Debbie Herbert - Bayou Shadow Hunter

“Was your best friend?” Annie’s eyes rounded. “What happened to him?”

Tombi gritted his teeth. Oh, she looked innocent enough. Standing there in her flower-print T-shirt and drawstring pajama shorts. Brown hair tumbling in waves down to her hips. At first glance, she’d appeared a mere slip of a girl—skinny and all legs.

His eyes shifted to the fullness of her breasts and slight swelling of her hips. Definitely a woman. A very sexy woman. Not that it mattered. Evil spirits roamed in many guises.

“He died. Snakebite.” He watched her closely, checking for signs of guilt or glee.

She shuddered. “That’s horrible.”

“Died right where I found you tonight.”

Annie crossed her arms and looked downward apprehensively. “I hate snakes. Was it a rattler or a water moccasin?”

“Rattler. He died alone out there in the woods.” How many times had he imagined Bo’s horrible death? Imagined him feeling the rapid, burning spread of venom in his veins, knowing he was doomed.

Tombi drew a rasping breath. “He shouldn’t have had to die alone.”

“Nobody should,” she agreed. “How—how did he get trapped in a wisp?”

“You really don’t know?” he asked sharply.

“No.” She squared her shoulders. “I’ve only been out here a few weeks visiting my grandma. Lots of weirdness down here, even more than usual this summer. Stuff I’ve never seen before. Or heard.”

“About what you heard...what did Bo say exactly?”

“I told you. There’s a betrayer in your ranks. He wanted me to warn you of danger.”

A likely story. Wasn’t that the way evil sank its fangs into people? It insinuated and manipulated fear and mistrust where none existed. Until you became paranoid and relied only on your own wits for survival. He’d seen it so many times over the past few years.

“I don’t believe you.”

She shrugged. “Suit yourself. Don’t shoot me, I’m just the messenger.”

“You always go around hearing voices?” he sneered.

“Yes.”

Her quick, short response surprised him. “You do?”

“You already think I’m a witch, so—what the hell—yes, I hear things. Not voices usually. I hear music around people.”

“Music?” He snorted. What kind of strange magic was this?

Her lips compressed in a thin line. “It’s what drew me to the woods tonight. I heard the most beautiful music—it sounded like fairy bells.”

Tombi considered Annie’s words. “Did you smell anything?”

“Hmm? No. Not unless you count the constant smell of the ocean. Do the wisps have a certain smell?”

“They can. Will-o’-wisps appeal to different people different ways.” With him, they tried to mask their foul odor under the clean, sweet scent of balsam fir. He’d learned not to be drawn in by it.

“Your turn,” she said, casting him a curious look. “What are you doing running around the woods in the middle of the night?”

“Chasing shadows.” A half-truth.

Annie scowled. “Not fair. I answered your questions.”

As if there were anything fair about life.

The silhouette of an old woman appeared at the cottage window. Impossible to see her facial expression from this distance, but the prickling of his forearm skin alerted Tombi that she watched. Somehow, through distance and darkness, the old lady’s eyes clamped upon them.

Witch.

And this Annie girl was Tia Henrietta’s direct descendant. She was a perfect target for the dark spirit ruler and his host of creatures, potentially more valuable than a normal human who possessed no sensory power whatsoever. Had she been tainted yet by evil? Despite her scowl and crossed arms, she looked as harmless as a kitten with her big, wide eyes and skinny arms and legs.

Don’t be fooled by appearances. Tombi met her challenge with evasion. “There’s evil and dark shadows in the bayou that you’ve never imagined. If you’re not part of it, best you don’t learn.”

She cocked her head to one side and stilled, as if listening to something he couldn’t hear.

“What is it?” Tombi asked sharply. “Do you hear something?”

She nodded. “It’s faint, but distinct.”

Could this girl really hear others’ auras? Tombi shifted his feet and concentrated on containing his energy. The only sound in the night was the constant rolling of distant waves and the eternal screech of insects.

“It’s gone now,” Annie said. “But I heard your aura. Finally. I’ve never run across someone that I couldn’t.”

An undertow of intrigue tugged his mind. “Well? What do I sound like to you?”

“Drumming. A deep bass note. Steady as a heartbeat.”

He studied the delicate features of her face, the heart-shaped chin, small nose and wide brown eyes beneath arched brows. Air charged between them, an unexpected sexual energy that rolled over him. The jackhammer beating of his heart exploded through his normal wall of self-control. The darkening of Annie’s brown eyes said she heard it. Her gaze dropped to his lips, and Tombi leaned in...

“Annie?”

The old lady’s voice cut through the night. It felt like ice water dousing his fevered skin. At the cottage, Annie’s grandmother leaned her considerable girth half out of the window.

“Whatcha doin’ out there? Who’s that with ya?” she yelled.

Soft, moist heat brushed his left jaw. Startled, his gaze returned to Annie.

“Thank you for bringing me home.” Her voice was breathless, and her hair was tousled and wild. She stretched up on tiptoes and planted another quick, chaste kiss on his cheek. “I have to go now.”

Annie ran through the moon-silvered field, and he followed her slight figure until she entered the cottage. Bemused, he lifted a hand and traced his chin and jaw where her lips had momentarily caressed his skin. The memory of those quick kisses left him feeling anything but chaste. Why had she kissed him?

The light in the cottage blinked out, but Tombi lingered, reluctant to resume his hunt. For a small interlude, Annie had pricked through his armor, had touched something deep inside.

Bewitched him.

Chapter 2

Why had she kissed him?

True, he’d saved her from spending the night in the swamp, but he’d been evasive. Even accused her of being a witch.

But she’d been irresistibly pulled to his masculine strength, in a way she’d never experienced before. Kissing strangers was a novelty. Best to place the blame on the Thunder Moon and forget it ever happened. With a deep sigh, Annie shook off the question. It was done. Over. She might never see Tombi again. And she certainly would never go back into the night woods chasing will-o’-the-wisps.

Filled with resolve, she returned to preparing a new batch of mojo bags designed for attracting the opposite sex. Grandma Tia had awoken this morning declaring they would be in demand today, and supplies were getting low. Annie crushed lovage leaves with a mortar and pestle, releasing its unique lime and celery fragrance.

The cramped kitchen could almost be mistaken for one set in medieval times. Dried herbs from their garden hung from the ceiling. The countertops were wooden, as were the floors, table and cabinets. On the pine table, Annie had spread out over a dozen pink flannel mojo bags and mason jars filled with dried flowers and spices.

She emptied the freshly ground lovage into a new jar, humming contentedly. Next, she took a pinch of powdered substance from each jar and placed it in the bags, along with a sprinkle of salt and a tiny magnet. The base ingredients were set. Her grandma would personalize each bag as needed.