Dark Dreams for Prosper Page 4

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  When he saw her enter the building, Prosper stood and came to join her.

  "Hatchet's on a case right now. He won't be back for a while."

  "I know where she lives," Babet said.

  Prosper went to his desk to close his computer files, grab his gun, and sling his jacket over his shoulder. Not that he'd probably wear the jacket. He didn't care if the old woman saw that he was armed when they went to interrogate her…and kill her. Babet definitely meant to kill her.

  "Tell Hatchet I left with Babet," he told one of the mortal detectives at a desk. "He'll know what we're doing."

  The cop nodded and looked curious, but decided not to ask.

  Prosper slid behind the steering wheel of Babet's car, and Babet gave him the old woman's address. He raised his eyebrows. "Nice community. Not cheap. She must be doing well for herself."

  "Working with a wraith must pay the bills." Babet cranked the car's air conditioner on high. She'd only run into the building to get Prosper, but those few minutes had made the car stuffy.

  Prosper called Hatchet on the drive through town. "We've got the address of Nola's helper." He gave it to him. "We're on our way there." He paused. "Good, we'll meet you."

  "Hatchet can come, too?" Babet asked when he finished.

  "He's not too far away, was on his way back to the station."

  Hatchet's unmarked, dark car sat at the curb across the street from the woman's house, and they pulled in behind it. For an unmarked car, everyone in River City who had any dealings with the police recognized it. Hatchet wanted them to. When they saw him cruising the streets, they knew they'd better not cross him.

  Hatchet got out to meet them. "What's the plan?"

  "We kill her," Babet said.

  "That's it?"

  "It works for me," Prosper growled.

  Hatchet shrugged. "As long as we agree."

  Babet looked at the house, Victorian with fancy trim. "Shit. It's like the gingerbread house in Hansel and Gretel. The wicked witch is waiting for us inside."

  "Gretel shoved her into the oven," Hatchet reminded her.

  "The witch didn't fire silver bullets," Babet said.

  Prosper squared his shoulders and started up the walk. "Any bullet will kill an old mortal living on borrowed time." Babet and Hatchet followed him with Morgana bringing up the rear.

  When Prosper knocked on the door, no one answered. "Babet?" He raised his eyebrows and nodded toward the lock.

  She waved her hand, said her spell, and it opened.

  They stepped into a small foyer. Oak woodwork bordered the ceiling and floors.

  A small woman with coffee-colored skin and salt-and-pepper hair scraped back in a bun hurried toward them. She wore a long, black dress with a white apron. Her blue eyes widened when Hatchet shut the door behind them.

  She stared at the boa, then forced a smile. "You must be here on important business. Can I help you?"

  Prosper's jaw dropped in surprise. "That voice." He reached for a narrow, hall table and gripped it to steady himself. "Zulime?"

  The woman's eyes narrowed, and she studied him. "Master Blade?"

  "I was never your master."

  "You have your father's coloring," she said with an odd smile on her thin lips.

  Babet turned to Prosper and frowned. "You know this woman?"

  "Zulime worked inside the house on Grandpa's plantation. She helped in the kitchen."

  The old servant raised her chin. "Because my skin was light enough. And what did I get? Room and board and a pittance of pay."

  Prosper cocked his head, taken aback. "We weren't rich. You knew that when Grandpa freed you."

  "And where did freed slaves go?" she asked. "What did we do to survive?"

  "Clement went to work for a blacksmith," Prosper said.

  Zulime put her hands on her hips. "Look at me, master. I was old when your grandfather freed me, a little late for a fresh start."

  That made Prosper pause. He frowned at her. "You haven't aged a day. Why is that?"

  "I know the arts. Many slaves did."

  "Really?" Hatchet's lips turned down. Babet had seen him in cop mode many times. He wasn't buying Zulime's story. "Then where can we find this Clement? What did he do after working for the blacksmith?"

  Zulime's eyes slid away from his. "We were taught them, but not all of us chose to use them."

  "Is that so?" Hatchet's voice mirrored his impatience. "We'll take you to the voodoo village. They'll know what sorts of arts you use."

  She pinched her lips in a tight line. "I know my rights. I don't have to go anywhere with you."

  Voice hard, Hatchet growled, "Supernatural laws are different from mortals', but there's no point really. I think Prosper's family treated you well, and you betrayed them." Babet flinched at his tone. The Druid could intimidate her when he was in a good mood. His anger prickled now, but Zulime glared at him. The old servant must be made of sterner stuff than she was.

  Zulime's lips curled in disgust. "I stayed with them until they died."

  "Until you murdered them," Hatchet hissed.

  "Me?" Zulime's hand went to her throat. She turned to Prosper. "Why would I harm Master and Mistress Blade?"

  "Because you work for Nola." Babet meant to say more, but abruptly stopped talking and tilted her head to listen. All supernaturals were blessed with acute hearing, and after a few seconds, another moan drifted down the stairs. Babet looked at Zulime.

  "Old houses make odd noises," the former slave said. She went into the living room and stopped at a side table. Velvet settees bordered an Oriental rug. Antique side tables held hurricane lamps. "I took some things from the plantation to remember my years there. You might like them," she told Prosper. She slid the drawer open and reached inside.

  When she turned, Hatchet had already rolled up his shirt sleeve, and the tattoos on his wrist stretched to twist around Zulime's arm. She struggled to raise the gun she held and finally broke free. She aimed straight for Hatchet and fired. Babet had called for a shield, and the bullet ricocheted. A mirror on the far wall shattered.

  Zulime would have pulled the trigger again, but Prosper yanked it from her hand. She stared at them. "What are you people?"

  "Your enemies." Babet chanted a binding spell that pinned the old woman's arms to her sides and bound her legs together. Zulime fell backward.

  "Oops." Hatchet didn't bother to break the fall. She grunted in pain when she hit the floor. Morgana coiled beside her, poised to strike. "Just so you know, this boa's poisonous," he explained.

  Prosper started up the carved, mahogany staircase, Babet and Hatchet behind him. He stopped in a doorway and recoiled in disgust.

  A twin bed hugged each wall. A man with dark hair took up most of one of them. Big and burly, he sprawled on top of the sheets, a lurid smile on his face.

  A beautiful, young man lay on the second, narrow bed. His matted, blond hair fell to his shoulders. A beard covered his emaciated cheeks. How long had he lain here? An empty bowl, coated with dried soup, sat on a nearby table. A half-empty bottle of water stood beside the bowl. Whatever Zulime had been feeding him wasn't nearly enough. His ribs showed, and his lips were chapped and cracked.

  "Soon, Nola would have no use for him. She'd have you," Babet said.

  Hatchet's growl reminded her of Prosper's—low and menacing.

  In a tight voice, Prosper said, "Help him."

  Hatchet whipped out his cell phone and punched numbers for 911. Babet gently pressed her palms to the man's shoulders and poured healing magic into him. His fevered coloring improved. His breathing came more easily. Prosper tipped the bottle of water to the man's lips and he swallowed thirstily.

  Hatchet's tattoos writhed furiously. It had been a long time since Babet had seen him so angry. "I'll stay with him. You two, go. Finish off your slave."

  Zulime had been found guilty, and it was time to dispose of her.

  Prosper and Babet stalked down the steps. Zulime grun
ted pleading noises, but Prosper's teeth lengthened into fangs, and his nails curved into sharp, wicked claws. He was old enough, strong enough, to control how much he shifted.

  "That's how you kept my father. For how long? How many years before he wasted away?"

  Babet released Zulime's lips from her spell, and the woman cried, "I kept him in perfect health, I swear! Nola wanted him as a partner. She insisted his body be well tended."

  "But he died!" Prosper roared.

  "He fought us," Zulime said. "He was so strong, he forced the silver into his heart. He wouldn't stay with the wraith."

  "You could have freed him, like he freed you."

  "And lose all this? The wraith would be done with me if I didn't serve her well."

  With a dark growl, Prosper swung at her. His razor-like claws slit her throat, nearly beheading her. Babet hurried forward, pulled on her jaw, and crammed Evangeline's gris-gris beneath the old woman's tongue. A good thing, too. Her body was so old, it turned to ashes within minutes. And it would stay that way. She'd never return.

  Babet shivered. She hurried into the kitchen and scrubbed at her fingers at the sink with anti-bacterial soap and hot water. She didn't want one speck of Zulime on her skin.

  When the medics carried the emaciated man out of the house on a stretcher, they gave Morgana lots of clearance. Hatchet let out a long breath. "I'm glad this part's over."

  Prosper nodded. He looked shaken. The experience would stay with him for a long time, she knew.

  The medics returned to carry the second man away with them, too. He looked healthy enough, but he wouldn't wake up.

  Babet reached for the gun Zulime had fired. She opened it and glared. "Silver bullets. She'd shoot one in each arm and leg." She handed the gun to Hatchet. "Does silver harm you?"

  "Bullets harm me, but they hardly ever reach me." Tattoos swarmed up and down on his neck and arms before he smoothed them into place.

  Prosper reached for Babet, held her close. "Dad still made his own choice at the end. That makes me a feel a little better."

  Babet hugged him fiercely, willing her love into him. When he relaxed a little, she forced herself to push Zulime's treachery behind them to consider what to do next. "The Indian woman told us to visit her again after we killed Zulime."

  Hatchet nodded, his expression business-like when he looked at Prosper. "This might slow Nola down, but it won't stop her. She'll need to find someone to care for your body when she takes you, but she still intends to take you."

  Prosper let out a long, shaky breath. "This seemed bad enough, but the worst is yet to come, isn't it?"

  "We're one step closer to defeating your wraith," Babet said. He needed good news, something positive to cling to. "I don't want to wait, though. Let's go buy caramels and visit our new ally."

  They waited until the supernatural, crime scene team arrived to clean up Zulime's ashes and finish up the case, then Hatchet led Babet and Prosper from the house. Hatchet's team cleared a path for Morgana to follow them.

  Hatchet sat in the back seat with the snake. He patted her head and said, "You're a good partner to have on a case. When you stand guard over someone, we know there won't be any surprises."

  True. Babet couldn't imagine a better familiar, and she couldn't hope for a better friend than Hatchet. A double blessing. Some witches got extra luck.

  Morgana rested her chin on Hatchet's thigh for the ride north of town. Prosper stopped at a candy store to buy homemade caramels and a box of assorted chocolates, then headed to the old Indian's house.

  When they crossed the swaying bridge and knocked on her door, she called, "Come on through. I'm on the deck, fishing."

  When Prosper offered her a caramel, she shook her head. "Later, when my hands are clean." She reached into a deep bucket, took a small frog, and skewered it on a large hook.

  When Babet flinched, the old woman grinned. "You kill people, but feel sorry for a frog? Is it done? Is the slave dust?"

  Prosper nodded.

  "And did she tend to your father to please the wraith?"

  "Yes." His voice was low, guttural.

  The old woman shook her head. She gazed across the waters to the grasslands beyond. "Some people value their lives more than their spirits. This woman's soul was blackened with hatred. She was of little worth to this world."

  "You told us to return to you after we killed her." As usual, Hatchet dismissed the niceties to cut to the meat of the matter.

  The woman smiled. "I made your friend a present. I think it will please you." She was about to turn to the house when something tugged on her line. She gave it a yank and reeled in her catch. She stopped when she saw a water moccasin on its end. With a sigh, she leaned the pole against the railing and tied it in place. "The snake will work itself free. They always do."

  Morgana slithered closer to the edge to see. As they watched, the cottonmouth twisted on the line, then swam away. The hook dangled, empty. For a moment, when Morgana lifted her head to look out over the marshland, the air shimmered around her. The boa coiled, ready to strike.

  "No worries," the woman told her. "My animal spirits are just curious about you."

  Babet had the feeling the woman could see her spirits, even though they couldn't.

  Morgana's tongue flicked in and out, as she searched for their scent. Satisfied, she turned to follow the others into the house.

  The old Indian went to the kitchen sink and washed her hands. Then she came to settle into one of the chairs that circled the round coffee table and reached for a caramel. "Aaah, my favorite kind." She chewed reverently.

  Hatchet steepled his fingers, impatient. Prosper hunched forward, elbows on his knees. Babet, used to the ways of magic, settled back to wait.

  When she'd enjoyed her treat, the woman went to a tall, corner cupboard and brought out two dream catchers. She returned to them and sat, balancing the round circles of leather with their taut webs on her lap. "I need to tune these specifically to you two," she told Prosper and Babet.

  Babet stared at her, surprised. "Why one for me?"

  "You sleep beside your man, don't you?"

  "Yes."

  "If the wraith spirit calls to him, don't you wish to follow?"

  "I can do that?"

  "With my magic, you can." The old woman sounded smug. "When I'm finished with these, you can catch any dreams that come or go. But the wraith is more than that. In time, she'll find a way through the webs. When she comes for Prosper, you can go, too, if you choose to."

  Babet straightened in her seat. "There's no way Prosper's going without me."

  The old woman smiled. "Many people come to me. Some, I help. Others' demands are too selfish or foolish. You three, you can return here often, if you wish."

  Hatchet's pale eyes glittered. "We thank you. If we visit too many times, though, it might put you in danger. We've made enemies we wouldn't wish on you."

  Babet had to admire him. Hatchet's concern was genuine.

  "Oh, child, you've only made me like you more." At Hatchet's look of surprise, the Indian waved a hand at her land and house. "I have no fears here. Anything that comes to me will wish it hadn't. You, the three of you, put yourselves in danger. You go to the problems to keep your city safe. I withdrew from the world many centuries ago, and my spirits live here, with me."

  "Spirits?" Babet wondered how many she had. She thought of Nadine and the spirits she called back from the Afterlife to serve her.

  "I'm well protected, child. And if we're to be friends, you should call me Osyka. Sy's even better."

  "Osyka," Babet began…

  The woman waved that away. "Sy. Call me Sy."

  "Thank you for all you've done for us, Sy." Babet frowned. "But each of the three of us have different magicks, and we fight even more types of magicks."

  Sy held up her hand for silence. "Bring me candy once a month. That's what I wish. Don't disappoint me."

  Prosper studied her. "That's what you want?"

  "Ye
s."

  "I agree to those terms." Before he could shift positions in his chair, Sy reached out and yanked three hairs from his head. She motioned to someone/some thing, and the air shimmered. A sharp claw raked across the back of Prosper's wrist, bringing blood.

  Morgana jerked her head up.

  Sy said, "It's not to harm him, but to help him. I need blood to work my spell."

  Morgana relaxed again at Babet's feet.

  Sy took Prosper's hand and rubbed it over the strands of web in his catcher. She untied a tiny pouch that dangled from one of the leather straps and put the hairs inside it. Then she smiled, her face pleating with wrinkles. "There. It's done."

  She motioned for Babet and did the same. Babet narrowed her eyes, trying to see whatever slashed at her hand, but only saw movement sparkle in the sunbeams. When Sy finished, she handed Babet her dream catcher. It had three, Blue Heron feathers tied in its center. Prosper's had the rattles from a snake tied to his. The talismans seemed odd to Babet, but she didn't doubt Sy.

  When they finished, Sy stood and started to the door that led to her deck. "I haven't caught my supper yet. You can go now."

  Surprised, Hatchet barked a laugh. "I thought you liked seeing us."

  "I do, but now I've seen enough of you." The old woman left them to find their way out.

  Once back in the car, Prosper shook his head. "Sy makes me feel like a kid sitting in the principal's office."

  "I wouldn't want to battle her." Hatchet snapped on his seat belt. The man was a stickler for rules. Babet was sure he'd been in some secret, Druid, military force when he first trained.

  Witches were more relaxed, but when Hatchet raised an eyebrow at her, she fastened her seatbelt, too.

  Babet gazed out the side window as Prosper drove. Miles of rice fields flew past them, neat rows of plants interspersed between rows of water. These days, some of the flooded rows were lined with orange tops. Traps. Some farmers had taken to using rice fields as watery pastures to grow crawfish. She sat up to see a drive, lined by live oaks, that led to fields of sugar cane. Barely visible above the tall, green stalks, she caught a glimpse of a large, white plantation with graceful columns.