Dead Girls Are Easy

by Terri Garey

  Granny stopped what she was doing and looked at me. “You have it backward, child,” she said gently. “It’s because I believe in this that I’m a Christian. As long as there’s been evil, there’s been good—an everlastin’ war that’ll go on long after we’re gone.” She winked, surprising me. “And this old woman is gonna be on the winnin’ side. The Lord looks after his own.” Hands full of bottles, she moved to a table along one wall and motioned me over with a lift of her chin. “Clear me some space here.”

  While I reached out with a grimace to move a bowl filled with balls of what looked like dried cow dung, Granny kept talking. “I know the old ways—learned ’em at my mother’s knee. My mother, now, she a strong mambo woman back in Haiti. People were afraid of her, but they still come to her for help. She did what she could, and took care of me and my brothers and sisters real good that way.”

  A jar containing seashells and another with colored stones were easy enough to move, but no way was I picking up the skeleton of a dried toad, squatting like death itself in the middle of the table.

  “I took care of my kids the same way, but I never did no harm, no matter what I’se offered.” A half-burned stick of incense was the perfect tool to push the toad off to the side and out of Granny’s way. “Love potions, good luck gris-gris, charms to drive away sickness…all the realm of the Loa Erzulie.” She nodded toward a small statue of a black woman, crowned and carrying a baby. To my surprise, the little statue reminded me of a black Virgin Mary. Granny put her ingredients down with a sigh. “But the darkness is always there, just the other side of that line you think you’re not willing to cross.” She shook her head sadly. “Caprice always too curious about the old ones for her own good. Always wantin’ to know more, always wantin’ to know why.”

  “The old ones?”

  Granny Julep turned her head and looked toward the carved snake on the altar. “Damballah is the oldest, the most powerful loa.” Then she indicated a picture on the far wall with a jerk of her chin. “Baron Samedi is the wildest, and the most dangerous. ‘Eat, drink, and be merry,’ he say, ‘for tomorrow you mine.’”

  The picture was yellowed and tattered about the edges, stuck to the wall with pins. A grinning skull in a tuxedo and top hat, complete with bow tie. It looked as if some skeletal dandy had chosen to reject Halloween in favor of New Year’s Eve.

  My cell phone rang, startling us both. Granny shot me an irritated look as I fumbled in my bag and pulled it out. The caller ID showed an unfamiliar number, but I answered it anyway, anxious to stop the ringing.

  “Hey, precious.” Evan’s singsong voice was the one he used when he was especially happy. “Just wanted to let you know that I’m all settled in at Butchie’s.”

  Butchie’s? I wanted to laugh but I didn’t dare. Laughter would have been out of place in this creep show of a room.

  “That’s great, Ev.” I glanced at Granny Julep and saw her lips moving as she rummaged through her bottles. “I’d love to hear all about it but I can’t talk right now—can I call you back later?”

  Evan gave a heavy sigh, but it was purely for effect. “All right, but don’t call too late. Butch is fixing us a romantic dinner for two and then we’ll probably turn in early. He’s positively insistent that I get some rest.”

  I had a feeling that rest was gonna be the last thing in the world Evan was gonna be getting tonight, but I kept that comment to myself, given present company.

  “Why don’t I just come by and see you tomorrow? Listen, I’ll call you back.”

  “Wait, wait, wait—I have a message for you from Joe. You really should give the poor guy your cell-phone number.”

  I glanced nervously at Granny again. Now she was sprinkling powder on the table in some sort of pattern, knobby fingers curiously delicate. I turned my back to her, hunching over the phone as though that provided some privacy.

  “You need to stay out of this, Evan. Joe doesn’t need a fairy godmother.”

  “Ha, ha. Anyway, he said to tell you he’s still up for the ‘mambo woman’ thing, whatever that means. He wants you to call him.”

  “Too late.” I turned around to see a frown of annoyance on Granny Julep’s face, and decided to get off the phone quick. “Already found one.”

  “What?” Evan’s voice rose. “Nicki? Where are you?”

  “I’m at Indigo, and I have to go.”

  “Indigo? What—”

  “I’ll call you later, Evan. Everything’s okay. Gotta go.”

  I made sure I turned the phone off before I slipped it into my purse. When I looked up, Granny was watching me.

  “I’m gonna need your help, girl.”

  Dammit. Why did everybody always need my help?

  “My old fingers can’t work this thing.” She handed me a lighter, and with a sharp click, I brought it to life. She gestured toward a thick black candle, and I touched the flame to the wick.

  “Now close those curtains while I prepare the altar.”

  Oh, I really didn’t like the sound of this, but I did as I was told, pulling heavy drapes, already in place, over the room’s one window. In an instant, I’d shut out the world and stepped into a nightmare.

  Candle flame flickered over Granny Julep’s ancient face, creating shadows where none had been before. The light licked at the walls, gleaming on the shelves of bottles and bones, and giving leers to the carved masks high above my head. I glanced at the poster of Baron Samedi and wished I hadn’t—he looked positively gleeful at the thought of some entertainment.

  “Light this incense and put it over there.”

  Granny handed me the stick, then bent over a bowl that sat right in front of the candle. I did as she asked, checking out the powdered design she’d made on the table. It made no sense to me. She poured a few inches of water into the bowl and added something from one of her bottles. Then she reached for my former lipstick case and sprinkled about half of the grave dirt into the water. I hadn’t noticed a knife until she picked one up and passed it through the candle flame. Light gleamed along the sharp edge.

  She faced me, knife in hand, while my heart began pounding like a runaway train. Tomorrow’s headlines flashed before my eyes?Stupid Girl Found Dead in Voodoo Shop, or better yet, Senior Citizen Murdered—Crazy Woman Claims Self-Defense.

  “I need to cut a piece of cloth from your skirt.”

  “Sure,” I answered weakly. Coward that I was, I was so relieved Granny Julep only wanted my skirt that I could care less if she ruined the outfit. I could always get another black skirt.

  Granny didn’t waste any time, ignoring my involuntary wince as she stabbed through a section of hem and sliced it away. She laid the section of fabric flat on the altar, right next to the bowl of water.

  My lipstick case was emptied, the last of the grave dirt dumped in the middle of the cloth. Mumbling to herself, Granny Julep plucked an assortment of items from the bottles and jars surrounding the candle: a clear crystal, which she passed through the flame as she had the knife; a pinch of herbs, a pinch of brown powder, and a drop of something syrupy; the tiny bone of some creature—maybe a frog or a bird. She kept up a steady litany of what I took to be French patois beneath her breath, her mind obviously focused on the task at hand.

  I watched, nervously silent, as she added a charm-sized silver crucifix to the mix. It looked out of place against the other, more natural ingredients. Then she picked up a small pair of scissors and turned to me, gesturing toward my hair.

  I wanted to ask why she hadn’t just used those scissors on my skirt instead of scaring me to death earlier with the knife, but Granny’s eyes were somewhere else, clouded with other thoughts. So I meekly bent my head, hoping she wouldn’t completely butcher my cut. I was really happy with it these days.

  Luckily, she took only two small snips of hair, making sure she got a few pink ones in the second snip. Then she tossed them on top of the little pile.

  What looked like a beaded mallet turned out to be a rattle as Granny Jule
p picked it up and began shaking it over both the bowl and the fabric, stirring the coil of smoke from the incense and filling the air with a rhythmic shushing sound, like dry leaves underfoot.

  It was then I smelled it—the sickly sweet odor of spoiled fruit.

  “Granny Julep,” I hissed, afraid to speak too loudly.

  Granny ignored me, murmuring louder now. She gathered up the four corners of the cloth and twisted it into a ball, then tied it with a piece of string. I recognized the twine she’d worn on her wrist earlier.

  The smell got stronger. I could almost hear the buzz of flies that would have accompanied the stench in the light of day.

  Unfortunately, there was no light of day. Only one candle, now flickering in a chill draft that had come from nowhere.

  Granny Julep handed me the little ball of fabric, and I took it numbly. There was a pounding noise coming from somewhere far away, and for a moment I thought it was just the drumbeat of blood in my ears. But there was something else, something I only vaguely recognized as shouting.

  “We have to get out of here, Granny Julep. Caprice is coming—I can feel it.”

  Granny shook her head, half of her face lit by the candle, the other half in shadow. “No, she ain’t, child.” She leaned in and smiled, teeth gleaming. For a moment they looked red, as though covered in blood.

  “She already here.”

  “Nicki? Nicki, are you in there?”

  I could hear someone calling my name, but I didn’t dare answer. I didn’t dare make any sound at all that might draw the attention of the giant snake that swayed back and forth on the altar, seemingly hypnotized by the flame of Granny Julep’s candle.

  “Damballah know,” Granny crooned, moving the candle in a constant, rhythmic motion. “Damballah know when one of his children in trouble.”

  It had begun when the table holding the altar started to shake, rattling the shot glasses and causing the liquor they held to tremble. I’d watched, open-mouthed, as the snake statue coiled and lengthened, swallowing the dead lizard it held in its mouth in one smooth motion. The wooden snake had become a real one—one that slithered and hissed in a sibilant version of Caprice’s voice.

  “Shhhut up, old woman,” the snake hissed, “this isn’t your busssinesss.”

  Granny Julep never stopped moving the candle, and never took her eyes off the snake.

  “Nicki Styx! Are you in there? Answer me!”

  This time I recognized the pounding for what it was. Somebody was hammering on the front door of Indigo, looking for me.

  “Let me help you, bebe. Let Granny Julep set you free,” she crooned to the serpent, her voice warm and loving. “The Lord Jesus is waiting to save you.”

  I jerked backward as the snake feinted a strike at the candle. The scent of incense cloyed in my throat as I bit back a scream, but Granny didn’t flinch.

  “Sssave yourssself,” it hissed malevolently. “Caprice isss mine, and ssso isss thisss ssstupid bitch.”

  “This stupid bitch” would be me.

  Granny began to murmur in a language I didn’t understand. It was a chant of sorts, as rhythmic as the sway of the candle.

  “Ah la ya ma santi o, ele ya ma santi go…”

  “Ssshriveled old witch.” The tip of the snake’s tale quivered, warning of another strike. “Your ssspellsss are ussselesss.”

  “Nicki! Nicki, where are you?” I could feel the reverberation of footsteps through the building’s old hardwood floors. The voice was closer now.

  Faster than I would have thought it possible for the old woman to move, Granny Julep snatched up the bowl of water and grave dust and splashed it all over the snake. It recoiled, writhing and twisting, knocking over shot glasses and spilling rum all over the altar. Then it twisted off the table and onto the floor.

  That was it for me. I shrieked like the girl I was and bolted for the door—no way was I gonna stay in that dark, scary place with a demon-possessed snake slithering somewhere around my ankles.

  I was in deep enough shit already.

  Daylight flooded the hidden voodoo room as I ran shrieking into the store.

  There was Joe with Albert, both of them shocked to see me come bursting into the store’s main room. I was just as shocked to see Joe, but that didn’t stop me from making a beeline straight for him. He met me in the middle of the main aisle and held me tight against his chest.

  “Granny Julep…the snake…oh, God…the snake.”

  Albert strode past us, giving Joe an evil look. He disappeared through the doorway I’d just emerged from.

  “Shhhh,” Joe murmured, gathering me even closer. He rested his cheek against my hair. “A snake? It was probably more scared of you than you were of it. Everything’s okay.”

  I seriously doubted that, but I tried to get a grip, breathing deep. Joe didn’t seem in any hurry to let me go. My heart was pounding in a way that frightened me—I could visualize all too well that loose valve flapping, struggling to keep up with the blood flow.

  I lifted my head. “It wasn’t just a snake. It was Caprice. Granny Julep was making me a gris-gris bag when the wooden snake came alive and started whispering things…ugly things—” I shuddered. “—in Caprice’s voice. Granny Julep—”

  “‘Take unto ye the armor of God, that ye may be able to withstand evil.’” Granny shuffled into the room, leaning heavily on Albert’s arm. In one hand she clutched the statue of Damballah, now a wooden effigy once more.

  The old man glared at us both, then spoke.

  “You two go on and get outta here.” He glanced at Joe, meeting his eye. “You take care of yo’ woman, and I’ll take care of mine.”

  Joe didn’t hesitate. He swung me toward the back door, giving the old man a quick nod. Then he hustled me outside and into the sunshine. I didn’t object as he took me by the hand and pulled me up the alley, walking fast. The buzz of flies as we passed the Dumpster made me flinch, the stench of garbage reminding me of Caprice.

  This late on a Sunday afternoon most of the stores in Little Five Points were closed, with only a handful of tourists wandering the streets and peering in store windows. My car was parked out in front of Handbags and Gladrags, and even in my shaken state I could appreciate how unique our storefront was—the lettering of the sign quirky but elegant, the mannequins and their outfits glamorous yet tongue-in-cheek.

  “Let’s get out of here quick—before the police show up to find out why screams were coming from a supposedly empty store.” Joe hustled me toward his own car, which was closer. I didn’t object—I didn’t trust myself to drive right now, anyway. He held the passenger side door open and ushered me in. “I had to make a spectacle of myself to force that old man to let me in, and I wouldn’t be surprised if somebody already called them. Cops might take extra interest in the scene of a recent murder.”

  Joe slid into the driver’s side and started the engine before his door was even shut. The reassuring chunk of automatic locks never sounded so good.

  “I can’t believe it.” I stared at the wad of black cloth I held in my hand.

  “You saw a snake, that’s all. Some mumbo-jumbo sleight-of-hand or something. An old store like that most likely has mice, and where there’s mice, there’s snakes.” Now that we were safe inside the car, Joe seemed less inclined to be sympathetic. “Or else that old woman just wanted to scare you silly so she could up her fee. How much did you pay her, anyway?”

  “It wasn’t like that. I didn’t pay her anything, and she didn’t ask me to.” I felt deflated suddenly, adrenaline rush ebbing away. “Could you take me home?”

  Joe put the car in gear and checked his mirror grimly before pulling away from the curb. “I’m taking you home, all right. My home.”

  I suppose he expected an argument. A “mind your own business” or “you’re not the boss of me” or something equally scathing or sassy or sarcastic. Instead, I just slipped my hand into his and held on tight, so he was forced to drive all the way to his apartment one-handed. />
  He didn’t say anything else until we got there, and neither did I, but he didn’t let go of my hand, either.

  His apartment didn’t have much personality, but its tidiness would have made even Evan proud. White walls and beige carpet, ordinary furniture and a collection of black and white framed prints. The only unique feature was the view through the glass doors that led to the balcony. The apartment overlooked a beautifully manicured garden, rimmed by heavy woods.

  I heard the click of the bolt as Joe locked the door behind us. “Why didn’t you wait for me, Nicki? We had a deal, remember?”

  “I’m sorry,” I said absently. I was still pretty shaken by what I’d seen in that room. How could such a thing be possible?

  “Come and sit down.”

  He touched my elbow and led me to the couch. I sat down, and caught him staring at the jagged tear in the hem of my skirt.

  “What happened to your clothes?” I hoped he wasn’t complaining…the tear left several inches of leg showing, which most men would appreciate despite the situation.

  I showed him what I’d been holding.

  “Granny Julep made me a gris-gris bag. It’s supposed to keep Caprice away.” I gave a little laugh. “I guess it didn’t work.”

  Joe frowned, and somehow I knew he fought an impulse to snatch the homemade bundle and toss it in the trash. I could see it on his face. He confirmed it when he said, “Maybe you should leave well enough alone and forget this voodoo hoodoo.”

  “I can’t.” I fingered the ball of grave dust, tied with brown string. “It won’t forget me.”

  Joe walked into the kitchen and pulled a half-empty bottle of scotch from the cabinet. As he splashed some of the liquor into a couple of tumblers, he asked, “What the hell did you think you were doing?” He stared at me across the breakfast counter as he put the bottle down and picked up the two glasses. “Did you even know those people?”

  I shook my head as he walked toward me, and took the thimbleful of scotch he offered. “Not until today. I met them at the funeral.”