I tried to lighten the mood. Fat chance. Charlaine was pale as a ghost, still processing what had happened.
Maple Lane was deserted. No surprise there. Even the crickets seemed to be keeping quiet. My gut churned. Something felt off.
"Hold on." I slammed on the brakes, killed the lights, and drove off road. The old Chevy screeched in protest. Charlaine lurched forward, eyes wide with alarm.
"What is it?"
"Quiet." I rolled down the window, straining to hear anything over the thumping of my own pulse. The air hung heavy and still. Like before a storm. But something else… a faint, sweet smell. Like a gingerbread cookie. Damn -- it was clove.
"They followed us." Charlaine's voice was barely a whisper.
I didn’t need to ask who "they" were. We both knew. The Murder Twins. They were like roaches. You squash one, two more pop up.
"Get down." I shoved Charlaine’s head down, hoping to God these clowns weren’t packing anything heavier than knives tonight. My hand went to the glove compartment, feeling for the reassuring weight of my service revolver.
A flicker of movement in the rearview mirror. Headlights passing us by at neck breaking speed. Magic or not, the twins clearly had to rely on plain old eyesight. They sucked at it.
After five excruciating minutes of waiting, I shoved the Chevy back into gear. It jerked forward, tires spitting gravel.
"Where are we going?" Charlaine's voice was tight with fear. Understandable. The girl had a front-row seat to more weirdness than any human should.
"Your grandma's."
She blinked, eyebrows shooting up. "What? Why?"
"Just trust me, alright?" I floored it, engine screaming as we tore down the deserted road. Streetlights blurred, painting streaks of sickly yellow across my windshield.
"You think she's involved?" Charlaine's voice was barely audible over the roar of the engine.
"Don't think so." I gripped the steering wheel tighter. "But that doll of yours screamed 'voodoo' louder than a gator in a bathtub. And Daddy Longlegs," I shot her a sideways glance, "well, he ain't exactly known for playing it straight."
Charlaine went quiet. I knew she hated it when I called Papa Legba that, but the name fit. The old loa was a smooth talker, always wheelin' and dealin'. Like giving me a way to save her hide, just when I needed it most, always came with strings. Strings I was starting to think were suspiciously absent in this whole mess.
“My grandma wouldn’t.” Charlaine's voice was small, lost in the roar of the engine and the growing storm of doubt in my gut.
“Wouldn’t what?” I kept my eyes on the road, but I could feel the heat of her stare burning into the side of my head.
“Wouldn't hurt anyone. She wouldn’t…use magic like that. Not even to save my life.”
I grunted. "Magic's a funny thing, Cher. Even good intentions can go sideways.”
She didn’t answer. Didn't need to. We both knew the kind of trouble that followed messing around with a deity was usually bigger than both of us. And this time, it felt personal.
The silence that followed was heavier than a coffin lid. We screeched around a bend, the old Chevy leaning dangerously. I could practically smell the rain coming, a thick, earthy scent that always seemed to hang around trouble in Shadow Falls. Rain started to fall, fat drops splattering on the windshield like blood on a crime scene.
The headlights cut through the gathering darkness, illuminating the familiar, ramshackle outline of her grandma's place. The porch light flickered on as we pulled up, casting long, distorted shadows across the overgrown lawn.
I cut the engine, the sudden silence amplifying the drumming of my own pulse. A low growl rumbled from beneath the porch, a sound I knew all too well.
“Stay behind me,” I muttered, more out of habit than anything. For Charlaine, her grandma's hut was probably the saftest place in the world.
The porch steps groaned under my weight, protesting every creak like they were gonna give out any second. The growl from beneath deepened, a low rumble that vibrated in my chest.
“Evening, Cerberus,” I drawled, not taking my eyes off the door. “Taking the night off from guarding the gates of hell, are we? I saw a buddy of yours recently, by the way. A little taller, but just as grumpy.”
The hound whined, a low, mournful sound that did nothing to ease the knot in my gut.
The door swung open before I could knock again. Light spilled out, momentarily blinding me after the darkness. I blinked, adjusting to the sudden shift.
“About damn time you got here, Sheriff.”
Anna. Figured the good doctor would be part of this little soiree. Her eyes, red-rimmed and shadowed, flicked between me and Charlaine. She was wearing one of her more formal suits, the kind that screamed ‘I’d rather be sucking blood at the opera than dealing with your mortal problems’.
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“What’s the emergency?” I tried to sound casual, but my voice came out rougher than usual. “Someone neglecting their daily dose of garlic?”
She didn’t even crack a smile. Just stepped aside, the scent of lilies and formaldehyde clinging to her like a shroud. “She’s waiting for you.”
Anna’s words hung in the air, thick and heavy like the humidity that always seemed to cling to Shadow Falls. I stepped inside, Charlaine right behind me, her hand brushing my arm. She flinched. I knew what she felt – a cold blast, like walking into a tomb.
"Evening, Gran’mere." Charlaine's voice was hushed, respectful. "Looks like you finally fixed the air conditioning."
Mama Marie sat cross-legged on a low table draped in a tapestry I’d swear I’d seen in a National Geographic back in the 40s. She was a small woman, swallowed by the shadows of the room, but her eyes – those eyes saw everything. They glittered in the flickering candlelight, each ring in her iris a story I didn’t want to know the ending to. A necklace of bones clicked against her chest as she rose, her gaze lingering on me a beat too long.
"Sheriff. This a surprise. Trouble don't usually come knocking 'fore midnight." Mama Marie's voice was a low rasp, like dry leaves skittering across pavement. She studied me, those ancient eyes boring into me like I was some two-bit hood she was about to read my rights to.
"Folks been disappearing, Mama Marie." I kept my voice even, professional. No need to disrespect the old bird. "Vanished. Poof. Gone."
"Humans are fickle creatures, Sheriff. Prone to flights of fancy." Her lips tightened. "Perhaps they grew tired of Shadow Falls' limited charms."
"Don't think those folks were human. Humans don't stink of ozone and clove all the time."
A long moment stretched, filled only with the crackle of the fire and the rustle of Mama Marie's robes. Then, without a word, she rose and shuffled towards a darkened corner of the room. The chanting stopped. The shadows seemed to deepen, pressing in on us like curious onlookers.
"Tea, Sheriff?" Her voice, though quiet, cut through the silence like a shard of glass. "Chamomile for you, child. Helps with the nerves."
"Helps with the nerves." Mama Marie reappeared, a steaming teapot in her hand. Her wrinkled face, usually a roadmap of Shadow Falls' history, was smooth. Except for a tic above her left eye, betraying her worry.
She placed three chipped mugs on the table – chamomile for Charlaine, chicory coffee, black as sin, for the rest of us. No sense arguing. Mama Marie ran this place like her own personal spirit board, and we were just the pawns.
She sat, her gaze lingering on her grandchild. "Whoever did this, they ain't messing around. This ain't no love potion or bad luck hex."
My blood ran cold. Whatever Mama Marie wasn't saying was scarier than anything I’d faced in my long, unnatural life.
"The also came after Charlaine, mam. Why would they do that?"
The old woman turned her gaze to Charlaine, her eyes boring into the deputy like she was seeing right through her. "The gods don't interfere without a price. There's power in your blood, child." Mama Marie’s voice was soft, but the words hit like a thunderclap. "Dormant, yes. But still, very powerful."
Charlaine's hand flew to the silver charm on her bracelet – a gift from her grandmother. I’d always dismissed it as superstition. Now, the intricate symbols etched into the metal seemed to pulse with an eerie light.
"This magic," Mama Marie continued, her eyes fixed on Charlaine. "It’s drawn to you. To your blood."
The scent of incense, usually comforting, felt suffocating.
"I gotta ask. You involved in this? Did you cook up those murderous gingerbread men?" I glared at Mama Marie, but even my toughest glare felt about as threatening as a damp rag in this situation.
She chuckled, the sound like dry leaves skittering across a tombstone. "Sheriff, that kind of magic isn't my Loa's specialty. You think I got that kinda pull with Baron Samedi? I make my deals at the crossroads, not the pearly gates."
"So you knew. You knew this was bigger than some two-bit hex." I slammed my fist on the table, rattling the cups and spilling my tea. Bad move.
"Everything's bigger than it seems, Sheriff." Mama Marie’s eyes, usually filled with the warmth of a thousand gossiped secrets, were cold and sharp. "Sometimes, the only way to understand the game is to play your hand."
"And what hand we playin', Mama Marie? What's this got to do with Charlaine?"
Mama Marie didn't answer, just reached for the chipped porcelain teapot, its surface painted with faded roses. She poured steaming liquid into our mismatched cups.
"Drink, children. Helps with the seein'."
I hesitated, then took a hesitant sip. The scent – bitter, earthy – sent a shiver down my spine.
"Grandma?" Charlaine’s voice was barely a whisper.
Mama Marie just smiled, that same unsettling smile that usually meant trouble was brewing.
"Don't you worry none, sugarplum. Gran’mere’s got you." She reached into the folds of her dress and pulled out a small, embroidered pouch. Inside, I caught a glimpse of dried herbs, chicken bones, and something that looked suspiciously like a human tooth.
"Whenever I ain't sure which way the spirits blowin'," she said, her voice low and rhythmic, "I consult the leaves."
She tipped the teapot, pouring the last of the murky brew into the teacups. Three soggy leaves clung to the bottom.
"Alright, Mama Marie, what kinda carnival trick is this?"
Charlaine's foot connected with my shin under the table. I shut up.
Mama Marie just chuckled, her gold tooth glinting in the lamplight. "Sheriff, you been around long enough to know better than to scoff at old ways." Her eyes, though, were on Charlaine. "Child, you seein' somethin' in those leaves?"
Charlaine leaned forward, brow furrowed. I knew that look. She was tapping into that part of her, the part that saw things I never could. "Grandma," she said, voice hushed, "These leaves... they're a way to talk to him, aren't they? To Legba."
"Clever girl," Mama Marie said, a hint of pride in her voice. "You think those fancy charms and powders gonna reach a Loa in the spirit real? Nah, you gotta speak their language."
"And this swamp water is it?" I muttered. Another swift kick from Charlaine.
"Hush, Jam," Mama Marie said, but there was amusement in her eyes. "The tea, the leaves, it's all just focusin'. Openin' the door a crack. Legba, he's got his ears to the ground. He'll hear."
"Fine," I sighed, rubbing my shin. "But if we end up running into Samedi instead, you'all are on your own."
Charlaine just rolled her eyes. "Like you ever let me out of your sight on a case. Even if the lord of the dead himself appears."
Mama Marie chuckled, a low rumble in her chest. "You two, always squabblin' like pups." She carefully poured the remaining tea from the pot into a chipped saucer. The murky liquid pooled around the three soggy leaves. "Now hush, both of you. Time to listen."
The room seemed to hold its breath. Shadows stretched from the corners, the air thick with incense and something older, earthier. Mama Marie began to chant, low and rhythmic, words I didn't understand but felt in my metaphorical bones. The leaves in the saucer trembled, spinning slowly at first, then faster, a miniature whirlpool in the heart of our little table.
The air crackled. A gust of wind slammed the windows shut, even though they were already latched tight. Cerberus started to howl from his spot underneath the porch.
Charlaine stiffened beside me, hand drifting toward the silver charm she always wore under her shirt.
"Easy, child," Mama Marie said, her voice steady despite the sudden chill. "He's here."