VoodooMoon (21 page)

She nodded. “And when you heard the term Voodoo, River said she knew someone who practiced the religion, and so here you are.”

“Yes,” Ian agreed. “But neither you nor anyone from your tribe is under any sort of suspicion. We know your tribe only just arrived in the city, and so none of you could possibly be responsible.”

This seemed to appease the older woman. “Okay. Proceed with your questions.”

“This person, we believe he is a man, we are chasing is a very bad guy. He has kidnapped numerous mages and he has powers that we have never seen before. He told me to address him as Bokor, so the name, the title must mean something significant to him. This likely means he either practices or is familiar with the Voodoo religion. Is there anything you can tell us that might help us track him down?” I asked.

“I’m not sure that I can help you track him down, I don’t know any Bokor, at least none I’ve met in the last fifteen or twenty years. But I can tell you this, if your bad guy is calling himself Bokor, I have no doubt that he truly is as bad as you say. Bokor are priests and leaders, like myself, but the religion they worship, the magic they practice is not the same. Voodoo takes many forms and goes by many names, Voodoo or Vodoun just to name two, and even those can be practiced in many different ways. Bokor and their followers practice dark and evil magic in the name of their religion,” she told us.

“Magic is neither good nor evil, dark or light. Magic is the use of energy to perform functions,” Ian replied dryly, in that know-everything academic tone that drove me crazy.

“Such a learned definition, Master Necromancer. It is true, magic is nothing more than a tool, but the use of that tool is colored by the intentions of the wielder,” the old woman crooned, a sly smile playing on her thin lips.

Ian tilted his head and eyes down slightly in a gesture of deference. “I concede your point, Madame. Are you saying Bokor and their followers are inherently evil? That their magic is dark because their souls are?”

“That is not what I’m saying and you well know it. I’m too old and tired to play such games. You don’t believe in pure evil anymore than you believe in our deities. Nor do you believe in souls, at least not as beings of good or evil.”

“That is true. What some religions call souls are simply spirits, the life energy and consciousness that remains even after their body is dead,” Ian said, obviously enjoying the debate. “I don’t believe, but you do. And, I am assuming, other practitioners of the faith believe that as well. So, do you believe that Bokor and their followers are evil?”

The gypsy sipped her tea before replying. “There are only a few tribes left that I know of that worship any variation of Voodoo or Vodoun. Fewer still that follow a Bokor. The few Bokor that I have come across tend to worship deities that have darker teachings than most.”

“Dark teachings?” I asked, intrigued. The concept of religion had always fascinated me.

While superstition and religion seemed to be a little more common among gypsy tribes and small mountain communities, in Nash and Atlanta it was almost unheard of. It didn’t mean no one believed in higher powers, it just meant they kept that belief to themselves. My mother had not had any religious beliefs, and Pinky had taught us that no one could ever know all of the mysteries of the universe and to respect all ways of life.

“The Goddess my tribe worships is one of light and love. Our traditions include humility, love, and charity to all. Not all Gods and Goddesses are the same. Some are deities of war, or strife, or mischief,” Miss Leona continued.

Our Bokor definitely wasn’t of the love and light variety. “Do you know which deities Bokor and their followers worship?”

The gypsy woman’s smile was indulgent, “Child, there are as many deities as there are stars in the sky. No two gypsy clans worship the same religion, or the same God, in the same way.”

“I can understand that. I imagine that two hundred years of nomadic life has turned each clan into its own micro-culture.” Ian said.

“Another learned observation. But, yes, Master Necromancer, you are correct. The ways of the gypsy tribes are an amalgamation of traditions handed down for two centuries. We don’t all originate from the lost lands, or even from Appalachia. There are tribes that started out as groups of families surviving the cataclysm and wars together by traveling from place to place in order to find fairer weather, food, shelter and safety. By the time the weather began to subside and the wars no longer had anyone to fight them, no one was left that remembered what it was like to have a permanent home. Freedom is the only culture shared by Gypsy clans.”

“You must have amazing stories of your travels,” I said, deciding I liked this woman very much.

“That I do, child. You should come with your sister to visit me sometime and I will tell you some of them.” Her smile was so genuine I couldn’t help but return it.

She rose, signaling the audience was coming to a close. Ian and I followed suit. “Miss Fiona, Master Ian, I am sorry I could not help you more. I could tell you the lore of my clan for hours, but I can promise you that none from my tribe has done these terrible things,” she said as she walked back to her wagon.

Strangely, I believed her, and from the expression on his face, so did Ian.

“Madame, you have been more helpful than you think. With what you were able to provide our search through the City Archives will be much easier.”

Her eyes went wide with wonder. “You have books about Voodoo and the Gods from before the cataclysm?”

“Perhaps not whole books, as I believe even then it was not widely practiced. But I am sure there is some information. I do remember running across references during past research,” Ian answered, obviously missing the eagerness in the woman’s expression.

“Perhaps when I come back we will both have tales,” I said, delighting in the way her face lit up. She was obviously very curious to learn about the pre-cataclysm practices of her religion. “You can tell me about your travels and I can tell you what I learn about pre-cataclysm Voodoo.”

“That would be perfect. You and that sweet River are welcome at my fire any time. You as well, Master Necromancer,” she said, then without another word turned and went back into the wagon. The door swung shut after her, effectively dismissing us.

“Nothing in that one,” I said, slamming shut the dusty tome and added it to one of the piles stacked haphazardly around the table.

“You should be more careful with those books. They are more than two hundred years old. Great care has been taken to preserve them,” Ian said in that annoyingly superior tone of his.

I shot him a dirty look, which he missed because he was busy making notes. “What have you found so far?”

He scribbled a couple of more words then looked up. “Not much. Most of the references to Voodoo I found were fictional, even those that were supposedly factual. The people of the last century before the cataclysm had vivid imaginations and little regard for scientific fact. The theories 20th and 21st century norms had about magic and paranormal beings amazes me. Most of the pre-cataclysm magical books I’ve studied were council approved texts that were not for the mainstream norm public. I find these very interesting. I will have to do more research into the fiction and myths of the pre-cataclysm age.”

I rolled my eyes. “Okay, Professor, wipe off the drool. I’m sure it is all very interesting and you can spend countless hours with it later. Right now fiction doesn’t really do us a lot of good.”

Ian leveled his penetrating gaze on me. “That is not entirely accurate. In the 20th and 21st centuries, and for centuries before that, the main stream norm society held all magical and paranormal phenomena to be myth and fiction. In the 16th century the Paranorm Council created official channels for sharing information among the paranorm community, however books and information did leak out. That information was treated as fiction by society as a whole. So, if you know what you are looking for, you can find facts among the early fiction.”

“Ugh!” I let my head fall to the table with a thud. A sharp pain shot through my forehead, yet it was less painful than listening to Ian prattle on about ancient history. “Please spare me the history lesson. We’ve been at this for hours, I’m bored, my eyes are crossed from so much reading, and I’m starving. Did you find anything we can use?”

Apparently unconcerned by my outburst, Ian continued, “Not yet, or at least I don’t think so. We should probably combine notes and see what we have so far and try to figure out where to go from here.”

Lifting my head I shoved my notebook towards him, then stood. “Can we get some food first? And fresh air? The smell of old books and dust is starting to get to me.”

“I thought you spent a lot of time here at the library when you were a kid,” Ian said.

“I did, and I didn’t care for the dusty books then either. Carly usually let me take my books out into the enclosed garden to do my school work.”

“That must have been nice. When I was growing up books were not allowed out of the library rooms of the compound, must less outside into the open air,” Ian said.

“Then you probably know how I feel right now. I need air, and food. Aren’t you hungry? The only thing either of us have eaten today were those fritters at the market. We came straight here after talking to Miss Leona and that was more than six hours ago,” I whined, not caring a bit that I sounded like a petulant child.

Ian looked up at me, a wicked gleam in his eyes. “I scryed Mrs. Gary about an hour ago when you went to look for more books. There will be a pot of her venison stew waiting when we get back to my place. No fussing, tonight, as I told her to leave the pot on the warmer and go on and relax, but her stew is delicious. Join me?”

It was a good thing I was sitting down because my knees went to jelly as I realized venison stew was not all that would be on the menu if I went back with him. I didn’t hesitate for a second, though I told myself it was because my mouth was watering for that stew. “What are we waiting for then? Leave the books, we’ll put them back tomorrow. Let’s go get me some food!”

As I suspected, and secretly hoped, food wasn’t the only thing on the agenda. It wasn’t even the first thing on the agenda. The entire ride back to his apartment in the rickshaw I was trying to decide how to make my move. Should I be subtle or just crawl in the middle of his bed, naked, like I did last night? Turned out I didn’t have to make a move at all.

The moment we entered his apartment Ian grabbed me and pulled me to him, pushing me against the door as it closed. We melded together in a flurry of hot mouths and hands. I went from a little hot and bothered to full on fuck-me-now lust mode in about five seconds. I could feel the length of him hard against my thigh. I pressed against it and was rewarded with a moan. “Fiona, damn, I want you right this second.”

Heat soared through me. “You have me, take me.” I urged.

He unbuttoned my pants and started sliding them down and I thought he was going to do just that. My vision went a little blurry at the prospect of up against the wall sex with Ian.

But after they were just a little way down my hips, he stopped tugging on my pants. I was disappointed until one hand slid around the front and down between my legs. I automatically spread them, giving him better access as one long finger slipped inside me. “Oh. Oh, Ian.” I gasped as he positioned is hand so that his thumb rested against the throbbing nub of my clitoris and began to slowly move his finger in and out.

My body thrummed and my hands shook as I fumbled with the buttons on his pants. I wanted, no needed to touch him, to return some of the pleasure he was giving me. I finally the buttons apart and his pants down enough that he sprang free, half erect. I immediately wrapped my hand around him savoring the way it began to lengthen and harden at my touch. I began to slowly stroke him, matching the rhythm of his hand between my legs. But, then he inserted a second finger and though I still grasped him, I lost all ability to do anything with it.

My entire world was focused the pleasure starting between my thighs and pushing out in shards of flame to my entire body. I shamelessly rode his hand until the tiny shards converged into ball of fire that consumed me. My orgasm broke over me in a white hot wave. My body went limp and if it hadn’t been for Ian’s hand I would have slid down the wall. I rested my forehead against his shoulder trying to catch my breath.

As I slowly came back to myself I realized I still held him in my hand, and he was still hard as granite. I began to move my hand, wanting to bring him to his knees like he had just done to me. But he gently took my hand away. “Let’s go to the bed,” he said, gruffly.

I followed him to the bed and we quickly divested ourselves of our clothes. But instead of pulling me to him, Ian said, in a soft, but firm voice, “I want you on the bed like last night, but with your legs spread, waiting for me.”

Tiny shivers of anticipation raced through me. This was a different side of Ian, and I liked it. I did as he ordered. With my legs spread I felt exposed and nervous, but so turned on I thought I’d vibrate right off the bed.

Ian crawled on the bed, and starting at my ankle dropped light kisses all the way up my leg, past my knee, across my thigh and stopped at the apex of my thighs. He raised up so that he hovered over me. He was on his knees between my parted legs. “I want to watch you as you come,” he said, gripping my hips and pulling them up so that my bottom was several inches off the bed. He placed himself at my entrance and then plunged inside. I gasped and bucked against him. Once he was seated deep inside he moved his arms so that he was gripping my hips with my legs over his arms. “Put your legs on my shoulders.”

It took a minute for his words to penetrate my pleasure fogged brain, but when they did, I complied. I wanted to say something, but I was too busy moaning as every movement shifted him inside me and brought a new round of bliss. Once he had me the way he wanted, he started moving. The pace he set was immediately fast and deep. I cried out a string of intelligible words as he took the heel of one hand and placed it firmly against the top of my mound. With each thrust, his hand pushed against my sensitive nub and sent spasms of liquid heat rushing through my body.

“Cup your breasts,” he told me. “Play with them.”

Oh. Oh. Wow, this was so different than anything I’d ever expected from Ian and I loved it.

I did as he said, and loved the way his face flushed as he watched. He was so beautiful and brain meltingly sexy over me like that. His muscles were tight and tense beneath his skin, beneath his skin. His skin was slick and I ached to reach out and touch him, but I kept my hands where he’d told me to put them.

“Pinch your nipples.” His command came out in a gruff whisper. He was close to the edge of his breaking point, I knew. I wanted to send him over, but in the position we were in all I could do was take the pleasure he gave, and not give any myself.

So, I did as I was told, and twin spikes of electricity jolted through me from my nipples down to the center of my pleasure between my thighs. Everything exploded, white sparks falling around me. I threw my head back and screamed as I bucked against Ian, my inner muscles clenching around him as my orgasm rocked me. From somewhere far off I heard Ian let out a guttural roar as he shoved into me, his own body shaking. Then he fell forward and to the side, rolling on his side taking me with him, keeping our bodies joined.

We were both gasping for breath and shuddering.

“That. That was… Wow.” I said.

“I know. Wow.”

“Really wow.”

“Yes. I don’t…wow,” he said, pulling me tighter.

And at that point I decided to shut up because my brain was so muddled that if I kept talking the next thing that came out of my mouth would be a confession telling him that had been the best orgasm of my life. True or not, it wasn’t something he needed to know, just yet.