Dark Blood Awakens


 
 Dark Blood Awakens
 
 
 
 Mwindajis, Volume 1
 
 
 
 Michelle Corbier
 
 
 Published by Michelle Corbier, 2023.
 
 
 
 
 
 This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
 
 
 
 DARK BLOOD AWAKENS
 
 
 First edition. January 31, 2023.
 Copyright © 2023 Michelle Corbier.
 
 
 
 ISBN: 978-1737525257
 
 
 
 Written by Michelle Corbier.
 
 
 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
 
 
 
 
 Also by Michelle Corbier
 
 
 
 
 Mwindajis
 
 
 
 Dark Blood Awakens
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Write Club Mysteries
 
 
 
 Murder Is Revealing
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Watch for more at Michelle Corbier’s site.
 
 
 
 
 Table of Contents
 Title Page
 Copyright Page
 Also By Michelle Corbier
 Dedication
 Dark Blood Awakens (Mwindajis, #1)
 Chapter 1
 Chapter 2
 Chapter 3
 Chapter 4
 Chapter 5
 Chapter 6
 Chapter 7
 Chapter 8
 Chapter 9
 Chapter 10
 Chapter 11
 Chapter 12
 Chapter 13
 Chapter 14
 Chapter 15
 Chapter 16
 Chapter 17
 Chapter 18
 Chapter 19
 Chapter 20
 Chapter 21
 Chapter 22
 Chapter 23
 Chapter 24
 Chapter 25
 Chapter 26
 Chapter 27
 Chapter 28
 Chapter 29
 Chapter 30
 Chapter 31
 Chapter 32
 Chapter 33
 Chapter 34
 Chapter 35
 Chapter 36
 Chapter 37
 Chapter 38
 Chapter 39
 Chapter 40
 Chapter 41
 Chapter 42
 Chapter 43
 Chapter 44
 Chapter 45
 Chapter 46
 Chapter 47
 Chapter 48
 Chapter 49
 Chapter 50
 Chapter 51
 Chapter 52
 Chapter 53
 Chapter 54
 Chapter 55
 Chapter 56
 Chapter 57
 Chapter 58
 Chapter 59
 Chapter 60
 Chapter 61
 Chapter 62
 Chapter 63
 Chapter 64
 Chapter 65
 Chapter 66
 Chapter 67
 Chapter 68
 Chapter 69
 Chapter 70
 Chapter 71
 Chapter 72
 Chapter 73
 Chapter 74
 Chapter 75
 Chapter 76
 Sign up for Michelle Corbier's Mailing List
 About the Author
 
 
 
 
 
 For Jean-Michel, all my love.
 
 
 Acknowledgements
 This book came to fruition through the assistance of many people. Special thanks to Dr. Jean-Ronel Corbier for helping create the Baoumali language. His integrative neurology practice can be located at www.brainrestorationclinic.com. Thanks to Dr. Corbier and Jean Richardson for the Haitian Creole translations. Finally, I want to recognize my girlfriends, Maria and Mary, for being my beta readers, listening to my complaints and offering suggestions. 
 “In traditional West Africa, humans and spirits have always stood side by side occasionally reaching over to tap one another on the shoulder, as if to remind each other of their mutual existence. Whatever tenuous line is drawn between them is porous; humans must hold their ground as spirits—malicious, capricious and sometimes benevolent—wander.” 
 Shhhh! There Are Spirits Lurking... Cultures of West Africa, May 20, 2019
 Chapter 1
 
 March 2010
 From the parked RV’s windows, Makeda peeked between the blackout curtains, searching across the grassy expanse. A pale, yellow moon hung high in the Carolina sky. 
 Headstones winked at her through the darkness, between trees dripping with Spanish moss. Their polished ghost-white surfaces contrasted with the surrounding foliage. Even with binoculars, moonlight proved insufficient for her to decipher their writings. Salty Atlantic wind and water had etched away their epitaphs. 
 “I’m leaving,” Peter said, grabbing a machete and lance.
 “Wait for me.” Makeda slipped into a light jacket and scrambled to the side door of the RV. 
 “No, stay and look after Thomas.” He gazed down at his brother and grimaced. “His wound looks bad.” 
 “That’s simply an excuse to keep me here.” Makeda huffed, folding her arms over her chest. 
 Peter grinned. “You’re smarter than you look. Stay put—and make sure Thomas is okay.” He hustled out the door before she could reply.
 She stared after him until he disappeared between the trees. Time passed as she gazed into the darkness.
 Thomas moaned and rolled over on the couch. 
 Makeda shut and locked the door but peeked outside around the plastic blinds. If she recalled correctly, the graveyard was over two hundred years old. In middle school, her class toured the North Carolina lighthouses. Old Baldy, established in 1794, had been her favorite. Neither the largest or most attractive of the lighthouses, she loved its history and surrounding area of Cape Fear—nicknamed the Graveyard of the Atlantic. 
 Like ancient relatives, the gravestones remained ever present. Silenced, but vigilant, standing at attention. She imagined they desired to speak, to impart secrets and reveal mysteries regarding the lighthouse. If they could talk, would they guide her to safety or lead her to their inevitable fate? With effort, she pulled herself away from Cape Fear’s dead and returned to her patient.
 She tried not to grumble about playing nursemaid to her brother. After all, as a registered nurse; it made sense for her to care for Thomas. But the real reason they left her behind was to keep her away from the fighting. 
 While Thomas slept, Makeda adjusted his bandages. As she bent over his knee, her shoulder twitched. She startled and inadvertently squeezed the dressings. Had she heard a scream?
 “Ouch,” Thomas said. “Why’d you do that?” He winced and rubbed his knee. 
 She automatically swatted his hand away from the wound. “Don’t mess with the dressing.” 
 Reclined on several pillows, Thomas pushed himself up along the couch. “It’s too tight, and it itches.”
 “That’s the stitches. Leave ’em alone.” She loosened the dressings and gazed into his groggy face. “Did you hear a scream?” 
 “No.” He yawned and scratched his shaking head. 
 When he reached for his knee again, she smacked his hand harder. “Stop it, or I’ll have to redo the stitches. You sure you didn’t hear a scream?”
 “What’s wrong with you? Why are you being so­­—”
 A loud wail interrupted his question. He jerked upright, gawking at Makeda, who returned his gaze. They stared at each other for a second before she jumped off the couch and