Possession (Shifters Forever More Book 3) Read online

  Soon enough, they’d passed the entrance to Arceneaux Point, Lézare’s stately home which was barely visible for all the live oaks and Spanish moss. They traveled on a dirt road—Lézare explained the long driveway had recently been added, as it used to be a one-hour hike through marshes—with swamp on one side, and what seemed to be cane on the other to get to Leandra’s cabin. He said Leandra’s cabin with reverence. Then went on to explain this was where his great-great-many-greats grandfather had been turned into a shifter by a witch.

  Slate nodded, understanding the reverence. This was holy ground, in a manner of speaking, to Lézare.

  The driver pulled over at a dead end. The only building in sight was a cabin built on stilts that were watermarked, bespeaking the age of the cabin and the rising and falling water it had seen. Slate wondered if this was due to tides or hurricanes but pushed his curiosity aside. They were here for a purpose.

  The unpainted, weathered building sat ensconced tightly among rot-resistant cypress trees. Roots and branches of the aforementioned trees had begun to grow around the cabin’s frame, giving off the appearance of an organic, nature-created formation.

  A low fog rose from the swamp water, partially concealing the ramp that led to the cabin’s wraparound porch. Though the word porch seemed a generous description for a mismatched, meshed collection of lumber that looked like it might not be able to withstand the weight of a large man—or a shifter.

  A woman exited the cabin, standing on the porch. Dark-skinned, dark-haired, a few smatterings of braids in her hair, a floor-length chemise dress, not revealing, but probably comfortable in this heat, Slate surmised. A smile played on her lips when she saw Griz and Mae.

  A second woman exited the cabin, standing next to the first one. She was even darker, taller, her hair pulled into a severe bun. Head held high, with wideset, well-defined cheekbones and full lips, hands on hips, posture straight and unforgiving, she was a visage of a warrior queen. Sporting a leather jacket and leather pants, she looked like she could hide an assortment of weapons in her garb.

  Mae glanced at Slate and Lana. “The taller one—some might say scarier one—is Sidonie. The other is Leandra.”

  “Both of them are witches?” Lana whispered.

  “They are,” Griz affirmed. “But Sidonie also freelances.”

  “Freelances what?” Slate had to ask.

  Griz side-eyed him. “She hunts.”

  Slate didn’t press the issue. Clearly, she wasn’t the kind that hunted deer or boar or anything of that nature. She hunted two-legged prey. Though he had to wonder what type bipeds she hunted. Shifters? Witches? Elementals? Yes, he wasn’t going to press the issue. It was not like he had plans to see Sidonie again after today.

  The six of them—Lézare, Griz, Mae, Tito, Lana, and Slate—crossed the ramp to the porch, one at a time, confirming Slate’s suspicions about the old wood holding weight.

  “Come inside,” Leandra beckoned. “Close quarters but…” She shrugged one delicate shoulder, making the fabric of her dress rise enough to reveal she was barefoot. “I don’t expect everyone will be staying for what we must do.”

  “Thank you for agreeing to help,” Lézare said.

  “If you want to thank me—really thank me,” she countered, one brow raised, one fist planted on a cocked hip, “stop sending my husband out of town so much.”

  Lézare laughed. It was a husky, merry sound on the small porch, bouncing across the swamp water. “It comes with the territory, ma belle. It is part of his promotion, now that he is no longer a mere head of security,” he drawled, drawing the words out in a lazy way only someone Southern-born might manage.

  Leandra harrumphed, but it was clear she had a fondness for Lézare, the emotion sparkling in her gleaming eyes.

  “I want to thank you.” Lana stepped forward, taking Leandra’s hand. “This is scary.”

  “Oh, not to worry. We will take care of Nephraline once and for all.”

  Griz ran a hand over his face, his fingers lingering on his scar. “What happened after— Well, last time we dealt with her, I thought you…took care of the problem.”

  “There were things I was not aware of,” Leandra explained. “That was uncharted territory for me. And of course, I didn’t have—”

  “One witch cannot do it alone,” Sidonie interjected. “The ritual will be different this time. Nephraline will be a problem no more.”

  “So, it was a matter of having enough power? Or…what?” Griz pressed on. “I need to ascertain this time will be successful.”

  Sidonie stepped forward. “I’ve trained with the ones who are familiar with vanquishing this type. I know about the demoness which birthed her and how to secure her spawn. Permanently.”

  She reached into a bag she had over one shoulder and pulled out what looked like a silver flask—except it had a long neck and was wider on the bottom—covered in etchings that resembled runes. Or hieroglyphs. Slate couldn’t have said which, but the moment she took it out, the air seemed to thrum with power.

  “My bag is silver lined; the vessel is silver. Nephraline will be no more. I’ll carry her in the vessel to the place where she can be vanquished once and for all.”

  It was evident Sidonie was not southern raised, but he couldn’t place her accent. Was she even from this country?

  “Where’s that?” he asked.

  “Outside of Giza, on the west bank of the Nile. There is a temple there.” Sidonie’s words were clipped, no nonsense. “There cannot be so many people here while we do this. Just the three of us.” She made a circle with her finger, pointing at Lana, Leandra, and herself. “Too many other energies and bodies around will give Nephraline a chance to hide.”

  “We’ll go wait at Arceneaux Point,” Lézare said. “Call us when we can return.”

  Concern ran rampant through Slate. Who the hell knew what could happen if he left her here? “I’m not leaving her.”

  “Bad idea,” Sidonie uttered.

  Leandra placed a hand on Lana’s shoulder. “You risk her life if you stay. Undirected and unfocused energies lend confusion.”

  “This gives Nephraline’s kind a place to hide while we banish her.” Sidonie glared. “I know your kind, shifter. I know your skills. The thievery.” Her nostrils flared.

  Lézare and Tito’s heads snapped toward Slate. Clearly, they had no idea she was talking about his skilljacker powers. And evidently, neither Mae nor Griz had divulged his secret.

  Sidonie watched him from hooded, lowered lids.

  Slate remained silent, but he was confused. He’d never had anyone peg what he was without his telling them. Not even a witch. So what was she? Not a mere witch. Something else? He sent supernatural feelers out, not to take her skills, but to ascertain what she was. Could a witch powerful enough detect his powers? He locked gazes with this huntress witch, wondering who he could turn to for answers about her and how she knew. That was the disadvantage about being the only one you knew who had a specific power. There was no one to turn to for advice.

  Lézare cleared his throat, the moment obviously awkward. He slapped at one of the millions of mosquitoes that called Louisiana swamps home.

  Lana squeezed Slate’s hand. “I’ll be fine. Why don’t you go. You don’t want to mess this up. Not if bad things can happen to me.”

  He nodded, but he had no intention of abandoning the woman he’d claimed. His mate.

  His bear roared its approval with his decision.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Lana gave Slate a kiss and a parting wave as he strode down the planks of the ramp at Leandra’s cabin. His posture was stiff indicated he was frustrated with the turn of events. She got that. She wouldn’t have wanted to abandon him were the circumstances reversed. But still…

  “Ready?” Leandra took Lana’s hand, leading her farther into the cabin.

  Lana took a deep breath, puffing her cheeks out, then released it. “Ready.”

  Sidonie followed them in then closed the
door. The windows were shuttered, causing the cabin to be limned with vertical lines of light. The glassless windows allowed the sounds of the bayou to enter, though a sheer cloth kept the incessant mosquitos from entering.

  She turned a full circle, studying the place. A table perched in the center of the one room cabin. A cot to the side. On the opposite side a stove. Elsewhere, in the places where there were no windows, shelving. Below the windows, more shelving. There wasn’t an empty shelf in the place. Bottles, vials, pouches, bowls, vases, took up every inch. All filled or partially filled with a variety of liquids, powders, and crystals. From every corner of the ceiling dangled bunches and clusters of plants, herbs, flowers, sticks.

  The table held an assortment of candles, sticks, bowls, vials.

  She pointed at the collection. “Those are for today?”

  Sidonie nodded then pulled two wooden sticks, releasing her bun. She shook out hair that reached halfway down her back. Then took off her black leather jacket and began to remove a menagerie of weapons and artifacts. She reached for a bowl on the table and held it close to Lana. “Breathe in. Breathe deep.”

  Lana lowered her head and took a dainty whiff. Sidonie’s iron grip took hold her Lana’s head while she pushed the bowl up, all the way until its sides were touching Lana’s cheeks. Lana breathed in deep.

  “Hold it. Keep it in your lungs,” Leandra urged. “For as long as you can, as many times as you can.”

  “This will put Nephraline in a state of fugue,” Sidonie explained, her voice sounding far away.

  Lana felt herself weaving, leaning, moving to and fro in slow, lazy movements.

  “Breathe more. Hold it.” Sidonie pressed her long, lithe body against Lana’s, stilling her movement. “Concentrate on one thing alone. Taking in as much of this as you can, as many times as you can.”

  In the background, a low hum began. Maybe it wasn’t a hum, on second thought. It sounded like faint chanting. Maybe it was Leandra’s voice.

  An eternity later, Sidonie pulled the bowl away. Lana blinked. Suddenly, the cabin appeared darker, almost completely dark, but she could see nothing that could’ve caused it.

  Was she imagining? She looked at Leandra then Sidonie then Leandra again. What seemed like glowing yellow auras surrounded them.

  Leandra shrugged out of the long chemise-style dress and picked up a black robe, then handed another to Sidonie, and one to Lana.

  “Put this on. When Nephraline is released, she will not be able to see us as clearly. She will focus on the new vessel. The darkness surrounding the vessel will highlight the path she needs to take.”

  “Uh, okay.” Lana’s voice didn’t even sound like her own. It sounded dull, confused.

  The other two women stripped to their panties then pulled the robes on over their heads. Unsure whether she should just put the robe on or not, she had one thought, when in Rome, so she took her jeans and top off and slipped into the black robe.

  “So, how does this work?” She noticed her words were slurred. “I feel— I think I’m drunk.”

  Leandra reached out, her hand moving slow—or at least that was how it seemed—and straightened Lana’s robe, adjusting the cockeyed fit.

  “Sorry,” Lana mumbled. “Well, how does this work? What’s next?”

  Sidonie smiled, but Lana could have sworn she had fangs. Like, like a predator. Or a vampire. She shuddered. “You’re weird.”

  This drew a small huff of a laugh from Leandra. “I think the concoction worked.”

  “No shit.” Lana grabbed the table to keep from spinning off the edge of the world she was on.

  “Now we create a perimeter. One which will keep Nephraline from escaping before the vessel calls for her. The most unstable period will be the span of time between her leaving your body and entering the vessel then being sealed in.”

  “Ah gaht eet.” What the fuck? What did I just say? “Ahh gahat it.” I got it had never sounded so different. It was like she was speaking a foreign language.

  Smiling gently, Leandra put an arm around her. “We understand. You got it.”

  She nodded.

  From the corner, Sidonie took a stick as long as Lana’s arm but no thicker than her thumb. One end of the stick was charred.

  “Palo santo wood,” Leandra murmured. “Holy wood from the Amazon area.” She moved the table to one side, nearly causing Lana to fall. Lana pushed off and leaned into one of the chairs while Leandra pushed the table toward the nearby wall.

  Using the stick’s charred end, Sidonie drew a large circle on the cabin’s floor. Leandra grabbed a vial with white grains from the table. “Celtic sea salt.” She followed Sidonie around the charcoal circle, outlining it with the sea salt, leaning down, and chanting with every step she took as she completed the circle.

  Slumping in the chair, Lana studied the slightly out-of-focus circles on the aged wooden floor. She had questions, but it felt as though she’d lost control of her mouth. She tried to move her lips and they seemed frozen. Panicked, she grabbed Sidonie’s arm, gesturing to her mouth, trying to talk.

  Sidonie dropped to one knee so she was face to face with Lana. “Relax. The potion you inhaled put Nephraline to sleep—more like a coma, really—but it has had an effect on you as well. That’s normal. It’s expected. You’ll be fine. You’re just a little—”

  “Paralyzed,” Leandra finished for her. “Not completely, just…some.”

  Some hell. Lana couldn’t move hardly at all. She definitely couldn’t talk. It was frightening. Griz trusts Leandra, she reminded herself. He trusts her. I can, too. Over and over she played the mantra in her head while the two witches went about their ritual.

  “Here’s the candle.” Leandra raised a candle the size of Slate’s forearm.

  No ordinary candle, this one. It had carvings on it. Intricate carvings inscribed with runes. Or hieroglyphics. Or both. She was no expert on ancient symbols, but she knew what they looked like, generally.

  Leandra lit the candle. “I’ll face east,” she told Sidonie. “You face west. I’ll recite the scripture then we’ll shift 90 degrees around the circle. You’ll face north, I’ll face south. Then more chanting.” This time she faced Lana. “You’ll stay right there, quietly, while we do our thing.”

  Lana wanted to nod; how could she? Not with this paralysis. She blinked long and slow to let Leandra know she’d heard her.

  “Bloodstone and black onyx.” Sidonie held out her hand.

  Leandra dug through the paraphernalia on the table and pulled two items, placing them on Sidonie’s palm.

  Sidonie dropped them in a brass mortar and picked up a matching pestle. “I need the blood.”

  From the table once more, Leandra pulled out the tiniest of vials. “Blood of the dust, bones of the earth, ash of the wind.” She poured from the vial into the mortar, and Sidonie began to press, crushing the gemstones, mashing them to pulp with the liquid Leandra had poured in.

  “Sage, frankincense, and sandalwood.” Leandra pulled a sanctuary lamp from the top shelf on the opposite wall. She lit a match, and a fragrant smoke twirled its way amongst the three women.

  “The vessel,” Sidonie whispered.

  Leandra pulled the silver flask from the silver-lined bag then removed its frosted-glass tip.

  “In the circle. Place it in the circle and sprinkle the ashes.” Sidonie indicated the sanctuary lamp with a head tip. “Sprinkle the ashes around the circle’s perimeter.”

  Leandra placed the silver flask in the center of the circle’s floor, where it glinted and gleamed, despite the dimness in the cabin. She tilted the lamp and began to drop ashes to the floor. By the time she’d completed a lap around the circle, a hedge of light resembling thorn bushes had arisen, tall, even taller than Sidonie.

  “Now, Sidonie.” Leandra stepped back.

  Sidonie pushed the chair closer to the circle, almost touching it. Then she kept pushing.

  Lana cringed inside. She was going to push her right into those thorns.
She wanted to scream at Sidonie to knock it off, but paralysis kept her from moving.

  And Sidonie did indeed push her straight into the circle, right through the thorn hedge, which to Lana’s amazement did not hurt her. A wetness flowed over her cheeks, and she realized she was crying.

  Leandra came forward, wiping her tears away. “Do not be afraid. We would do nothing to hurt you.”

  “Leandra.” Sidonie’s voice was not much more than a hiss. “Get out of the circle before you risk having an unwanted guest yourself.”

  Leandra arched a brow at Sidonie. “She’s scared, you know.”

  Sidonie scoffed. “Now. Get out.”

  Leandra exited the circle. Lana tried to shoot her a glance of appreciation but wasn’t sure if she could even make an expression, her face was so numb.

  Sidonie knelt then poured the contents from the mortar into the silver flask on the floor.

  Lana gasped. The silver flask grew, morphing into a silver-haired, silver-skinned woman in garb that resembled a white toga secured at her waist with a braided silver cord. The woman watched Sidonie but remained silent, her hands by her side, her bare feet shoulder-width apart on the floor, waiting. Waiting for what?

  Lana would have screamed at the sight—at the very thought a person had been created from the flask—but she couldn’t. She’d have run, yet that, too, she couldn’t do.

  Sidonie brought the mortar to Lana, holding it in front of her, close to her nose. “Lean forward. Breathe it in.”

  Lana couldn’t have moved her head if she’d wanted to. Though what she wanted to do was turn her face away from the offensive malodorous smoke rising from the brass bowl. Sidonie put her hand on the back of Lana’s head and pushed her face into the bowl. “Breathe.”

  As though she had a choice. If she didn’t want to die from oxygen deprivation, she’d have to breathe. She inhaled the putrid scent with every breath.

  “Hold it in, Lana. You have to hold the essence in for it to work. It will wake Nephraline and will push her to leave your body. She won’t be able to stay inside. It’s repulsive to her.” She closed her eyes and began to chant words Lana didn’t understand. Then she switched to words Lana did.