Gentlemen Prefer Voodoo Page 4

  He stalked up to her, close enough to kiss. “Listen, sweetheart. It’s not my problem that you don’t know what you want.”

  He strode past her and took the last lit candle.

  “Hey! Give that back!”

  “Come and get it, darling,” he said, ducking back into the tomb.

  Amie wanted to bang her own head against the nearest vault. What kind of a zombie-killing fiancée was she if the zombie started taking her spell ingredients? And she couldn’t imagine what she was going to do now that her spell hadn’t worked. Now that he knew she wanted to kill him. She’d have to find another way to put him down and, frankly, that might be tough.

  He eased back out of the grave, looking triumphant, a gold wedding ring in hand.

  “You’re married?” she gaped. She shouldn’t have felt betrayed, but she did.

  “I was.” He placed the candle on the ground and made a move to slip the ring onto his finger. “Now look. It will not fit anymore.”

  The ring seemed to resist as he drew it over his finger. It stopped less than an inch down, refusing to go farther.

  What did that have to do with anything? “Maybe your knuckles swelled.”

  Anger flashed across his face. “No. I can no longer wear this because I have found my one true love,” he said, gripping the ring between two fingers, holding the shimmering gold band between them. “That is you. Why do you find this so hard to accept?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Because it’s impossible?”

  He looked mad enough to spit. “It is true!”

  “So you say.”

  “So I know! I feel this with every breath in my body and I will not stop until you understand what it is you mean to me.”

  Amie’s gaze drifted down the path. She had to pick the determined zombie. “How did I get into this?”

  “Quiet.” He stiffened, his eyes fixed out into the night. “Do you hear that?”

  Amie strained her ears. Yes. She heard a definite crunching coming from the graves to the left. This was too much. She’d better not have called up a whole army of lovers. How would she explain a harem to poor Isoke? He’d lose his tail and his top feathers too.

  Amie crouched closer to Dante’s grave. If only it were a hoard of zombies. Then she would have been safe. As it was, her breath quickened as she saw two scarlet shadows fall across the path in front of her.

  Oh no.

  Her heart skittered. She’d heard of this—residual ghosts called up by voodoo magic. But she’d kept her magic contained.

  Until it had escaped down the path.

  Holy hoodoo.

  How could she have been so careless?

  “This is my fault,” she said under her breath, warning him. She didn’t know what was coming, but it couldn’t be good.

  He stood next to his grave, waiting. “I know.”

  She glanced at the long, dark path behind her. It would feel so good to run. The kicker was, there was nowhere to go. Besides, she had to fix her mistakes. She glanced at the zombie. Okay, she’d fix the most recent mistake.

  Gripping her bottle of Florida water, she crouched low. One hand curled around the moldering brick tomb. Her heart beating low in her chest as the red shadows grew longer.

  They were going to find her. She stiffened, unscrewing the bottle with shaking fingers.

  By Papa Ghede! She gasped as a pair of thugs stepped out onto the path in front of them. Their eyes glowed red with possession.

  A chill ran though Amie. She’s seen the dead possess the living during voodoo rituals. The chwals she knew only allowed themselves to be taken by clean spirits. These men hadn’t done as well.

  “I believe these are the men we heard before,” Dante said under his breath.

  They moved like predators, and they were armed.

  “What do they want?” Amie stammered.

  Dante hesitated. “You.”

  As they drew closer, she could see their gang colors and the fiery burning of their eyes. The one on the left snarled, his face a mass of anger and hate.

  This was her fault. She’d never learned about death magic. She didn’t know what could happen if it escaped. She’d been too rash in coming here.

  Amie’s fingers tightened around her blessed water. They were looking straight at her.

  She could exorcise the spirits if only she had a bottle of 151 proof rum and a live chicken. Without them? She’d have to do the best she could. Amie poured her Florida water onto a patch of dirt, rubbing her fingers frantically into the mud.

  “I command you to the earth,” she said, low in her throat. Focus your power. She dug harder. “I command you to the earth.”

  The one on the right laughed. It was a hollow, menacing sound. He turned the barrel of his gun toward her. As if the world had slowed to contain only that moment, she watched the thug’s trigger finger squeeze tight.

  Dante slammed into her as the shot cracked the night, ringing in her ears. Her cheek hit the ground as she watched blood splash onto the white gravel in front of her.

  “Oh my god.” She clutched at the path.

  The zombie leapt for the first mugger, knocking the gun from his hand.

  Amie scrambled for the gun as her zombie barreled for the second man. Dante kicked the gun out of his hands and crashed into a crumbling brick vault. The second gun skittered into the night as Amie closed her hands around the first.

  “Freeze,” Amie commanded, aiming the weapon at the men. “Now get out or I’m going to send you straight to hell.”

  The thugs spasmed as the spirits roiled out of their bodies. Their eyes rolled up into their heads. Two red masses shot into the night before the men crumpled to the ground.

  Dante climbed to his feet and put his fingers to the neck of the closest man. “He’s out cold.”

  Heart hammering, Amie hunched next to the other man and lifted his eyelid. The pupils were clear. He’d have a massive headache, but he should be awake by the time the first tour group rolled through in the morning.

  “Come.” Dante reached a hand down to her. His wide shoulders shook with tension and his left arm was a bloody mess.

  “Oh my god.”

  He ignored her. “We have to go.”

  Amie laid the gun on the path next to her and grasped the neck of the bottle. It was mostly rubbing alcohol anyway. But it had been smashed on the ground. She used the broken edge to rip a strip of cloth from the bottom of her skirt. She closed her eyes for a moment, fighting the fabric. When she had enough, she wadded it into a bandage and touched it to his arm.

  “Ow!” He jerked back.

  “Calm down,” she said, her own pulse racing as she wiped the blood. “Hold this on there. We can clean it out at my house.”

  He gave her a long look. “As long as you promise not to try to kill me.”

  She rolled her eyes as if she hadn’t been trying to do that very thing a few moments ago.

  Only before, he wasn’t quite human. Now, she didn’t know.

  By Gedhe, this was such a mess.

  Amie watched Dante seal the guns in his vault and grab the ring. Who was this man who had burst into her life, kissed her silly, and brought her here?

  Is that what he was?

  A man?

  She didn’t quite believe it. In fact, this entire night had been one big surprise after another.

  “Dante,” she said, watching him startle as she called him by name for the first time, “let’s get out of here.”

  Chapter Five

  His upper arm howled in protest, but Dante didn’t care. Pain meant he was alive. As for her attempt to kill him, he’d deal with that soon enough.

  She dialed in the alarm code at the back of her building. Amie moved with liquid grace, strong yet undeniably feminine. She was all curves and substance, with large almond-shaped eyes and a lush mouth. But what he really liked was her squared-off chin. It was bold, defiant. Too bad she’d grown from delectable to downright infuriating. She seemed to sense his anger as sh
e opened the door to the storage room.

  “Hell-o!” A Kongamato lounged in what looked to be a pit of mud and sticks.

  Amie cringed. “Dante, this is Isoke.”

  If she was counting on the creature to save her, she was sadly mistaken.

  Dante bowed toward the Kongamato. The beast was positively beaming.

  “Isoke, this is Dante.”

  He showed a double row of teeth. “Charmed, rafiki. She is quite a catch, no?”

  She would be, once she understood what was happening. Dante ran a hand down Amie’s back, pleased at the way she stiffened. She might fear him, but she still wanted him.

  Isoke launched himself out of the tub, sending sticks and pieces of moss flying. “Would you care for a soak? I was just going to go for a cool-down swim in the Mississippi.” He waggled his brows at them like a proud uncle as he shook a wet leaf from between his toes. “This mud is good for your pores, no? And very romantic.”

  “We have to go,” Amie said, leading Dante through the door to the shop.

  “Have fun, kids!” Isoke called. “And just so you know, I will not be leaving gifts in your shoes if you are busy making love!”

  She seemed embarrassed. “I’m sorry. He’s just…”

  “A Kongamato.” Dante had seen voodoo mambos in the cemetery.

  “Right,” Amie said, avoiding his gaze. They were back to being polite. It would not do.

  “This way,” she said, leading him upstairs to her apartment.

  Her living space was as colorful as her shop and stacked with books and various homemade oddities. Yet instinct told him there was more to this woman than she’d revealed.

  He would get to the bottom of it.

  She led him into a small bathroom off of the library and flipped on the bright overhead light.

  Amie gasped when she saw his injury clearly for the first time. “I’m so sorry.”

  The wound was ugly, his olive skin ripped and torn.

  He shrugged and immediately regretted the move as hot fire shot down his arm.

  There didn’t seem to be any major damage, but there was a lot of blood. Her fault, but he wouldn’t get into that right now. Her knee bumped against his leg. This was the closest she stood to him—voluntarily—since she’d kissed him.

  “I’ll fix it,” she said, earnestly.

  Dante held his temper as he watched Amie wrestle with an impossible number of tubes and jars in a miniscule cabinet over the pedestal sink. That’s not to say anything was out of place. If he wasn’t mistaken, the items were actually lined up by size. He just didn’t understand why a woman would need that many.

  Some things never changed.

  He turned her to face him. “Forget the bandages. We need to talk.”

  She seemed wary, afraid. It was ridiculous.

  He’d proved to her tonight that she was his one true love. He’d shown her the mark on his tomb. He’d been unable to wear the wedding ring his former wife had given him. Despite that, Amie had rejected him outright.

  She might have reacted with shock at first, then joy and absolute glee, as any woman would. But outright denial? He never would have imagined it.

  What more proof did this modern woman need?

  Her gaze fell on his arm. “I agree. We need to talk. But not with you looking like that.”

  “Amie,” he warned.

  She turned back to the medicine cabinet.

  His fists clenched and his shoulder burned. He wanted to be a gentleman, but, “I am done with excuses.”

  Amie was supposed to be his one true love—a once-in-a-lifetime connection—a woman who could call him back from the grave and give him a second chance at love and at life.

  She was passionate. Her kiss at the door had proven that. His body tightened just thinking about it.

  So why was she fighting?

  It was insulting as hell. “Why did you call me?” Why put him through this for nothing?

  She didn’t answer. Her lips pursed as she selected bandages and clanked through the bottles in the medicine cabinet—as if that was the most important thing they had to deal with.

  Damn it to hell, he wouldn’t be cast aside.

  He reached for her, ignoring her squeak of surprise as he took her by the waist and slapped her down on the edge of the sink.

  “Ow!” she protested.

  “It does not hurt.” He brushed his fingertips along the trembling at her collarbone. “Mi corazon.”

  Her breath quickened. She tried to buck off, her thick hair falling over one eye. “Don’t you manhandle me.”

  Hands on her hips, he pulled her up against him so that she was forced to see him. “Then don’t play games with me.”

  She drew a careful breath, her fingers absently tracing the velvety soft skin he’d just touched.

  He’d have a conversation with her if it killed him. What he hadn’t counted on was the lick of desire that slid down his spine.

  He pushed closer, just to test her and watched the rosy flush creep up her cheeks. “I’ll ask again,” he ground out. “Why did you call me?”

  She touched her lips together nervously.

  Madre de dios. His whole future hung in the balance and this woman, this savior of his couldn’t even answer a simple question.

  She chewed at her delectable lower lip, her eyes wide, her hair damp around her face. “Look,” she said, “I made a mistake.”

  No. “That kind of power doesn’t come from accident. You did this on purpose.”

  At first he had been amused that she could be so powerful that she could call him and not understand what it meant. But if she didn’t want him anymore, that was downright terrifying.

  “Why do you care?” she demanded.

  Damn it to hell. “Because it’s not supposed to be this way. Not for me.”

  Dante had never been an overly patient man, but he’d haunted the cemetery for two hundred years. The one thing that had kept him going was the one in a million shot that someone would call him back and give him another chance.

  Tears filled her eyes. “Just let me fix you.”

  He stepped back. “I am afraid that is impossible.”

  Dante sat on the edge of her tub, his head in his hands. He had to make her understand.

  She leaned over him, her yellow sleeve brushing his cheek, her nose red. “This won’t hurt a bit,” she said, right before she poured molten lava down his arm. He cringed.

  She sniffed and wiped at her eyes. “It’s iodine,” she explained, dabbing at him again with the cotton ball. “It’ll help, I promise.” She swallowed. “I was actually hoping you’d be healed by now.”

  “And why was that?” He asked, teeth gritted.

  “Well, you’re…” She paused, obviously trying to think of a polite way to say what he probably didn’t want to hear. “Undead. Or should I say reanimated?”

  He planted his hands on his knees and felt a drop of sweat slide down his back as she resumed her assault. “I regret to inform you that while I may be reconstituted, as it may. I have always been, and I remain, a mortal man.” All the pity. “I can age and I can certainly die.”

  Her lips parted slightly.

  The hollow feeling in his gut grew.

  Dante didn’t know how much time he had, but if Amie didn’t offer him more of her magic, freely and completely, their bond would wear away. Then he’d be truly and forever dead.

  He couldn’t let that happen.

  “Put those things down,” he said, taking the cotton and the iodine from her and placing them behind him in the tub. “Now,” he said, standing, “I will show you just how alive I am.” He held out his hand to her.

  Amie hesitated. He could see the wild pulse at her neck, hear her shallow breathing. The air in the small room had grown quite warm. Slowly, he reached for her hand. She swallowed hard as he drew her closer and placed her hand over his beating heart.

  She exhaled as they both felt his heart pound against his chest.

 
He took her other hand and touched it to his lips. “I am human. Just like you.”

  She blinked once, twice. Confusion trickled across her features. “But back in the cemetery, you went after those possessed men unarmed.”

  “Yes,” he said. He’d do it again.

  She lingered on his arm. “You mean, if this had hit you in the chest, you would have died?” Realization dawned in her. “You almost died for me? Why?”

  He felt the corners of his mouth tug as he returned his tired and battered body to the edge of the tub. “I didn’t want to watch you die.”

  She sat down next to him. “Nobody ever stood up for me like that.”

  He closed his hand over hers. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said. And he meant it.

  Why today’s women did everything on their own was beyond him. In his day, most came from large, extended families. They spent lifetimes building large networks of friends. People helped one another.

  It was one of the things he’d missed most of all, haunting the cemetery alone after his family had passed on.

  “The bleeding isn’t stopping,” she said, worried.

  “No,” he said. He couldn’t fully heal himself. Not until she could open herself up and give him a little of the magic she’d used to call him, the magic he needed to survive.

  Still, she was wary of him. He’d have to proceed carefully.

  He watched as she wound a thick white bandage around his arm.

  What had his grandmother always said? Patience. Small steps. He’d never been good at that. Dante drew his fingers slowly over Amie’s as she secured the bandage with medical tape. Perhaps he’d learned to temper himself over the past two centuries. He’d gotten her talking, which was no small thing.

  And perhaps she understood him a little better too.

  Life was precious. He knew that now.

  Now all he had to do was convince her.

  Tomorrow, he thought, as he moved to her library and sank into a soft recliner. He’d do it. Somehow, he’d convince her he deserved a second chance at life.

  And perhaps he’d show her a thing or two about living as well.

  Chapter Six

  For the first time, Amie regretted the mirrors on her ceiling. They used to be fun and funky. Now all she could do was stare at herself lying in bed amid an immense pile of books she’d dragged in from her library.