Haunted Waterways (Dark Legacy Series Book 2) Page 3

  “Am I still on the news?” Marigold asked as she watched the retreating woman.

  “No, the press has died down. Although the ruins of the La Roux home is now a major draw for paranormal tours. It gets pretty crowded.”

  “Good to know.”

  “Oh, and a reporter has been trying to get in contact with you. They want to interview you about Delilah. And your parents probably.”

  “Probably?”

  “Well, the segment is going to be called ‘My Life Among Killers’ so I can only assume it will cover them, too.”

  Marigold rolled her eyes. She guessed it was an improvement from the news anchor that had invited her onto their show. He had obviously wanted to blindside her on national television. She couldn’t blame them. Not knowing you were living with prolific murderers once is suspicious. People don’t want to believe it could happen twice.

  “What did you tell them?”

  He shrugged one shoulder, “That you’re not available for comment.”

  “You know, it’s almost enough to make me feel fascinating.” She frowned as a thought hit her. “Did you just purposefully distract me from the waitress?”

  A hint of guilt flashed across his face, “Maybe.”

  “What’s going on?” She looked around and noticed that they had garnished the attention of a few guests. They all looked away when she met their gaze.

  “It’s nothing, really,” he said. “It’s just, well, there are a lot of ghosts in the bayous, cher. People here have seen a lot more. They’re willing to believe a lot more.”

  “They know about the demon?”

  He cleared his throat and made the face he always did when trying to figure out how best to sugar coat the facts. “Some here see demons as being contagious. You hang out with a marked person long enough and the demon will come after you too.”

  Her spine instantly straightened, “Is that possible?”

  “It’s an old legend.” That sentiment was long past having any measure of comfort.

  They sat in silence until the woman brought them their drinks. Marigold had quickly grown a taste for sweet tea. It was practically liquid sugar and she drank way more of it than she should have. It was probably a sign that her growing addiction was showing when Louis had ordered it for her without discussion. The night air was chilled, but still, droplets of condensation covered the glass. She played with them as she thought.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t hang around me anymore.”

  “I was actually going to suggest the opposite,” Louis said, calmly sipping his soda. “It probably wasn’t the best idea to leave you alone for so long.”

  “Cordelia would have killed you if you had ducked out on her wedding,” Marigold pointed out. Her stomach clenched as she cupped the glass with both hands. “I haven’t even asked how it was.”

  “Good. The young bride was blushing, the slightly less young groom was smiling, and we all ended up barefoot on the dance floor.”

  “Sounds fun.”

  “Is this when I remind you that you could have gone?”

  Most of the Dupont family had an, albeit legitimate, dislike of Marigold. Because of her, Louis had been beaten, stabbed, and had almost been burnt alive. Southern hospitality and pity could only go so far. Cordelia was one of the few that actually seemed to like her. The offer to come along to the wedding was a nice gesture, but Marigold was pretty sure the woman knew that she would decline.

  “No bride actually wants last minute additions to the wedding they’ve been planning for months.”

  “I can’t argue with that,” Louis said. “I made your apologies. Told her you were far too busy being dark and brooding and deeply mysterious.”

  He leant back to give the waitress enough room to place the large bowls of food on the table. In each one, bright shelled crustaceans sat in steaming broths, each rich with scents and spice. Once it was done, there was barely any room left on the table, and in addition to the standard cutlery, they were given mallets and what looked like oversized nutcrackers. Louis instantly pulled one of the bugs out, laid it out on the newspaper, and began to smash it open with a vengeance. Marigold gingerly pulled one of the bugs out of the soup. She wasn’t as skilled as him at it and ended up squishing shards of the shell into the meat.

  “You know what occurred to me on the drive up?” Louis dunked a strip of the meat into the sauce before swallowing it down. “You have yet to go on a bayou tour. That just seems wrong.”

  “I’ve learnt as I’ve gone.”

  Louis shrugged as he used his hands to crack and rip his way through the shell. “It’s not the same unless you’ve been on an airboat. We should go.”

  “And this wouldn’t be an attempt to make me socialize more?”

  “I neither confirm nor deny.” With three smooth wacks, he opened up a crayfish and passed it to her. “There’s also a plantation around here that does tours. They advertise that you can step back into the good old days. So you just know they’re going to ignore the generations of horror and abuse. Keep it family friendly.”

  Marigold mirrored his early use of the sauce and instantly grabbed her drink as hot peppers exploded across her tongue. Her eyes watered as she struggled to breathe past the burn. Eventually, it subsided enough for her to glare at him.

  “That’s the only hot one, I swear.”

  She coughed and wiped her eyes with a napkin, wincing as she pushed too solidly on a bruise.

  “So,” she croaked. “Why tours?”

  “I like nature and have a healthy respect for history.”

  “You give tours for a living,” she said. “Why would you want to take them on your days off?”

  “Because I don’t have to lead them. I get to be the one to ask stupid questions, touch things I shouldn’t, and continuously wander off.”

  She smiled, “I didn’t know you had such a bitter streak.”

  “I hide it well under passive-aggressive charm.”

  Marigold smiled, picked a fat looking crayfish, and brought the hammer down into its crimson shell with a sharp crack. The table shook with the blow and rattled against the floorboards. That’s when she felt it. A tiny little hand wrapping around her ankle. Brow furrowed, she ducked down to look under the table. Each muscle in her body locked into place before her mind caught up with what she was seeing.

  “Louis.” Her voice was barely a whisper but it was enough to entice a threatening hiss from the thing that was under the table.

  It wrapped an arm around her ankle, her tiny clawed hand digging into her skin. It looked like a child, an infant, but warped and twisted. Its eyes were too large, the iris’ like curdled milk. Its skin cracked as it moved. With pointed teeth and a mangled jaw, it looked like something both dead and demonic. And it was inches from her face. Across the underside of the table, she caught sight of Louis as he ducked down to see what had captured her attention. His jaw hung slack and that was more disturbing than the thing clinging to her leg. He saw it too. How could he see it too?

  “Just stay very still, cher.”

  “Okay,” the word was barely a choked gasp but the baby’s hand tightened like a vice. It drew itself closer until she could smell the reek of Sulphur on its breath.

  “And maybe not speak.”

  The muscles of her sides began to ache, straining against the odd angle, as Louis stood up. It didn’t pay him any attention. It only stared at Marigold, so close now that she could barely see its hand. It took all her strength to not move as it reached for her and tangled its talons in her hair. Louis crouched down at the end of the table, trying to keep the curious waitress from edging closer.

  She could hear a flurry of French, the same words repeated with increasing volume. The disgusting humanoid smiled at her. Saliva and rot dripped from its fangs. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw more people duck down to look under the table. Then the screaming began. The creature lunged at her, hitting her with more weight than it should have possessed. She rocked back with the fo
rce and toppled from the seat. The air rushed from her lungs as her back collided with the deck. The creature clawed at her face and neck, each blow like fire.

  The music halted. Her own screams were lost in the panic of the crowd. A scream ripped from her throat as she clawed at the tiny frame, struggling to get it off of her. Then the pain vanished, the pressure lifted, and she was left staring up at Louis and the gathered crowd. She thrashed around to check every possible lurking space but the child was gone. A steady murmur ran through the crowd. It took her a moment to recognize it as whispered prayer. Louis crouched down next to Marigold and gently placed a hand on her shoulder. Normally, the touch would anchor her; help her sort out reality from the hallucinations. This time, it wasn’t enough.

  “You saw it too,” she gasped. “It wasn’t just me.”

  “I saw it,” he glanced up at the gathered crowd. She could feel their fear as they carefully kept a wide birth. “And we weren’t the only ones.”

  It wasn’t possible. The demon had never been able to pollute other people’s minds with its lies. Only hers. Only ever hers. Louis shifted his hand to try and coax her to sit up. They both knew what this meant, but she felt like she needed to hear it admitted out loud.

  “It’s getting stronger.”

  Chapter 4

  Streetlights didn’t exist this far into the wastelands. The night closed in on all sides, broken only by the slither of the moon and the high beams of Louis’ car. They had left as soon as they could. The server had piled their food into to-go bags and had practically thrown it at them, too scared to get closer. Marigold had left a generous tip, but she still doubted they would ever seat her again. The radio struggled to keep hold of a station. It was impossible to tell what song was playing through the layers of static. Louis had insisted that she drive. Marigold knew there had to be an ulterior motive behind the decision, but she couldn’t quite decide which one it was. Either he was trying to give her some sense of control, or he wanted his hands free so he could continue to stuff his face.

  He seemed to take it as a personal challenge to open the crustaceans by hand. It was a messy struggle and she was sure Louis was exaggerating the situation to make her laugh. On the few occasions that he was actually successful, he would split the food with her, always dunking it in the sauce first, which just spread the mess.

  “Pull over,” he said suddenly.

  “Why?”

  “I want a rock,” his eyes narrowed on the crayfish. “I’m gonna smash this sucker open.”

  “Against what?” she laughed.

  “I have a perfectly good dashboard.”

  “Your car is going to smell horrible tomorrow,” she still pulled the car onto the shoulder of the road, just to call his bluff.

  “I can wash the car.”

  “And you can wait to eat until we get back to the boat.”

  He scrunched up his face, “Cher, where do you pick up that kind of nonsense?”

  She cut off the engine but kept the headlights on. The small overhead light clicked on as Louis opened his door, but he couldn’t get out of the car until he had passed the mountain of containers, all of which he had opened, over to her. When he was finally free, he leant through the open passenger door to throw her a triumphant smile.

  “You look way too proud of yourself,” she noted.

  He dramatically rolled his eyes and ducked away. Beyond the impenetrable shadows that clung to the sides of the car, she could hear the soft lapping of water and frogs croaking. She had grown to find the sound peaceful and relaxed into the quiet. Despite whatever carefree facade Louis showed her, she knew that he was already mulling over the new event, cataloguing and scrutinizing. He would find the key points, discuss it with his voodoo queen mother, decide the next step, and only then tell her what they should do. She wasn’t practically happy with the practice, but she understood why he did it. The demon was connected to her. Her fear, her anxiety, her anger, it feeds off of it all. If she fell apart, she was just feeding it, giving it strength, so he tried to shield her from any anxiety that he could.

  Framed by the headlights, Louis kicked at the road in search of an appropriate stone. Tension had just seeped from her shoulders when the silence was shattered by a haunting wail. Marigold jumped as Louis spun around, looking past the car with a spark of fear. She twisted in her seat and stared out of the back window. A woman staggered out of the shadows. Each step was a struggle, like slogging through mud. Her hair floated in thick tendrils, squirming and weaving around its slender form. The darkness of the night swallowed her features, all but her eyes. They glowed like the eyes of a jack ‘o’ lantern, burning in the shadows with a brilliant blue light.

  Marigold jolted as Louis threw himself back into the car and slammed the door shut. It lurched towards Marigold as it opened its mouth and screamed again. It was louder than before and the car windows rattled, promising to crack as Louis and Marigold cupped their hands over their ears.

  “Drive!” Louis commanded over the shriek.

  He grabbed the tubs from her lap and hurled them into the back seat. The contents sloshed over the worn leather but he didn’t notice or care. It was agonizing to release her ears. Marigold was sure they were going to start bleeding. But she turned the key and stepped on the gas. The car lurched forward with a hail of dirt and gravel and she swerved to get it back onto the road.

  She pushed her foot down to the floor, urging the car faster. The wailing didn’t lessen, but cut off within an instant, replaced by a high-pitched ringing in her ears. For a moment she couldn’t hear anything else but eventually, the world came back in patches.

  “We need to get back to the boat.” Louis was still staring out of the back window, his chest heaving with every breath, “It won’t be able to cross the boundary.”

  “What the hell is it?”

  He shook his head, brow furrowed so deeply that if seemed like his skin would break. “It can’t be,” he repeated in a hushed breath.

  The car skidded as she took a corner too fast; it fish-tailed and slid over the gravel. Her arms ached as she struggled to keep it on the road. Despite the threat of spiraling out of control, Louis urged her faster. Her heart lurched into her throat as she spotted twin burning lights ahead of them, an unmistakable fiery blue. The light of the high beams barreled closer until they washed over the woman.

  “Louis!”

  He snapped around, saw the woman, and reached over to grab the steering wheel, keeping it steady.

  “Don’t stop,” he ordered.

  They passed the woman in a blur. But the second the woman was out of sight, she reappeared on the rim of light ahead of them. This time, the woman stood closer to the road. And the next time closer still. Then it was in the middle of the lane. She swerved onto the wrong side of the road as they rounded another corner. Mud caught the back wheels and made the car heave again. It took the strength of both Marigold and Louis to keep it from ending up in the swamp.

  Ahead of them, the road thinned and the mist thickened. They had reached the thin slip of land they needed to cross to get to the boat. It was barely wide enough for the car to get across. The headlights glistened off the fog and mud. The woman appeared before them, standing in the middle of the road. There was neither time nor room to avoid her and Marigold braced for impact.

  The woman released the ear-splitting wail. Marigold winced but kept her eyes opened as they collided. The ghost exploded across the windshield like a tidal wave but the scream didn’t stop. Marigold couldn’t see through the window. Couldn’t hear past the sound. In a rush, the windshield cleared and to reveal the side of the paddle boat barreling towards them. She screamed and stomped on the breaks with both feet, yanking the wheel to the side. The tires locked and threw the car into an uncontrollable spiral. The force pulled the air from her lungs and her vision blurred. With a sharp clash of metal, the back of the car slammed into the boat and brought them to an abrupt halt. The seatbelt snapped across Marigold’s chest but didn�
�t keep her from smacking against the door. Louis, not having put his seatbelt back on, hit into her other side with a bone-rattling thud.

  The mud instantly claimed the car. Swamp water poured in through the fractured glass at Marigold’s side as the car tipped. Louis kicked his door open and crawled out as Marigold released her seat belt. She reached up and Louis grabbed her wrists, pulling her up and out of the sinking vehicle.

  “Don’t make eye contact.”

  For a second, she didn’t know what he meant. But then she caught a glimpse of it. Twin blue lights burning in the back seat. They started running the second her feet hit the ground. It wailed again as they threw themselves onto the rusted surface of the boat, panting and soaked in mud. As the ringing in her ears subsided she could hear Louis. He kept muttering, over and over, that it wasn’t supposed to be here.

  “Can you explain now?” she gasped.

  “That’s a Wailing Woman.” He finally sat up and tentatively peeked over the rip of the boat. The woman stood below, a few feet from the gangplank, at the edge of the border that his mother had put into place. Her body quivered like ripples in a tide, but her eyes were unmoving and solid. “What the hell is she doing outside of Mexico?”

  ***

  On hands and knees, Marigold crawled to Louis’ side and peeked over the rim. She knew that the Wailing Woman knew they were there. But there was a vast difference between having a ghost know where you are and having to endure being the focus of its dead gaze. The car lights were still on, offering twin beams that cut across the muddy ground. Standing on the edge of the light, the woman watched silently, her limbs unmoving while her hair coiled on unseen currents. This close, Marigold could see water dripping from her greyed and bloating skin. Her eyes glowed like fire, seeing but vacant. Marigold clamped her hands over her ears the second she saw the ghost open her mouth, but it didn’t stop the scream from hurting.