This Wicked Game Read online

  “Yes, but we were one of only three,” Claire’s mother said. “And you can bet they’ll find a way to make it our fault.”

  It was an old argument. Claire’s dad, Noel, was an optimist when it came to human nature, choosing to believe that every slight was a misunderstanding and every catastrophe the result of a simple mistake.

  Pilar, on the other hand, was not so forgiving.

  Then again, it was easier for her dad not to care what the Guild members thought about them. As a great-grandson of Marie Laveau, the most famous voodoo queen in history, his membership was a birthright. But for her mother, a poor bayou priestess with no heritage to speak of, it mattered. She could never seem to shake the suspicion that their role as outcasts was the result of Noel’s marrying her.

  Claire thought the prejudice was more about her. Despite the powerful blood running through her veins, she had shown as little aptitude for and interest in the craft as her father. To the members of the Guild, she was proof that the Laveau reign was dead.

  Her father pulled through the scrolled iron gates leading to the Toussaint estate. The house came into view at the end of the drive, eight cars parked near the old carriage house at the back of the property. Her dad parked behind a familiar black Mercedes, and they climbed out of the car and headed toward the front door.

  The Toussaint yard was perfectly maintained, the jasmine along the walkway and wild honeysuckle near the front portico scenting the air with heavy perfume. The house was one of the oldest in the District, its large columns perfectly spaced along the terrace and rising all the way up to the elaborate cornices at the roofline.

  “Mrs. and Mrs. Kincaid.” Betsy, the Toussaint’s housekeeper, opened the door, waving them in. “The rest are in the library. I’ll see you in.”

  Betsy led them down the hall, the wood floors polished to a high shine. They were almost to the library when little Sophie rounded the corner at a dead run, black hair bouncing on her tiny shoulders. She skidded to a stop when she spotted them.

  “Claire!” Ignoring Betsy’s good-natured but obvious disapproval, Sophie grabbed Claire’s legs in a hug.

  “Hey, pip-squeak,” Claire said, bending over to squeeze the Toussaints’ six-year-old daughter.

  She and Sophie had a mutual admiration society. Sophie was always underfoot, always in trouble with Betsy, and always uninterested in the Guild’s business. Claire couldn’t help wondering if Sophie would grow up to be as apathetic as she was about voodoo.

  Sophie gazed up at Claire. “You’re coming to the ball, right? I have a new dress!”

  Claire nodded reluctantly. The Guild’s annual Priestesses’ Ball was in two days, and while it was far from her favorite event, there was no way she could skip it.

  “Claire has a new dress, too,” Pilar interjected, smiling indulgently at Sophie.

  “Okay, now,” Betsy said, swatting at the little girl with a dish towel. “Get! And if you don’t stay out from under my feet, I’m going to put you to work.”

  Sophie stepped away from Claire. “Bye, Claire. See you at the ball!” She skipped toward the kitchen at the back of the house.

  They continued down the hall to a pair of carved double doors. Betsy pushed them open and stepped into the library.

  “Mrs. Toussaint, the Kincaids have arrived.”

  Estelle Toussaint, her chestnut hair perfectly coiffed into a tight bun, rose from a chair by the mantel. “Thank you, Betsy.”

  Claire felt an irrational burst of panic as Betsy left the room, as if the rotund woman could somehow protect her from the vipers in the Guild.

  “Come in, come in,” Estelle waved them in, advancing on them with a drink in one hand. “We’ve all had quite a day.”

  Claire’s mother murmured sympathetically while her dad joined the others near the fireplace. Estelle came toward Claire, taking her chin in one hand. Claire wanted to swat it away, but she was paralyzed by the look in the woman’s eyes and the utter silence that had descended on the rest of the room.

  “My goodness!” Estelle said. “You’ve had a lot of excitement today, haven’t you?” She surveyed Claire, as if daring her to disagree.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Well, Claire.” She dropped her hand. “It seems you’ve secured your first Guild meeting early. Come have a seat with the others, dear.”

  Claire looked around the room. There were Julia and Reynaud St. Martin. They owned a wholesale store in the business district and were one of three families that occupied seats of power in the Guild, together with the Toussaints, who ran everything, and Claire’s parents, who were just figureheads because of her father’s lineage. The St. Martins’ daughter, Allegra, was a gorgeous brunette rumored to have a powerful gift for the craft.

  Claire let her eyes roam.

  Delphine and Armand Rousseau, who ran the regional store for the nearby suburb of Metairie and didn’t have any children, sat on the sofa at the center of the room. Next to them were Inez and Gabriel Morgan. They owned most of the stores at the outer reaches of the city. Claire had always liked their oldest daughter, Laura, a quiet redhead with a shy smile.

  There was Charles Valcour—a widower for as long as Claire could remember—and the Valcour twins, Charles Junior and William, who had just returned from college. Bridget Fortier was at the sideboard pouring herself a drink, probably still recovering from a messy divorce that had almost cost the Guild their much-coveted discretion. Bridget had inherited her father’s supply house after his death in a plane accident when she was just twenty-two years old. Despite her legendary temper, Claire couldn’t help feeling sorry for the woman. Raising eight-year-old Daniel alone couldn’t be easy. He was a “pistol,” as Claire’s dad liked to say.

  The group was rounded out by Sasha’s parents, Christopher and Pauline Drummond, standing near the wall by the fireplace. They ran a members-only store not unlike the Kincaids. Claire smiled as they raised a hand in greeting.

  She didn’t know how many members the Guild actually had—probably hundreds if not thousands. But these eight families were the ones who managed, ran, and controlled the supply houses and made policy to guide the organization’s rules and practices.

  Claire had known them her whole life.

  Her eyes came to rest on Alexandre Toussaint, Sophie’s big brother, leaning against the wall by the piano. On him, the posture looked sexy instead of lazy. He gazed at her from under thick lashes, and Claire had the feeling that he knew exactly what she’d been thinking while his mother had scrutinized her. Like Claire, he was seventeen, but he’d bypassed the formal-invite-on-your-eighteenth-birthday rule by virtue of his last name and address. All the Guild meetings were held at the Toussaint house, and Claire had never heard anyone question Xander’s presence.

  Pilar moved over on one of the love seats and motioned to her daughter. “Sit, Claire.”

  Having no choice but to play the dutiful daughter, Claire did. Besides, she had to admit to a grudging sense of comfort from being near her mother.

  “Now, is everybody settled?” Estelle asked, looking around. She continued without waiting for an answer. “Good. Let’s get started then.” She turned to her husband. “Bernard.”

  Bernard Toussaint rose, standing in front of the fireplace. Looking at him, it was easy to see where Alexandre had gotten his good looks. Bernard’s father had come to Louisiana from Haiti and married a rebellious Spanish heiress, a gene pool that had endowed his progeny with imposing stature, skin the color of caramel, and slightly exotic features.

  But despite Bernard’s commanding presence, everyone knew it was Estelle who ran things behind the scenes. It wasn’t that unusual. The room was full of powerful women accustomed to sheathing their strength in velvet gloves. In the South—and in the world of voodoo—it was the women who really ruled.

  “Good evening,” Bernard started. “Thank you all for coming on s
uch short notice. I know our next meeting isn’t scheduled for two more weeks, but a situation has arisen that requires our immediate attention.”

  Everyone shifted in their seats, a few casting glances at Claire. Given her attendance, it was only natural to think she had something to do with the impromptu gathering.

  “This afternoon, three of the Guild’s supply houses received orders for a blacklisted item. The orders came in at precisely the same time—one through the St. Martins’ warehouse, one through one of our stores, and one through the Kincaids’ house. In each case, the customers in question had a key that garnered them access through the private entrances, though a preliminary investigation reveals that none of the clients in question have frequented the Guild stores in the city before today.”

  “What was it?” Bridget asked from a chair by the fireplace. “The blacklisted item.”

  Bernard hesitated, and Claire wondered if he would actually say it out loud. Even she knew it would cause panic.

  Bernard continued. “The clients in question each placed large orders which included, among other things, the blood of black Panthera pardus.”

  A gasp escaped from the room, followed by an escalating murmur.

  Bernard held up one hand. “Please. I know you’re all alarmed, but we’re here to compare notes so that we can better understand the nature of the orders.”

  “Better understand it? What’s to understand?” Julia St. Martin asked. “Black panther’s blood hasn’t been routinely used for at least a century.” She lowered her voice. “And with good reason.”

  Bernard nodded. “Absolutely. But since I have your account of the event at the St. Martin facility, and I have the one phoned in to Estelle and me from the store on Lafayette, let’s hear Claire’s version, as well, shall we?”

  It was a rhetorical question, and Julia sat up straighter, smoothing her skirt like that would eliminate the wrinkles from her pride.

  “Claire.” Bernard waved her forward. “Please.”

  Claire rose reluctantly. Making her way to the fireplace, she was torn between regret that she hadn’t listened to her mother and put on something more “appropriate” than shorts and a tank top and a vague sense of triumph that she’d stood her ground. At least she’d had the sense to twist her hair into a long braid.

  She stood next to Bernard.

  “Please explain what happened when the woman came in,” Bernard coached.

  Claire took a deep breath and recounted the chain of events, starting with the woman’s entrance through the private door and continuing with her order and Claire’s explanation that there would be a delay for the panther’s blood.

  When she was done, she hesitated, thinking about the woman’s use of her name, wondering if it was important enough to mention.

  “Is there anything else?” Estelle prompted. “Anything at all?”

  Sighing, she decided she might as well tell them everything so they could take it from here.

  “The woman knew my name.”

  Her father stood up, shock registering on his face as everyone else talked over each other.

  Bernard held up a hand to quiet them. “What do you mean, Claire?”

  She shrugged. “Right before she left, she called me by my first name.”

  “And you’re sure you’ve never seen her before?” Gabriel Morgan asked.

  Claire nodded, thinking about the woman’s distinctive clothing, her cold, dark eyes. “I think I would have remembered her.”

  “Is there anything else you can tell us about the woman?” Julia demanded. “The other clients who placed orders were men.”

  Claire thought about it. “Not really. I mean, she was pretty and . . . I don’t know, kind of glamorous, I guess.”

  “Pretty and glamorous?” Julia said, disbelieving. “How are we supposed to identify her with that?”

  “I don’t know. I’m sorry.” Claire paused. “She did say that she would come back next week, though.”

  “Next week!” Julia exclaimed.

  Claire’s mother turned to Julia. “Claire did the best she could under the circumstances.”

  Noel placed a hand on his wife’s knee. Claire recognized the gesture as one designed to rein in her mother’s notorious temper.

  Good luck with that, Dad.

  “I know we’re all . . . disturbed by this news,” Bernard said, “but Claire did the only thing she could without raising an alarm. She filled the order without question and went right to Pilar. It’s all any of us could hope for in such a situation.”

  “Wouldn’t it have been better to raise an alarm while she was still there?” Charlie Valcour asked, his pale face and blue eyes calling to mind nothing of the stereotypical voodoo families of old. “I mean, then she would have left, right?”

  Charlie’s father, Charles Senior, heaved a resigned sigh. “Then the woman wouldn’t have come back. And if she doesn’t come back, we won’t have another chance to identify her or find out why she wants the panther blood.”

  Charlie flushed, his skin turning pink under his freckles.

  “I think we all know why she wants it,” Claire’s mother said. “There’s only one reason anyone would.”

  “But it’s forbidden.” Delphine Rousseau’s voice was almost a whisper, and the room instantly quieted. Claire guessed that’s what happened when you didn’t talk much. People listened when you did.

  “And if the woman entered through the locked door,” Delphine continued, “she must be a member of the Guild on some continent. Why would she risk expulsion?”

  “Well now, that’s something we don’t know yet, isn’t it?” Julia’s voice was snide, and Delphine seemed to shrink a little inside her tailored suit.

  The room erupted into noise as everyone volunteered theories about the motive behind the orders.

  Claire, grateful for the opportunity to escape, took advantage of the chaos by edging to the door. Her mother was the only one who noticed, though she didn’t say anything as Claire slipped into the hallway.

  Making her way to the back of the house, Claire continued through the kitchen, where Betsy was banging around in one of the cupboards. Claire opened the back door as quietly as she could and stepped off the terrace, heading toward the arbor at the rear of the property.

  It was quiet, the air almost liquid with summer heat and humidity. She followed the winding path, not wanting to risk Estelle’s wrath should she accidentally step on the flowers, and took a seat at the big iron table.

  “Bad luck, huh?”

  The voice came from behind her. Claire turned to see Alexandre Toussaint standing at the entrance to the arbor.

  She rolled her eyes. “That’s an understatement.”

  He came toward her, the setting sun turning his skin golden. He held out a hand, pulling her to her feet when she took it. His arms snaked around her waist.

  “I wondered why you didn’t text me back,” he said, looking down at her.

  “Sorry. I was a little preoccupied.”

  “No kidding.” His eyes, as smooth and liquid as chocolate, appraised her. “You okay?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?’

  He shrugged, his lithe but muscular shoulders pulling on the buttons of his shirt. “I was worried when I heard.”

  “About the customer?” Claire forced a laugh, pushing away the memory of the woman using her name. “She was probably just thinking she could kill her ex or something.”

  “She knew your name,” he said.

  “She could have gotten that anywhere,” Claire said. “You know, with Marie and all.”

  It was true. Claire didn’t like to think about strangers knowing who she was just because of her great-great-grandmother, but anyone with some persistence and an internet connection could probably trace Marie’s genealogy to the Kincaids.

  He brushed a
loose strand of hair back from her face. “I worry about you.”

  She smiled. “Don’t. I’m fine.”

  “So you always say.” He leaned in until his lips were just inches from hers. “How long do you think they’ll be busy?” he asked, referring to their parents and the rest of the Guild leadership.

  “Long enough.”

  He kissed her, his mouth conforming perfectly to hers. She never stopped being surprised at the feeling that arose between them. They’d known each other their whole lives and had been dating in secret for over a year, but somehow the rush of desire she felt in his arms hadn’t dimmed even a little.

  He reluctantly pulled away, looking into her eyes. “Claire . . .”

  She was bracing herself for the question she knew would follow when the sound of shoes crunching on gravel alerted them to someone’s approach. They pulled apart just as Xander’s mother arrived.

  “There you are!” Estelle said, her gaze skimming over them. “We’ve been looking all over for you two.”

  “I’m sorry,” Claire said. “It’s my fault. I just . . . I needed some air. Xander was nice enough to check on me.”

  “I’m sure you’ve had quite a fright.” Despite her words, Estelle didn’t look sympathetic. Her gaze slid to her son. “Thank you for checking on Claire, Alexandre. Let’s escort her back to the house, shall we? Her parents are ready to leave.”

  Estelle turned around, heading up the pathway. Claire and Xander followed behind her, careful to keep their distance in her company.

  THREE

  Claire knew things were bad by how little her parents said on the way home. She tried to get something out of them by asking what the Guild planned to do, but her mother just said that everything was under control and not to worry.

  Which was fine with her. Claire had done her part. Maybe they would leave her out of it now.

  It was after nine when they got home. Her parents headed straight for the study, where they would no doubt hash out every detail of what had happened at the Toussaints’. Claire was halfway up the stairs to her room when she realized she’d never closed up the shop for the day.