Prophecy (Residue Series #4) by Falter Laury

Author:Falter, Laury [Falter, Laury]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Audeamus LLC
Published: 2013-02-14T00:00:00+00:00

12

VOODOO

THE DOWNPOUR OUTSIDE WAS BOTH A blessing and a curse.

It gave us cover from the ground but it also inhibited our view of it. I contemplated this after giving Jocelyn directions to a remote part of the bayou, untouched for decades and overgrown with kudzu. It was a place seemingly uninhabitable for its lack of contact with civilization, without any roads or manmade paths to it. In short, it was hard to find, and designed to be that way.

When I thought we might be close, I mentioned, “I was only here once and it wasn’t from the air, so it might take me a few minutes.”

“How did you come before?” she asked, studying me, and I knew that it was just the start of many questions, including the one I wanted to avoid.

“By boat.”

“Like that one?” she asked, pointing at something pink between the trees.

“Exactly like that one.”

Taking my hint, she lowered us through the scraggly tree branches of a living cypress grove. In the middle of it, jammed between the trunks, was an old, beaten up fishing boat, dented on both sides from passing storms and with paint peeling from the beams.

The deck where we landed was no better. Water rot had eaten away the wood, leaving gaping holes in some places. Dirt that had never been washed off found its way beneath the corroding pink wood, collecting there as if it were propping up the peeling paint.

Theleo, Eran and Maggie immediately surveyed the area.

“It’s safe,” I reassured them.

Proof came when the only sounds that could be heard were the flat pings of raindrops across the water.

“Someone lives all the way out here?” Jocelyn asked, mesmerized, not intending to be patronizing at all.

Unfortunately, that’s how it was interpreted.

“Yes,” snapped a scratchy voice from a doorway leading inside. “Someone lives here.”

Jocelyn’s eyes widened at me. I took her hand, paused to enjoy the feel of it, and channeled, “Don’t worry. Her bark is worse than her bite.” Out loud, I greeted our host. “Mrs. LeClaire, your French accent has weakened.”

“There is nothing weak about me, Jameson Caldwell,” she said furtively before turning and walking inside.

She looked just like I remembered. Her head was wrapped in a scarf, placed far enough back that it exposed some of the wiry black hair she kept underneath. Despite living on a boat, she chose to wear a dress that covered her from chin to ankles. Countless pockets were poorly stitched into it, which she teased me with when I was younger, threatening to pull out a snake or a spider if I misbehaved. Her eyes were cat-like, always watching, and her lips remained permanently turned up at the ends as if she were making you aware that she knew what you didn’t want her to know.

Recalling that Mrs. LeClaire’s disappearance through the darkened doorway was her form of an invitation, I trailed her, hoping Jocelyn wouldn’t follow. Of course, she did. Eran and Maggie did the same, alert by instinct even if they didn’t need to be.

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