Bayou Shadow Hunter

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Annie swiped her eyes and edged away from his presence. She tucked her feet beneath her on the sofa and hugged her knees to her chest. “Why don’t you go away and leave me alone?”

She didn’t care if she looked or sounded childish. Grandma Tia was gone. And it was all his fault. If she’d never met him, never made the mistake of following the will-o’-the-wisps into the woods, her grandma would still be here.

I’m going where you can’t follow. Was Tia talking about her death? Or something else?

“Is there someone I can call?” Tombi asked. “Family? A friend?”

Annie didn’t want to call her mom. It would take her hours to drive down from the north Georgia mountains. That was, if she came. And she’d be impatient and cross that Annie hadn’t gone to the hospital. No matter that she’d shirked her own daughterly duties. Best to wait a bit for some news on her grandma’s condition before calling.

Annie nodded at the desk by the far wall. “Open up that middle drawer. There’s a blue address book in it.”

She watched as Tombi rummaged in the drawer. His green T-shirt was streaked with red clay dirt, as were his blue jeans. It reminded her that he’d been lying on the ground deathly ill less than an hour ago. She shouldn’t care but...

“Hey, are you okay?” she asked reluctantly. “Maybe you should have gone to the ER, too.”

He shut the desk drawer and came toward her. One side of his mouth twitched upward. “Nice to know you care.”

He handed over the battered book, which was crammed with names and addresses scribbled in Tia’s large, dramatic script. Grandma wasn’t one to trust computers for storing information.

Annie found Verbena Holley’s name and picked up her cell phone. Verbena was a longtime family friend who would drop everything and stay with Tia at the hospital. She also wouldn’t question Annie about Tia’s demand that she remain at home. Verbena was almost as eccentric as Tia and possessed absolute faith in Tia’s wisdom.

That done, Annie hung up and let out a deep breath. She felt a fraction better that her grandma would have a familiar face by her side this evening. Outside, shadows lengthened, and twilight wouldn’t be far behind.

Tombi paced their small den looking large and out of place. He belonged to the night and to the swampland, not here in this mystical room with its herbal sachets, saint statues and candles. His stride was cramped, his posture rigid. He kept his eyes to the ground, hands tightly interlaced behind his back.

“You don’t have to stay,” Annie said. “You should go back to your friends.” After all, Grandma Tia hadn’t said she had to help him immediately. It would be best if he left, and she could gather her wits and form a plan. “They probably wonder what’s taking you so long to return.” And no doubt would blame her for his injury.

He stopped pacing and gave her a ferocious stare. “I’m not going back without you.”

Beneath the glare of his eyes, exhaustion and pain had left a faint trace. Annie wanted nothing more than to demand he leave, but she couldn’t send out a man who had been so near death.

My destiny. Was her grandma just being fanciful?

Annie stood and pointed to the sofa. “Why don’t you sit, and I’ll fix some tea. Something to make sure the fever lessens.”

He narrowed his eyes. “What kind of tea?”

“A little this, a little that.” Realization struck. “What did you think I’d put in your drink?”

“Poison, perhaps.” He arched a brow. “What do witches brew? Toadstool soup with dragon blood and gator claws?”

That was rich. The guy practically killed her grandma and then suggested he didn’t trust her? “Don’t forget magic mushrooms and bat whiskers,” she drawled.

Too bad she didn’t have access to something like truth serum to find out more about his background and intentions. Still, her healing nature couldn’t ignore Tombi’s underlying suffering. And keeping busy was her preferred method for dealing with sorrow and worry.

In the kitchen, her safe haven, Annie set the iron teakettle on the stove and mixed together a pinch of elderberry, angelica and feverfew for taking out any underlying fever, plus a dash of chamomile for relaxing. Not truth serum, but maybe if Tombi relaxed he would open up more. Couldn’t hurt.

She reached up on tiptoes for the container of stevia.

“Interesting place.”

Annie spun around like a ballerina en pointe. “I didn’t hear you come in,” she sputtered. “Sneaking up on me?”

“No. It’s just my way. The way of most hunters. I came to see if I could help.”

Annie leaned against the counter and folded her arms. “I think you wanted to keep an eye on me.” She waved a hand around the kitchen. “Go on and look. We’re fresh out of arsenic and eye of newt.”

Tombi squinted at the jars of dried spices and roots lining the countertops, the basket of pink mojo bags she’d assembled earlier that morning and the bunches of dried herbs hanging above on the ceiling. “Unusual, but nothing overtly suspicious, like a box of rat poison.”

Was he serious? Annie frowned. “Now, look here, you can’t just—”

Tombi opened the pantry door, and she drew away from the counter, spine stiffening. “Who said you could go poking about everywhere?” she demanded.

“You said I could look around.” He stepped in the pantry and ran a finger over the shelves. “Ah, now it’s getting interesting. Graveyard dirt, coffin nails and—” he picked up a sealed jar and turned “—swamp juice?” His nose crinkled at the puke-green cloudiness. “Looks like it could kill someone. Bacterial infection would be a gruesome death.”

“Put it back, and mind your own business.”

He returned it to the shelf, and Annie poured steaming tea into two mugs. She lifted the silver ball that held the loose ingredients in the teapot and waggled it. “We’re drinking from the same pot. Just so you know.”

Tombi sank into one of the cane-backed kitchen chairs, and Annie sat across from him at the table. He filled the room with his strong presence, overpowered what was once her peaceful sanctuary. Made it disturbing.

Exciting.

Even the air she breathed reeked of masculinity and testosterone—forceful and heady.

Annie slid the ceramic bowl filled with packets of sugar to the middle of the table. “You’ll want to sweeten up that brew. It’s a bit bitter. If you’d rather use honey, we have some.”

“This will do.”

She couldn’t meet his eyes, instead staring at his lean, muscled forearms and large hands as he ripped open a sugar packet and stirred his tea. What would it be like to have his hands touching her all over? A warm flush blossomed on her cheeks, and she gripped her mug with both hands to steady the turmoil Tombi awoke in her body.

Stop it. He can’t be trusted. So far, he had brought nothing but empty promises and disaster.

* * *

Tombi swallowed a mouthful of the astringent tea and struggled to conceal his revulsion. But if it would help strengthen his aching limbs and exhaustion, he’d drink every drop.

Annie regarded him, lips curled sardonically. “That’s right, my dearie,” she crooned in a crackly, crone voice. “Drink every last drop or the poison is no good.”

He set the mug down with a bang. “You wouldn’t.” A heartbeat. “Would you?”

She folded her arms. “What do you think?”

“You wouldn’t.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t be so sure about me. After all, you might have got my grandma killed today. Things like that tend to piss people off, you know.”

“It’s highly unusual for Nalusa to attack before nightfall. It’s as if he were lying in wait for me. As if someone had tipped him off.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” She jumped up, hands gripping the table with white-knuckled anger. “You think I contacted a...a...snake? I never even heard of Nalusa until yesterday.”

“So you say.”

Tombi couldn’t let it go. He’d become a jaded man, not by birth disposition, but because of the deaths and trapped spirits he’d witnessed over the past ten years. He and his tribe tried to release all the ensnared souls, but they kept growing in number. Secretly, he despaired there was no stopping Nalusa’s increasing spread of misery. How was he supposed to trust this girl—this witch who mysteriously appeared in the dead of night in the swamp and claimed to speak to Bo?

Annie made a disgusted clucking noise and noisily set about tidying the kitchen. “Don’t drink the tea, then. Suffer. Means nothing to me.”

She dried some silverware and threw it in a drawer, where it clanged. “If anyone’s scared, it should be me.”

“Scared? I’m not scared.” For spirit’s sake, he faced creatures of the dark on a daily basis.

She stared pointedly at his half-filled mug and raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

Tombi lifted it to his lips and took another experimental sip. The liquid had cooled considerably. He raised the mug in a salutatory gesture. “To good health.” He downed the whole mess in four gulps.

Great Spirits almighty, that was nasty stuff.

Annie threw the dish towel in the sink and stared at him. “Your skin is starting to get a little pale and clammy,” she noted. “Perspiration’s beading on your forehead. You sure you’re okay? Maybe I poisoned you after all.”

Tombi lifted his right arm a few inches, then dropped it by his side. He’d almost given her the satisfaction of touching his forehead to check.

“Your jaw is twitching, too.”

“It tends to do that when I’m annoyed.”

“Better annoyed than worried sick like I am.” Annie glanced out the kitchen window, and her body slumped, as if the fight and anger had melted from her spine and left her in a pool of misery.

Damn. He fought the guilt that pestered his gut. He didn’t ask that old lady to save him. “Look, Annie, I’m sorry about your grandma.”

She waved a hand dismissively, back still toward him.

“Maybe you should go to the hospital,” he drawled, reluctant to encourage her but compelled to show compassion. Tia Henrietta had saved his life; he owed her.

“She’d kill me. She specifically begged me not to.”

“Did she say why?”

Annie sighed. “She seems to think you are some kind of hero or something.”

“I wish she hadn’t taken the poison,” Tombi offered.

She faced him and tilted her head to one side. “Did she say something to you right before the ambulance came? I saw you lean over the couch where she lay.”

He shuffled in his seat and shrugged his shoulders. “She moaned, and I got closer to see if she was trying to talk. But she was mostly incoherent.”

Mostly.

The word and its meaning seemed to slip by Annie. Thank the spirits.

“She has a weak heart. I don’t see how she can recover from this.” Her eyes were a reproach.

Tombi frowned, hardening his heart. He couldn’t let his resolve to mistrust all strangers end. He had a mission. His people depended on him. Should he fail... No, he couldn’t go down that dark corridor of possibility in his mind. Bad enough the worry haunted his dreams.

Her voice rose an octave. “And to top it off, you seem to believe I brought all this on myself and my grandma.”

Tombi pursed his lips. “You could have set a trap, not knowing your grandmother would come swooping in to save me at the last possible second.”

“Of all the ungrateful...” she sputtered. “If not for us, you’d be dead or ate up with fever.”

He paused, struck by the fact that he was ready to return to the hunt, full of vigor. “That tea actually helped,” he let slip in surprise.

“Of course it did. You...you...” Again, she was so angry that words failed. She planted her hands on her hip and glared.

He smiled, and she stepped close to him.

“Stop smirking.” Annie pushed against his chest. She was so small, so petite, the top of her head hit him only chest-high.

Instinctively, he grabbed her arms and pulled her closer into him. She smelled mysterious—like herbs and musk and a touch of some flowery scent that was deliciously, dangerously feminine.

He remembered their kiss. Would she ever want to kiss him again—now that she held him responsible for Tia’s illness? Loss and regret swept through him like an errant breeze.

If circumstances were different. If there wasn’t so much at stake. If only... But it did no good to wallow in “ifs.” It wasn’t as if he’d had any choice in the matter of his destiny and duty. His hands still held her forearms, but they loosened—and she didn’t pull away. He hardly dared move for fear of shattering the magic.

The only sound in the room was their joined breathing, hers lighter and more rapid than his. Her chest gently expanded and contracted. And then, oh-so-slowly, they eased their bodies together, and her cheek lay on his chest. Tombi leaned down and rested his chin on the cinnamon warmth of her dark hair.

Outside, the sky darkened. Leaves and moss would begin to rustle in the ancient oaks. Soon, birds of the night would swoop from branch to branch, screeching and spying and reporting back to Nalusa on the hunters’ movements. Ishkitini, the horned owl, was the most ominous bird of prey, because his screech foretold a sudden death or murder. Will-o’-the-wisps would glow and skitter about with the energy of the trapped deceased.

The windowpane’s reflection captured their joined silhouette like a flickering trick of the eye. Nebulous and passing, a fragile thing of impermanence. Tombi closed his eyes and stroked her arms. They were as soft and slender as a robin’s wing.

The phone rang, and she jerked and wiggled out of his embrace, returning to the table to pick up her cell phone.

“How is she?” Annie asked, face set in tense worry. “Uh-huh. That’s good...right?”

Reassured the call wasn’t death news, Tombi let himself out the front door and stood on the porch. She’d appreciate her privacy. The heat and the night pressed down on him, cloying and heavy.

He had to return to the others. His duty was clear. Somehow, he must convince Annie to come with him. This cottage wasn’t safe for a young woman alone. She’d been lured once by a will-o’-the-wisp. It could happen again. Their call was almost impossible to ignore.

And then there were Tia Henrietta’s words. Annie is your destiny. Without her, you fail. And as he’d started to straighten, the old woman’s hand had gripped his with surprising strength. Take care of my granddaughter.

Destiny? Destiny be damned. It was enough that the gods had placed this duty on him, this infernal battle with Nalusa and his shadows. No doubt Annie could prove useful with her extraordinary hearing. But that tiny woman wasn’t a key to battling evil. She didn’t stand a chance against dark forces she’d never before encountered. If she was an innocent, he reminded himself grimly. And as far as taking care of Annie...wasn’t it enough that his fellow hunters depended on him as their leader? He didn’t need another burden.

The door creaked open, and she stood beside him.

“How’s your grandmother?”

“Miss Verbena says her vital signs are stabilized, but she’s in a coma.”

He tried to find comforting words. “Her brain just needs a rest while she battles the poison.”