King Me

by Season Vining

  He lets out a moaning kind of sigh when I wrap my legs around his body, pushing my heels into his firm ass to urge him on. King lowers his head now, tucking it beside mine so that his lips connect right where my neck meets my shoulder. He kisses me there as his rhythm increases.

  “God, yes,” I pant.

  Every inch of King’s body slides against mine as he picks up the pace now. My eyes roll closed as I memorize the feel of his cock filling me, the brush of his chest against my hard nipples, the sound our bodies make as they come together. A swirling heat envelopes my center, pulsing, waiting. And when King bites down on my shoulder, I fall over the edge, calling out his name over and over, as if in prayer. He finds his own release seconds after and we collapse into a mess of tangled limbs and sweaty skin. Our chests seesaw back and forth, fighting for the breaths our orgasms stole.

  “Yes,” King says. “It is a good morning.”

  I chuckle, untangle myself from him, and head toward the bathroom for a shower. I give him a warning to stay out, or else we’ll get nothing accomplished today.

  After a quick breakfast we head to do some shopping on Magazine Street. King and I are across from each other in a vintage second-hand clothing store. We flip through the hanging clothes looking for something to wear tonight.

  “So, why do we need to wear white?” I ask.

  “It’s sort of a baptism cleansing ritual,” King says. “White is traditionally worn in almost every religion for those.”

  “I’m excited to go. Just because I’ve researched it and seen the photos, read the articles. But to get to experience it first hand? It’s going to be a sight.” I pull a white, off the shoulder maxi dress from the rack and hang it over my arm. “Still, I wish it was under better circumstances.”

  King nods. “I’ve been a few times. Mamie says it’s more of a show for the white people,” he says with a laugh. “Marie Laveau started it that way and the real Voodoo celebrations would happen elsewhere. It’s this tradition now that locals seem to eat up.”

  We each make our way down the rows of clothes and meet at the end. “You don’t need anything?” I ask when I see his empty hands.

  “No, I’ve got stuff at home.”

  I hold the dress up in front of me and look it over. “1982 called, they want to know if this dress will work?” I ask.

  “It’s perfect.”

  Near the register we find a white scarf and add that to my purchase. A girl with the left side of her head shaved, and the other side long and purple, bags my things. She blows a big bubble with her pink gum and sucks it back in.

  “Seventeen dollars and seventy-two cents,” she says with a sugar sweet smile—not at me, at King.

  “Babe,” I say loudly to King, snapping her out of her ogling. “Do you have any change?”

  King chuckles and digs into his pocket. “Sure, babe.”

  After bagging my purchase and handing over the receipt, purple hair girl tells King to have a nice day. I drag him out the door and onto the sidewalk, for once ignoring the searing heat of the South.

  “That was ridiculous,” I say, my hands flailing. “I mean, come at me, girl. I will rip the other side of your head bald, you lopsided—”

  “Delaney Mills,” King says, his voice as calm and smooth as ever. It stops my ranting. “While I can say that your jealousy is adorable, the fact that you just morphed into a sassy southern woman with violent tendencies has me a little turned on.”

  “A what? I didn’t morph into anything.” I catch a glimpse of myself in the shop’s front window, my head whipping back and forth while I snap off my denial. “Okay. You’re right. What just happened?”

  King slides his shades down over his pretty eyes and shakes his head. “You’re not in New Orleans, girl. New Orleans is in you.”

  I laugh and head down the sidewalk toward the car. A man crosses the street in front of us and the way his eyes slide sideways to watch us makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. He doesn’t look familiar, but still I’m uneasy. I grab King’s hand, just for a feeling of security. Further down the street, another man leans against a storefront, reading a newspaper. His face is obscured, but just as we pass, the paper lowers and our eyes meet. He gives me a yellowed grin and I immediately recognize him as the man who asked me for a smoke one night in front of my apartment.

  “King, we’re being followed,” I say. “I recognize one of them. How long have they been watching me?”

  He keeps walking, but pulls me closer to his side. “Where?”

  “The guy in the green shirt across the street, he’s behind us about half a block. And his friend with the newspaper.”

  King glances back briefly. “Fuck,” he says. “My car is one more block. We’ll be fine. They’re not going to do anything in broad daylight, Laney. They’re just watching. We’re fine.”

  I wonder why he’s trying to talk me down, but then realize my breaths are coming too quick and my eyes are watery. It is my body’s immediate reaction to these people who have already terrorized me for too long.

  By the time we make it to the car and jump inside, the men are gone. They’ve disappeared into the maze of New Orleans streets as if they never existed.

  _______________

  The crowd is thick when we arrive at Magnolia Bridge. Everyone is dressed in white with most also wearing white scarves or hats covering their heads. There is a carved wooden likeness of Marie Laveau in the center of the bridge, the pedestal marked with X’s. There are offerings around the statue—food, hair barrettes, candles, and fresh flowers. A row of three men sit behind drums, talking amongst themselves.

  There is a quietness to this place, one that is eerie considering how many people are in attendance. King and I weave through the crowd, and I look at every face along the way. We’re in search of any Bondye Saints and are also vowing to look out for any children that are present.

  As the sun sinks lower in the sky, everyone focuses their attention on the priestess who stands front and center. King whispers that Felicia is a Yankee transplant to the city, the first initiated into such a position in local Voodoo. He says that some of the community respects her, others think she’s a fraud. He is undecided.

  “Well, hey y’all,” Marie says, sauntering up next to us. She throws one arm around my shoulders and squeezes me into her side.

  King gives her a glance. “Didn’t think we’d see you here,” he says, slinking an arm around my waist.

  Marie chuckles and lets go of me. “I love Felicia. I come to this shit show every year. I mean, their intentions are good, I suppose.” She rolls her eyes and shakes her head, her large hoop earrings swinging back and forth with the motion.

  Felicia begins at sunset, she shakes a gourd rattle and the drum line comes to life. Other practitioners draw symbols in chalk on the rough wooden boards, likely trying to open a path between the spiritual world and this one. More and more candles are lit and soon the sight is breathtaking. The rhythmic pounding of the drums lulls me into a calm state and I can understand why people want to be a part of this.

  I spot a little girl, around 10 years old, and point her out to King. He nods and motions behind us to another young girl. My heart rate spikes as I see the blonde girl in a white dress and braids. King must sense my anxiety. He moves behind me and wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me tight against his chest.

  “Breathe with me,” he says. “Nice and slow.”

  I force myself to take deep, even breaths every time I feel his chest push into my back. I focus on the feel of his touch and the sound of the drums. I reel in the tension that scratches just below my surface.

  “Do you think we should call the police and tell them what we know? They could be out here helping us,” I say.

  King shakes his head. “Tell them we think there’s a secret Voodoo group that might possibly be planning to kidnap a kid for a sacrifice ritual? We have no proof. We don’t know anything. All of this is speculation. They’d laugh at us and never t
hink of it again.”

  “Maybe Officer Zander,” I say, mostly to myself. King doesn’t respond.

  The drum beats drop down to a slower pace, a softer sound. Felicia calls the first person forward. I am fascinated as I watch her wash their head seven times with herbal water and wrap it in a white towel. She tells them to not remove it until tomorrow.

  The three of us move aside as people form three lines to have their heads washed in this baptism type ceremony. It is meant to do away with negative energy and produce a positive year. I love the ritual of the whole thing. I’m fascinated by people’s willingness to give themselves over and believe in something more than themselves. I search myself and still don’t know what to believe.

  One of the young girls moves forward and I watch her closely. She does not participate, but accompanies an older woman who holds her hand. I swivel my head in search of the second girl and don’t find her anywhere.

  “King,” I say, my eyes scanning the crowd. “I don’t see her.”

  He turns and surveys the remaining people as well. “Me neither.”

  “Should we go looking?” I ask.

  “What’s going on? You two looked freaked out,” Marie says.

  “We think the Bondye Saints may be repeating the ritual that got them banned back in the ‘60s. Which means they may be kidnapping a child from here tonight. We’ve only seen two kids, but now one of them is gone.”

  “Mon dieu!” she says loudly, before slapping a hand over her mouth. “I told your hard-headed asses to stop with the Bondye Saints. Y’all are doing some upper level investigative shit that will certainly lead to trouble. Now, how can I help?” Marie asks with a grin.

  “Aren’t you worried about getting involved?” I ask. “It could put a target on your back.”

  “Girl, I live with a target on my back. Just part of the wardrobe now. It’s all about how you accessorize it,” she says, laughing.

  “Okay. Let’s split up and look for her,” I say.

  “No way. They’ve already attacked you twice,” King argues, eyeing the crowd pushing in around us.

  “Fine. Marie and I will go together.” I feel my anxiety ramping up, like I’ll be swallowed up in the swarm of people. I push that down and focus on finding the girl.

  “Yeah,” Marie says, patting her left breast. “You know I don’t leave the house without my blade. We good.”

  Heavy brows lower over King’s eyes and he frowns at me, but nods. “Fine. Meet back here in 10 minutes. Call if you find anything,” he says, holding up his phone and waving it at me.

  King wraps me in a tight embrace, and places a kiss on my temple before releasing me. Marie and I head one way while King goes in the opposite direction. I describe the girl to Marie and scold myself for not paying attention to the adult she was with. We push through a sea of people dressed in white, trying to distinguish one person from the next. We study face after face until they seem to blur together and I can barely remember what I’m looking for. I move my sights lower, looking for anyone smaller.

  “Is that her?” Marie says, stopping in her tracks and pointing through the crowd.

  I see another young girl, this one a brunette, and clearly safe with her parents. “No. Keep looking.”

  The crowd begins to thin out as we move off the bridge and head down the street. The little blonde girl is nowhere to be found. Fear begins to crackle at my edges, trying to push in on me, trying to make me crumble. I hold strong and step free from the last of the revelers. Out here I feel like I can breathe, like the world isn’t closing in on me.

  “Maybe King had better luck,” Marie says. “Come on, let’s head back.”

  My relief is short-lived as she grabs my hand and spins me back toward the bridge. That’s when I see them. The two men who were following us earlier today. They both lean casually against a tree, arms crossed and unashamedly staring at me. My fingers dig into Marie’s hand and she lets out a yelp.

  “Sorry,” I say. “Let’s move. We’re being watched.”

  I run back into the crowd, dragging Marie behind me. She stumbles a few times, but manages to keep up. I yell excuse me over and over, urging people to move out of my way and even bump a few shoulders along the way. I don’t stop and apologize, there’s no time.

  “I don’t see anyone following us, Laney,” she says from behind me. I ignore her and keep pushing. When we reach the center of the bridge, the head washing ceremony is still going, but I don’t see King anywhere.

  I lift up onto my tiptoes and search every face. “Where is he?” I ask. I turn in the opposite direction and find the two men moving through the crowd slowly coming toward us. “Fuck.”

  My heart is beating so hard, it echoes in my ears. Marie asks a question, but I just stare at her blankly because I can’t hear. The drums continue, and some people have started dancing. There are murmured conversations and singing all around us. The scene is chaotic and makes my head spin, but I know those men are still coming.

  Again, I pull Marie across the bridge, still searching for King. “Where are we going?” she asks in a huff.

  “Just keep moving,” I plead, seeing the men’s faces getting closer when I turn to look at her.

  I give up trying to be polite and just start pushing through people, forcing them out of my way. Panic brews and bubbles up inside until it fills me and keeps me moving.

  “King!” I shout when we are away from the ceremony and out of the crowd. “King!” Marie still holds my hand, squeezing tight to keep me grounded. My eyes dart back and forth, but everything is lost in the mass of white on white. The street lights have come on now and I fight the urge to find a dark hiding spot amongst the crowd. “King!”

  “Laney,” King answers. A few people move as I make a path toward him. I drop Marie’s hand and embrace him, tears in my eyes.

  “They’re here—the men from earlier today. They’re following us.”

  He holds me at arm’s length, his eyes working over the people behind us. “I don’t see anyone,” he says.

  I turn now and don’t find them either. They have disappeared into the crowd. Or worse, they were never here at all. Am I so far gone that I imagined them?

  King holds me tight and rocks us back and forth while Marie looks on. “I found the girl,” he says. “She’s fine.”

  “So, maybe the Bondye Saints aren’t up to anything tonight,” Marie says. King and I remain silent, because after everything we’ve seen and heard, we just can’t believe that. “Well, it’s been an adventure, you two. But I’m heading out. I’ll keep my ears open for any talk of the Saints. Let me know if I can help,” she says. “Stay safe.”

  “You too,” I answer, my fingers pressing into the metal medallion around my neck.

  “Your heart is beating so fast, I can feel it,” King says.

  “Do you think I’m crazy?” I ask, looking up at his face and wiping the tears from my face.

  “No,” he says, his gaze still studying the crowd. “I’m sure they’re here, probably just to keep an eye on us. But there’s nothing we can do. Let’s go.”

  I nod and let King lead me back toward the car. “So, if they’re not repeating the same pattern as they did in 1969, we have no idea what they’re up to. We’re more in the dark now than before,” I say.

  My phone chimes from inside my bag. “We’ll just keep digging,” King says.

  I shuffle through the pockets of the bag and finally wrap my fingers around the ringing phone. I don’t recognize the number, but it’s local.

  “Hello?” I say.

  “Laney?” A woman’s voice, shattered and shaking, whispers my name. “Laney, it’s Emma. Emma Greene. Olivia is missing. She’s gone. They took her.”

  16

  I DROP TO MY knees, asphalt and pebbles digging into my skin. “Oh my god,” is all I can get out. King is by my side in a flash, his face worried and searching mine.

  Emma lets out a sob and more tears fall as I imagine her pain, and how terrified
she must be. “The police just left and I don’t know what to do now,” she says, sniffling. “I know who did this. That’s why I called you. Delaney, you have to help me.”

  “We’ll be there in 10 minutes,” I promise and close my phone to end the call.

  “What is it?” King asks after I sit in silence for a few seconds, my brain numb and stunned.

  “They took Emma’s daughter,” I say. The words choke me and I have to clear my throat and repeat them.

  “Shit.”

  “Let’s go,” I say, snapping out of my stupor and jumping to my feet. “I told her we’d come.”

  “Of course,” King says, running around the front of the car and climbing inside. The engine roars to life and the tires screech as we tear out of there, leaving behind the ongoing ceremony and revelers.

  Eight minutes later, I’m standing on Emma Green’s porch, holding her while she falls apart in my arms. Her tears soak into my shoulder as my hands hold her tight. It’s the only thing I know to do. When she finally catches her breath, she straightens up and wipes the wetness from her face.

  “Thank you for coming,” she says through panting breaths. “Y’all come inside.”

  King and I follow her through a dark, empty house. With toys scattered throughout and the eerie silence of the space, my chest tightens. Again, we sit around her kitchen table. The baby monitor lays in pieces on the floor, a mark on the wall where it made impact.

  “My other two kids are staying with my mother,” she says. Her eyes are bloodshot, her skin pale. She looks exhausted and like she could break at any second.

  “This is Valentine King,” I say, motioning to King beside me. “He’s been helping me with all this.”

  Emma nods, takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly. “Olivia was taking her afternoon nap,” she says, her eyes stare down the dark hallway and glaze over. “They came in through her window and stole her out of bed.” She blinks and tears roll down her cheeks. “I’ve been meaning to fix that lock for months now.”

  “Were you home at the time?” I ask, covering her hand with mine.