I ignored him and moved across the ground on silent feet, listening to the chattering of night birds, the grunting of gators … and the distant buzz of sprites' wings. Pausing in the center of Papa Cocodril's island, I noticed one watching me from a nearby branch, its sharp white fangs bared in a hiss.
“Don't worry,” a woman's rich voice called from the doorway. I glanced over to find the Swamp Witch, Rosinée, standing in the golden glow, wiping her hands on her apron and gesturing with her chin for me to come up the long wooden ramp to the house. “I spelled this island against unwanted visitors. One of those little buggers try to fly over my wards? They'll be incinerated faster than these bloodsuckers in the Zap lamp.” She tapped her knuckles against a light hanging near the door before turning around and heading inside, not even bothering to see if I would follow.
Sweeping my wet hair over one shoulder, I quickly arranged it into a fishtail braid, and headed up to the front door. Well, the tattered curtain hanging over the doorway, but same thing.
The air was thick with the savory smells of gumbo—I recognized the spicy burn of andouille sausage, the salty scent of crab meat, and the richness of … gator meat? Hmm. Was that cannibalistic for Papa Cocodril to be eating? I had no idea.
“Take a seat,” the witch said, her dreadlocks swinging forward as she leaned over the bubbling pot and inhaled sharply, letting out a satisfied sigh. “And do you want a robe or something to cover up with?”
Taking a quick look around the shack—which, really, was just a single room—I noticed a small bed, a dresser, and the tiny stove Rosinée was working over. There was nothing else but an old metal screen in the corner, Papa Cocodril's smooth, velvety tones echoing out from behind it as he sang a low, sad song under his breath.
“I don't need a robe,” I told her, comfortable enough in my nakedness to sit in a chair in a strange room with full confidence.
“I thought that new soul o' yours was human?” the president of the rougarou said, dressed in heavy skirts that jangled with beads and bone as she moved. She seemed so different than the woman in the story I’d been told, the one about her straddling her motorcycle, lording over Arlo's crumpled form.
I squeezed my hands into fists and Rosinée noticed, letting out a deep, chilling bellyful of laughter.
“I might be human on the inside,” I snarled, before she could comment further, “but just remember, this new body is fae. This new body belongs to a goddess. I could rend your head from your shoulders before you had a chance to add the okra to that gumbo.”
“So you think,” the woman said as Papa Cocodril made his way over to the table and took one of the other two mismatched chairs, settling into it with a top hat lilting on his head, a cane across his lap, and a blue and white bowtie at his neck. “But you don't know everything, girly. In fact, you don't know a lot from what I hear.”
“You hear?” I asked, immediately on edge. “You sent the sprites.”
It wasn't a question, but Rosinée laughed and answered me anyway.
“No, I have other methods, you silly girl,” she said, chopping up some okra and tossing it into the pot. “You best reign in that arrogance or your immortal head will end up in a glass jar, staring at shadows for the rest of eternity.”
My throat tightened and I had to blink several times to banish the sudden rush of memories.
Dark shadows surrounding me, claws raking my skin, rending my flesh. My mouth opens in a scream and those nails dig into my tongue, severing it, taking my voice away for the hundredth, the thousandth, the millionth time. I can't remember. It doesn't matter; I don't care. I just want to have a voice again; I want to feel human.
“Tell me about those lords of yours? The whole world took a gasp and a breath when you claimed three of them at once. You sure you want to go committing to all that dick for the rest of your soul's stay in the Veil Keeper? Or maybe you plan on jumping ship like the last one and so your commitments don't mean shit to you?”
“I can have other lovers,” I growled out through gritted teeth.
It was true—I could. The Veil Keeper was not bound to mate with just her Lords, but it was very rare for her to stray outside of them.
“P’shaw, Rosinée,” Papa Cocodril scoffed, rapping the head of his cane against the table, “Dat's enough o' dat gossip, eh? Dis young Veil Keeper didn't come to listen to you prattle on, and nor did I, see?” He turned his eerie white irises back to me and scratched at his chin. He still wore the same bone necklace as he'd had on as a huge gator, which was interesting.
“So, girl. You come for da key? Took you damn long time, no? Dat key been not’ing but trouble por moi, see?” He narrowed his eyes at me and I couldn't help my curiosity.
“How so?” I asked. “Does it have something to do with you being turned into a gator?”
My eyes flickered to Rosinée and back to Papa Cocodril. The story said it had been the Swamp Witch who'd cursed him …
“Yeh, you could say dat,” he chuckled heartily and even the dreadlocked witch cracked a smile. “See my woman here, she ain't never had the best of morals and values. Only good t’ing she ever do was fall in love with a fils-putain like me. Anyway, dat last Horned One, he entrust yo' key to me, for safe keepin', see? But Rosinée, ma chère, she want dat power fo' herself.”
Startled, I glanced at the swamp witch in question and found her scowling at Papa Cocodril, looking every bit the pissed off wife.
“Ah, don't cha give me dat scowl, woman. Dis be old news, dis.” The ageless man scolded his lover then turned back to me with a flash of bright white teeth. “Ah, da rest be history. I refuse, she turn me into gator. One day a month, we meet, we eat, we fuck, and she ask me to apologize and give her yo' key. Every month, I say no, and off I go as a huge ass gator.”
“Ah …” I wasn't totally sure what to say to that. The whole reason he'd spent so many years in gator form was because he was protecting my key? From the woman standing mere feet away?
“But you here now, you can take dat blasted t’ing off my hands and my woman an' I can be done wit dis stupid fight, no?” He raised his brows at me but when my attention flickered to Rosinée, there was something I didn't like about her smile.
Everything Papa Cocodril had said was true, but she had noticeably not contributed to his story. Why? For fear of being caught in a lie?
“Yes, I suppose I can.” I squinted at the swamp witch, but until she spoke I wouldn't be able to sense any deception. “So, may I have it? I'm sure you have better things to do with your night than entertain me.”
“'course you can, girl.” Papa Cocodril tugged his gator tooth necklace off his head, removing his top hat to do so then replacing it on his curly dark hair. He then took the middle tooth and inserted it into a groove of his intricately detailed cane and popped it open to reveal a hidden compartment.
A hidden compartment, that was totally empty.