“The battles didn’t often reach the bayous,” Liam said. “Too messy, too wet, not enough line of sight.”
Tadji nodded. “And when they did, the impact was often covered with a few feet of muddy water. Turn here,” she said, and directed Liam to turn the truck onto a bumpy gravel road, the swamp lapping at the edges. If the water had been much higher, the road would have been impassable.
The house sat on an empty rise surrounded by magnolia trees and palmetto plants, and was absolutely gorgeous. We weren’t far from the river, and the house, two stories with porches that extended the length of the building, sat on brick columns to keep it dry in case of flood. Both floors were lined with windows and haint blue plantation shutters. The house looked old, but was in perfect condition.
A car was parked beside a boat on a trailer in the driveway beside the house, and a pirogue leaned against one of the columns. Transportation for any conditions.
Tadji opened the truck door, hopped down into the grass, wiped Quinn Truck Residue from her pants. I followed her.
Liam circled around, and we glanced at each other while she looked at the house.
“You all right?”
“No,” she said. “I’m nervous, and my palms are sweating, and my stomach is in a knot.”
“You can do this,” I said. “We’ll go in, get them out, and go.”
“Let’s be quick about it,” Liam said, and gestured to the stairs. “Shall we?”
We took the steps to the first floor, and Tadji knocked on one of the double doors, also haint blue, before pushing it open. She walked inside, and we followed.
The interior was lovely, and beautifully French. Ivory walls climbed to an olive green ceiling, which met the painted wooden mantel of a fireplace. The floors were dark wood, mostly covered by a faded rug. The furniture was simple, and probably as old as the house. Ladder-back chairs, a table that held a hobnail vase of flowers, a low sofa.
We walked through one parlor and then a dining room, also pretty and outfitted with antiques, and then into the kitchen.
A woman stood there, stirring a pot that sizzled on the stove.
“Hervé? That you? I thought you were bringing the propane tomor—” She turned back and glanced at us with eyes the same deep brown of Tadji’s. The resemblance didn’t end there. Her skin had the same dark depth, her limbs similarly long and slim. Her hair was a short cloud of tight curls, the fingers around the spoon elegant and slender.
When she recognized Tadji, she froze, looked from her daughter to the strangers she’d brought with her. Fear crept into her eyes, and the spoon clattered to the floor.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“Tadji. What are you doing here? You’re not supposed to be here. It’s too dangerous. And you aren’t to bring strangers into the house. Are you all right? Is everything all right?”
Her words were fast, panic clearly seeping in.
“They’re friends,” Tadji said, taking a step forward, “and they’re here to help. Things are happening, Mama. Big things. You need to be prepared.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What kinds of things?”
“We should talk to you and Aunt Zana together. It affects both of you.”
She picked up the spoon, turned off the stove. “Zana,” she yelled. “Come in here, please.”
We stood in awkward silence in the kitchen until floorboards began to creak in another part of the house.
Zana came through the doorway in a pale pink dress, looking much like a ghost in this very old house in this very old bayou. She could have been Phaedra’s twin. She had the same long bones and wispy figure, but her face was a little longer, her mouth a little rounder.
Her eyes widened when she saw Tadji in the kitchen. “Tadji. What are you doing here? Has something happened?”
“Hi, Aunt Zana. This is Claire, and this is Liam,” Tadji said, pointing to us. “We need to talk to both of you. Is there a place we can sit down?”
Phaedra took Zana’s hand, walked into the living room linked to the kitchen. They sat down on one couch while Tadji and I sat down on the other. Liam stayed on his feet, arms crossed and ready to move. I hoped we had more time than that.
“What’s this about?” Phaedra asked.
“It’s about you and your magic,” Tadji said.
The sisters looked at each other, linked their hands again.
“What about it?” Phaedra lifted her chin defiantly.
“Someone’s trying to open the Veil,” Liam said, “and they’re looking for Sensitives who can help them. They have a list of Sensitives, people who they’re interrogating to get that information. And we think they’re making them wraiths so they can’t report about that interrogation.”
Phaedra’s brows lifted. “I don’t see what this has to do with us.”
“You’re both on the list,” he said. “We think you’re next.”
The words fell like thunderclaps in the quiet room.
The sisters’ fingers tightened. “We haven’t left the bayou in years,” Phaedra said. “We couldn’t be on any list.”