Kicking It(35)

Not literally. But I felt contained right now by being shut out of the information we all take for granted—information we normally wake up knowing every morning.

“There’s even more fire after the coffin imagery,” he added. “But this time the flames nearly devour you.”

Now I was shaking my head. I couldn’t have lived the life he was describing on a realistic level. So what did it all mean?

He ran a thumb over mine. Comforting me?

Comfort. It might have been the first thing—or last—that I needed at this moment. But before I pulled my hand out of his, he looked grim, as if he had received one more vision.

“You’ve had an interesting night so far.”

“You’re referring to the ‘it’ that was chasing me earlier?”

“I wish I knew what it was. But I saw the burning eyes . . . the black shape. I think you don’t need me to tell you that it was dangerous.”

“Any hints about how to avoid it in the future?”

He nodded toward the shop in front. “Indeed, I know people who can help.”

“But I can’t pay you for any protection items or spells, remember?”

His smile was slight. “You didn’t run in here for the fun of it. And for me to deny you help would be terrible karma. Besides, it’s a slow night, even for March. I’ve been bored until now, cher.”

What was he saying? That he had assumed the mantle of white knight for a random damsel in distress?

I was torn. I had the feeling I could take care of myself very well, thank you, under normal circumstances, but someone was after me out there, in the night. I would be foolish to refuse help from the only savior available.

He pushed back from the table and came round to my side. “May I?” he asked, motioning to my boots.

Why not? I stretched out a leg as he bent down, and I tried like mad to keep those white-knight thoughts from crowding my head. When he ran his fingers over the viny texture of the boot, I restrained a quiver. It was as if I could feel his touch, even through whatever material these boots were made of.

“I’ve never seen anything like these,” he said. “And I get nothing on where you purchased them.”

I frowned at the word “purchased,” and I wasn’t sure why. Instinct again? But if it was instinct, it wasn’t a good one. I had broken into a bed-and-breakfast already. Had I also shoplifted these clothes and boots?

When Philippe smoothed a hand up the back of my calf, further exploring, I went tight between the legs. I almost shifted in my chair. And when he slid a finger into the top of my boot, brushing skin, I jerked away from him.

His gaze was fascinated now. “It’s as if they . . .”

“Are attached to me? I know. I tried to strip them off.”

“They wouldn’t budge?”

“Right.” Then a gobsmacking thought hit me. If these boots were as odd as I believed they were, was it possible that they had led me into this voodoo shop on purpose? Were they voodoo items?

I could tell Philippe was thinking the same. “You ran in here like you were part of the wind, and the way you fight, my darlin’? Are you sure these ain’t superhero boots?”

Gob. Smacked. “I’m not certain of anything.”

He stood, his hands on his lean hips, considering. Behind him and to the left, in another room where a curtain was pulled back from the entrance, a shelf of jujus and gris-gris and dolls stood, timeless, as if knowing the answers that we did not.

“These boots could be the work from an old, powerful woman in the area,” he finally said. “They call her Amari.”

“So I should see her.”

“I would say an unqualified yes, except for . . .” He looked at my boots. “They say Amari doesn’t sell any charmed objects.”

At that point, I concentrated only on the “charmed” part. “You think these boots are enchanted? That’s the reason they won’t bloody come off me?”

“I do get that feeling. But you have a bigger worry than that.”

Back to the “sell” word he had used. “If this Amari doesn’t offer charmed objects for sale, then how did I end up with the boots?”

What had I been up to? And, damn it all, was it possible that the red-eyed creature was trying to fetch the boots back for Amari?

Splendid.

“Is there a chance,” I asked, “that there’s another witch round here who sells clingy boots that make a girl run like the wind and sting like a bee?”

As Philippe turned the question over in his mind, I saw something in the room behind him, through the spaces of the shelves between the jujus and dolls.

Eyes. Red eyes.

He must have noticed my widened gaze, and he turned round. But I jumped out of the chair, my body taking over again, as if my mind had no say. I dove for what I thought was the gun in his waistband.