King Me Page 9

  As we exit onto the sidewalk, my eyes scan the area for anyone suspicious. Again, this is a hard thing to spot in this city. I hate that the run in with those thugs has made me paranoid, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.

  “Ugh. I wish I had a cigarette or something. My anxiety is through the roof.”

  “Any chance you want to share what’s got you so worked up? Besides, those things will kill you,” King says.

  “Not if New Orleans kills me first,” I answer. I start off toward Canal and am surprised that he follows.

  “What is that supposed to mean?” King asks, his long legs keeping up with my hurried pace.

  I huff and turn to face him. The other sidewalk pedestrians seem annoyed with our standstill, rerouting around us.

  “Look, if you must know, I went out and did some street canvassing on Sunday. I was asking around about Voodoo and the Bondye Saints. By the time I got home that evening, they had sent two goons to my apartment.”

  “Goons? What the hell, Laney?” King grabs my shoulder and turns me toward him.

  “Yeah, they kind of threatened me and told me to stop asking around.”

  I shrug my shoulders, trying to seem indifferent. I know this is the kind of thing King will take seriously. I am not let down.

  “Shit. Laney, this is serious. They threatened you? And here you are, doing more research. This is not necessary for your thesis, right? You can avoid the Bondye Saints altogether and still write your dissertation.”

  His words are delivered in his usual cool tone, but they come out too fast. King locks his fingers together behind his neck, his biceps flexing as he looks toward the sky. He blows out a long, slow breath and drops his hands to his sides, those intense eyes holding me in place. I grab both of his hands and hold them between us.

  “King, I’m not going to let them scare me. I want to know who they are, why they’re back and why they’re so scared by my digging.” He rubs his thumbs across the backs of my hands, a simple gesture that makes my heart flutter and my head go fuzzy. “No, it’s not necessary for my research. But I’m already in, King. I’m on their radar and they’re on mine. I’m making it necessary. I’m not going to quit now.”

  He remains perfectly still for a few seconds, and I think, “This is it. This is where he abandons me.” I wouldn’t blame him if he did. The Bondye Saints seem to be a much bigger threat than we ever could have anticipated.

  “Why is this so important to you?” King asks. “Why are you so ready to put yourself in danger?”

  I squeeze his fingers and hold his gaze. “I’m not sure I have an answer for that. It’s just something I feel in my gut. The avoidance by everyone, the threats, it has to mean that they are up to something very bad. If I’m the only one who wants to find out what that is and possibly stop them, then I have to do it. Maybe it’s a way to redeem myself.”

  “Then, I’m in too,” King says.

  I drop his hands and immediately regret letting go. “Are you sure? I don’t want to put you in danger. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me so far. But, this may be too much.”

  “Laney, they would never hurt me because of who my family is,” King says, throwing an arm over my shoulders and pulling me in close. “I can help. Come on, you need me.”

  Those words coming from that man, with the feel of his body pressing against me, are truer than he can ever imagine. Of course I need his help for my research, but with each day that passes in this city, I feel a stronger kind of need for Valentine King.

  “You, are relentless,” I say, leaning into him.

  “Mamie would say hard-headed. It’s one of my most under appreciated qualities.”

  I laugh before pulling in tight for a hug.

  “No more secrets,” King says, his lips press to the top of my head. “If you’re in trouble, you call me.”

  “I promise,” I say after releasing him.

  _______________

  The rest of the week drags by and I find it hard to get back into my research. It is too easy to let myself hangout at home, sleeping and writing during the daylight hours, and attaching myself to a barstool at night. Though the dark memories still find me, the alcohol seems to dull the pain enough to keep the nightmares away.

  On Thursday, I run into Marie again. This time she’s alone and on the prowl, even setting me in her sights. Feeling like I have enough complications in this city, I politely decline. It’s not that I don’t find her attractive, I just don’t want to satisfy my itch with her. There is one person that my body craves, and Marie knows it just as much as I do. She doesn’t seem put off by my rejection and saunters off in search of her next conquest.

  King interrupts my hangover, way too early on Friday morning and tells me he’ll meet me at my place on Saturday around ten. I agree and make myself stay in for the night, knowing I could use a night off from the bar scene and not wanting to be dragging ass tomorrow with King.

  After some television watching, I hop in the shower where I can’t help but think of spending time with King the next day. As I picture his muscled arms and that elusive tattoo on his chest, my fingers drift down to pleasure myself. I feel alive and electrified as I call his name, hearing it echo off the tile walls of my tiny bathroom.

  I wrap the towel around my body and lean against the sink, swiping away the condensation from the mirror. Staring at my reflection, I barely recognize the person who stares back. My hair is longer than it’s been in ten years. There are dark half moons below my eyes, a direct result of my long nights and heavy drinking. My skin is tan and spending time outside has brought out a spattering of freckles across my nose. Everything seems such a stark contrast to my former life and I’m more than okay with that.

  I run my hands through my tangled hair and cringe. I want to shake the woman looking back at me and tell her to wake the fuck up. I want to yell that life is passing her by while her miserable ass sits on a barstool every night. I want to beat on her ribs, telling her to breathe deeper and appreciate every breath. Mostly, I want to see the light and fire return to those icy blue eyes, eyes that used to seek out the knowledge and goodness in every person and situation. Skipping the pep talk, all that I can promise is to lay off the drinking a bit before hauling myself to bed.

  The morning sun brings with it a promise of hope. I wake with a positive vibe in my heart and hop out of bed to greet the day. I take time to pull up my hair in a cute braided bun and put on a little mascara. I dig through my clothes, finding something other than a t-shirt and jeans for the day. By the time King arrives, I feel refreshed and briefly satisfied with myself.

  “Good morning,” he greets. “I brought coffee since I know you are rarely up before noon.”

  I smile and take the warm Café du Monde cup from him. “Thanks.”

  “I drank mine on the way here,” he says, holding up an empty cup. I motion to the trash can and he tosses it inside.

  King then approaches me slowly. He runs his fingers from my dangling earrings, along my jaw, tipping up my chin. The air feels electric and I know something big is happening. I set my cup down and hold my breath, waiting for something—anything.

  “Something’s different today,” he says. His eyes search mine before glancing down to my lips. “Your darkness is fading.”

  “You see that?” I whisper.

  “I see you,” he answers.

  The whir of the air conditioning unit is the only sound as we stand so close—staring, waiting. The butterflies in my stomach have turned to hornets, my whole body vibrating with want. I silently beg him to give me what I need.

  When King’s lips finally touch mine, I am lost. In that moment, I completely surrender all my hurt, all the pain, and live in his light. His lips are demanding, and when his tongue slides against mine, we both hum at the satisfaction. I taste coffee and mint and a sweetness that saturates my tongue. King’s hands slide from my arms, moving around to cup my ass. He lifts me up, and my legs wrap around his waist. My nails scrape
against his scalp, pushing and pulling, not knowing what I need more. King dominates the kiss, moving us backwards to pin me against the wall. We are both so deep with tongue and teeth, nipping and consuming, the moment suspends us in time. My hands fist in King’s t-shirt, wanting to pull him inside me. His hard body pushes against my soft one and I can feel every muscle pulled tight, every place his skin connects with mine.

  After what seems like an eternity, and also a fleeting moment, King slows his pace. I place three more pecks on his mouth before taking his bottom lip between my teeth and sliding it free.

  King lets out a groan as I release my legs and slide down his long body. Our eyes stay connected as we each straighten and smooth our clothes.

  “I feel like I’ve been waiting on that...” I stop, unable to adequately describe what just happened.

  “My whole life,” King says, holding my gaze. “You ready to get out of here?”

  I’m a little surprised we’re just going to share a kiss like that and not talk about it. But I’m feeling too overwhelmed to talk it out anyway. I follow King out and lock up, high on our kiss, not even asking about our destination until we reach the end of the block.

  “We’re going back to Mamie’s,” he says.

  “What? Why? King, I don’t know if that’s such a good idea. I didn’t exactly make a good impression the first time.”

  He backtracks to my position on the sidewalk and grabs my hand, unearthing me from my cement roots.

  “She’s going to help you. She sees visions all the time. They’re not usually so grim, but she is going to try to help us change your future instead of fearing it.”

  “But, I don’t fear it,” I admit.

  “That’s what worries me,” he says, pulling me along.

  We make our way back to Mamie’s and let ourselves in unannounced. She greets us as though it’s been years since our last visit, hugging and kissing King and then myself. She gives me a genuine smile, running her hands over my face, mumbling something in French.

  King nods at her words. We find ourselves seated around the kitchen table again. Mamie reaches below her chair and places a large, cloth bag on top of the table. As she unwraps the bag and removes its items, she explains why we’re here today.

  “The purpose of a binding spell is to render a person who is tryin’ to do you wrong helpless. When done properly, binding spells make them powerless to cause harm.”

  She lays out a small cloth doll, a red ribbon, a black candle and some matches. I look at the items before me as though I’ve never seen them before. In any other setting, I imagine I’d never give them a second glance, but here these ordinary items feel otherworldly. Mamie closes her eyes and lays her palms face up on the table.

  “We must call on Papa Legba to open the doors to the Spirit World. Open the door, Papa Legba, your child awaits. Open the door, Papa, so that we may pass. Open the door, Papa Legba, when I return, I will thank the Loa.”

  I glance at King who is completely entranced by his grandmother and then back to Mamie, not wanting to miss any part of the ceremony. She lights the black candle and meets my eyes above the flame.

  “You must concentrate deeply on those who wish to do you harm.”

  Deciding to go along with the ritual, I nod and close my eyes, thinking only of the members of the Bondye Saints. I open my eyes when I feel King’s hand on mine. Mamie passes the doll and ribbon. She mimes wrapping the ribbon around the doll. I follow her instructions.

  “Listen to her words. Then say it with her,” King instructs. I nod and begin to bind the crude doll in silk ribbon while repeating Mamie’s words.

  “With harm to none, my will be done. I hereby bind you. Your words cannot harm me. Your thoughts cannot harm me. Your actions cannot harm me. You cannot harm me.”

  For the third round, King joins in. The trio of our voices together feels mighty and I want to believe in their power. King and Mamie give themselves over to the ritual, letting their eyes fall closed and remaining perfectly still while repeating the chant. I continue to recite it with them, but am too curious not to watch. Suddenly, the candle’s flame blows out. My eyes widen as Mamie and King both go silent and open their eyes. I keep my gaze on the curling smoke from the extinguished candle, watching it rise above our heads before disappearing completely. Mamie’s voice returns my attention to her.

  “Take this doll north along the river and bury it under a century old oak,” she says to King. ”You know the place. Leave it and do not look back or ever return. Be sure to thank the Loas for their protection and power when you are done.”

  “Thank you, Mamie,” King whispers before kissing his grandmother goodbye and pulling me from the room.

  “Thank you,” I shout from the next room before King drags me outside.

  “Come on, my car is down the block,” he says.

  I stop and plant my feet on the second porch step. It makes a squeaking sound as I rock from foot to foot. “Where are we going?”

  “Weren’t you listening? We’re going to go bury that thing. When Mamie gives you orders, you follow them.”

  I sit quietly in the car as King drives us out of the city. I turn the little doll over and over in my hands, running my fingers over the coils of ribbon. I ponder the faith put into this simple figure and know that the only power it truly holds is put there by the people who believe in it.

  Before I know it, we’re on the freeway, heading west. The traffic is heavy, but King is a pro, weaving in and out of lanes. We don’t talk much as he drives. Thoughts of our kiss, of the threats hanging over me, and his grandmother’s ritual swirl around my head. Every day my connection to Valentine King grows. What started out as curiosity and physical desire has bloomed into something more—something I can’t seem to define. Whatever it is, I know I want to grab hold of it, of him, and never let go.

  The more I dig into the Bondye Saints, the more they feel inclined to stop me. Clearly, that means they have something worth hiding. Despite their threats and my original research goals, there is a burning inclination to unearth who and what they are.

  We leave the main highway and take another, which leads us over the river and eventually to River Road. As we travel the winding two lane road, caught between the green grass covered levee and old, family owned properties, I finally let myself relax. The warm wind whips through my hair as the sun glows through my shut eyelids.

  “Laney, wake up.”

  King’s soft voice stirs me out of my dreamless sleep and his hand on my leg wakens other things in me. I rub my eyes and see that we are in a parking lot surrounded by lots of green, massive trees, and a few other cars.

  “Where are we?” I ask.

  “Oak Alley Plantation,” King says, pointing to the beautiful plantation home to our left. “Plenty of century old oak trees. Now, let’s go bury that.”

  We start in the gift shop where, despite King’s resistance, I pay for both of our tour passes. With the doll tucked into my pocket, we tour the historic home with eight other people. The host tells us stories of the previous owners and answers any questions thrown her way. While I enjoy learning about the history of the property, I can’t help but focus on the feeling of that doll tucked into my pocket. Something about it makes me uneasy and I want it gone.

  After the tour, we are free to roam around the grounds and that’s when King guides me to the front of the house. We make our way down the central path created by beautiful, looming oak trees.

  When we are halfway down the path, King pulls me behind one of the trees and drops to his knees. He digs his fingers into the earth right between two huge roots, digging a hole a few inches deep. My whole body tenses when he slips his hand into my back pocket and retrieves the doll.

  King drops the doll inside and covers it back up with the dark soil. When finished, he dusts off his hands and stands.

  “C’est tout,” King says. “Thank you, Lao.” He looks at me expectantly with those fierce eyes and that one raised eyebrow.


  “Thank you, Lao,” I repeat.

  Suddenly, he grabs me and pushes me against the old oak tree. One hand holds my hip while the other rests on the trunk above my head. King presses feather light kisses along my shoulder and up my neck. My body instinctively leans into his, wanting more. Goosebumps speckle across my skin in the wake of his warm breath and soft lips.

  “Ahem.”

  We both look up to find the guide followed by another group of tourists. They’re all staring like we’re on display.

  “Sorry,” King says in his ultra smooth, confident voice.

  The group moves on as heat blooms in my cheeks. “Oh my god! That was perfect timing.”

  “I know,” King says, running his fingers down my bare arm. “It wasn’t an accident. I saw them coming and we needed an excuse to be out here.”

  “Oh,” I say, looking down at my feet.

  King leans in, his lips at my ear. “Doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy every second.”

  King smiles, satisfied as I blush even harder. He excuses himself to wash his hands while I look around the gift shop. There are postcards featuring the house and other nearby plantations. T-shirts, hats and bags emblazoned with the signature image of the house line the shelves. There are stickers and keychains and anything else that can hold the branding.

  Flipping through the books, I find a small paperback detailing the lives of slaves on Louisiana plantations. I flip through and find the chapter on religion and family life. It states how the practices and traditions of Voodoo had been brought with them from their native land of Haiti. It also explained that many items collected from the slave quarters of the River Road plantations that were believed to hold black magic had been donated to the Museum of Voodoo in New Orleans. I glance at the grainy black and white photo of the museum before noticing an editor’s note below it.