Crooked Crossroads (Child Lost Series Book 1)

by Trinity Crow

  I sat down at the table, slipping Corky a last sweet potato treat. Since chocolate was bad for real dogs, I didn't want to chance giving him any. For a while no one spoke, we each ate a brownie in contemplative silence. It wasn't awkward like I thought it would be. The word companionship came to mind. A word I never really got before now.

  "So I did this thing," I said when I had swallowed the last bite.

  "Thing?" said Sayre, eyes interested. "Like a love thing?"

  "What? No!" I thought of Nikki. How I had left her, face bright, shrieking with laughter as the kids raced around the yard. A smile tried to escape me. "Wait, yeah maybe."

  Aren's eyes widened.

  "This kid at my old foster home…” I started.

  Sayre blew a raspberry and Aren laughed.

  "Yeah." I gave Sayre a flat stare. "Sorry to disappoint you. This kid, everybody thought she was brain damaged or emotionally disturbed or something. So I took Corky and went over there…" I paused, not sure how they would take this. Maybe get excited, maybe tell me it was dangerous. "She had like spirit leeches. Her parents." My mouth tightened. "How sick is that? They messed her up, and then killed themselves and were still giving her hell."

  "Your hair is blowing," Sayre said, batting a loose strand from her face.

  I twisted my head from side to side and glimpsed some kind of poltergeist movement going on with my normally unpossessed hair.

  "Oh." I took a deep breath. “Well, I kind of used that. I called the wind and blew them, like, out of life. They kind of…went." I waved my arm above my head.

  "Went where?" Aren said, her face kind of freaked out looking.

  "Away," I stated firmly, then looked down. "For awhile, at least."

  Sayre spluttered rootbeer across the table. "Yeah Aren, you know," She waved her arm in imitation. "Just a simple away procedure."

  Aren's lips smiled, but her face was on panic. "What exactly happened?"

  So I told her about the whole shadow world and the wind that I hadn't even planned on calling. How Nikki had made a complete recovery and everything was great.

  They both stared at me, Sayre in fascination, Aren in full kitten-birthing distress.

  "That is too bad ass," Sayre said and she reached to score the last brownie.

  "You eat a lot," I told her, only half joking.

  She shrugged. "Hey, you can't get these curves from working out." She took a bite and rolled her eyes at the taste.

  "These aren't Delicata's," she said informing me of what I already knew.

  "No, I made these at home."

  "Like invented them?" she said, looking at the second half wonderingly.

  "Yeah. I mean I tweaked the recipe."

  "Cayenne?" Sayre asked.

  "Yeah." I shook my head at her, waiting for Aren to help me with the real issue.

  "She's trying to decide if you're possessed or not," Sayre said, chewing loudly.

  I frowned at her. "What?"

  "Well, you know, the closest "away" to send a spirit to is from one victim into another." She shrugged. "Cayenne brownies, fitting for a Creole girl." Sayre stopped chewing, frowning when she caught sight of my face. "I didn't mean to offend you. I just thought you were Creole with that three sixty-five golden tan and that hair."

  I studied my hair. Brown. It ranged from dark brown to light blond brown streaks from the sun.

  "It's like pecan wood," Sayre said dreamily, stuffing the last of the chocolate in her mouth.

  I'm not offended, and…" I looked at Aren, " and I'm not possessed. But maybe there is something else I need to talk about."

  I hesitated, not wanting to let them into all my business. "Do y'all know that old guy Leotis?"

  Aren smiled. "Oh sure." she said, on happier ground. "He is a Voodoo practitioner. His family owns the mechanic shop on Calle Facheaux."

  "Uh-huh," I said. "I don't need my car fixed."

  "You don't have a car," Sayre said bluntly. "What's up? He's pretty cool. Stubborn." Sayre blew her bangs out.

  I looked at her. Was she seriously complaining about stubborn people?

  "He, um, has some information about the dead people in my house. I just wondered how trustworthy he is as far as information."

  Aren shook her head, considering. "He tells you the truth he wants you to know," she said, finally. "He's not a bad man. He set Amandine straight."

  "Amandine?" I asked.

  "She's his great niece or something," Sayre said.

  "Well, I'll need to talk to him."

  "No problem," Aren said. "I'll go call."

  Was it really was that simple?

  "What's up with Leotis?" Sayre asked, nosy as ever. "Does it have to do with what Amandine said about the legend?

  "I just need some information on the history of the town and I heard he knew some stuff," I said, evading her question.

  Sayre nodded. "So, you're finally figuring out how weird this place is."

  "Am I?" I asked, dryly. It seemed like a huge understatement with a live ghost dog sitting at my feet.

  “But you seriously never noticed all that stuff before?"

  "I try not to get involved." The words sounded stupid even to me.

  "Yeah, but just biking around? What about how all the houses on the north/south line are in bright colors and the east/west is pastels?"

  I goggled at her. That was weird. "They are?"

  "What about the candy lady?" Sayre mocked me with a single eyebrow.

  The candy lady was weird. She stood in the town square every Tuesday and handed out handfuls of slightly sticky, candy corn while telling children about the end times. But not like the rapture and Jesus, it was about the return of the Pleistocene age. Which ever one that was.

  Sayre stared at me. "How long have you lived here?"

  "Since the end of 9th grade." It's possible my tone was a tad defensive.

  "Huh, maybe it's because you're one of the town weirdos, you can't see it." She investigated the Tupperware for stray crumbs.

  "I can see it!" I protested.

  "Okay, what?" Sayre challenged.

  "The streets are laid out crazy." I shot back.

  "Yeah, but everybody knows that." She dismissed me "Do you know why?"

  "Why?" I said, feeling intuitively it was connected to the three sides bounded by water and the entrance through a cemetery thing.

  "You never heard that? C'mon on. Seriously?"

  "Sayre, it's not like I sat around at lunch with all my besties gossiping." I was getting a bit pissed. Did I need to spell it out that I had no friends in high school…or outside of it?

  "Oh well, yeah, there's that."

  She didn't need me to spell it out after all.

  "The story is that someone was killed a long time ago when this whole area was just cane fields and cotton. Her dad was this rich guy who went crazy and brought in all these slaves from the islands." She stared at me, going for mysterious, looking half-baked.

  "And?" I said, impatiently.

  "They built this town around his hate and revenge. You can actually see it on the city maps."

  "See what?" I shouted and then rolled my eyes as she grinned, pleased at making me lose my temper.

  "It's a veve. Well, kind of. It's a voodoo sign combined with a hex. The whole town is built on that magic. It's why the place is so powerful and why no one ever leaves."

  "What do you mean they never leave?"

  Sayre's eyes were dark and this time I wasn't sure she was teasing me. "Sure they commute to work and they even move away, but they all come back. Aren and I did, my mom, my grandpa. He hated it here. Why did he come back here to die? People talk about leaving. Say the place is behind the times, the town crumbling, but no one ever really goes. Not for long."

  "That's nuts," I said, but my mouth was dry. I thought about all my plans to take my savings and leave LaPierre as soon as I graduated and now with Corky, I doubted I would ever go.

  "Rosa says it's a curse locked into a call. Some
thing calls people here and won't let them go. She said it's how she and her mom and brother ended up here. But she doesn't think it's evil. She says it protects the town and it's people from unwanted notice."

  "Who is Rosa and how does she know this?" I asked skeptically

  Sayre shrugged. "She's a member of the Co-op. She has some pretty far out spirit connections."

  "There is a little more to it," Aren had come back into the room.

  We both stared at her curiously.

  "I think our relatives were involved in laying that hex."

  "Really? How do you get that?" Sayre asked.

  "Gran left some journals and shadow books from the women in our family. I have been trying to read them, but it's all handwritten in French."

  Their last name, Thierry, was French so that made sense.

  Sayre seemed to be sweling up like a multi-striped toad. "Why didn't you ever tell me about them?" she demanded. "I speak French, Aren!"

  "Well, you had French in high school…" Aren trailed off uncomfortably.

  "I made straight A's and was in French club and won that scholarship to…" Now it was Sayre's turn to trail off.

  "You won a scholarship?" Aren said, stunned. "You never told me."

  "Yeah, well you never told me about MY ancestors' diaries."

  "I didn't know what was in them, Sayre. I didn't know if it was something you could handle."

  "That's funny," Sayre said, not sounding amused. "I didn't tell you because I was pretty sure you couldn't handle it if I left."

  "Don't mind me," I said, reaching for my milk.

  "I don't mind you," Sayre said glaring at Aren. "You've never lied to me."

  I made a rude noise. "Yes, I have. And I will probably do it again."

  Sayre looked at me in shock and then laughed. "Yeah, but I expect it from you." She gave her sister a long look. "I want to see those diaries…and the shadow books."

  Aren nodded in agreement, though her face was not giving much away.

  Maybe I should have felt bad about Sayre calling me a liar, but it just felt okay. It's like she knew I had a need to keep shit to myself, and if pushed to hard, I would just deflect with half the truth.

  "Well, I'll find out everything I can from Leotis and them come back and tell you everything I know," I paused. "Everything about your ancestors and…mine."

  I left the shop with Sayre's curiosity unsatisfied, and Aren still concerned I was either possessed or some kind of angel of death.

  I flew home filled with this crazy feeling that I was invincible. The sun had fallen low in the sky and the air seemed infused with the last rays of golden light, I could almost feel it inside me. I pumped my legs harder and my hair streamed out behind me. I knew I was smiling and I didn't care. I had left the kids running in circles, yelling their heads off, only this time it was four kids worth of noise and not three. And that was a good fucking feeling. And I was fine. There was no deep mystical connection. Nikki wouldn't want to be besties or expect anything from me. I could do this, just show up, do my thing, get a hero high and then jet. I had fixed things with my information sources, Sayre and Aren and I hadn't need to hand over a pound of flesh. This was adulting and I was rocking it. Corky stretched out and ran beside me. You could see on his face that he was in dog heaven. We made it back to the house and I slowed to turn in to the drive. Home sweet home, it was an actual thing, and not just a way to sell real estate.

  Going down the drive felt like a parade, instead of beads and doubloons, the spirits waved tassels of moss and flung bits of lichen in the air around us. Corky leaped and caught them, shaking them in his jaws before tossing them aside. He didn't seem in the least disturbed by these spirits of Ruelliquen and I moved them from unknown to the good guys' column. I felt almost at peace with the world and it filled me with a reckless energy. The light, warm and golden, threw tiger stripes of sunlight and shadow across us. I slowed as the pavement switched over to crushed oyster shell, veered left of the oleanders towards my house. My house. The good feeling crested inside me.

  Corky headed into the bushes, rustling around looking for good things to smell. Though his idea of good smells could be cause for alarm at times. I pedaled towards the door, knowing he'd catch up sooner or later. Then abruptly, he barreled out of the bush beside me, almost flipping me over. He planted himself in front of the bike and growled a warning. I shook my head, easing past him to see what the problem was, hunching my shoulders in case his arch nemesis, the demon squirrel, was throwing things today. Again Corky planted himself in front of me, his growl becoming deeper, more savage. He was not going to let me past, and all at once I didn't want to. A movement caught my eye and I looked up. My mouth opening in surprise. Mrs. Evers was in front of my door, and she seemed to be rubbing something on the frame. And it didn't look like blue paint.

  I pedaled up slowly, Corky's behavior putting me on edge. My unease grew as he paced stiff-legged in front me. Ahead of us, Mrs. Evers was busy at whatever she was cooking up. She was so intent on her task, she hadn't noticed me or Corky yet. For a minute, I thought about just turning around, not getting involved. But whatever she was doing, Corky didn't approve. I came up behind her. She held a twist of paper cupped in one hand and dipped a twiggy bundle into it with the other. Reaching up, she brushed the plants across the side of the door. There was a sick, sweet smell and it made my nose crinkle.

  "Hey," I said, the question loud in my voice.

  At the sound, Mrs. Evers jumped and dropped the brush, uttering an unladylike word. She whipped her head towards me, glaring, her shiny teeth bared, an eerie hiss escaping her open mouth.

  "Whoa!" I blurted, my bike keeping me from stepping back. For a minute, I wasn't even sure it was her. The difference was disturbing. The sweet little old lady had been replaced by a feral, cunning crone. I leaned back, giving her what room I could. In a flash, her face reverted back to sweet and friendly, too fast, too friendly…too fake.

  What the hell?

  She twisted her hands together, hiding what she had put on my door, and stepped forward, smiling. I flinched at the sight of those teeth again.

  "Child," she said, her voice cracking. I nodded, keeping my distance. Something was seriously wrong, but what do you say to a crazy old lady when you live in her rent house? I guessed you keep it polite. Then Corky made a decision that put an end to polite. He lunged straight for her, snarling.

  I yelled and grabbed his collar. He pulled against my grip, dragging me forward, my strength, no match for his. I fought to brace my feet, the bike tangling me up. I lurched, not able to pull him back, but barely managing to hold him in place. His anger scared me.

  Mrs. Evers was standing there staring at Corky, her mouth open, panting heavily

  "What have you been doing?" Her voice was angry and accusing.

  "Me?" I said, shocked at her nerve. "I'm minding my own business. What have you been rubbing on my door?"

  She ignored my accusation. "And that?" she said, stabbing a finger at the growling dog beside me.

  "A dog," I said evenly.

  "You stupid girl. You stupid, stupid girl." The words hit me like a slap. I stared at her hate-filled face, so changed from the smiling granny who fed me biscuits and gravy. Gone was the pretense of shared history and home. She was every broken promise, every friendship gone wrong, every person I had ever known, ever. I was angry at myself for giving her the chance to screw me over.

  Well, fuck this.

  My eyes narrowed as I matched her stare. A wind blew through picking up bits of leaves and trash swirling them around us.

  "You are playing with things you know nothing about!" she hissed through clenched teeth. Or dentures? I had a mad impulse to laugh.

  She saw it somehow and her already scary face wrinkled into a snarl that wasn't quite human. She hissed at me, raising her hand. Corky ripped free from my grasp and launched himself at her.

  "Corky! No!" I reached for him and crashed to the ground, tangled in my bike.
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  Mrs. Evers' mouth fell open as he threw himself at her. She screamed, backing up. Corky followed, pressing the attack. He was intent on hurting her. I had never seen him so vicious. I yelled his name again to no effect.

  Mrs. Evers' face was a rictus of fear and panic. As Corky got closer, she lost it and threw the twist of paper she had been hiding. It hit him square on the head. spilling a yellow power across his face.

  His snarls turned to yelps and cries as he threw himself in the dirt, twisting and rubbing. Mrs. Evers shrieked in triumph and clapped her bony hands together. It was a freaky sight, this old ass lady, dancing and clapping, a demented little girl playing dress up in a wrinkled human skin.

  "What the hell?" I yelled, pulling myself free, I tugged frantically at Corky, trying to check his eyes. As I struggled, my sight flickered from first to second. I gasped at the purple and yellow splotches of bruised muck splattered over Corky's face and chest. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the same bruised color crawling sickly up my door frame. It seemed to be spreading, quickly connecting.

  "Shit!" I yelled, "What did you do?"

  Mrs. Evers froze, her eyes bulged as she realized I could see, that I knew. She backed away from me, her eyes never leaving me, and her face filled with secrets and cunning.

  Under my hands, Corky shuddered and let out a high pitched howl of pain.

  "Dammit!" I was crying now, freaking out.

  That bitch! I thought furiously. I opened myself and called the spirit wind. It whirled around us, I could taste their frantic need to help. I tried to push it across Corky, tried to lift the darkening stain of rot. It was no use. The hind whipped and keened around me. If I cared to listen I could hear voices in its wild wailing. I turned towards the witch who had done this. She stared at me, terrified. I thought to kill her, to call the wind, the tortured ones, to summon death and make her scream louder than the innocent dog in my arms. Before I could act, she danced backwards a step, then jittered forward. I stared in horror. Her body shook and twisted, a grotesque parody of the childlike dance she had done minutes ago. Her neck twisted impossibly to one side, while her hands flapped wildly and drool poured from her lips. She squawked and flapped across the drive. Rolling her eyes in agony, she reached a clawed hand out to me. I turned away as she fell to the ground and lay there, juddering, her feet drumming the ground.