She turned away from him so that she could continue to seek her shell.
“Whatever are you doing?” Now he sounded as annoyed as she felt.
“Hunting my shell that you caused me to drop.”
“Why?”
“Because I liked it and I want to find it again.”
Suddenly, laughter rose up from the depths of the water where she stood. Cold and gurgling, it’d been unlike anything Valynda had ever experienced in her life. Too shocked to react, she’d stood there until Nibo had wrapped his arm about her waist and pulled her back against him. She’d been startled by the unexpected intimacy of his embrace. And by how hard his body was in contrast to hers. He was a solid wall of lean muscle. While he comforted her, his metal necklace had let out a strange melody that haunted her. But what startled her most was that his eyes glowed the same shade as warm brandy. They were haunting and searing in their unique beauty.
If that wasn’t startling enough, his two companions appeared from the waves behind them. Two psychopomps Valynda knew by their fierce reputations that were recounted on the island in song, verse, tales, and, at times, in fear-filled whispers. She could barely leave her father’s modest home that she didn’t come across poppets or wangas their followers had fashioned for them and left in strategic places throughout the island in hopes that the loa would intercede with the Bondye on their behalf to grant them wishes and favors—in much the same way as offerings made to saints or pagan gods.
Given that, there was no mistaking who and what they were.
Masaka, a sorceress of extreme power, was said to be capricious and bold. Her followers feared her wrath as much as her sexual appetites, though Valynda wasn’t supposed to know anything at all about the latter bit.
Any more than she was supposed to know about the rumors that said Masaka might not be a woman, but rather a man dressed as such.
Without a word to her, or any real acknowledgement, Masaka moved to guard Nibo’s right flank as Oussou moved to shield his left. In perfect synchronicity, they turned around to protect Nibo’s back.
“What’s going on?”
Nibo tightened his hold on her. “An old friend wants a few words with me. ’Tis all. Think nothing of it.”
He made it sound so simple, and yet the raging waters that percolated said this was no friendly matter. As did the tenseness of his companions. They were ready for a battle.
“Nibo!” That angry shout rocked the ground beneath them.
He passed Valynda over to Oussou as if she were a doll. “Careful with her, brother. Keep her safe.”
Inclining his head, he took her from Nibo, then peeled off from the other two to take her back toward shore. Once they were safely ensconced on the beach, he set her down and stood in front of her as if she were his new mission.
Unsure of what to make of it all, Valynda took a step toward the sea.
Oussou countered her actions with an angry hiss that caused her to retreat to where he’d put her. His stark white braids rattled like bones against his pale flesh. His black grave-digger’s coat was a startling contrast to the eerie pallor of his skin and hair. To his eyes, that were every bit as lacking in color. Each sleeve of that chilling frock was marked with a large purple cross, as was the back of it. Smaller animated crosses appeared to dance along the edges of his black tricorne that was trimmed in vibrant purple.
He was a peculiar sight, no doubt. Everything about this encounter was strange.
And Masaka was no less odd. For she was as dark as he was pale. Her skin every bit as iridescent against the bright waves. But where Oussou’s linen shirt was white, hers was black, and where his jacket was black, hers was the color of human bones, and decorated with skulls. The same was true of her breeches and hose. Even the buckles of her shoes were bone hands that held the leather in place. She looked more pirate than spirit, especially with the trailing black scarf that came out from beneath her tricorne and the baldric that held three flintlocks across her chest.
No ordinary flintlocks either. They were the rare type with rotating barrels that allowed their user to have more than a single shot at a target. Costly and deadly, those weapons were the bane of her uncle and his watchmen.
When the waves rose up around Masaka and Nibo, she lifted one of the dangling drawstring bags from her belt. Her voice was deep as she began to chant words Valynda couldn’t even begin to understand.
As Masaka did so, Nibo pulled a braided leather belt from his lean waist. He unfurled it with a vicious snap that caused it to turn into a long shepherd’s crook.
Valynda’s eyebrow shot north.
Defiantly, Nibo faced the turgid sea. “You want a word with me, Aggie?”
“I want many words with you, you unfit dog!”
“Told you not to sleep with his wife,” Masaka snarled over her shoulder at Nibo.
“Not my fault.”
Masaka gaped at him. “Whose then?”
