Page 55 of Cursed
She felt as if she were trying to function underwater. After her experiences on the road and in the graveyard, the chanting voice and the sound of the drum seemed to reach her on a deeper level—pounding at the frayed edges of her sanity.
The words beat in her head. She had to get away. Out of this room. Out of the house. Out of Louisiana. If she didn’t leave, she would die. She knew that on a gut-wrenching, fear-ridden level.
Panic clawed at her chest, at her throat—until she ordered herself to get a grip.
“You will not fall apart. It’s just a woman out there trying to scare you,” she told herself. “Stop it this minute.”
Her fingers dug into her palms as she fought to catch her breath. Panting, she focused on the pain as she struggled to ground herself.
The small jabs helped bring her mind back to reality. She had been caught in the grip of a panic attack. That was all! The woman was trying to put her under a spell. Only now she had a better idea how to fight against it.
“You shouldn’t have left those charms. I’m on to you now,” she muttered. “I’m not going to let you scare me.”
Taking several seconds to catch her breath, she looked out into the darkness, searching under the trees. At first, her eyes could see little. When she had adjusted to the low light, she zeroed in on the spot where she’d seen the priestess the first time at the estate.
This time, she saw nothing. Blinking, she stared harder. But she wasn’t mistaken. The woman wasn’t there, and she felt a spurt of disappointment.
She had been so sure she would find the culprit. But the spot was empty. And the chanting hadn’t stopped.
Again, fear leaped up, blocked her windpipe.
Not fear for herself. For Andre. He was outside in the dark. And he had told her the priestess hated him—that her curse had some kind of power over him. Maybe, this time, the chant was meant for Andre. And maybe a voodoo charm had already done something to the men who were missing.
Whirling away from the window, Morgan grabbed her jeans and quickly pulled them on. Scuffing her feet into shoes, she looked toward her purse. Her gun was in there. And she wanted the comfort of its weight in her hand. But after the episode in the graveyard, she knew that taking it could be dangerous. The wrong person could get shot—especially in the dark.
Throwing open her door, she started for the stairs. She was halfway down the hall when someone grabbed her arm from behind.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Morgan went into a martial arts crouch, ready to fight off whoever had grabbed her.
It was Janet, and the woman’s eyes widened as she stared at Morgan’s defensive stance.
“Don’t …hurt me, child,” she quavered. “I didn’t mean anything … bad.”
“Why did you grab me?”
“You were going out. Like that woman wanted you to do.”
“The priestess?”
“Yes.”
“I’m still going out,” Morgan corrected.
“You can’t.”
“Andre’s out there. She may be after him.”
“He can take care of himself,” Janet snapped.
“But …”
“Andre can take care of himself,” Janet repeated. “It’s important for you to stay inside—where you’re safe.”
“Why?”
The housekeeper gave her a long look and answered with what she had said before. “Because he needs you.”
