Midnight Moon

Chapter Fourteen



“Where’d he go?”



I followed Murphy’s gaze. We were alone in the dense, silver-tinged wilderness.



My knife slid from its sheath with a slick whisper. Murphy’s hands tightened on his gun. We moved forward, shoulder to shoulder through the foliage.



I half-expected to confront a slavering, human-eyed beast. Instead, our Haitian friend waited patiently at the outskirts of a picturesque village.



With no evidence of the sickness or poverty Murphy and I had viewed in all the others we’d passed on our way to the mountain, the structures were solid, many new. Cook fires had been banked in front of most; I caught the scent of meat. Most Haitians did not have the means to eat meat.



“Since when is there a village?” I murmured.



“Got me.”



Despite the lateness of the hour, villagers bustled about. Women kneaded bread on flat rocks; men repaired tools; some whittled. The only concession to the clock was the lack of children, who must be in bed. At our appearance, several people stopped what they were doing and came toward us.



“Pierre,” they murmured with eerie harmony.



Our guide dipped his head. “Take the priestess to her quarters.”



Two extremely tall, equally stout women stepped forward. They were alike enough to be sisters, if not twins, right down to the bracelet of colorful beads that encircled the somewhat manly wrist of each—blue for the woman on the left, red for the one on the right.



Together they reached for my hands. I still held the knife, but they didn’t seem to care, Red Bracelet grasping my fingers with the blade still clutched tightly within.



“Hold on.” I reared back, crowding closer to Murphy.



No one seemed disturbed by our weapons. No one asked us to give them up or even put them down.



Which was just weird if you ask me.



I glanced at Pierre. “We’re searching for a man named Mezareau.”



“You may see him when he returns.”



Murphy and I exchanged glances.



“He lives here?” I asked.



” Oui. This is his village.”



I don’t know why I’d thought we’d find the bokor alone. Once initiated, a voodoo priest creates his own community, functioning as a counselor, a healer, a social worker, as well as a religious leader. His followers come to him for advice on everything.



A houngan existed to guide his people. Mezareau’s trip to the dark side wouldn’t negate his leading them.



I let my gaze wander over the villagers and got that chilly, creepy feeling again. But into what was he leading them?



“Where is he?” I asked.



“Not here.”



“What time will he return?”



“When he does.”



My teeth ground together, and a low ache began behind my left eye. That kind of talk always made my blood pressure spike toward migraine.



“Rest, Priestess. The trials could not have been easy.”



My headache intensified. “What trials?”



“Did you think you could just walk into our village?”



“We did.”



“No.” He smiled as if I were a foolish child; maybe I was. “You were prevented, but you prevailed. Only the worthy may pass beyond the falling water.”



“Worthy of what?”



“You shall see when the master arrives.”



The master? Oh, brother.



“How do you know she’s a priestess?” Murphy demanded.



“The master knows all because he sees all.”



I glanced at Murphy, tempted to say, I told you so, but he just rolled his eyes. I had to admit that “know all and see all” stuff sounded hokey, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t true.



“May we show you to your hut?” Pierre asked.



Since I wasn’t going to leave without talking to Mezareau, why not? Besides, I was tired.



Sensing my acquiescence, the women reached for my hands again. I quickly sheathed my knife and let them lead me. Since either one of them could have picked me up and carried me, my letting them was merely a formality.



I looked for Murphy. Two very large men were taking him elsewhere.



“No.” I paused, and my handmaidens paused with me. “We stay together.”



Pierre shook his head. “Priestess, you cannot stay in the same hut with a man to whom you are not wed.”



A sinking sensation caused me to demand, “What century is this?”



Murphy snorted, but I ignored him. For all we knew the cave could have been a time warp—and wouldn’t that just be special?



“The twenty-first,” Pierre answered, with his usual calm. “However, we have chosen to live a certain way.



Purity of body leads to purity of mind and the granting of every desire.”



I certainly liked the sound of that, but I still wasn’t sure if being separated from Murphy was the best idea.



“We could get married,” Murphy suggested with a quirk of his brow.



“Dream on, pal.”



“Sweetie, you have no idea what I dream.”



I cast him a quick suspicious glance and he smirked. Would the man never be serious? Did I really want him to? He made me laugh, or at least think about it.



“Fine. We’ll stay in separate huts.” I needed some sleep anyway.



Not that I planned to sleep with Murphy. At least not now, not here. Probably not ever. My eyes wandered over him, and I gave a silent sigh of disappointment. He really was hot, and I was so deprived.



I was led to a hut on the far end of the village. Murphy was led to one on the opposite side. I guess they weren’t going to take any chances. Not that the village was all that big, not that I couldn’t sneak over there any time I wanted to.



I just didn’t want to.



And if you believe that, I have a very expensive love charm to sell you.



“All is for you, Priestess.” The woman swept back the curtain that covered the doorway.



I stepped inside. The curtain fell behind me and I was alone.



A candle sat on the table, so I lit the wick. The room was small enough for the golden glow to penetrate every corner. Table, candle, pallet with a blanket and pillow. I guess all wasn’t very much.



I didn’t care. I stripped off my wet, dirty, torn clothes and crawled beneath the covers. The world went black as soon as I closed my eyes.



Deep in the dark of the night the furious snarl of a wild animal sounded. I shifted—uneasy, uncertain.



Something was off about the sound; something didn’t make sense. But in the morning I couldn’t recall what I’d heard, why it had bothered me, or if the sound had even been real.



Besides, in the morning I had better things to worry about. Like where were my clothes?



Sunlight streamed through the hole in the hut that passed for a window. I was naked beneath the blanket and my clothes had been removed from the building. So had my backpack and my knife.



“Hello?” I hoped someone was close enough to hear. I really didn’t want to leave the relative safety of my bed and venture out wrapped in nothing but a blanket sari.



Who knows, the sight of my naked shoulders might be an offense worthy of immediate execution. If memory served, the boniness of my collarbone was not at all attractive.



The door was swept aside, and the women who’d escorted me last night appeared. One held a colorful skirt and white cotton blouse common to Haiti. The other carried a bowl of water and dry cloths. They placed everything on the table, smiled, bowed, and left without a word.



I wasted no time washing my face, rinsing my teeth, and donning new clothes. Wrapped inside the skirt was a pair of underwear, but no matter how many times I shook it, the outfit did not yield a bra.



Oh well.



In the village, people hurried to and fro, fetching, carrying, building, sewing, fixing, cooking, so industrious I wondered if they were preparing for something special. Perhaps they were being watched and judged, though I saw no one resembling an overseer or the equivalent.



For an instant, I could have sworn I glimpsed the nose-eating zombie man lurking at the edge of the trees.



But when I blinked he was gone, and since I didn’t think anyone, especially a zombie, could move that fast, I figured I was mistaken. But it wouldn’t hurt to ask.



My ladies-in-waiting awaited me near the cook fire in front of my hut. Breakfast—fried plantains and warm flat bread—had been set on a low, table-like rock.



“Is there a guard for the village?”



The twin wearing the red bracelet glanced up from the fire. “Pierre is the guardian.”



“Not him. Big guy, likes noses. He attacked us on the other side of the waterfall.”



She shook her head. “Anyone on the other side is of the other world, Priestess. He would not be of this one.”



I guess that answered that. Or not.



“What happened to my things?” I asked.



“Your clothes are being washed.”



“My bag?” I continued. “My knife?”



“In a safe place.”



“But—”



“All will be returned.”



I snapped my mouth shut. I couldn’t blame them for taking my weapon. It’s what I would have done, although I would have done it sooner.



My gaze was drawn to the hut where Murphy had slept. Nothing moved beyond the window; the place appeared deserted. Trust him to snooze away half the day.



I ate quickly, happy to partake of cooked food after several days of camp rations. But the bread was as bland as baby crackers and the plantains equally flavorless. Perhaps sugar and spice had also been placed on the list of village no-nos.



My request for tea was met with a wrinkled nose and shake of the head. “Not allowed, Priestess. Such things are for the loas only.”



Since when? Sure, coffee and tobacco were left for the loas, but I’d never heard of tea being offered.



Even if it were, that didn’t preclude the living partaking as well—or at least it didn’t anywhere else but here.



I couldn’t complain; this wasn’t my community. There is no supreme ruler of the voodoo church to tell us we aren’t doing it right. Each houngan makes his own rules and rituals.



In the slave days of Haiti, every African society contributed a bit of their religion to the new one evolving among those held in chains. They couldn’t all become Nigerian, they hadn’t all been born in the Congo, but they could all become voodoo practitioners.



When the slaves had been forced to convert to Catholicism, they’d shrugged and adopted some of those practices along with the rest. Therefore, voodoo wasn’t one thing but everything.



Considering all the rules here, Mezareau ran a tight and slightly anal ship, which was his business and not mine. I needed to do what I’d come for, then get out. Back to the land of coffee, tea, and condoms.



I cursed beneath my breath. I also had to stop thinking like that.



“Will Mezareau be back today?”



The handmaiden closest to me winced. “He is the master?”



There was no way I was calling him master.



“Right. Can I see him?”



“He will send for you when he is ready.”



I was gritting my teeth again. I had to stop that, too, or I’d have nothing but stubs by the time we left.



I strode across the center of the village in the direction of Murphy’s hut. The women scurried after me. I couldn’t decide if they were guards or assistants. Either way, they were getting on my nerves.



“Get up!” I swept the curtain aside.



I didn’t realize how much I’d been hoping to catch him naked and tousled in bed—or perhaps naked and tousled out of bed—until my stomach fell at the sight of the empty room.



The place appeared as if it hadn’t been inhabited for months. Either the bed hadn’t been slept in or someone had remade it already, then redeposited a fine layer of dust over everything.



“Where is he?”



The handmaidens exchanged confused glances. “Who?”



“Murphy?” More confusion ensued, and I made an impatient, nearly obscene gesture. “The man I came with.”



“But, Priestess,” said the one who seemed to do all the talking. “You came alone.”