Black Heart Loa

  The critics love

  BLACK DUST MAMBO

  “Phoenix is a beautiful storyteller—her prose flows like poetry … an extraordinarily entertaining novel that is addictively readable.”

  —Explorations: The BN SciFi and Fantasy Blog

  “Phoenix creates characters and worlds so vivid that the reader feels as though they are taking part in the story rather than just observing the action.… The author excels at characterization, and her talents are once again evident here … a fascinating story that belongs on the shelves and in the hands of all urban fantasy readers.”

  —Bitten By Books

  “Black Dust Mambo started with a bang and kept on going with intrigue, family secrets, double lives, mystery, murder, and a little bit of romance. This book was packed from cover to cover that kept me turning the pages and craving more.… Adrian Phoenix brings it to the reader with a punch!”

  —Fresh Fiction

  “Something new set in the sexy, supernatural city of New Orleans. Voodoo, hoodoo, and magic abound in this crazy tale about hexes and curses, nomads, vessels, and root doctors.… Magic, sex, mystery, murder, and hot guys abound in this book.”

  —Fang-tastic Books

  (Turn the page for praise of the Maker’s Song series by Adrian Phoenix)

  Black Heart Loa is also available as an eBook

  BENEATH THE SKIN

  “Adrian Phoenix has done it again! Complex, lyrical, and beautifully written … another unique and compulsive page-turner.”

  —Jenna Black, author of Speak of the Devil

  “This violent, wrenching tale is something special.”

  —Affaire de Coeur

  “Lush, sexy, and thrilling … darkly addictive.”

  —New York Times bestselling author Jeaniene Frost

  “This darkly dramatic tale is one wild ride in a series that only promises to get better.”

  —Romantic Times

  IN THE BLOOD

  “Phoenix trips the dark fantastic in this wild, bloody sequel.… She keeps the plot thick and the tension high.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Filled with twisting plots, shadowy government agencies, conspiracies, and betrayals … this dark urban fantasy is not only action-packed from beginning to end but, at its core, it is also a story of hope and love.”

  —ParaNormal Romance

  “The atmosphere is dark, and treachery abounds, making this story white-knuckle reading in the extreme.”

  —Romantic Times

  A RUSH OF WINGS

  “Hard-charging action sequences, steamy sex scenes, and a surprising government conspiracy make this debut, the first in a series, engrossingly fun.”

  —Entertainment Weekly

  “Phoenix’s lively debut has it all.… Phoenix alternates romantic homages to gothdom and steamy blood-drinking threesomes with enough terse, fast-paced thriller scenes to satisfy even the most jaded fan.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Sharp, wicked, and hot as sin.”

  —New York Times bestselling author Marjorie M. Liu

  “A thrilling tale of lust and murder that will keep you turning the pages to see what happens next.”

  —Gothic Beauty

  “This one pulled me in from the first page. Heather and Dante are among those rare characters readers so often look for and seldom find.”

  —New York Times bestselling author Barb Hendee

  “A fast-paced ride, its New Orleans setting appropriately rich and gothic, its characters both real and surprising.”

  —New York Times bestselling author Kristine Kathryn Rusch

  DON’T MISS THESE OTHER THRILLING ADVENTURES BY ADRIAN PHOENIX

  Black Dust Mambo

  A Rush of Wings

  In the Blood

  Beneath the Skin

  Etched in Bone

  Available from Pocket Books

  Pocket Books

  A Division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  1230 Avenue of the Americas

  New York, NY 10020

  www.SimonandSchuster.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2011 by Adrian Phoenix

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

  First Pocket Books paperback edition July 2011

  POCKET and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  The Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau can bring authors to your live event. For more information or to book an event contact the Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau at 1-866-248-3049 or visit our website at www.simonspeakers.com.

  Text design by Jacquelynne Hudson

  Cover design by John Vairo Jr.

  Cover illustration by Steve Stone

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  ISBN 978-1-4391-6792-2

  ISBN 978-1-4391-6794-6 (ebook)

  Dedicated to

  my wonderful sons, Sebastian and Matt.

  Thanks for believing in my dream and cheering me

  on every step of the way. I love you both!

  Content

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One: Five of Spades

  Chapter Two: House Full o’ Hoodoos

  Chapter Three: Gator Chow

  Chapter Four: Juju Boomerang

  Chapter Five: Kindred Souls

  Chapter Six: Loa of Death and Resurrection

  Chapter Seven: A Desperate and Brutal Fight

  Chapter Eight: Blood Price

  Chapter Nine: Queen of Spades

  Chapter Ten: Fixed but Good

  Chapter Eleven: Spirit Box

  Chapter Twelve: Chained Heart

  Chapter Thirteen: Unnamed and Untamed

  Chapter Fourteen: History Repeats Itself

  Chapter Fifteen: Hoodoo Love Tricks

  Chapter Sixteen: Temporary Shelter

  Chapter Seventeen: And the World Will Weep and Moan

  Chapter Eighteen: Can’t Choose Blood

  Chapter Nineteen: Magnets for Disaster

  Chapter Twenty: Fire and Darkness

  Chapter Twenty-One: Nomad Bonds

  Chapter Twenty-Two: Loup-Garou

  Chapter Twenty-Three: Circle of Protection

  Chapter Twenty-Four: Unbroken Trust

  Chapter Twenty-Five: Bicycle Cards and Cockleshells

  Chapter Twenty-Six: Everything She Loves

  Chapter Twenty-Seven: Family Never Does

  Chapter Twenty-Eight: Bound to One Form

  Chapter Twenty-Nine: Strength, South, Fierce Animals

  Chapter Thirty: She Be a Jinx

  Chapter Thirty-One: Beneath the Willow Tree

  Chapter Thirty-Two: Hoodoo Posse

  Chapter Thirty-Three: An Old Grudge

  Chapter Thirty-Four: Bound by the Baron

  Chapter Thirty-Five: Demon Wolf

  Chapter Thirty-Six: Le Nique

  Chapter Thirty-Seven: Darkling I Listen

  Chapter Thirty-Eight: Deadline

  Chapter Thirty-Nine: Consecration

  Chapter Forty: The Sacred Fire

  Chapter Forty-One: To Their Proper Natures

  Chapter Forty-Two: Evelyn

  Chapter Forty-Three: Aftermath

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thanks, as always, to my editor, Jennifer Heddle, for her amazing insight and for helping me shape the best possib
le story—each and every time. You won’t find a better editor anywhere. Ain’t possible. And to my agent, Matt Bialer, for his unflagging support and encouragement. You always lift my spirits. (And to Lindsay Ribar for all the Supernatural chats.)

  Tons of hugs and kisses to all the folks at Pocket Books who poured their time, energy, and love into this book: Renee Huff, Erica Feldon, Stephanie DeLuca, and Anne Cherry—among others.

  Thanks so much to Steve Stone for the truly stunning covers and for bringing Kallie and her world to life.

  Special hugs and kisses to all my readers. I can’t thank you enough for picking up this book. If this is your first Kallie adventure, bienvenue! If this is your second trip into the bayou with Kallie, merci beaucoup and welcome back!

  And, as always, thanks to my friends and family for making this all possible: Sherri Lyons, Jen Phoenix, Kylah, and Liam—I love you all! Karen Abrahamson, D. T. Steiner, Lynn Adams, Marty and Sharon Embertson—I couldn’t do it without you!

  BLACK HEART LOA

  ONE

  FIVE OF SPADES

  The goddamned nightmare hadn’t ended, after all.

  Kallie Rivière shuffled the blue Bicycle cards she used for divination, their worn edges flipping against her palms. Drawing in a steadying breath, she closed her eyes and focused on her cousin Jackson Bonaparte, desperately hoping that the last words he’d said to her wouldn’t become his last words, period.

  “Gotta go. See you on Sunday. Love ya.”

  After not seeing his pickup in the driveway, Kallie had assumed Jackson had tossed his Siberian husky into the bed of his Dodge Ram and driven into town for a couple of beers—despite the fact that she’d asked him to stay put, to keep him safe from the man stalking their family.

  Then she’d discovered Jackson’s protective mojo bag in the grass in front of their ti-tante’s house—its leather cord torn as though it had been ripped from around his neck—along with the baseball bat he kept beside the back door in case of trouble.

  As Kallie picked up the mojo bag from the grass, the woodsy scents of sandalwood and dog rose wafting up from its red flannel, dread had dropped like stones into her belly. She’d known. Felt it down to the marrow.

  Jackson hadn’t driven to the Hair of the Dog Tavern. He was missing.

  “An eye for an eye is never enough,” Doctor Heron whispers.

  And the long nightmare Kallie thought had just ended—one she had barely survived—was still very much in play and had just swept over her cousin.

  A nightmare that had begun damned near twenty-four hours earlier in her blood-soaked bed at the Prestige Hotel in New Orleans and had ended on the banks of the bayou behind her tante Divinity’s house in Bayou Cyprés Noir.

  All because her hoodoo aunt had stolen the identity of another conjurer and had, therefore, brought revenge-seeking, soul-killing Jean-Julien St. Cyr—Doctor Heron—the bogeyman of hoodoo, into their lives.

  And had nearly cost Kallie her own—body and soul. Or would’ve if she had a soul—and that was another goddamned matter altogether. Another matter for another time. Right now, she needed to find her cousin.

  Kallie shuffled the cards, Jackson’s words looping through her mind like a mantra, a fervent prayer.

  Gotta go. See you on Sunday. Love ya.

  She pictured Jackson as the cards ricocheted against her palms—eyes the color of heated honey and brimming with laughter, slightly tilted like her own; sun-bronzed skin; coffee-dark hair brushing against his muscle-corded shoulders in thick waves; lips slanted into a pirate’s wicked smirk; he stood just a whisper under a lean-muscled six feet.

  He was the same age as she, twenty-three, but just a couple of months ahead of her. And in love with the restless sea he had once called—in a rum-sodden moment—his briny bride.

  Kallie saturated her cousin’s image with her desire to find him. Alive. Intact.

  Love ya back, and I’m goddamned holding you to Sunday, Jacks.

  She’d finished shuffling the cards, and Kallie’s fingers stilled on top of the blue deck. She opened her eyes. Her pulse raced through her veins. Her heart kicked hard against her CPR-compression-injured and aching ribs. She felt the weight of each set of eyes settling like anxious doves along her shoulders.

  Her tante and hoodoo teacher, Divinity, stood behind her along with the woman whose identity Divinity had stolen, a woman Kallie had met only an hour or so ago—Gabrielle LaRue.

  Kallie didn’t know whether Gabrielle was a rootworker like her and her aunt or a voodoo mambo. But it was Gabrielle LaRue who Doctor Heron had blamed for his time in prison; Gabrielle LaRue he’d blamed for poisoning his clients and leaving him to take the blame.

  “An eye for an eye is never enough,” Doctor Heron whispers.

  But the bastard had gone after the wrong woman, the wrong family, because of that goddamned stolen identity.

  Kallie’s throat tightened. Several people had died because of that mistake, more than one in her place. Gage had been the first.

  He lies on his belly, his face turned to the side. Blood masks his fine features, glitters in his black curls. All color has drained from his espresso-brown skin, leaving his blue-inked clan tattoos stark on his muscular back, ass, and thighs.

  The sexy conjurer from one of the freewheeling nomad clans—a pagan blend of biker and Gypsy—had died body and soul upon her hex-poisoned hotel bed in New Orleans after a night of sweaty, bendy, hot-blooded play, while she’d been in the bathroom sick on too much champagne.

  Then Lord Basil Augustine, the leader of the Hecatean Alliance—a fraternity of magicians, conjurers, and rootworkers—had taken a bullet meant for Kallie, a bullet fired in desperation by Doctor Heron’s doomed, crazed daughter, Rosette.

  Rough hands latch onto Kallie’s shoulders and spin her away. Augustine’s suit jacket whispers against her robe as he twists his body past hers. Thunder cracks through the room. Augustine grunts. He stumbles against Kallie …

  And Dallas. Kallie drew upon a deep well of relief when she thought of the hard-drinking root doctor and how he’d survived Doctor Heron’s murderous attack—a knife across the throat—thanks to the skill of the Hecatean Alliance surgeons and healers who’d saved his life. He was currently hospitalized at the medical center on the twentieth floor of the Prestige, fresh out of surgery, and hopefully drugged to the gills.

  Oh, and let’s not forget Belladonna—poppet-bound and kidnapped.

  And speaking of whom …

  Belladonna Brown, mambo-in-training and Kallie’s best friend, sat straight-backed on the floral-patterned sofa Kallie was kneeling beside, her face with its flawless chocolate-colored skin composed despite the worry flickering in her startling hazel eyes.

  “You okay, Shug?” Belladonna asked. “You look like you’re about to start throwing punches.”

  “Not a bad idea,” Kallie said. “Just wish I had someone to throw them at.”

  “Mmm-hmm,” Belladonna sympathized.

  She’d been snoozing on the sofa after the night’s events when Kallie had awakened her with a frantic shake of her shoulder.

  It’s Jacks. And his ass is in the fire, for true.

  Hellfire. Then we gotta pull his fine ass out.

  Goddamned straight.

  “Take a deep breath, Shug, before you turn over that card,” Belladonna murmured. “I can see the pulse pounding in your throat. Try to relax.”

  “Focus on yo’ cousin, you,” Divinity urged.

  Kallie gritted her teeth against the urge to tell them both, No goddamned shit. Now shut the hell up and let me do what I know how to do already.

  Closing her eyes, Kallie drew in a deep breath of air scented with beeswax, the perfume of her aunt’s side-yard roses drifting in through the screen door, and the earthy odors of patchouli and frankincense from the herb- and root-cluttered worktable, and drew them deep into her lungs, ignoring the pain twinging through her sternum.

  Her pulse eased off the throttle. She brushed her fingers acr
oss the deck’s slick back, then cut the deck into three stacks on the sofa cushion beside Belladonna.

  Kallie flipped over the first card on the first stack.

  She wasn’t surprised when she saw the king of spades—bad luck coming from a man or with men. Okay, then. Was the late Doctor Heron responsible for Jackson’s disappearance or had a posse of unhappy outlaws decided to put a stop to her cousin’s Robin Hood–style bayou thefts of illegal goods?

  Jackson had been skating on thin luck for some time now.

  Grasping the sharp edge of the first card on the second stack, Kallie turned it over. Her blood chilled. The goddamned queen of spades. Bad luck coming from a woman or with women.

  “Hellfire,” Belladonna breathed. “Both the king and queen. Jackson’s in deep.”

  “Beaucoup deep, Bell,” Kallie said. “Deep enough to drown.”

  “We ain’t gonna allow dat, girl,” Divinity said, voice tight. “Boy ain’t gonna drown, no. Now turn over de next damned card.”

  Kallie touched the back of the top card on the third stack, drew in a deep breath of sandalwood- and sage-fragrant air, then flipped it over. Her heart sank. The five of spades.

  “Sweet Jesus, dey all be spades.”

  “At least we haven’t seen the ace of spades,” Gabrielle soothed.

  “True dat,” Divinity agreed. “Mauvaise partance, bonne arrivée.”

  A bad beginning brings a good ending. Kallie mentally crossed her fingers, wishing those words true.

  “Delays, setbacks, maybe defeat,” Belladonna said. She shook her head, her black and midnight-blue curls shivering like a flower in the breeze. “Maybe,” she added hopefully, “that’s meant for whoever took Jacks and not for those of us looking for Jacks.”

  Kallie blew out a breath and nodded, even though she thought the prospect unlikely. She gathered up the three piles and merged them into one stack again. She was just about to lay down the first row of six cards, when the whang of the porch door slamming against the house jolted her up onto her feet and spun her around.

  Wondering why Cielo hadn’t barked a warning, Kallie remembered with a sudden pang that Jackson’s Siberian husky was also missing.