Page 96 of Frankly, My Dear

She laughed, a low, sultry sound, just the kind Eve must have made before she handed Adam the apple.

“Well, I want you, babe.”

“This is ridiculous. I brought you in here to tell you to stay away from my mother, to prepare for your departure, and, instead, you’re looking at me like a—”

“—beignet?” Selene raised her brows with exaggerated interest. “Do you know what my favorite way is to eat a beignet? First I like to lick all the sugar off, with lo-ong, sloow strokes of my tongue, before I—”

He shot her a look of disbelief.

“—chomp down on it with my teeth.”

He winced, then wagged a finger in her face. “I give you fair warning, Selene. Your games are no longer amusing, and I cannot have you meddling with my mother’s already muddled mind. I will have my problems, or not have my problems, with Victor long after you are gone. They are none of your concern.”

Opening the library door, he hesitated, then threw out one last caution. “And beware of biting too hard on the beignet. Some of them are harder than others.”

Chapter Sixteen

“This is the craziest thing I’ve ever done in all my life,” Selene grumbled as she tripped and almost ran into the back of Iris, who was leading them through a path in the woods behind the plantation house.

“Shhh,” Mrs. Baptiste said behind her. “We don’t want James’s guards to hear us.”

Carrying candles to light the way in the pitch-black night, they’d already slipped by two of the many men patrolling the periphery of the plantation house and grounds. Fortunately, James had gone into Iberville that afternoon to meet with a sugar broker and didn’t intend to return until morning. But he had made good on his promise to provide additional protection to his home and family, and his extra vigilance had made their escape all the harder.

The usual night sounds of crickets and an occasional hoot owl, not to mention the distant rumble of thunder, served as backdrop to their amplified breathing. Actually, it was the brewing storm that had prompted their escapade this night, along with James’s absence. Knowing that the ghost usually appeared in the midst of a thunderstorm, Mrs. Baptiste had declared this the perfect opportunity to put their plan into effect.

“Stop shivering, chérie. It’s only a voodoo ceremony.”

Oh, Lord. “What makes you think we can do any better job than James in catching this ‘ghost’?” Selene whispered over her shoulder, not that she hadn’t been making this argument with Mrs. Baptiste all day. “Heck, we look like ghosts ourselves.” All three of them had donned loose gowns, known in modern times as Mother Hubbards, the traditional dress for voodoo participants, but, in addition, they wore long, black veils to hide their identities.

“Because, my dear, James doesn’t know how to get to the site of the voodoo ceremonies,” Mrs. Baptiste explained patiently, barely above a whisper. “It’s the one secret the slaves keep from their masters, even on threat of death.”

“Then why is Iris showing us?”

“Because she thinks you have the magic powers, as well.”

“Me?” Oh, Lord.

“Perhaps you are a priestess in your time, chérie?”

“Hardly.” And if one person asks me to chop off a chicken’s head, or drink blood, I’m going to barf. Then she thought of something else. “I’m a Christian. I shouldn’t be going to one of these…pagan ceremonies.”

“But why not?” James’s mother asked with surprise. “Many voodoo rituals also include homage to St. John the Baptist. He is the counterpart to the African loa for thunder and lightning.” The skies provided another clap of thunder at that opportune moment to emphasize her words before she added, “In fact, many ceremonies end with baptism.”

Great! St. John the Bayou Baptist. And I’m St. Joan of the Time-Travel Arc.

By now they had traveled about a mile from the plantation house, following a circuitous, sometimes nonexistent path inland. The farther they went, the louder the drums beat, almost in cadence with the continuing thunder and occasional lightning.

Iris had explained earlier that voodoo practitioners came from the surrounding plantations, as well, and drummers were stationed in many locations to mislead any outsiders who sought to discover the hidden ceremonial site.

Turning on them both now, Iris gestured with a raised hand for their silence, pointing to a clearing just ahead. “You must not speak,” she said in a hushed voice, “no matter what you see.”

Selene and Mrs. Baptiste nodded.

Mrs. Baptiste seemed strangely exhilarated by the whole eerie venture. Selene was scared stiff.

“I swear, if I see one human sacrifice, I’m going home,” Selene muttered.

Then she was stunned speechless.