Make You Mine (16 page)

It sounded like they knew what they were talking about, so why had Allie asked for his help? “You sure you need me?” he asked.

“Yes,” Allie told him. “I’ve never tried this before. Look under
cleansing rituals
and make a list of supplies.”

Marc turned each delicate page with caution while squinting at the inky calligraphy. He flipped past topics like
ge-rouge
,
mange loa
,
bokors
, and
zombis
. Halfway through the journal, he found an entry for spiritual cleansing, but Allie interrupted him before he had a chance to read it.

“First you have to do something special,” she said. “Complete a task.”

Marc tucked an old receipt between the pages to hold his place. “What kind of task?”

“You have to make things right with your pawpaw.” Allie looked to her sister for affirmation. “We’re basically healing an old family rift, so don’t you think it makes sense to mend that relationship first?”

“Uh, yeah.” Devyn pointed her icing bag at Marc. “Make nice with your pawpaw.”

No way Marc would crawl on his knees to that meddling, crotchety old jerk—not after what he did to Allie. “When he’s ready to apologize, he can come to me.”

“We don’t have time for that kind of stubbornness,” Allie said. “Besides, this will show the spirits you’re worth their help, so suck it up and be the bigger man.”

Marc grumbled under his breath but didn’t say no. Then, speaking of bigger men, the front door opened with a light
ding
, and Beau ducked his auburn head, barely clearing the frame as he pushed inside.

“Hey,” he said to Marc before his gaze drifted to Devyn and caught there. His green eyes flew wide, his giant sneakers pausing midstride, causing him to stumble for balance. All the color drained from his face while he gaped like a suffocating catfish.

And he had the nerve to call Marc whipped. Beau probably couldn’t talk over the hook in his mouth.

From farther down the counter, Allie drew a sharp breath, causing her sister to glance up from her tray of cookies. Devyn squeezed her bag so hard it sent spurts of icing clear across the counter. Her lips parted as widely as Beau’s, but no sound escaped.

“Hey, Beau,” Allie said nervously. “What’re you doing here?”

Beau spoke to Allie, but never took his eyes off her sister. “Checking on my brother.” Blindly, he pointed at Marc. “Ella-Claire said he seemed off, and when he wouldn’t answer the phone, I figured he was with you.”

Allie released a tight laugh. “Well, he’s fine.” Her stiff, folded arms added,
So you can go now
. Then she laid a steadying hand on Devyn, who appeared to have quit breathing.

Beau didn’t move an inch. Finally, he whispered, “Hi, Dev.”

She didn’t answer.

“I didn’t know you worked here,” Beau went on. “Otherwise, I would have—”

“You would’ve what?” she snapped. “Stayed away?”

“No.” Beau shook his head, then contradicted, “Yes.”

“Which is it?”

“Neither,” he said, beads of sweat beginning to collect on his forehead. “I wanted to call on you, but Allie made it sound like you might not want me coming around.”

“Really?” You could cut a tin can on the razor-sharp edge of her voice. “I can’t imagine why.”

Marc and Allie shared the same uneasy glance. It was getting awkward in here.

“Look,” Beau said, curling a muscled arm to scratch the back of his neck. “I’m awful sorry for . . .” He trailed off as his gaze fell on the tray of cookies; then he tilted his head and took a step closer. “Is that what I think it is?”

“That depends,” Marc said to lighten the mood. “Do you think it’s a left-leaning peen?”

“Yeah, and it’s really happy to see me.” Beau’s upper lip hitched in disgust. “Do folks actually eat these?”

Devyn threw down her icing bag and shouted, “I don’t work here! I’m just helping out!” then ran into the back room without another word. With a sigh, Allie handed her frosting bag to Marc and followed her sister, leaving him with a red-faced Beau and a tray full of half-decorated penis cookies.

“Real smooth,” Marc said, tossing his brother the bag of white frosting while retrieving the flesh-colored one. “How could she possibly resist you now?” He bent over the counter and picked up where Devyn left off, outlining each member with a steady hand. The task was harder than it looked, no pun intended.

Beau used the other bag to frost the tips. “When I woke up this morning, I never guessed I’d be doing this.”

“Or running into your ex, I take it.”

“No, I definitely didn’t see that coming.” Beau glowered at the white buttercream trickling from the end of each cookie. “No pun intended.”

Marc snickered. “I know, right?”

“I always wanted to tell her I was sorry,” Beau said. “Had ten years to cook up a good apology. But my noodle went blank when I saw her.”

Marc couldn’t deny that his brother had botched it like a boss. “If she means that much to you, try again.”

Beau made a noncommittal grunt. “Might do more harm than good.”

“Wait a minute.” Marc lifted his head and stared at his big brother—the same guy who’d flattened the senior fullback at fourteen. “Are you
scared
?”

“Psh,” Beau scoffed and cocked his head. “Of Devyn? No.”

“Liar.”

“It’s not that,” Beau insisted. “She doesn’t give two figs for me. Probably forgot I was even alive. What’s the point?”

“I guess it depends on how long you’re sticking around.” As badly as Marc wanted to glance up to gauge his brother’s reaction, he kept his eyes trained on the cookie. “You gonna settle here, or are you just passing through?”

Beau hesitated for a few beats. “I’ve got a few options. Sure do miss home, though.”

“Me, too. I’ve got a place here in the city, but I’m thinking of giving it up and moving back to Cedar Bayou.”

“Not a bad commute,” Beau said. “And you can stay on the
Belle
during high season.”

“That’s what I figured.” Marc faked a casual shrug. “You could do the same . . . if you wanted.”

“You think?”

“Why not?”

“Can you use me on board?”

Marc knew what his brother was really asking:
Can we work side by side without tearing out each other’s throats?
“It’d be nice to have you around, even if you are a pain in my ass.”

Beau chuckled quietly. “The feeling’s mutual, little brother.”

“So you’ll stay?”

After considering for a moment, Beau nodded. “Yeah, I think I will.” His smile fell as he scrutinized his bag of icing. “But, damn. Did we just bond over penis cookies?”

Marc considered that for a moment. “Maybe. But no one needs to know.”

•   •   •

Allie followed the sound of sniffles and hiccups until she found her sister in the storage room pretending to inspect a can of baking soda—in the dark. Allie flipped on the lights and approached Devyn, then rested a hand on her shoulder and gently turned her away from the shelf.

“You okay?” Allie said. “That must’ve been—”

Her words died when she saw the twin trails leaking down Dev’s cheeks. In disbelief, Allie caught a teardrop on her finger and inspected it to ensure it was real. It was. She hadn’t seen Devyn cry since their parents’ funeral.

Devyn scrubbed away the tears. Her voice was scratchy when she asked, “You know what I’ve been fantasizing about for the last ten years?”

Allie wanted to say
Channing Tatum and a tub of peanut butter?
but it seemed like the wrong time for a joke. So she simply shook her head.

Devyn jabbed a finger toward the front of the shop. “The day that asshole would come back to town, looking for me.”

“But I thought—”

“Not because I wanted him back,” Dev clarified. “To show him what he missed. I imagined I’d be gorgeous and successful with a hot stud on my arm. I’d rub it in Beau’s face, and then he’d be sorry for what he did.” Another tear slipped free as she gestured at her stained apron and her tangled ponytail. “But look at me—no makeup, no degree, lard in my hair, unemployed, and making pecker cookies!”

“Aw, honey.” Allie tucked a stray curl behind Dev’s ear. “I’m sure that’s not what he’s thinking.” A hitched breath shook Devyn’s chest, making her seem five years old. It broke Allie’s heart.

“This isn’t how I pictured my life,” Dev whispered. “It’s been ten years, and I’m no better off now than the day he left me.”

“That’s not true.”

“Oh, yeah?” Dev challenged. “What have I accomplished?”

Allie opened her mouth but drew a blank.

Since Devyn had dropped out of college, she’d floated like cottonseed on the breeze from one dead-end job to the next—a summer traveling with the circus, three months as a dog walker, a week detailing hot rods, even a brief stint as a “virtual dominatrix.” Allie wasn’t sure what that entailed, and she didn’t intend to ask.

“You helped me open the Sweet Spot,” Allie said. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Dev waved her off. “That’s your baby, not mine.”

“Technically, it’s
our
baby,” Allie reminded her. “Silent partner, remember?”

A weak smile quirked Dev’s lips. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but we both know you’re the real talent here.”

“There’s nothing wrong with trying new things,” Allie said. “So what if you took some time off to experiment? Don’t discount a whole decade of living because an old flame brought up bad feelings.”

“It’s more than that,” Devyn insisted. “My high school reunion is in the fall, and I’m already inventing excuses not to go. All my friends have careers and kids and husbands . . . or at least ex-husbands. What am I supposed to say when they ask what I’m doing now?”

“Maybe don’t mention the penis cookies.”

That earned a small laugh. “I need to get my shit together—to buckle down and set goals.”

“You can do it,” Allie said with an encouraging smile. “And I’ll help.”

Dev took a deep breath as if to steel herself. Then she flashed a palm. “Maybe we should wait until after Vegas, though.”

“Oh, totally. The road to hell is paved with tequila shots.”

“And we’re going to travel it well,” Dev said. “But after our wild weekend of sin, I’m turning over a new leaf.” She nodded firmly. “For real this time.”

“I’ll hold you to it.”

“And even though you don’t believe in the curse,” Dev said, “I’m going to help you break it. It’ll be the first useful thing I’ve done in years.”

“Thanks, baby.” Allie squeezed her sister’s hand. “Everything’s going to be all right.”

For
both
of them—she had a good feeling.

That good feeling was still lifting Allie’s cheeks a few nights later when she passed the
WELCOME TO CEDAR BAYOU
sign and turned down the pockmarked road leading to the heart of her hometown. The setting sun sluiced through the windshield, blinding her to a new traffic light at the intersection of Fifth and Main that had just flashed from yellow to red.

How long had that been there?

She skidded to a halt halfway through the intersection, then backed up and hoped the deputy wasn’t hiding in his usual spot behind the Frosty Queen drive- thru. Otherwise she’d get the wrong kind of welcome home. The eighty-five-dollar kind. Her voodoo heritage had kept half the town at bay, but it’d never saved her from a ticket.

Go figure.

Devyn reached over from the passenger seat and flipped down Allie’s sun visor. “If you keep squinting like that, your crow’s-feet will be as bad as mine.”

“Only you,” Allie said. “I almost ran a red light and you’re lecturing me about wrinkles.”

Dev swept a hand toward the adjacent street, populated by a handful of birds scavenging bits of discarded hot dog bun from the sidewalk. “Who would you hit?”

“With my luck?” Allie asked. “A troop of Girl Scouts. Walking puppies.”

“Nah. We haven’t had a Girl Scout troop since that unfortunate archery incident in the town square a few years ago.” Devyn grimaced. “Now the mayor walks with a limp and I buy my Thin Mints in the next parish.”

Allie stifled a laugh. “Poor Mayor Bisbee.”

“He doesn’t get much sympathy around here these days.” Dev pointed at the traffic light, which had turned green. “Not since he put the kibosh on Tad Miller’s shine operation.”

“A lot’s happened since I moved away.”

Allie continued down Main Street, but nothing looked different since her visit at Christmas. The last freestanding video store in the known universe was still in business, a testament to the lack of technology in this tiny parish. Right on cue, Allie’s cell phone beeped to announce an interruption in her signal.

“Scientists can clone mammals,” she complained, “but they can’t bring cell service to Cedar Bayou. How backward is that?”

“Preach it, sister.”

But despite her complaints, Allie turned a loving eye to the honeysuckle bushes lining the St. Mary’s churchyard. She rolled down her window and let the sweet breeze toss her curls as she pulled in a lungful of clean, bayou air—the kind you couldn’t get in the city. She passed other childhood haunts, like the corner grocery, where fifty cents would buy a Drumstick ice-cream cone and two pieces of Dubble Bubble.

She drove onward, toward the edge of town where modest single-family starter homes replaced businesses. Overgrown lawns littered with bikes and plastic toys turned her thoughts to Marc, who’d said he wanted to move back here someday. Allie wasn’t quite ready for a family, and neither was Marc, but she couldn’t help feeling a rush of excitement when she imagined buying a little fixer-upper with him and filling it with memories of their own. And, someday, children.

If Devyn’s plan worked, their future would begin tonight.

Candles, trinkets, and herb bottles clattered together in their box on the backseat—supplies for the mock cleansing ceremony she hoped would release Marc from his psychological barriers to intimacy.

Dev’s thoughts must have traveled on the same wavelength. “You nervous?”

“Not really,” Allie said, and meant it. “Marc’s totally committed. He did everything we asked of him, and we ran that poor boy all over New Orleans.” After he’d extended the olive branch to his pawpaw, she’d sent him hunting down gifts for Memère—everything from her favorite candy to the skin cream she’d used, which was only available in antique shops. “I even told him we needed eggs as a symbol of rebirth.”

“Eggs?” Devyn asked. “Those aren’t hard to find.”

“
Snake
eggs.”

Dev shook her head appreciatively. “Nice one. You’re a harsh mistress, little sister.”

Allie shrugged. “I’m not trying to be mean. The harder he works, the more invested he’ll be during the ceremony.”

“Well, sounds like he bought in, so that’s good,” Devyn said. “It’s the first step toward that ‘purest faith’
he’s supposed to demonstrate.”

“That’s the key,” Allie agreed. “He has to let go of everything he’s lived since childhood and understand that we can be together.” A shiver of unease trickled down her spine. Was she delusional to think his superstitious belief in the curse outweighed generations of poor role modeling?

No negativity
, she chided herself.
Have a little faith of your own
.

Dev gave her a condescending pat on the shoulder. “Whatever you say. I’ll be focused on the real issue keeping you two apart—dark magic.”

Allie suppressed an eye roll.

They drove in silence until Allie spotted Marc’s truck parked across the street from the St. Bartholomew Chapel. It was dusk now, the sun reduced to nothing more than a smear of pink against the sky, casting the cobbled stones of the church in a romantic glow.

But that gentle bathing of light was deceptive, much like the rite Allie was about to hold in the graveyard behind the chapel. There was nothing romantic about this crumbling ruin.

Centuries of floodwaters and neglect had eroded the house of worship, giving it an eerie, sagging appearance, like the face of a weeping crone. Allie wished the parish would demolish it. She usually loved visiting historical landmarks, but for some reason, St. Bart’s had always made her skin prickle and her arm hair stand on end. When she stepped out of her car, she recoiled at the heavy odor of mildew thickening the air.

She whispered to Devyn, “I can’t believe I let you talk me into having the ceremony here. This place gives me the heebie-jeebies.”

“Where else would Memère’s spirit be strongest?” Dev asked. “Her tomb is here. And this is where she cursed old man Dumont.”

“It’s hard to believe they were supposed to get married that night,” Allie said as she faced the chapel.

Two oak doors, splintered with age and hanging from their hinges at awkward angles, guarded the sanctuary entrance. How long had Memère stood in that doorway and watched for her lover before learning he wouldn’t come? She must have been crushed—all her dreams severed in the blink of an eye, and in such a cowardly, public manner. Was it any wonder she’d lashed out the only way she knew how?

Allie shook off a chill and pulled the box of supplies from the backseat, then tucked it against her hip while she and Devyn strode toward the cemetery behind the church.

•   •   •

When the crooked iron gate groaned on its hinges, Marc caught Allie’s eye and stood from the bench where he’d been waiting. He offered a grin and brushed off his backside, hoping he hadn’t gotten too messy.

She’d asked him to wear white tonight to symbolize pureness of heart, and she matched him in an ivory cotton sundress that brushed her ankles. The sight of her took his breath away. Together, they almost resembled the ill-fated bride and groom who rested here among the dead, their stone tombs facing each other across a gravel path in an eternal standoff.

“Hey,” he said, glancing up at the swollen moon. “Nice night for curse breaking.” His words teased, but Marc’s stomach was in knots. He needed this ceremony to work.

“The best,” she agreed. She balanced a box of supplies on her hip, and Marc took it from her and asked where she wanted to set up. She scanned the dim graveyard, then pointed to a stone altar near the church’s rear wall. “Over there.”

“Wait,” said Devyn, joining them from behind. She reached inside the box and pulled free a small crystal dish. “We need dirt from Edward and Memère’s tombs,” she said. “Blended in here to heal the rift between our families. I’ll get it while you two dress the candles.”

Marc wasn’t sure what dressing candles entailed, so he tagged along with Allie and helped her clean off the limestone slab. They arranged an assortment of thick, white candles along the surface, and Allie dabbed them with scented oils that reminded him of medicated ointment—eucalyptus, maybe.

Next, she placed a framed photo of Juliette Mauvais in the center of the altar, adding to it a small statue of a dark, horned man.

“Who’s that?” Marc asked.

“Legba,” Allie explained. “He’s an ancient spirit who’s considered an intermediate to the world of the dead.” She lit a single yellow candle and said it would help in seeking Legba’s guidance. The candles illuminated Juliette’s portrait, almost as if announcing her presence, too.

Despite the headdress concealing the woman’s dark curls, the resemblance between Juliette and Allie was striking—right down to their mismatched eyes. But there was something else behind those eyes, a cold edge that raised Marc’s hackles. She was a beautiful woman, but not someone he’d trust with his heart. He couldn’t understand what his great-great-grandfather had ever seen in her.

It occurred to Marc that he probably shouldn’t be thinking ill of Juliette during the ceremony—not if he wanted freedom from her spell. He crossed himself and apologized to her spirit . . . wherever she was.

Devyn returned with the bowl of dirt and set it atop the altar. “Ready?”

Marc glanced between the two sisters. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Did you bring gifts for the spirits?” Allie asked.

Marc jogged back to the bench to fetch his paper bag. “Got it right here. Even the snake eggs.”

“Put the tokens on the altar.” Allie said. When he’d finished, she indicated for him to kneel, then joined him on the soft grass and spoke directly to the statue of Legba. “Marc Dumont presents these favors and seeks your permission to commune with the spirit of Juliette Mauvais.” She added a few coins to the altar. “As do I.”

Devyn knelt beside Allie. “Now we’ll join hands and pray.”

Marc was surprised when Devyn recited the Our Father. He didn’t know what kind of prayer he’d expected, but it wasn’t that. After
amen
, Devyn lit a stick of incense, filling the humid evening air with a hint of exotic spice.

While Marc and Allie remained kneeling, hands joined, Devyn stood and told him she was going to invoke Legba. Then she began chanting in Creole, and Marc could swear he felt ice skitter down his back. He didn’t know if that was a good thing or not.

“Now that we’ve asked his permission,” Devyn explained, “I’ll use a smudge stick to remove any negativity clinging to you.”

A smudge what? Marc looked to Allie with a question in his eyes.

“Just be still,” she whispered. “You don’t have to do anything.”

With a bundle of dried herbs in hand, Devyn ignited one end and gently blew on it until a billow of sage-scented smoke wafted up from the leaves. She circled Marc with the smudge stick, coating him in the smoke. After waving it above his heads a few more times, Devyn placed it on the altar and called to her great-great-grandmother.

“Juliette Mauvais,” Devyn said, “we invoke your spirit and offer these tokens in hope that you will show mercy on Marc Dumont and break the hex upon his family.” Devyn went on to recount the story of Juliette’s betrothal to Edward, culminating in his abandonment on their wedding day. “Your vengeance was justified, but now we pray that you will show mercy on Marc. Unlike his fickle-hearted ancestor, he comes to you on bended knee seeking forgiveness and a bond with Allison Catrine, daughter of your own blood.”

Marc’s grip tightened around Allie’s hand as they shared a hopeful glance.

“Let their love heal the ancient rift between our families,” Devyn implored to the heavens. “Please accept his show of faith and free him from your wrath.” Then she gave Marc an encouraging nod. “It’s time.”

From what Marc understood, he was supposed to prove his faith. But what did that mean, exactly? “What do I say?”

“Whatever’s in your heart,” Devyn told him. She nodded toward the street. “I’ll give you two some privacy and wait by the car. When you’re finished, someone needs to thank the spirits and release them, but Allie knows how to do that.”

She kissed her sister on the head and gave Marc a
don’t screw this up
glare, then strode out of view. The iron gate creaked and clicked shut, confirming her departure.

Marc’s heart sprinted under the pressure. He didn’t want to screw this up.

“It’s okay.” Allie cupped his face with one hand, her eyes brimming with patience. “I love you, Marc. Just tell me what you want.”

That sounded easy enough.

Marc was crazy about Allie. He wanted her to move in with him, to share his bed and fill his arms like she’d done on board the
Belle
. Those short weeks with her were damned near perfect—
she
was damned near perfect—and he wouldn’t make the same mistake twice by losing his nerve.

It was time to sac up.

He took a deep breath and began. “Allie, I want . . .”

Marc paused to catch another lungful of air. God bless, it was hotter than hellfire out here. How could anyone breathe this soup?

Allie stroked his cheek. “Go ahead, baby.”

He swallowed hard while sweat broke out along his upper lip. He released her hand and blotted his face on his shirttails, but that didn’t help. For every drop of sweat he wiped away, three more appeared to take its place. Before long, he was sweating like a sinner on judgment day.

He opened his mouth to try again. “I want . . .”

Damn it, he couldn’t get enough oxygen.

Holding up one finger, he said, “Just give me a minute.” His collar seemed to be choking him, so he undid the first three buttons. A glance down showed his chest rising and falling, so why did it feel like he couldn’t breathe?

“Are you okay?” Allie asked, her whiskey-and-gray eyes widening in concern.

Marc’s hands had turned to ice. He wiped them on his trousers and tried a third time. “I want you . . .”
to move in with me
.
Move in with me!
He screamed it internally, but the words turned to dust. Then a ball of fear rose in his throat and fanned out to squeeze his ribs as surely as any heart attack. His chest grew heavy and his vision blurred. If he didn’t know better, he’d think he was dying.