The Billion Dollar Pact. Sheri WhiteFeather

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      She gestured to his right arm, which was the one closest to her. “What’s the spidery-looking thing in the middle?”

      “That’s a depiction of Uncta.”

      “The deity who steals fire?”

      Jake nodded. “And he is a spider, of sorts. He was able to appear in both human form and as a giant bronze spider. In his human form, he would entertain in his big fancy lair and offer advice to his guests. He told prophecies, too.”

      She gave Uncta’s image a tentative touch, using the very tips of her nails. “I wonder what advice he would give you.” She followed the lines of the drawing. “Or prophecies.”

      “I don’t know.” Jake wished her fingers on his flesh didn’t feel so damned good. He imagined her clawing his back with those neatly manicured nails.

      She moved on to another one of his tattoos: a beautiful young woman draped in a white gown, her long black hair blowing in the wind. “Is she a deity, too?”

      “Yes.” He tried to focus on his answer, instead of how Carol was making him feel. “Her father is the god of the sun and her mother is the goddess of the moon.”

      “And what’s her specialty?”

      “She introduced corn to the people, providing the first seeds that led to the first harvest. Even today, she still wanders through cornfields, blessing the crops, looking like an angel from above. Or so the legend goes.”

      “And who is this?” Another question. Another touch.

      One by one, he explained who each of the deities on his arms were. The two gigantic birds that created lightning and thunder. The hunting god who taught wolves how to howl. The female ruler of the swamplands who provided vegetation that was safe to use for medicine. Overall, he had ten mythical beings tattooed on his body, each with their own purpose. Carol seemed particularly fascinated with the human grasshopper goddess who ruled a subterranean world known as an earth-womb.

      “She’s the mother of the unliving,” Jake said. “Not the dead, but the spirits who are waiting to be born.”

      “What’s her name?”

      “Eskeilay.”

      Carol repeated it, using the same rhythmic inflection he’d used. Then she asked, “Do you think your future children are with her, waiting to emerge?”

      Jake shot her an incredulous look. “Seriously? Can you see me being a dad? There’s no way I’m ever having kids.”

      “I suppose it was a silly question.” She smiled like an imp. “But it seems like a waste of Eskeilay’s powers, to just sit there on your arm in her bendy grasshopper pose, with her antennae poking out of her head, with no little Jacob Waters babies floating around.”

      “Listen to you, being funny.” He rubbed the spot where Eskeilay was. It was starting to tingle, almost as if the goddess was coming to life. “It wasn’t like that in the beginning. The first spirits waiting to be born weren’t babies. They were just people, living in Eskeilay’s world. But when it got too overcrowded, they evacuated, and on their way to earth, they accidentally trampled some grasshoppers, including Eskeilay’s own mother. Needless to say, she was pissed. So the opening to earth was blocked, and the rest of the people trapped underground were turned into ants.”

      “Oh, that’s just great. Now whenever I see an ant, I’m going to think of that.”

      “Sorry. But you know how mythology is. Something disturbing always happens. But in this case, it also explains how ants came to be and why they live in holes in the ground,” he explained. “These stories are based on what I was told. There are other Choctaw myths that don’t coincide with what I was taught. But that’s common with folklore. Stories are apt to change, depending on who tells them, and my dad liked to put his own spin on them. Sometimes my mom even got in on it, adding little details.” He paused in remembrance. “Mom was a blue-eyed blonde with French and English ancestry, but she used to joke around and say that was she part Choctaw. Or that she had been for nine months when she was pregnant with us kids. And that’s what gave her the right to horn in on those stories.”

      Carol smiled. “That’s cute.”

      “My dad thought so, too. They were this ridiculously happy couple. I used to think I was lucky because they didn’t scream and fight like some of my friends’ parents. Or they weren’t getting divorced or whatever. Then they ended up gone in the worst possible way.”

      “I know just how you feel.” She fell silent, her gaze locking on to his. Then she said, “Except that I want to get married and have children someday. That’s really important to me.”

      “I figured as much.” She struck him as the wifely sort. “You seem like you need all that homeyness. But I don’t. For me, it’s easier to be unencumbered.”

      “Yes, I can tell.”

      He glanced away, his thoughts slipping back in time once again. “My sisters used to talk about the kinds of weddings they wanted to have.” He frowned, his dead siblings’ broken dreams burrowing uncomfortably in his brain. “They went on and on about how romantic it was going to be. But I suppose it’s common for teenage girls to do that.”

      She heaved a heavy breath. “I can’t even tell you how many times I thought about it when I was young, even before I was a teenager.”

      He envisioned her, a lonely little girl in foster care, longing for the big day. It made him want to comfort her, to make the child she’d once been feel better. But it made him want to pull away from her, too.

      But even so, he asked, “What kind of men do you date?”

      She sat a little more upright. “What type do you think?”

      “Oh, I don’t know.” He turned cavalier. “Big hairy bikers?”

      She rolled her eyes. “Come on, Jake. I’m being serious.”

      In spite of his joke, he wasn’t feeling particularly humorous, either. “Okay, then how about nice, proper guys who would make good husbands?”

      She folded her hands on her lap. All she needed was a pair of tidy white gloves to complete the ladylike picture.

      “Exactly,” she said.

      Yes, he thought. Exactly. He already knew the answer before he’d posed the question. And now that she was being so prim and marriage-minded, all he wanted to do was get to the island and sweep her into the debauchery that had become his life.

      Where nice, proper guys didn’t exist.

       Three

      It was breathtaking, Carol thought. The mansion where she and Jake and the rest of the partygoers were staying was a sprawling French Colonial–style estate, amid a gorgeous sandy white beach.

      The caretakers, an older couple local to the area, escorted Carol and Jake to their rooms. Lena had brought the rest of the staff over from the States, along with a beauty СКАЧАТЬ