Bayou Shadow Hunter. Debbie Herbert

returning to the woods. Tombi had claimed evil dwelled there. A dangerous place swarming with snakes and spirits. Just the thought of snakes was enough to keep her rooted to the porch.

      The screen door creaked open on rusty hinges, and Grandma Tia framed the doorway.

      â€œSomethin’ calling ya to go in them woods again.”

      Annie narrowed her eyes. For all her savvy acumen in eking out an existence bartering mojo bags and spells for groceries and other necessities, her grandma really did have an unsettling sixth sense.

      â€œI won’t be drawn into the woods again,” Annie assured her. “Once was bad enough.”

      â€œThis time, you should go.”

      Annie snorted. “Tombi said there was evil out there. Besides, I hate snakes, and I imagine the woods are full of them.”

      â€œIt’s still daylight. Yer Tombi will protect ya.”

      â€œWhy do you trust this stranger? You’ve never even met him.”

      Again, the fluting notes of music drifted and tempted. They chirruped and whistled like a bird in flight.

      â€œYou hear that?” Annie asked, looking toward the woods.

      Tia shook her head. “Not a thing.”

      Annie stood and lightly brushed the rear of her jeans. Gritty sand and red clay dust permeated every surface outdoors. “You think Tombi’s out there now?”

      Tia’s eyes danced. “He been out there most of the day, hoping to see ya.”

      She couldn’t stop the delicious shiver that vibrated along her spine. Annie cocked her head to the side, studying Tia. “You sure he’s trustworthy?”

      â€œI have a good feelin’ ’bout him.”

      Still, Annie hesitated. Grandma’s sixth sense wasn’t infallible. She often leaned on the side of reckless and trusting.

      â€œYou want everyone to come to you. Just like you search for answers to yer problems outside of yerself.” Tia patted her ample chest. “Sometimes you gots to take heart and just rise up to yer problems.”

      Even her old grandma thought she was gutless. Annie straightened her shoulders. “Fine. If I don’t make it home tonight, send out a search party.”

      She marched into the woods, her posture rigid as a stone column, knowing her grandma watched. “Might as well have called me a coward,” she muttered, stomping through tall weeds and red dirt. Once inside the woods, Annie leaned against a tree, closed her eyes and fully opened her senses, straining to catch the pure music she’d heard on the porch steps.

      Cascading trills floated through the swamp. The same pure melody that had captured her attention from the cottage. “Here I go again,” she said with a sigh, carefully making her way along a thin trail almost eclipsed by dense shrubs on either side. But daylight, and Grandma Tia’s urging to follow the music, gave her a measure of confidence.

      The notes grew louder, more fluid and enchanting. Annie rounded a bend and recognized the water bank where she’d drifted last evening.

      A man sat on a fallen tree limb, playing some sort of reed instrument. Although his naked, broad back faced her, Annie sensed it was Tombi. She wasn’t Tia Henrietta’s granddaughter for nothing.

      Staring at his sleek, muscled torso made her throat and mouth dry. She licked her lips and swallowed hard. She’d bet her grandma’s pantry full of hoodoo charms that Tombi had women follow him everywhere. The Pied Piper of Bayou La Siryna.

      The music stopped. In one fluid motion, like a dance of danger, Tombi jumped to his feet and whirled around, a dagger gleaming in his right fist. The wooden instrument he played dangled loosely in his left hand. Warrior and musician melded into one. His face was taut, and his eyes instantly fixed on her.

      Whoa. Annie threw up her hands and took an involuntary step backward. For all she knew, Tombi might have deliberately summoned her with the music, luring her to him against her better judgment. She’d done the same thing following the will-o’-the-wisps last night.

      Tombi slowly lowered the dagger and secured it in the leather sheath belted at his waist, never breaking his gaze. “You came back,” he said in a flat tone.

      He didn’t act like a man hoping to see her, as Grandma Tia had claimed.

      â€œI had to. You never told me your story.” Annie walked forward and nodded at the dagger. “You always this uptight?”

      â€œThese woods are full of danger.”

      â€œReally? Because even my grandma thinks it’s perfectly safe out here during the day.”

      He frowned and crossed his arms. “It used to be.”

      A series of scars tattooed the smooth, muscular plane of his chest and shoulders, distracting her from his unsettling response. “Have you been in knife fights?” she blurted.

      Tombi grabbed the T-shirt on the log and swiftly pulled it on.

      â€œI’m sorry.” Annie was horrified at her rudeness. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

      â€œI’m not ashamed of them,” he said gruffly. He nodded at the log. “Sit.”

      Her embarrassment faded. “I don’t take commands like a dog,” she said, lifting her chin.

      A ghost of a smile flitted the corners of his lips, so fleeting she might have dreamed it had been there. He bowed his head a fraction before he sat down, but didn’t apologize.

      Annie gestured to the surrounding trees. “So, what’s the danger? Are the wisps malicious or something? I mean, your friend sounded sad and desperate to me—not evil.”

      â€œIn real life, Bo was all that was true and good.”

      â€œAnd now?” she prompted.

      â€œRemains to be seen.” He studied her, eyes narrowed and unflinching.

      Annie smoothed the tumble of curls away from her face. “What do you mean?”

      â€œIt’s hard to tell good from evil sometimes.”

      â€œDo you see everything so black-and-white? Surely there’s a dozen shades of gray in between.”

      â€œNo.” His jaw muscles clenched. “You’re either with me or you are with Nalusa.”

      â€œNah-loosa?” she asked, testing the unfamiliar word.

      â€œNalusa Falaya—it means ‘long black being’ in Choctaw. He’s a spirit that resembles a man, but he can shape-shift into different forms.”

      Annie drew a circle in the dirt with the toe of her sneaker. Root working—the conjure magick of her grandma—was one thing...but this? It sounded like an old Native American tale invented to keep children close to camp and away from the dark unknown.

      â€œYou don’t believe me.” Tombi picked up a large stick on the ground by their feet and flung it violently. It hit a tall oak and splintered with a crack as loud as gunfire.

      Annie sidled away from the heat of his anger, not wanting to be singed by his sudden wrath. “I really should head back home,” she offered in a small voice.

      â€œIt’s real,” Tombi said harshly. “Nalusa exists. And he can change into snake form. And I believe that wasn’t any ordinary snake that killed Bo. It was Nalusa.”

      â€œSo,