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Authors: Donna Kauffman
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clear statement of her independence. “My responsibility as
well.”
He studied her for another long moment, then turned and walked away. “Follow me.”
She did. And it was both the most difficult and the easiest thing she’d ever done.
Teague watched, bemused, as Erin entered the small house Belisaire used as her
hounfour
, her center for worship and healing. There were a lot of memories tied up in that
house. The summer after his mother took her life, it had been his refuge. When he
didn’t get his act together fast enough to suit Belisaire, it became his prison. Confinement
he’d desperately wished had been solitary. Not filled with people who wandered in
and out at all hours of the day and night. He’d spent many a night in the small airless
second-floor room, plotting his escape. From his father, from Belisaire, from Bruneaux.
Belisaire had eventually prevailed. Teague stayed in school. Stayed out of trouble.
Or at least made damn sure he didn’t get caught. The only thing she’d never gotten
him to do was see his father again.
And, after four years, at age eighteen, Teague had escaped.
Now, more than a decade later, he was back. The woman who had saved his life at fourteen
was in trouble, whether she believed herself to be or not.
“Stubborn old lady,” Teague muttered under his breath, but there was more than a trace
of affection and respect in his tone. She’d long ago earned both. The door closed
behind Erin. Teague shook off the curiosity,the need to stay and observe how these two women who so fascinated him dealt with
one another.
That he felt so certain Erin would hold her own with Belisaire made him smile even
as it made him uncomfortable.
But he had no time for this. He shut off thoughts of Erin stepping into this part
of his life, a part no one in his new life knew about, and turned them to the reason
he’d come here tonight.
He quickly disappeared into the trees until he came to a small dilapidated boathouse
that was more of a covered mooring. He stepped inside, smelled the cigarette smoke,
and breathed a small sigh of relief.
“Skeeter, what do you have for me?”
Erin stepped from the porch, nodding politely as several white-clad men and women
walked past her into the small house. Apparently this was a common occurrence at any
hour.
She paused several feet into the clearing and breathed deeply. Thick and heavy with
the scent of the bayou, it actually felt good. Maybe she’d get used to being here
after all. A grin spread across her face and she gave in to the urge to hug herself.
The meeting with Belisaire had gone better than expected. So much so that Erin could
barely contain her excitement. Belisaire understood what Erin’s interests were and
was willing, on her own terms, to help her. In fact, she’d made the whole meeting
seem preordained, as if it were her idea.
It was far more than she’d hoped for or had everthought to gain this early on. She bit down on the triumphant laugh and looked around.
Teague. She had to find him. Thank him.
Much of her success that morning had to be due to his influence. Belisaire hadn’t
specifically said so, but it had been clear to Erin by some of the questions the priestess
asked her that Teague bringing her here had carried great weight.
The excitement running through her changed … the wild hum turned darker, sweeter.
Erin worked hard to shake off the temptation to explore why Belisaire was so interested
in her thoughts on Teague. The older woman wore her mantle of power like a visible
cloak. And Erin had quickly discovered she was incapable of not answering any question
Belisaire posed to her. As if she’d been compelled.
She’d told herself she complied as a means of establishing trust. But sitting in the
shadowed peristyle, the roofed courtyard Belisaire used as her
bagi
, her innermost sanctum, Erin knew she was not the one in control.
A sudden shiver raced
well.”
He studied her for another long moment, then turned and walked away. “Follow me.”
She did. And it was both the most difficult and the easiest thing she’d ever done.
Teague watched, bemused, as Erin entered the small house Belisaire used as her
hounfour
, her center for worship and healing. There were a lot of memories tied up in that
house. The summer after his mother took her life, it had been his refuge. When he
didn’t get his act together fast enough to suit Belisaire, it became his prison. Confinement
he’d desperately wished had been solitary. Not filled with people who wandered in
and out at all hours of the day and night. He’d spent many a night in the small airless
second-floor room, plotting his escape. From his father, from Belisaire, from Bruneaux.
Belisaire had eventually prevailed. Teague stayed in school. Stayed out of trouble.
Or at least made damn sure he didn’t get caught. The only thing she’d never gotten
him to do was see his father again.
And, after four years, at age eighteen, Teague had escaped.
Now, more than a decade later, he was back. The woman who had saved his life at fourteen
was in trouble, whether she believed herself to be or not.
“Stubborn old lady,” Teague muttered under his breath, but there was more than a trace
of affection and respect in his tone. She’d long ago earned both. The door closed
behind Erin. Teague shook off the curiosity,the need to stay and observe how these two women who so fascinated him dealt with
one another.
That he felt so certain Erin would hold her own with Belisaire made him smile even
as it made him uncomfortable.
But he had no time for this. He shut off thoughts of Erin stepping into this part
of his life, a part no one in his new life knew about, and turned them to the reason
he’d come here tonight.
He quickly disappeared into the trees until he came to a small dilapidated boathouse
that was more of a covered mooring. He stepped inside, smelled the cigarette smoke,
and breathed a small sigh of relief.
“Skeeter, what do you have for me?”
Erin stepped from the porch, nodding politely as several white-clad men and women
walked past her into the small house. Apparently this was a common occurrence at any
hour.
She paused several feet into the clearing and breathed deeply. Thick and heavy with
the scent of the bayou, it actually felt good. Maybe she’d get used to being here
after all. A grin spread across her face and she gave in to the urge to hug herself.
The meeting with Belisaire had gone better than expected. So much so that Erin could
barely contain her excitement. Belisaire understood what Erin’s interests were and
was willing, on her own terms, to help her. In fact, she’d made the whole meeting
seem preordained, as if it were her idea.
It was far more than she’d hoped for or had everthought to gain this early on. She bit down on the triumphant laugh and looked around.
Teague. She had to find him. Thank him.
Much of her success that morning had to be due to his influence. Belisaire hadn’t
specifically said so, but it had been clear to Erin by some of the questions the priestess
asked her that Teague bringing her here had carried great weight.
The excitement running through her changed … the wild hum turned darker, sweeter.
Erin worked hard to shake off the temptation to explore why Belisaire was so interested
in her thoughts on Teague. The older woman wore her mantle of power like a visible
cloak. And Erin had quickly discovered she was incapable of not answering any question
Belisaire posed to her. As if she’d been compelled.
She’d told herself she complied as a means of establishing trust. But sitting in the
shadowed peristyle, the roofed courtyard Belisaire used as her
bagi
, her innermost sanctum, Erin knew she was not the one in control.
A sudden shiver raced
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