Harlequin Nocturne March 2016 Box Set Read online

  “I beseech thee, hawk,” she whispered. “Your will is your own, your heart wild and free to roam the bayou. But if possible, I need your help. By the power of the universe that created you to fly and me to walk on land, I ask that you appear.”

  She paused and cocked her head to the side, straining to hear its presence above. A cold chill chased down her spine. What if Hanan had managed to free himself of the hawk’s talons and kill it?

  No. Surely she would have heard or felt some sign of such a catastrophe. Annie tried again.

  “Please, help. We need that flute. Just this one favor is all I ask. With the flute we can stop Nalusa and contain the birds of the night—ishkitini—that prey upon you, as well. In the name of all the holy saints, please, come. Amen.”

  She kept her eyes pressed shut, hardly daring to breathe. Every second that ticked increased her agitation, and her fingers stroked the soft feathers braided in her hair. Annie crumpled the cinnamon stick in her hand and held it to her nose. The sweet spice odor calmed her mind, allowing her to focus. She pictured her hawk, flying high above the oaks and pines, wings spread majestically, eyes sharp and probing, searching below. Seeking, seeking. In its left talon, its gnarly claws clutched the thin reed—the flute that held their hope and safety. Salvation. How very fragile and small it appeared in the sky. So much rested on such a fragile instrument.

  Have faith.

  Grandma Tia’s voice commanded—pristine and visceral—cutting through the static of the cacophony and doubt swirling through her mind.

  That’s all ya got to do, child. Faith moves the mountains and makes all things possible. Yer stronger than ya know. Make me proud.

  If only her grandma were sitting beside her, holding her hand. She could do it then.

  But Grandma Tia was miles away. This was something she had to do alone. Something sacred and holy between her and the hawk.

  “I’m waiting,” she whispered. “For as long as it takes, I’ll wait for you.”

  The beating of wings roared above, loud as a hovering helicopter. Annie looked up. Her hawk screeched and flew close, so close its rapid heartbeat fluttered in her ears, and she heard the wind rustle its feathers. The flute was clamped in its hooked beak.

  Annie tentatively held out a trembling hand. The hawk was upon her; she smelled the dusty scent of its skin beneath the feathers, felt its hot breath on her face. She wanted to run, wanted to tell it to give the flute to Tombi, but to do so would betray its trust, would repudiate the their bond.

  She sank her heels into the red clay, determined to stay rooted.

  The hollowed tube thudded onto her opened palm, and she curled her fingers on the warmed wood...

  And nearly dropped it when the hawk took flight, disappearing in a loud roar, as suddenly as it had first appeared. Annie clutched the flute to her chest, watching in humbled awe as the hawk became a speck of brown in the darkened sky and then became one with the shadows. Would she ever see him again?

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Tombi stepped in front of her, waiting for her to gather her emotions. “Your hawk came through. I’ll be damned.”

  “No. You’ll be saved.”

  He laid his dark hands over her own. The flute pulsed like a living creature. Joyful notes teased her mind; the Choctaw artifact knew it had come home once again.

  “This belongs to you,” she said, placing the flute between his fingers.

  Tombi lowered his head and rested his forehead on hers. The moment was as sacred and precious as a wedding kiss, a vow of love, the promise of a future. All the things that could now be theirs.

  He pulled away. “It’s time. Thanks to you, we have a chance.”

  “More than a chance. You can’t lose now.”

  “We won’t.” He squared his shoulders and took her hand. “Wait until the others see this. Tonight’s ritual will be one of celebration.”

  * * *

  Sparks of fire crackled and swirled upward, whipped by the Gulf breeze. The scent of burning oak, salty air and purifying sage signaled the welcoming of the full moon, sights and sounds he’d experienced since he was a young boy. The murmurs of his people were solemn and hushed, even more so than usual. Not finding Hanan had been a blow to their confidence.

  Tombi came to an abrupt halt. “Wait.”

  Annie skidded to a stop beside him. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Thanks to you.” Tombi pressed the flute into her hands. “You should be the one to carry this in.”

  She shook her head and tried to hand it back. “I don’t care—”

  “No argument.” He took long strides away from her, emerging from the wooded path and into the field, Annie trailing behind.

  The murmur of voices halted as they all stared at their approach. Annie hung back, and Tombi motioned her forward.

  “We’ve got great news,” he declared.

  Tallulah broke from the group. “Did you find Hanan?” she asked, peering behind his shoulders.

  “Even better news.” He turned to Annie. “Show them.”

  Hesitantly, she raised the flute.

  “The ancient instrument that will help us defeat Nalusa has been returned to us.”

  Tallulah was the first in line to celebrate. She eyed it critically and then faced Annie. Her throat worked. “Thank you,” she said gruffly. She threw her arms around Annie and hugged her.

  Tombi grinned at the round oh of astonishment on Annie’s face.

  “—knew she could do it.”

  “—never doubted her—”

  “Tonight we win—”

  “—Hanan is dead meat.”

  One by one, every hunter shook Annie’s hand. Pride swelled Tombi’s heart at her humble acceptance of their tributes. She’d won them over, had become one of them.

  And had won his heart, as well. If they defeated Nalusa this evening... No. Tombi gritted his teeth. Tonight was all about the battle. Nalusa and his shadows would pay for the deaths of his parents, for Tallulah’s suffering, for the suffering he’d caused everyone in the bayou. He would not be distracted from his destiny and duty.

  Mela, the drummer, began beating the hand drum. Its rhythm was a call for celebration. Chulah and Pisa took Annie by either hand and led her to the fire. Tombi gathered with the others, and they encircled the bonfire piled with dried sage. The drumming stopped. Through the smoke and heat waves, he saw that all eyes were on him, awaiting the signal to begin. He raised his right arm, and the drumming began, slow and measured. Each put their right hand on the back of the hunter in front of them and stepped forward on their left foot, then slowly dragged their right foot beside the other and stomped.

  The tempo increased, then slowed back down to its original pace, his signal to begin the antiphonal chorus. Tombi released two war cries and sang an old, old song calling upon the sun for power. After every stanza, the hunters repeated the verse until the song had been sung three times through.

  He looked back at Annie and winked. She had a look of dazed excitement. This full-moon ritual was undoubtedly more colorful and exciting than the paper-burning ritual she and her grandmother shared.

  “Enough,” he said. “Let’s save our energy for capturing Nalusa.”

  A large cheer erupted.

  “You each know your assignments. Release as many wisps’ souls as possible, and then at the first note of the flute, we attack.”

  Chulah raised a fist. “Tonight it ends!”

  Tombi waited until the resulting cheering died down. “We have every reason to be confident, but don’t take anything for granted. Even in a weakened condition, Nalusa is powerful and cunning,” he cautioned. “Plus, Hanan may still be out there. So be on the lookout.”

  He stared each hunter in the face, and they nodded grimly. Childhood fac