Chapter 21

Jared slammed into his room at the hotel, threw down his keys, and headed for the bathroom. He was so pissed, he hoped a shower would cool him off. He couldn’t understand why the hell Kendra was being so thick-headed. He stripped off his clothes and turned on the spray. He knew he’d hurt her, and she had every reason to be upset, but for the love of Odin, they’d been together for years. Wouldn’t you think she’d trust him more than Adam?

He let the hot water pound the back of his neck. His muscles were so tight, he should have gone to the gym. Punching his fist into a bag and pretending it was Adam’s face might have been the best way to work out his anger. He turned off the water and reached for a towel. Somehow, he had to convince Kendra that what he’d told her about Adam was true before it was too late.

Dressed and with a strong cup of coffee sitting in front of him, he got out Angelique’s mirror. The most constructive thing he could do was discover what the Montiefs’ vengeance was about. He looked into the glass. “Show me where the chest is,” he commanded. When the image he’d seen before reappeared, he sat back in his chair and studied the room in the glass. Still nothing seemed familiar. Jared tapped his coffee cup in thought. Had Angelique and Jean lived somewhere besides the hotel? It would have been a lot smaller during their time, but as far as he knew they’d been right here. He narrowed his brows. He’d always assumed his parents’ master suite had been part of the original hotel, but perhaps not.

Again, he studied the room. His mother had never been a lace curtain and gilt furniture kind of person. She’d preferred damask and dark woods. Frustrated, he sat glowering at the image. “Damn it to hell, Angelique, I’m tired of games. Just show me where the fucking chest is.”

“Merde.” He covered his head with his arm as books hurtled off the shelves toward him, pictures flew from the walls, and lamps toppled from tables. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry. Stop.”

Tentatively he lowered his arm and glanced around. “Christ,” he murmured. Never piss off a ghost. He looked to where he’d dropped the mirror and silently cursed. Angelique was staring back at him, her eyes blazing with rage. With trepidation, he bent and picked up the mirror. When he opened his mouth to speak, she cut him off.

“I will not tolerate being spoken to in such a disrespectful manner. Nor do I play games. I showed you where the chest is hidden. Go retrieve it.”

His own temper, which hadn’t cooled much since that morning, resurfaced. “I’d be glad to retrieve it, if I knew where the…” He swallowed back the expletive he was about to use and continued, “Where it was located. I don’t recognize the room. Is it in the hotel?”

She scowled. “Certainly, it’s in the hotel. It was my private sitting room.”

“Well, it’s not here now.” With surprise and a certain amount of unease, he watched as she disappeared from the mirror to reappear in full manifestation right in front of him.

A dark-haired beauty, with deep blue eyes and an olive complexion, she wore the rose silk dress from the portrait. High-waisted and with a high gathered neckline, it had puffy sleeves and was trimmed along the bottom with dark roses.

Irritation showed in her eyes as she stood, hands clasped in front of her. “Jared, what are you talking about? It’s located off the second-floor gallery overlooking the courtyard.”

Jared could feel the power emanating from her. He spread his arms. “I’m sorry, but there isn’t anywhere in this hotel that resembles that room.”

Deep in thought, Angelique paced, her dress swirling around her feet. “Could they have destroyed it during my absence?”

Jared’s brow rose. “Absence?”

She cocked her head and gave him a slight smile. “Though I have been waiting for the one who could use my mirror, I have not spent the last century and a half in this hotel. There are many changes here. Perhaps my sitting room has been turned into something else.”

Jared nodded. “That could be. Throughout the years the hotel has been remodeled. We now have fifty guest rooms and this floor with the family suites.”

She glanced around the room, waved her hand, and the books, pictures, and lamps were all back in place. Then she glided over to one of the long casement windows. “When my papa passed, Jean and I decided to turn the house into this hotel. We began with ten rooms and that included our quarters. When we,” she hesitated, “moved on, there were twenty. With pride I have watched as generation after generation of Dupres have advanced the hotel, but still maintained our standards.”

Finding it more than a little disconcerting to be sitting there having a conversation with a ghost, Jared cleared his throat. “Will you tell me what happened on Santo Domingo and why Adam Montief wants me dead?”

She turned and sighed. “You have no idea how much I regret that my actions have placed you in such a dangerous position, but if I had to do it all again, I would. Augustus Montief was a cruel man. I had no choice but to escape with my son. I knew Augustus would not rest until he fulfilled his vow of vengeance. I also knew that the one who would carry this out would be as evil as he was. What I didn’t know is who it would be or when it would happen. When you were given the mirror and could make it work, I knew the time had come.”

Jared shook his head. “But why me?”

She smiled. “When is your birthday?”

“August fourteenth. Why?”

“Do you know the date of the slave rebellion on Saint-Domingue?”

“No.”

She glanced to where a widescreen television hung above the fireplace and pointed. “Am I correct that it is possible to project images upon that?”

Confused, Jared nodded.

She waved her hand. “Watch and you will understand. Then find the casket. It will help you destroy Adam Montief. It is August 14, 1791.” The television flickered, and a very young Angelique appeared on the screen. Jared felt lightheaded. He had the sensation of being drawn into the scene, and into Angelique’s mind and heart as well.

****

Wispy tentacles of smoke seeped in from the upper gallery and beneath the closed double-louvered doors. In the stifling heat, Angelique Montief flicked her wrist and set the bamboo ceiling fan spinning. Kneeling on a woven mat with sweat coating her body, she lifted a small wooden brass-bound casket from the bottom of a large trunk, inserted a gold key, and opened the lid. Inside two objects lay wrapped in thick cloth. She carefully unwrapped the smaller bundle to reveal a pentagonal mirror, a gift handed down to her by her grandmother, its ancient oak frame carved with tiny pentacles. She glanced over her shoulder at her locked bedroom door, then stared into the mirror and whispered, “Show him to me.”

When the glass remained blank, fear clutched at her chest. Again, she said the words, and the image of a plantation house engulfed in flames appeared. “No, please, he can’t be dead.” Tears blurred her vision. The fiery image changed to reveal a human form lying beneath flowering bougainvillea.

Hope rising, Angelique peered closer.

“Show me his face.”

She saw his indigo blue eyes blink open.

“I’m coming, my love.”

He couldn’t hear her, but she hoped that in his heart he knew she would find a way to get to him.

As the smoke in the room thickened, she knew her time was running out. She rewrapped the mirror and placed it into the smaller casket among cloth bags of herbs and potion-filled vials. Relocking the lid, she hung the key on a chain around her neck, dropped a jeweled dagger into her pocket, and tucked the casket under her arm.

Crouched beneath the smoke, with the sound of shouting coming closer, she considered the quickest way to reach her son and escape. She’d be too exposed on the gallery. Anton’s room was two doors down the hall. With any luck, she could make her way to him without being seen.

Most of the servants and slaves had joined the Marrons’ rebellion, and her husband was fighting to keep them off the sugar plantation. Augustus Montief was a powerful witch, but not even his powers were strong enough to hold back the murderous hordes she could hear coming for their masters’ blood.

Augustus had locked her in, placing what he thought would be an impenetrable shield across both doors. Angelique coughed, choked by the darkening smoke. Her husband’s biggest mistake was underestimating her. Along with her grandmother’s gift of healing, she had inherited strong magical powers.

Facing the heavy wooden door to the hallway, she allowed the magic to pulse through her right hand. She threw a ball of energy and watched with satisfaction as it shattered the lock.

Out in the hall, the smoke was denser. In fear for her son’s life, she crawled to his room. When she tried to turn the knob, she realized Augustus had placed a shield across Anton’s door as well. Angelique hit the lock with another blast of energy.

She had known that for her own safety, he could never discover the truth of her abilities. Soon after their marriage it had become horribly apparent Augustus wasn’t the gentle, kind person she’d thought, but a cruel monster who only wanted her for her dowry and the sons she could produce. But if Augustus Montief planned to let her die in flames while he escaped with their son, he would learn just how powerful she truly was.

She hurried into the room slamming the door behind her. A tall, imposing woman stood guard in front of her son’s crib. The woman’s face was delicately boned with striking turquoise eyes and skin the color of creamy chocolate. An intricately wrapped snowy white tignon covered her head. Earrings of shell and beads dangled from her ears, and copper bracelets encircled her arms. “Taneen, thank the Gods it’s you.”

“It about time you get here. I about to take the baby and go.”

“I could not leave my room until I knew Augustus was out of the house. Did he lock you in with Anton?”

Taneen snorted. “You tink I allow dat son of Satan to lock me up? I wait ’til he left, den let myself in from da gallery. Now we need to go. Most of da slave quarters and half da house is burnin’.”

“I know, but how? We cannot allow Augustus to see us, and we dare not be caught by the renegade slaves.”

“I already tought of dat. I should take da boy wit me, and you leave on you own.”

When Angelique opened her mouth to object, Taneen held up her hand.

“If dat bastard catch you, how you goin’ to fight him wit a baby in your arms? And if da slaves see me wit you, dey kill us both.”

“But if you’re caught with a white baby, the Marrons will murder him.”

“I already tought of dat. See.” She stepped away from the crib where Anton slept, his normally smooth pink cheeks now a dusky hue.

Angelique gasped. “What did you use?”

“Just a little burnt ash mixed with some cream. I also brought dis.”

She held up a sturdy woven basket and opened the hinged lid to reveal it was lined with a soft cotton cloth.

“He fit fine inside.”

Angelique hesitated. Taneen was right. They would probably do better if they left separately, but could she ever live with herself if harm came to her son and she was not there to try and save him? On the other hand, Taneen could probably slip right through unnoticed. If she were stopped, Angelique knew Taneen would die herself before allowing her great-grandson to be harmed. Angelique took a deep breath. “All right, you take the baby and head for La Maison plantation, and I’ll meet you.”

Taneen cocked her head. “I heard it already burnt. Why we goin’ dere?”

“Jean Dupre is the one person I can trust to get us to New Orleans.”

“How he doin’ dat?”

“He keeps a small sloop anchored in a cove below the plantation. I looked in the mirror. Jean may have been wounded. One of us must get to him as soon as possible.” Angelique shook her head. “I don’t understand; Jean has always treated his slaves well.”

“He a white master. Dat all dat matters. You tink Augustus goin’ to stand by and watch his wife and baby get on a ship and sail away wit another man? And once Dupre learns you a witch and your grandmère is mulatto, you tink he still goin’ want you?”

A steely determination entered Angelique’s eyes. “Jean Dupre loves me. Nothing will break our bond. My ancestry will be of no consequence to him.” She gently wrapped Anton in his blanket and held him tight. “We are going and I don’t intend on giving Augustus a choice. This revolution is horrific, but you cannot treat people the way the plantation owners have treated their slaves and not expect them to rebel. Are any of my own servants still here?”

Taneen nodded. “All de house servants are hidin’ outside and dere’s a few field hands still loyal to you.”

“Good. Take them with you.” Angelique froze. Heavy boots could be heard running up the interior staircase. She gave the wooden casket she still held to Taneen, kissed her son before placing him into the basket, then hugged her grandmère. “If something happens to me, Jean Dupre will help you and Anton.”

While Taneen hurried along the outer gallery, Angelique arranged another blanket in the crib to make it seem as if Anton still slept, then turned to face the door just as Augustus threw it open and halted, a cloud of black smoke surrounding him like an evil aura. Surprise, then rage, filled his cold dark eyes. Angelique stiffened her spine and readied herself for the hardest battle she’d ever fought.

He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. “Well, my dear wife, it seems I should have also placed a guard at your door to keep that darky bitch from helping you escape.” He waved his hand. “Saving the house is no longer possible. There is no stopping those murdering savages. I’ve come to take my son to safety. As for you, my slut of a wife”—he sneered—“your lover is dead. There is no one to save you now.” His grin dripped smug satisfaction. “That’s right, whore. Did you really think I wouldn’t find out you’ve been spreading your legs for that mortal coffee planter?”

Angelique tried to hide her shock. She thought she’d been discreet, but none of that mattered now. The longer she stalled, the better chance Taneen had to get away. She braced herself and steadied her voice. “I will not allow you to take my son.”

Augustus’s bark of laughter was without humor. “You will not, will you? You have no choice. Your simple healing powers are no match for me. I’m the Powerful One. Your purpose was to give me sons. Since one was all you produced, and since you have betrayed me, I have no further use for you.”

His face twisted in disgust. “The boy is lucky he resembles me, or I would kill him as well. You’re a stupid woman, but even you must know I married you for your dowry. My powers are great, but even I can’t conjure wealth. Saving this plantation is what truly mattered to me, and now it’s about to be destroyed.”

The intensity in his eyes put Angelique’s senses on full alert. She took a calming breath and gathered her power. “I’m not as stupid as you think, Augustus. Anton is not going anywhere with you. As far as I’m concerned, you and your plantation can burn in Hell.”

When he lunged, his arm outstretched to cast a powerful blow, she was ready. Angelique flicked her wrist and sent Augustus flying against the wall. Before he could retaliate, she flung up her arms to encase herself in a protective bubble and grabbed the bundled blanket from Anton’s bed. She ran through the gallery doors and down the outer stairs. He bellowed in rage. She lifted her skirts in a dead run toward the sugarcane fields. Mortals couldn’t see her in the bubble, but to another witch the outline of her body was visible.

Patches of drifting smoke swirled around her as she crossed the harvested cane fields, the stubble whipping at her ankles, threatening to trip her. If she could make it to the band of thick vegetation that divided her husband’s plantation from La Maison, she might have a chance. At the sounds of heavy breathing and pounding feet behind her, Angelique increased her speed.

Gasping, her side burning and her legs aching, she shot her fist in the air and flames erupted across the path behind her. She prayed to all the Gods her luck would hold and the firewall would slow Augustus down. Ahead were fifty yards of open field before she could reach the safety of tangled sea grape, wild orchids, and coconut palms.

Suddenly the shield around her shattered and she was hurled to the ground. The breath knocked out of her, she lay on her stomach, Augustus’s laughter coming closer.

“I’ve got you now, whore.”

Sheer panic forced her to her knees, then to her feet. On shaky legs, she glanced over her shoulder. His arm was raised and a flash of light speared toward her. With a strength she did not know she possessed, she flung up her arm, deflecting the blow with an energy shield. Augustus cried out in pain.

When she entered the thick foliage, she waved her hand in front of her clearing a path, making sure it closed behind her. With her breath coming in short gasps, she slowed her pace and tossed aside the loose, empty bundle. In a few more yards, she would reach La Maison’s rows of coffee trees and safety.

As she broke through the sea grape into the clearing, something slammed into her back knocking her off her feet. She used her right hand to break her fall, crying out in pain as the fragile bones in her wrist snapped. With Augustus almost upon her, she managed to rise. Dizzy and nauseous as excruciating pain shot through her wrist, she managed a few steps before Augustus clamped his hand around her upper arm.

His mouth inches from her ear, he growled, “You dare to run from me, bitch.” He turned her toward him and slapped her face, snapping her head back. “You dare to hide your powers, then use them against me.” He slapped her again.

Her head spun, and blood trickled down her chin from her split lip. As she tried to gather her wits, again he growled, “You think you can hide my son from me?” He lifted his fist to deliver another blow. “I’ll never let you have him. Where is he?”

Half-crazed with pain and fury, unable to use her right hand, Angelique mustered what strength she could and kneed him in the groin.

“Bitch, I’ll kill you.”

“Not if I can help it.” With her uninjured hand, she snatched the jeweled dagger from her pocket and plunged it into his chest.

“Rot in Hell, you bastard.”

Without glancing back, she hurried toward the rows of coffee trees. When she entered the clearing where La Maison plantation burned, relief flooded over her. Ahead stood Taneen holding her son, surrounded by a few loyal servants. Jean Dupre limped toward her.

Before she could reach the man she loved, an icy chill surrounded her. She glanced over her shoulder and a scream lodged in her throat. Augustus Montief stood a few feet behind her, the bloody dagger in his raised left hand. Fear such as she’d never known kept her rooted to the spot. For the man, his eyes ablaze with hatred, was no longer flesh and blood, but a shimmering translucent image.

When Augustus spoke, his hollow voice seemed to penetrate her very soul.

“Angelique Montief, I curse you and all those who may come from you and Dupre. Beware. Someday the one who carries my blood will avenge my death.”

He drew back his arm and in a flash of light sent the dagger hurtling through the air. Its bloody point pierced the ground at Angelique’s feet.