fresh out of arsenic and eye of newt.”
Tombi squinted at the jars of dried spices and roots lining the countertops, the basket of pink mojo bags she’d assembled earlier that morning and the bunches of dried herbs hanging above on the ceiling. “Unusual, but nothing overtly suspicious, like a box of rat poison.”
Was he serious? Annie frowned. “Now, look here, you can’t just—”
Tombi opened the pantry door, and she drew away from the counter, spine stiffening. “Who said you could go poking about everywhere?” she demanded.
“You said I could look around.” He stepped in the pantry and ran a finger over the shelves. “Ah, now it’s getting interesting. Graveyard dirt, coffin nails and—” he picked up a sealed jar and turned “—swamp juice?” His nose crinkled at the puke-green cloudiness. “Looks like it could kill someone. Bacterial infection would be a gruesome death.”
“Put it back, and mind your own business.”
He returned it to the shelf, and Annie poured steaming tea into two mugs. She lifted the silver ball that held the loose ingredients in the teapot and waggled it. “We’re drinking from the same pot. Just so you know.”
Tombi sank into one of the cane-backed kitchen chairs, and Annie sat across from him at the table. He filled the room with his strong presence, overpowered what was once her peaceful sanctuary. Made it disturbing.
Exciting.
Even the air she breathed reeked of masculinity and testosterone—forceful and heady.
Annie slid the ceramic bowl filled with packets of sugar to the middle of the table. “You’ll want to sweeten up that brew. It’s a bit bitter. If you’d rather use honey, we have some.”
“This will do.”
She couldn’t meet his eyes, instead staring at his lean, muscled forearms and large hands as he ripped open a sugar packet and stirred his tea. What would it be like to have his hands touching her all over? A warm flush blossomed on her cheeks, and she gripped her mug with both hands to steady the turmoil Tombi awoke in her body.
Stop it. He can’t be trusted. So far, he had brought nothing but empty promises and disaster.
* * *
Tombi swallowed a mouthful of the astringent tea and struggled to conceal his revulsion. But if it would help strengthen his aching limbs and exhaustion, he’d drink every drop.
Annie regarded him, lips curled sardonically. “That’s right, my dearie,” she crooned in a crackly, crone voice. “Drink every last drop or the poison is no good.”
He set the mug down with a bang. “You wouldn’t.” A heartbeat. “Would you?”
She folded her arms. “What do you think?”
“You wouldn’t.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t be so sure about me. After all, you might have got my grandma killed today. Things like that tend to piss people off, you know.”
“It’s highly unusual for Nalusa to attack before nightfall. It’s as if he were lying in wait for me. As if someone had tipped him off.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” She jumped up, hands gripping the table with white-knuckled anger. “You think I contacted a...a...snake? I never even heard of Nalusa until yesterday.”
“So you say.”
Tombi couldn’t let it go. He’d become a jaded man, not by birth disposition, but because of the deaths and trapped spirits he’d witnessed over the past ten years. He and his tribe tried to release all the ensnared souls, but they kept growing in number. Secretly, he despaired there was no stopping Nalusa’s increasing spread of misery. How was he supposed to trust this girl—this witch who mysteriously appeared in the dead of night in the swamp and claimed to speak to Bo?
Annie made a disgusted clucking noise and noisily set about tidying the kitchen. “Don’t drink the tea, then. Suffer. Means nothing to me.”
She dried some silverware and threw it in a drawer, where it clanged. “If anyone’s scared, it should be me.”
“Scared? I’m not scared.” For spirit’s sake, he faced creatures of the dark on a daily basis.
She stared pointedly at his half-filled mug and raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
Tombi lifted it to his lips and took another experimental sip. The liquid had cooled considerably. He raised the mug in a salutatory gesture. “To good health.” He downed the whole mess in four gulps.
Great Spirits almighty, that was nasty stuff.
Annie threw the dish towel in the sink and stared at him. “Your skin is starting to get a little pale and clammy,” she noted. “Perspiration’s beading on your forehead. You sure you’re okay? Maybe I poisoned you after all.”
Tombi lifted his right arm a few inches, then dropped it by his side. He’d almost given her the satisfaction of touching his forehead to check.
“Your jaw is twitching, too.”
“It tends to do that when I’m annoyed.”
“Better annoyed than worried sick like I am.” Annie glanced out the kitchen window, and her body slumped, as if the fight and anger had melted from her spine and left her in a pool of misery.
Damn. He fought the guilt that pestered his gut. He didn’t ask that old lady to save him. “Look, Annie, I’m sorry about your grandma.”
She waved a hand dismissively, back still toward him.
“Maybe you should go to the hospital,” he drawled, reluctant to encourage her but compelled to show compassion. Tia Henrietta had saved his life; he owed her.
“She’d kill me. She specifically begged me not to.”
“Did she say why?”
Annie sighed. “She seems to think you are some kind of hero or something.”
“I wish she hadn’t taken the poison,” Tombi offered.
She faced him and tilted her head to one side. “Did she say something to you right before the ambulance came? I saw you lean over the couch where she lay.”
He shuffled in his seat and shrugged his shoulders. “She moaned, and I got closer to see if she was trying to talk. But she was mostly incoherent.”
Mostly.
The word and its meaning seemed to slip by Annie. Thank the spirits.
“She has a weak heart. I don’t see how she can recover from this.” Her eyes were a reproach.
Tombi frowned, hardening his heart. He couldn’t let his resolve to mistrust all strangers end. He had a mission. His people depended on him. Should he fail... No, he couldn’t go down that dark corridor of possibility in his mind. Bad enough the worry haunted his dreams.
Her voice rose an octave. “And to top it off, you seem to believe I brought all this on myself and my grandma.”
Tombi pursed his lips. “You could have set a trap, not knowing your grandmother would come swooping in to save me at the last possible second.”
“Of all the ungrateful...” she sputtered. “If not for us, you’d be dead or ate up with fever.”
He paused, struck by the fact that he was ready to return to the hunt, full of vigor. “That tea actually helped,” he let slip in surprise.
“Of course it did. You...you...” Again, she was so angry that words failed. She planted her hands on her hip and glared.
He smiled, and she stepped close to him.
“Stop smirking.” Annie pushed against his chest. She was so small, so petite, the top of her head