Bayou Bodyguard. Jana DeLeon

her mind flashed back to the photo of her mother and the message she’d found in her room the day before. Someone in Cypriere already knew who she was or someone had followed her to Cypriere. But who? And why?

      Justine touched her shoulder where Brian’s hand had rested. It was almost as if he’d sensed her discomfort as soon as she felt it and stepped away from her. Was he really that intuitive?

      If so, Justine had to be very, very careful around Brian Marcentel.

      JUSTINE PLACED the two stacks of journals on the table in the library and plugged in her laptop, ready to get to work. She’d organized by date the journals written by Marilyn Borque, the murdered mistress of laMalediction, and the journals written by her personal maid, Sissy Dubois. She hoped that by reading them together, she could form a clear vision of the events during that time.

      Olivia had already filled her in on Marilyn Borque’s background. The poor woman had essentially been sold to Franklin Borque just before the Civil War by her father to seal a business deal. Franklin built the monstrosity, laMalediction, when no town existed within a hundred miles, effectively cutting his young wife off from civilization. The remote location made it easy for him to beat her without coming under question.

      Franklin left for the war the following year and Marilyn sent for her lover. When Franklin returned, he was more crazed than before and had obtained a lion statue with giant emeralds for eyes. Marilyn was certain the acquisition was not legal, but Franklin’s obsession with the statue was a far bigger concern. Sissy sent Marilyn to her cousin, a voodoo priestess, for help and the two formed a plan to contain the evil that rested in the emerald eyes of the statue. When Franklin discovered that his prize possession was missing, he murdered Marilyn and was then struck by lightning the same night in the middle of the courtyard.

      Justine opened a marked spot in one of the diaries to reread the entry Olivia had flagged.

      June 15, 1863

      I took the statue to Sissy’s cousin tonight. She had a violent reaction to the piece as soon as she saw the eyes. The emeralds, she said, are cursed. She removed the emeralds from the statue and placed them in a pouch for safekeeping, then performed a spell on the statue to separate it from the evil in the stones. We then broke the statue and crushed the pieces until they were dust. We collected the dust in a jar and will fling it far into the bayou, where the spirits that inhabit the water can prevent it from resurfacing. She will bind the emeralds in metal and cast a spell two nights from now when the moon is full. Then I will hide them in a safe place.

      I know this is the only way, but I feel overwhelming guilt for the future I am creating for my descendants. The stones will not remain bound forever. One day, the emeralds will call on those of my lineage to fulfill the prophecy that I have set in motion.

      Even if it costs their lives.

      Justine set the journal to the side and opened a document file on her laptop. She began to make notes on possible avenues for research. Sissy’s cousin had lived in a Creole village with other descendants from Haiti who still practiced the old ways. Memories from her childhood gave Justine an understanding of the purpose behind binding an object in another the way the woman had bound the emeralds in metal to cut off the energy that emitted from them. But Sissy’s cousin would have insisted on a double binding if she thought the emeralds were cursed—the first binding by man, the second by nature.

      Justine blew out a breath and leaned back in the chair. Olivia had been right. Her knowledge of the old ways would give her an edge, as much as she was loath to admit it. The most logical way to bind the stones with nature would be to bury them, but where? Certainly, Sissy’s cousin would have insisted the stones remain on the estate, as it was the family’s responsibility to watch over the evil they’d brought to this place. But the estate consisted of not only laMalediction but hundreds of acres of swamp.

      There had to be a clue in the journals about where Marilyn had hidden the emeralds. That was the angle she’d start working on first. With any luck, her research of the journals would provide her the answers she was looking for in her personal quest—the real reason she’d taken the job. Even if the journals yielded nothing, she was still convinced the answers she sought lay somewhere in laMalediction. And she was going to find them.

      “How’s it going?” Brian’s voice broke into her thoughts, causing her to jump.

      “Sorry,” he said as he stepped into the library. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

      “It’s not your fault. When I’m lost in the work, I tend to filter out everything around me.” She gave him a rueful look. “Probably not the best trait, given the situation here, right?”

      Brian shrugged. “You’re a researcher. If you couldn’t focus on your research to the exclusion of everything else, you probably wouldn’t be very good at your job. Let me worry about catching the bad guys—that’s what I do naturally.”

      Justine leaned back in her chair, considering Brian’s words. “So you think the man upstairs had a master plan for all of us, and doled out talent accordingly? Then where do people like Franklin Borque fit into your theory? I assume you know the history.”

      Brian nodded. “Olivia told me what she found. I don’t know what makes people like Franklin Borque, but I do believe I’ve stared evil in the face in Iraq.”

      Justine sat upright in her chair. “What does it look like? Evil?”

      “Sometimes beautiful and seductive, sometimes so normal that it never registers on your radar…until it’s too late.” He stared out the library window for a moment, then looked back at Justine. “But there’s always those moments…and if you’re paying attention, you can catch one of them. When the facade relaxes and just for an instant, you see it in their eyes. Then in a flash, it’s gone, leaving you wondering if you ever saw it in the first place.”

      Justine crossed her arms across her chest, a sudden chill running through her body. “Do you still wonder when you see it now?”

      “Not anymore. I would recognize it now.” He paused. “It’s funny, you know. Good can take on many appearances, many faces, but evil always looks the same.

      “Anyway,” he said, “I came to tell you there’s a storm brewing. It’s almost three, so I figure we may as well head into town and get everything settled with the rental house. I’ve got to load a couple of boxes in my Jeep, so just meet me out front when you’ve wrapped up in here.”

      Justine stared out the library window, watching Brian as he rolled up the soft top on the back of his Jeep. What kind of horrors had Brian Marcentel seen? And more importantly, would he see them again in Cypriere?