Serafina watched from the doorway as Michael tried to cross the barrier she had erected around the bed, and grinned as it shoved him back. He tried again with more commitment, and the barrier repelled him with equal force, tossing him in the air, limbs flexed like a frightened cat. He shook off his surprise and crept forward with his hand extended to test what he could not see. Meeting with resistance, he backed away, stooped forward like a runner on the block, and charged. The barrier received his momentum and flung him across the room like a slingshot into the doorframe with a loud and satisfying smack.
Serafina burst into laughter. “I wouldn’t try that again if I were you.”
Michael jumped to his feet and scrambled away. “Who are you?”
He puffed himself up big, as if trying to intimidate her with his size. She saw his fear. A man like him—tall, handsome, rich, white—would be accustomed to having the advantage, to being in control. Too bad for him.
“You’re the grandmother, aren’t you? The witch who tried to kill me.”
She inclined her head.
“Well, I’m still here.”
“I see that.”
“Does it disappoint you?”
She shrugged. “I’ll get over it.”
She walked to the edge of the candles and looked over at Adriana, who seemed unaware of anything happening in front of her.
“Such a beauty, eh? Locked away in a castle like Rapunzel. You know this fairytale? Because you may be a prince back where you come from, but not here. Not in Brazil. Here, I am queen.”
When Michael scoffed, she beckoned for Jian Carlo, who appeared in the hallway behind her and waited like an obedient dog. The American needed a lesson in respect and nothing showed power like a broken man groveling at her feet.
“Have you met Adriana’s husband?”
Jian Carlo knelt beside Serafina and rubbed his cheek against her leg.
“Like you, he was an arrogant fool. But look at him now?” She hooked her finger under his chin, raised him to his feet, and kissed the top of his head. “Who am I, Jian Carlo?”
He gazed at her adoringly. “My queen.”
“That’s right.” She turned his face toward Adriana, sitting on the bed with her dress fanned around her knees. “And who is that?”
He wrinkled his nose. “The whore.”
Serafina smirked at Michael. “You see? Adriana is not the angel you think she is, so pretty, so sweet. When I’m done with her, you’ll see her for the way she truly is—a selfish, conniving whore.”
Michael lunged at her. Jian Carlo shoved him back, growling like a dog. Serafina stroked his back.
“Go back to America, Mr. Cross. This is not your concern.”
“Like hell it isn’t. What’s wrong with you people? She’s your granddaughter.”
“She is nothing to me. Just a cancer my son was too stupid to let me kill.”
They glared at one another; him at a loss for words and her with too many to utter.
“Get out,” she said.
“Not until you drop this voodoo bullshit.”
She pushed Jian Carlo aside and stepped up to Michael, eye to eye, the slight heel of her sandals putting them at equal height. “You ignorant little gnat. You think you know how things work here? You know nothing. You think because you have a piece of meat dangling between your legs that you have power? I’ve been dealing with men like you my whole life and have paid them all back in full. No one interferes with Quimbanda. No one dares.”
His hot breath smacked her face, as he exhaled in frustration. Then he smiled, turned his back on her, and charged for the bed.