls, and our hands the light that beamed from
them. She was a drop of life-giving water and I was the thirsty
earth. I was the sun rising and she the movement of the tides. I was
substance and she was the empty vessel. I was dark and she was light.
I was matter and she was energy.

And together we made
a storm that washed over us in violence, altering the face of the
landscape we once knew, turning it into something chaotic, slightly
damaged, but fresh, pure and washed clean.

There was no
resistance anymore.

I loved Samantha
Wharton.

There was no going
back. It was a done deal.

The only questions I
had: Could I let go of my past, and could she open up about hers?
Could we, together, find safe and common ground to plant our feet and
fight for the future with all the complications, pain, heartache and
shattered expectations? Did we have enough hope? Better yet, enough
courage?

***

After the release we
both needed, I slept heavily until something…more accurately,
the sound of something…disturbed my slumber. I opened my eyes
and looked up. Something swirled and then materialized into a Black
woman, and I recognized her from the picture Samantha had shown
me—AnnClaire floated above me, her eyes open and staring right
into mine.

Hope.

Her mouth never
moved, but there was sound, a scratching noise in my brain.

Energy.

Her lips remained
unmoving, but with a whoosh of sound, she was right in my face. The
scratching noise got louder.

Guidance.

Then, like fingers
on a chalkboard, the cadence rose in discordant vibrations.

Awakening.

It rose, so loud I
had to cover my ears, the scratching reached a deafening screech.

Illumination.

Then I jerked awake.
“Chase…
Chase
.
Wake up.”

I looked at
Samantha, her face concerned, her voice husky with sleep.

“Nightmare,”
I whispered.

Then I heard it.
Tapping on the window in short intervals. I got up, and pushed back
the drapes. A swarm of fireflies was outside the window, flying into
it. The tapping was caused by their bodies careening off the glass.

I backed up, hitting
the small table and knocking the voodoo handbook off the table, where
it hit the floor and fell open.

“Why are they
doing that?” she said, her eyes wide.

“I don’t
know,” I said.

Samantha reached
down and picked up the book. “Look at this passage.”

Before
you talk to me about voodoo talismans, let me tell you about the
difference between light and dark magic talismans made with the help
of the voodoo magic. You may think they differ in their powers, which
is wrong, because all my talismans are very powerful. They work in
harmony with the wearer. To become a true owner of a talisman, one
needs to have a very strong willpower.

Hope.

My
voodoo talismans are magic talismans, wrought in the deep of night,
gathering the nocturnal energies, when earth and hell open up to
release these energies. Since magic has no color, it is the intent of
the person making the talisman that determines its purpose. Is it to
harm or is it to help? The energies obey only those who know exactly
what they want, never doubt that they deserve it and can have it, and
never give up. When using voodoo talismans, people have to remember
that there is no way back. 

Energy.

What
I wrought was through the grace and magic of voodoo, but only the
powerful mind and heart of the one who owns the energies that flow
through flesh and bone can make a difference. If the bearer of the
gift doesn’t believe, there is no outlet for the talisman to
work, the object(s) lose their power, and gradually what was imbued
is lost. They become as helpful as a coin lying in your pocket.

When
selecting a voodoo talisman, make sure you know exactly what your
ultimate goal is. The more significant it is, the better the voodoo
magic will work to help you achieve it. However, such talismans never
help their owners right away. First they make sure you have enough
courage and determination to be called their owner.

Voodoo
talismans are perfect for those looking for a talisman for
protection. Dark magic talismans are best when it comes to the
removal of all kinds of energy problems from your earthly bodies, as
well as protection against and removal of various curses.

Awakening.

You
believe, and there you are! Awakened to the power of what lies within
you. That’s how quickly all dark magic talismans work once they
have deemed you worthy. Some people find the speed scary! If your
willpower is not very strong, and your life starts changing so fast,
even if the changes are positive, it may cause discomfort.

Guidance.

If
you are not afraid of dramatic changes, want to change your life once
and for all, and want to achieve success in a couple of years, dark
magic talismans will be your best choice ever.

Hold
on, there’s still more. Actually, a true voodoo talisman can be
tamed. If you treat it carefully, first ask it to fulfill simple
tasks, for which you thank it sincerely, and then ask for more
complicated things, then your voodoo talisman will learn to be your
friend. It will adjust to your energies, and will strengthen and
develop them, because it needs a strong owner. Gradually, you will
develop both your subtle bodies and your personality. You will become
a person who knows how to manage most complicated and powerful magic
voodoo talismans.

Many
people wonder if their voodoo talismans, or the fact that they will
use dark magic, might damage their karma. It is intent and intent
alone that determines the harm. Dark magic is just magic gleaned from
the night, dark instead of black. You only see the light of a candle
in the dark, dark is quiet and introspective, and it carries with it
the kind of energy that is best for protection. It depends on what
you will use your voodoo talisman for. If you use it to attract love,
health and money, nobody will punish you for it. It is your choice,
and it concerns your life only.

Illumination.

All
will be clear. If you use your talisman for protection (it doesn’t
matter who you want to protect – your family, property, life,
energy) and a curse has been cast on you, punishment will ensue.
However, Higher Powers will punish not you, but the person or group
of people who tried to influence you with the help of evil thoughts
or black magic rituals. Moreover, the more your enemies try to harm
you, the more punishment they will suffer.

If
you use your dark magic talismans against your enemies, you will have
to pay for it with your karma. I want to say one thing.
My magic talismans are the product of a very powerful magic. So
if you need help or protection, you or someone who is close to you,
cares about you, you must ask. It is the best thing you can do. My
talismans have changed life and personality. They have given riches,
helped find love, or luck. They can help you achieve your goal, and
make all your wishes come true. But it is all about belief.

This
is what I tell anyone who has the courage to ask me for help.

The words Hope,
Energy, Awakening, Guidance and Illumination jumped out at me.
“Samantha, this passage. Those words were in my dream.”

I explained the
nightmare to her.

“It’s
AnnClaire,” Samantha said. “She’s trying to tell us
something, but I’m at a loss. I’ll call Evie in the
morning and see if we can see her voodoo expert as soon as possible.
See if any of these things add up to the message she’s
sending.”

We couldn’t
get back to sleep, so we got to work on her upstairs bathroom. Taking
a break for a call to my aunt and some breakfast, we got back to work
while Evie tracked down her granny’s friend. By the time we
heard back from her, we’d finished the flooring, tile and
fixtures, and I couldn’t believe how much Sam had already done
by herself. The shower, tub, double sinks, and the traditional
chocolate cherry shaker vanity, had been previously installed by Sam.

We christened the
wide, multiple-jet shower along the back wall and got dressed.

“Chase, my
granny’s friend, Collette Grevois—”

“The owner of
Mumbo Gumbo?”

“Yes, she can
be intense. Do you want me to go with you?”

“No, we can
handle it.”

“All right.
Chase…Samantha…she’s a keeper.”

“I know that.
Things are…complicated.”

“Doesn’t
mean they’re impossible.”

“Silver
lining, Aunt Evie?”

“There always
is one, Chase. Good luck, and if you need me or anything at all,
please let me know.”

SAMANTHA

Evie gave us
directions and said Mrs. G would be expecting us.

Bois
Éternel—Eternal Wood Cottage was
located just on the other side of Petit Libellule, meaning Little
Butterfly. The quaint settlement was Evie’s home town, and part
of Vermilion Bayou in Vermilion Parish.

The drive was
picturesque, with dense, bottle-green growth on either side of us,
with gaps here and there in the foliage that showed bright glimpses
of the Vermilion River. The wild snarl of the Atchafalaya was in my
heart now. After acknowledging how much I loved this place, there was
no going back. I vowed to get out more and explore this dark, bright,
tangled place. Find the balance I had denied myself for a long time.
The heart of the swamp was strong, dark, complex, like enigmatic
Chase Sutton, who’d carved out his own place within its
embrace, the beauty of him as wild, free, and bold, unpredictable and
layered, compassion in the guise of unforgiving toughness.

I still couldn’t
talk about my son with Chase. I felt it was somehow a failing on my
part. I had shared so much with him, intimate and painful emotions,
but with Scott I needed my wall, my privacy. If the barriers came
down, if I let the anguish free to slash and maim me, I wasn’t
sure I could survive, even with Chase’s fervent understanding.

Did that stall me in
limbo, this unwillingness or inability to get over losing Scott? Why
was I able to heal from Jeff’s death, when I had loved him so
deeply, but be unable to come to terms with Scott’s?

And the active,
debilitating fear that raised its ugly head whenever I slipped and
became closer with Chase. Last night had been a gift; this man gave
me something I needed without me having to give up that part of
myself he deserved to see…the ugly grief, the sick guilt and
powerlessness. Even as a cop, I hadn’t been able to protect my
child from a murderer.

Chase had more than
earned the right to be admitted beyond that final door, and yet I
wasn’t ready to take that step, might never be ready.

We pulled up and
parked. I drew a breath that was redolent with the aromas of Mrs. G’s
cooking, and the rich scent of excellent food, ripe earth, and green
growth filled my senses. To the right of the house, bees buzzed
lazily over a wild tangle of rambling roses and wisteria that clung
to the arched trellis. Mozart drifted from the open window, along
with the rich smells of gumbo.