Chapter Fifteen

“Did he put you up to this?” I asked. “Ha-ha. Very funny. Murphy! You can come out now.”

The two women stared at me as if I were crazy—which was nothing new. However, this time, I was certain I wasn’t.

I turned in a slow circle, expecting Murphy to pop out of the trees, earring swinging, grin flashing. But he didn’t.

“I’m starting to get annoyed,” I muttered.

“Priestess.”

I turned so fast the woman flinched, and I realized my hands were clenched into fists. “Sorry,” I said, and forced myself to relax. “Just show me where he is.”

“I do not know of whom you speak.”

“Murphy. Tall, white, and—” I stopped short of saying “handsome.” “Pirate earring? Blondish with beads in his hair. Kind of hard to miss.”

She spread her hands helplessly.

I had not imagined traveling through the mountains with Devon Murphy. That was as impossible as…

Zombies? Werewolves? Disappearing waterfalls?

I began to glance inside every hut and beat the bushes surrounding the village. Murphy was here someplace. But was he hiding from me or were they hiding me from him?

The handmaidens followed, speaking softly in Creole to the villagers who peered at me with varying degrees of pity.

I made a complete circle with no sign of him. Then I stared, stumped, into a dense jungle that really wasn’t supposed to be here. Did I dare go walking around without him?

“Priestess, you came alone.”

I met the dark eyes of my talkative guard. Either she was an accomplished liar or she really believed what she was saying, and that just didn’t make sense. Unless they were all brainwashed.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“I am called Helen.”

“Helen. I did not imagine Murphy.”

“Are you certain?”

Her question made me think. Some very strange things had been happening since I’d come to Haiti. What was real and what was not? I was pretty sure Murphy had been a flesh-and-blood man—or at least I hoped he was, for more reasons than one.

“I’m sure,” I said firmly. “I couldn’t have gotten here without him.”

“But you could not have gotten here with him.”

My head was starting to hurt and it was only… I glanced at my watch, which had stopped. That figured.

“I want to see Mezareau.”

“You will.” She and her evil twin turned and walked back to my hut.

I spent the rest of the day searching for Murphy. I even stepped into the trees, thinking I’d take a walk on a trail. But there was no trail, which was going to make it damn difficult to get out of here. Especially if I had to go alone. My sense of direction was shit.

By suppertime I was worried—about Murphy, about myself and my sanity. I picked at the food— someone really needed to teach Helen how to cook—then faked a huge yawn as an excuse to retire before the sun.

I had to think. To plan… something. But several days passed, and I was still there—no Murphy, no Mezareau, no plan.

I’d gone into the mountains and disappeared like so many others. Edward would try to find me, but I doubted he’d have much luck. With Murphy I’d believed I had a chance of getting out. Now I wasn’t so sure.

What if Mezareau never came back? What if he was a myth? What if I couldn’t learn what I needed to know? What if I could, but I was unable to escape and return to California and Sarah?

Wouldn’t that be the ultimate torment? Knowing how to bring her back but being unable to do so?

Perhaps we’d entered hell instead of an enchanted land.

Another night passed, and I was getting desperate.

The village quieted but not completely. When I glanced out my window, people still moved about. Was there really that much to do? Their industriousness bordered on obsession.

Along with that oddity, I’d discovered everyone in the village was young and strapping. The children

I’d thought asleep the night we’d arrived did not exist, nor did the elderly. I started to have visions of a Stepford Village—created solely for a single purpose, though I couldn’t figure out what that purpose might be.

I lay on my pallet at a loss. If I couldn’t search the jungle in the daylight I certainly wasn’t going to do it under the light of a gibbous moon. I had little choice but to wait until Mezareau deigned to speak with me or my imaginary friend showed up.

“Help,” I whispered. The single word sounded frightened, lonely, lost.

I must have dozed, because I awoke and knew I was no longer alone. A slight hiss made me turn my head, and I came face-to-face with a snake.

Most women would freak, but even before the pet python, snakes had never bothered me. I’d been fascinated by them. This one appeared to be some kind of vine variety—skinny, green, and very long.

The snake was the symbol of the loa Danballah, my met tet, a term meaning “master of the head.” Like the guardian angels of Christianity, a person’s met tet watched over them for life.

I eyed the snake in front of me. I guess I had asked for help.

Slowly I sat up, and the reptile slithered toward the door, pausing at the threshold as if waiting. I got to my feet and followed.

The village was quieter, emptier than before, though not completely deserted. I waited for an outcry at my appearance. Where were my handmaidens? But no one seemed to notice me following the snake into the trees.

Though no path had magically appeared, the serpent knew where he was going, winding across sticks and stones, beneath bushes, and out the other side. He moved slowly so I was able to follow without too much difficulty.

I wondered momentarily if I were still asleep, which would explain the lack of interest in my leaving, as well as the ease of my travels through a previously impenetrable jungle. Then I stepped on a stone, right in the center of my foot. As pain exploded up my leg and I had to bite my tongue to keep from sniveling, I knew I was as awake as I’d ever be.

We continued on, into the night, the dark, the unknown. Perhaps this was punishment for my recent lack of attentiveness to my met tet. I’d been a little busy with the werewolves to leave offerings of food, rum, and shiny things. I’d definitely forgotten to wear Danballah’s color, white, on his day of days, Thursday.

Loas could become extremely snarky when ignored. It would serve me right to be led into the wilderness and abandoned.

Just when I thought that was exactly what he had in mind, the trees parted and a hut appeared so suddenly I stumbled over my own feet.

“What the hell?” I said aloud.

The snake didn’t answer. Looking down, I discovered the snake was gone.

“Swell,” I muttered. “I get to reflect on my sins in the middle of a great big nowhere.” I guess I should be thankful I’d have a roof over my head, if no food in my stomach.

Shoving back the curtain across the door, I stepped inside. The hut was occupied; however, the body near the far wall wasn’t moving.

I peered into the jungle. Maybe I wasn’t supposed to be in here. Maybe this was the home of some hermit, a crazy man who would chop me into a million pieces for trespassing. Hey, it could happen.

Uneasy, I glanced at the shadowy figure again, even took a step inside, I’m not sure why, and the change in angle allowed the moonlight to illuminate the beads woven into sun-streaked hair.

“Murphy!” I shouted, rushing forward, falling to my knees, reaching out. As soon as my fingers touched his skin, I j erked back.

He was cold, stiff, and—

Dead?