Bayou Shadow Hunter. Debbie Herbert
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she’d seen first from her bedroom window.
So the question was no longer where or who but “What are you?” she whispered.
“The shadows trapped me.”
The voice rumbled in her gut, vibrating in her being. “You’re...trapped in the light?” she asked haltingly.
“My heart beats within. Look.”
At the core of the blue light shone a concentrated mass of teal that swelled and contracted. In, out, in, out, pulsing with the cosmic rhythm of life.
A heart.
Not the flowers-and-lace, cupid sort drawn by five-year-olds, but the it’s-alive-and-it’s-real-and-it-beats kind. Annie’s breath hitched, and she took an unsteady step backward. She couldn’t stop staring at the fist-sized gelatinous mass of muscle that pumped and wobbled.
“I need out,” the low-timbered voice pleaded. “Help me get out.”
She shook her head violently, her own heart pounding a song of fear. “I don’t know how.” And even if she did, no way was she freeing...whatever it was. Not until she knew its true nature.
“My name is Bo,” it said. “Find Tombi and tell him I live. He’s in grave danger. Trust no one within the circle. I was betrayed. And if he was ever my true friend, he needs to find that betrayer. I can’t be released until then.”
“I don’t know this Tombi person,” she protested.
“He’s coming now. Tell him to beware.”
Annie swung her head in all directions but saw and sensed nothing in the shadows. “Why don’t you tell him yourself?”
“He can’t hear me, witch. No one ever has but you.”
“Oh,” she breathed. “That’s why you brought me here.” It...Bo...either knew her grandma or of her reputation. “I think you want my grandmother, not me. I’m only here on a visit and—”
“Warn him.”
The light shifted, swirling in individuated sparkles and growing smaller, denser.
“Wait,” she called out sharply. “Where are you going?”
But it had vanished.
A man slipped into her presence, silent as a windless sky. He leaned against a cypress, arms folded, face and body as unyielding and hard as the ancient tree. Eyes and hair were black as the night, and the only lightness on his figure was a golden sheen on his face and arms.
Friend or foe?
Silence blanketed her mind. A condition she normally welcomed, but not now. Where was her accursed ability when she needed it? Not the slightest syllable of sound surrounded the man.
“Who are you?” she asked, hoping her voice didn’t portray fear.
He stepped closer, and she willed her feet to remain rooted to the ground, to cloak the fear.
“Who are you?” His voice was deep, sharp-edged with suspicion.
She’d been wrong. The golden sheen of his skin wasn’t the only thing that stood out in the darkness. The man’s eyes radiated a copper glint like an encapsulated sun with rays. His teeth were white and sharp.
He didn’t wait for an answer. “Who were you talking to? There’s no one else out here but us.”
“I was talking to myself,” she lied. No sense exposing herself to ridicule.
“Roaming the woods alone at night and talking to yourself?” He scowled. “You must be crazy.”
Despite the scowl and rough tone, the icy touch of fear at the base of her spine thawed a bit. This stranger could think what he wanted about her mental health and lecture her ad nauseam about the idiotic decision to follow the wisp. At least he wasn’t attacking her. If he meant harm, he could have lunged forward and grabbed her by now.
“Yes.” Annie agreed. “I’m totally off my rocker.” Wouldn’t be the first time someone thought that. “How about being a good Boy Scout and help me find my way home?”
“First, tell me your name and why you’re out here.”
“Fine. My name’s Annie Matthews, and I saw a strange light from my bedroom window. Like an idiot, I decided to check it out. Now, can you please get me out of here?”
He stared, those strange copper rays in his irises warming her insides. Abruptly, he turned his back and stepped away.
What a jerk. Annie’s lips tightened to a pinched line. “Hey—wait a minute. Are you going to help me or not?”
The man didn’t even look back but motioned with an arm for her to follow.
She let out a huge sigh. Jerk or not, her best bet was to follow him out of the swamp. Annie stumbled after him and onto the barest sliver of a trail. The narrow footpath was canopied by pines and oaks, obscuring the full-moon light. Her toe caught under a tree root, and she pitched forward, free-falling. She braced herself for the impact of packed dirt to face.
Strong arms grabbed the sides of her waist, and her chest bumped solid flesh. Annie raised her chin and stared deeply into the brown eyes. “Th-thank you,” she whispered. His hands above her hips held fast, steadying her—burning her. Annie’s hands rested lightly on his chest, and she couldn’t move or speak.
A low, thudding bass note, a drumbeat, pounded in her ears. Was it from her heart beating faster, or was sound escaping his controlled aura?
“I forget you can’t see like me.” He took one of her hands in his. “Stay close.”
Before she could object or ask what his remark meant, he pulled her forward.
She should be terrified alone in the woods with a stranger.
But for the first time since hearing the voice inside the wisp, Annie felt safe.
The narrow trail of dense shrubs and overarching tree limbs gave way to a wider, more open trail illuminated by the Thunder Moon. It was as if he were leading her down a silent passage that exited a nightmare.
At the edge of the tree line lay an open field. Weeds and brambles rippled, silver-tipped from moonbeams and glistening like drops of water dancing on waves. A glow flickered in Grandma Tia’s cottage, a lighthouse beam signaling home.
Annie glanced at the man’s chiseled profile. Harsh, fierce even. Handsome seemed too pretty a word to describe him. He was powerful, a force of the night.
“Beyond this field is a dirt road that leads to County Road 143. Know where you are now?”
She laughed, giddy with relief, and pointed to the cottage. “Of course. That’s my grandma’s house. Her name’s Tia Henrietta. Maybe you’ve met her before?”
“The witch in the woods?” Surprise flickered in his eyes. “I should have guessed. Are you one, as well?”
She tugged her hand away from his. “No more than you.”
His hand reached out and stroked the red flannel mojo pouch belted at her waist. “What magic is this?”
“Gris-gris bags. My grandma makes them. For protection.”
“Didn’t work, huh?”
“Sure it did. It brought you to me, and then you brought me home.”
His lips curled. “I don’t know what kind of magic your grandmother claims to have, but that pouch didn’t help you when the will-o’-the-wisp conjured you into the woods.”
“What do you know of them?” she asked, burning with curiosity now the danger had passed.
He ignored her question. “So you followed this light. What happened next?”
She bit her lip. “Looks