It occurred to Marc that he probably shouldn’t be thinking ill of Juliette during the ceremony—not if he wanted freedom from her spell. He crossed himself and apologized to her spirit . . . wherever she was.

Devyn returned with the bowl of dirt and set it atop the altar. “Ready?”

Marc glanced between the two sisters. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Did you bring gifts for the spirits?” Allie asked.

Marc jogged back to the bench to fetch his paper bag. “Got it right here. Even the snake eggs.”

“Put the tokens on the altar.” Allie said. When he’d finished, she indicated for him to kneel, then joined him on the soft grass and spoke directly to the statue of Legba. “Marc Dumont presents these favors and seeks your permission to commune with the spirit of Juliette Mauvais.” She added a few coins to the altar. “As do I.”

Devyn knelt beside Allie. “Now we’ll join hands and pray.”

Marc was surprised when Devyn recited the Our Father. He didn’t know what kind of prayer he’d expected, but it wasn’t that. After amen, Devyn lit a stick of incense, filling the humid evening air with a hint of exotic spice.

While Marc and Allie remained kneeling, hands joined, Devyn stood and told him she was going to invoke Legba. Then she began chanting in Creole, and Marc could swear he felt ice skitter down his back. He didn’t know if that was a good thing or not.

“Now that we’ve asked his permission,” Devyn explained, “I’ll use a smudge stick to remove any negativity clinging to you.”

A smudge what? Marc looked to Allie with a question in his eyes.

“Just be still,” she whispered. “You don’t have to do anything.”

With a bundle of dried herbs in hand, Devyn ignited one end and gently blew on it until a billow of sage-scented smoke wafted up from the leaves. She circled Marc with the smudge stick, coating him in the smoke. After waving it above his heads a few more times, Devyn placed it on the altar and called to her great-great-grandmother.

“Juliette Mauvais,” Devyn said, “we invoke your spirit and offer these tokens in hope that you will show mercy on Marc Dumont and break the hex upon his family.” Devyn went on to recount the story of Juliette’s betrothal to Edward, culminating in his abandonment on their wedding day. “Your vengeance was justified, but now we pray that you will show mercy on Marc. Unlike his fickle-hearted ancestor, he comes to you on bended knee seeking forgiveness and a bond with Allison Catrine, daughter of your own blood.”

Marc’s grip tightened around Allie’s hand as they shared a hopeful glance.

“Let their love heal the ancient rift between our families,” Devyn implored to the heavens. “Please accept his show of faith and free him from your wrath.” Then she gave Marc an encouraging nod. “It’s time.”

From what Marc understood, he was supposed to prove his faith. But what did that mean, exactly? “What do I say?”

“Whatever’s in your heart,” Devyn told him. She nodded toward the street. “I’ll give you two some privacy and wait by the car. When you’re finished, someone needs to thank the spirits and release them, but Allie knows how to do that.”

She kissed her sister on the head and gave Marc a don’t screw this up glare, then strode out of view. The iron gate creaked and clicked shut, confirming her departure.

Marc’s heart sprinted under the pressure. He didn’t want to screw this up.

“It’s okay.” Allie cupped his face with one hand, her eyes brimming with patience. “I love you, Marc. Just tell me what you want.”

That sounded easy enough.

Marc was crazy about Allie. He wanted her to move in with him, to share his bed and fill his arms like she’d done on board the Belle. Those short weeks with her were damned near perfect—she was damned near perfect—and he wouldn’t make the same mistake twice by losing his nerve.

It was time to sac up.

He took a deep breath and began. “Allie, I want . . .”

Marc paused to catch another lungful of air. God bless, it was hotter than hellfire out here. How could anyone breathe this soup?

Allie stroked his cheek. “Go ahead, baby.”

He swallowed hard while sweat broke out along his upper lip. He released her hand and blotted his face on his shirttails, but that didn’t help. For every drop of sweat he wiped away, three more appeared to take its place. Before long, he was sweating like a sinner on judgment day.

He opened his mouth to try again. “I want . . .”

Damn it, he couldn’t get enough oxygen.

Holding up one finger, he said, “Just give me a minute.” His collar seemed to be choking him, so he undid the first three buttons. A glance down showed his chest rising and falling, so why did it feel like he couldn’t breathe?

“Are you okay?” Allie asked, her whiskey-and-gray eyes widening in concern.

Marc’s hands had turned to ice. He wiped them on his trousers and tried a third time. “I want you . . .” to move in with me. Move in with me! He screamed it internally, but the words turned to dust. Then a ball of fear rose in his throat and fanned out to squeeze his ribs as surely as any heart attack. His chest grew heavy and his vision blurred. If he didn’t know better, he’d think he was dying.

There was only one explanation—the cleansing ceremony had failed.

He was still cursed.

“Marc?” Allie’s voice was barely a whisper. “Talk to me.”

Unable to bear the mingling of shock and fear in her gaze, he stared at the ground. “I want to keep seeing you.”

“Seeing me?” she asked in disbelief. She seemed to chew on that for a while, the distant croak of cicadas filling the silence as seconds ticked by. “Seeing me,” she repeated, “or sleeping with me?”

“Both.” Shit, he was going down in flames, just like last time. He scrambled for control of his tongue. “But it’s more than that,” he quickly added. “I want to spend time with you, cook you dinner, and curl up on the sofa to watch old Westerns. And what I said before still stands: I won’t cheat while we’re together. I swear it.”

“You won’t cheat while we’re together.”

The flatness of her tone prompted him to peek up from beneath his lashes. When their gazes caught, he was shamed by the pain he saw there. The way she stared at him reminded Marc of the time his mother had caught him stealing baseball cards from the drugstore when he was six years old. More than angry, she looked disappointed, like he’d let her down.

“For however long that lasts, right?” Allie asked. “And when someone new catches your eye, you’ll do me the courtesy of breaking up with me before you take her to bed. Is that what you’re saying?”

Marc didn’t know how to answer that without digging himself a deeper hole. In truth, Allie was the only woman he wanted, but according to statistics, they wouldn’t last a lifetime. He’d promised to be faithful to her for as long as she kept him around—what more could he offer?

“Answer me,” she demanded.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s not you. It’s the curse. We didn’t break it.”

Her eyes turned to slits as she released a humorless laugh. “The curse.” She pushed to standing and brushed bits of dried grass from her dress. “What if I told you it’s not real?”

Marc shook his head. “It is. I can feel it. But maybe if we try again—”

“There’s no such thing as magic!” she shouted, shocking the cicadas into a beat of silence. Her eyes welled with tears as she snatched the wooden talisman from the altar. “See this? Legba is no more real than Zeus or Athena. He’s just a legend.” She tossed aside the statue and pointed to Juliette Mauvais’s portrait. “And her? I don’t know if Memère’s spirit is in heaven or in hell, but I know this—she’s not hovering around Cedar Bayou, meddling in your love life. She’s gone! She has no power over you!”

Marc didn’t understand. “Then why did we just go through all this?”

“Because I’m an idiot.” Bending at the waist, she began blowing out the candles, one by one. “I thought the curse was causing you a mental block, and if I could convince you it was broken, you might actually commit to me.”

Still on his knees, Marc drew back and turned a blank stare to the stone altar. It had taken days to find all those stupid tokens, especially the snake eggs. And what about the time Allie had gone catatonic? Was it an act?

“So none of this was real?”

“None of this was ever real,” Allie said, exasperated.

Only one candle remained burning, but it was more than enough to illuminate the tears threatening to spill free from her lashes. A spark of anger ignited inside Marc’s chest, but it died just as quickly. As much as he hated her deception, the sight of Allie’s quivering chin hit him like a kick to the gut.

“There’s no hex, Marc,” she said. “It’s all in your mind. The plain truth is that you don’t love me enough to take the risk. You’ll follow your daddy’s path because it’s safer and easier than forging your own trail and maybe getting hurt along the way.”

“That’s not true. I’m nothing like my father.”

“You’re exactly like him,” she said. “Just without the children.”

That stung, but when Marc geared up to defend himself, he couldn’t summon a single argument to refute what she’d said. Still, he refused to dwell on the topic. Aside from genetics, he and the old man had nothing in common.

“I want more,” Allie went on. “More than a physical relationship. I deserve your whole heart, and it looks like you can’t give me that.” A tear spilled down her cheek. “Or you won’t. And there’s no hex to blame for it.”

Something broke behind Marc’s breastbone. Hurting Allie was the last thing he’d wanted to do, and now he was losing her. He wanted to get back on track—to show how much she meant to him—but he didn’t know how.