“I wonder why the loa has left us alone. It must be able to do more than catch me off guard so I’m forced to grab on to a snake.”
“I have no idea, but I do know a loa is strongest right after it has a ride in its host. It siphons energy while it’s inside. So maybe this one wasn’t primed on enough bokor juice?” I made a face. “That was the best explanation I had.”
“Well, I hope that’s the case, because I’d prefer to fight a tired bokor—”
A scream rent the air, followed by a strangled howl.
It sounded like a cross between a wounded cub and an anguished siren. “Oh my gods, that’s Naomi!” But before I could move more than five paces forward, something crashed into me from the front, bowling me over.
You won’t get to her in time, the voice said in my ear as I hit the ground. Your blood will taste deeeelicious. We will devour it gladly. But you must wait your turn.
I punched the air in front of me but came in contact with nothing. And just as quickly it was gone. “You’re not getting her!” I shouted to the sky. “You’ll have to kill me first!”
“Jess.” Marcy stood over me, her voice quaking slightly. “The air smells like black pepper and lavender.”
“So?” I stood up and brushed myself off. “Did you finally hear what it said? It’s going to drink Naomi’s blood. We have to stop it. It doesn’t want us to get to her and it’s trying to slow us down.”
“No, you don’t understand.” She grabbed my arm, pulling me up short. “That is a very particular scent, and once I smelled it, it triggered something that was taught to me a long time ago, like clicking the last cog into place.”
“What does it mean?” I asked. When she didn’t talk immediately I urged, “Marcy, spit it out!”
“If what I was taught is correct, the loa harassing us is the spirit of Marinette.”
“Who’s that?” I asked as I dragged Marcy along with me. “Come on, talk to me while we move.”
She followed, frowning. “How can you not know who that is? She’s renowned in the lore as one of the most powerful and vicious spirits around. The rumor, at least for the witches, is she started out as an extremely powerful goddess, who was killed or punished for her wrongdoings—which is almost unheard of. Then she came back as a spirit to seek revenge and wreak havoc on the supernatural world.” We scrambled over trees, trying to make up for lost time. “Honestly, when you learn things as a child, it’s in one ear and out the other—until you see, or in this case smell, some kind of real proof. Well, that scent is enough proof for me. It’s a huge part of the story. No one else smells like black pepper, much less coupled with lavender. But there’s one more key piece—” Marcy stumbled over some roots and I grabbed her arm to steady her.
“What is it?” I stopped, turning to face her. “I know I’m not going to like it, so just get it over with.”
“Marinette is the patron of werewolves.”
I processed that bit of information. Werewolves?
Marcy was impatient. “Do you understanding what I’m saying? She’s a former goddess—the goddess of werewolves. As in, she was the first one to create them.”
I was too stunned to respond.
Marcy nodded sympathetically. “I know this is crazy, and must be a lot to process, but who do the wolves consider as their creation myth?”
Marcy was right to call it a “myth.” Supernaturals had inhabited the earth long before there had been any written documentation. For a millennium, only oral legends had been handed down through each Sect, which were highly susceptible to being embellished or exaggerated, as anything is if it’s handed down through that many years of history. Our Pack Bible had many facts, but our creation, the birth of the first wolf, was considered legend—loosely interpreted—but believed nonetheless.
“Our creation myth states that the first human was turned into a werewolf,” I recited from memory, “by an ancient Scottish goddess who’d been rebuffed by him. He’d been a great warrior—the greatest the world had seen—and was cursed to live out a life of immortality without his lover.”
“A Scottish goddess, huh?” Marcy’s voice held some irony. “Voudoun is an ancient magic that has been around for eons. Your goddess creation story could easily be entwined with some myths and legends of the voudoun, which would be how she ended up a loa. Honestly, Celtic and African myths are not such strange bedfellows when you go back millennia.” She shrugged as we began to walk again. “I’m telling you though, that scent is unmistakable. It sent all the hairs on my arms jumping at once.”
“So what you’re saying is, if this is Marinette, there’s a chance I might be heading to do battle against my creator?” I was dumbfounded even thinking that something like that could be true.
Marcy tucked an errant curl behind her ear. “I have no idea. I’m just telling you what I learned as a young, impressionable witch. Witches like to hammer scary folklore crap into our brains to prepare us for the unexpected, and this”—she waved her arm around—“is about as unexpected as I’ve ever seen. The goddess of your creation myth could be her, but who knows? There’s no way for us to know for sure until we know for sure.”
“Eloquent,” I said wryly. Another scream rent the air and I took off, yelling, “We’re coming, Naomi! Hold on!”
13
As I raced forward, my mind replayed everything Marcy had just told me. I leapt and bounded over roots and trees, mindless of anything else. My wolf snapped her jaws, urging us on. We’re close, I told her. I can sense it.
We’d shot ahead of Marcy, but she wasn’t very far behind.
My wolf held her nose in the air. And as we ran, the scent of black pepper and lavender grew stronger. I think I see something up ahead, I told my wolf. There’s a break in the trees.