The Voodoo Children

by Les Goodrich

  Brit nodded as if his words conveyed the most serious information possible and her eyes never left his face.

  “I’ll share anything I learn with you and I’d appreciate it if you did the same. It’s in our best interest to work together. Find him if possible and try to learn all you can, then we’ll work together to get him off the street. My main concern at this point is his apprehension and your safety. Here’s my card. Call me if anything comes up and I’ll see you in New Orleans.” Agent Warren placed several business cards on the glass counter, said, “Good day,” and left the shop.

  Tanner picked up one of the white cards, read the black text, and put it in his pocket.

  “Give me one of those,” Brit said and she grabbed a card with a touch too much enthusiasm.

  “Never know when you might need to file a report, huh Brit,” Jordan teased and she and the others took cards as well. “Seriously though, that all makes sense. I’m actually glad to have some official backup for once.”

  “Me too,” Tanner said.

  “You two still have to be careful,” Carol said. “I did an astral projection last night to look for Figment. I couldn’t see his exact location, but his intention structure was like a poisonous smog over the whole French Quarter. As big as it was, it was still confined. I think that means the hex repellant spell worked. If it hadn’t, he’d be sending energy out to find Casey. It should be safe to use your WiFi again. He won’t be sending any hexes to witches in this area anytime soon. But still, keep Casey out of that chat room.”

  “We will,” Jordan said and Carol nodded and continued.

  “Brenna has agreed to help us in the store while you two are gone. We have plenty of time to prepare before the full Moon. This weekend is already Brit and me opening, and Tanner, you and Jordan close both days, so that’s perfect. Tanner and I open Monday, then Brit and Jordan close. Jordan and Tanner, get ready. I’ve arranged a place for you to stay in New Orleans. Jordan, will your Jeep make it there and back?”

  “I think so. Where are we staying?”

  Carol grinned, “Well, it ain’t the Roosevelt.”

  ***

  Thursday brought the coldest air of the month and although the sunrise cast a warm silken orange light, the previous night’s low of thirty-five degrees clung yet to the still and fragile morning. Carol and Brit drank hot coffee in the store and tried to chase the cold away. The store heater rattled and complained in dusty wheezes.

  “This thing’s gonna asphyxiate us,” Brit said. Early customers remarked on the smell and as soon as the day grew warmer Carol shut down the heater. Two groups of customers were browsing the store when Carol went to grab her jacket for her walk to lunch.

  Jordan breathed deeply the refreshing fifty degree air, coasted along the waterfront on her bike, and stepped through the propped open shop door at noon. She might have passed for a cowan in her thick grey leggings, hiking boots, and sensible tan cotton ducking coat. But her true self was betrayed by the hood-ornament-sized chrome pentacle necklace, oversized round blue sunglasses, and black cable knit cap contrivance that sported a set of eight-inch ribbed and spiraled gazelle horns.

  Carol stopped with four customers at the incense shelf and along with Brit at the register they all turned and tried to calculate the image that was Jordan.

  “What?” Jordan said.

  “Don’t you look devilish,” Carol said. “I’ll be back.”

  “There’s no devil in the craft,” Jordan said as Carol strolled by. “Remember, Sally told the cop that in the greenhouse.”

  “Thank you,” Brit said handing the receipt to a gentleman customer and closing the register drawer.

  “Carol’s off to lunch I take it,” Jordan said and she put her backpack on the front table.

  “Yeah. I’ll take off when she gets back. Or when Tanner gets here. You can float, but I think everyone’s fine back there for now.”

  “Just girls at the bookshelf and ladies smelling incense,” Jordan said moving out from behind the counter and looking into the shop.

  “Yep, they’re the only ones,” Brit said and leaned to confirm it.

  “It’s that little spaz girl from the high school drama club.”

  “Jen,” Brit said.

  “Yeah Jen. She’s looking at the Hagen book on faerie magick again. Someday I’m just gonna buy it for her.”

  “She just likes to hang out in here.”

  “Yeah. Her and her friend.”

  “Jen and Tonic,” Brit said.

  “You’re not serious.”

  “That’s what they call themselves.”

  “Jen and Tonic,” Jordan said. “That’s actually kind of funny.”

  “So are you stoked to go to New Orleans?” Brit asked and something like envy slipped out.

  “It has to be done. This guy messed with the wrong witches. Wish I was going under more relaxing circumstances.”

  “Wish I was going at all,” Brit said. “To New Orleans to get in adventures with a hot IWM agent.”

  “That guy really turned you on. You think he’s that hot?”

  “Didn’t you?”

  “I guess. He has cool looking eyes. Good looking face. I thought the whole swashbucking ghost hunter outfit was a bit much though. Didn’t you?”

  “I thought he looked good in it. That jacket. And I liked the crazy hair. Anyway, you’re driving the Jeep?”

  “Yeah. I have an appointment to get it tuned up before we go. It’s making a funny noise.”

  “James doesn’t work on cars?”

  “Uuugh. James,” Jordan exhaled, lurched back her head, and barely grabbed her tilting horns in time to stop them falling.

  “What?”

  “He wants us to move in together.”

  “In his place?”

  “Either one. I don’t know.”

  “What’d you say?”

  “I pretty much told him no, then kicked him out. Haven’t talked to him since.”

  “When was this?”

  “Couple days ago. I don’t know. Whenever we went to see the voodoo lady.”

  “Monday. You’re not gonna break up with him are you?”

  “I’m not moving in with him.”

  “But you guys are so good together. He’s a witch. I’ve never seen you happier. And he’s so cute.”

  “Now you’re making me feel worse.”

  “Doesn’t he DJ at Duncan’s Sunday afternoon? Just go see him then.”

  “I don’t want to wait that long.”

  “Then go see him at his work. Right as he’s getting off. It’ll be better to talk to him in person. Just tell him you’re not ready to move in together. You want to keep your own places and still date. If he won’t accept that then forget it. But I bet he will. He’s stupid if he doesn’t.”

  “You’re right. He just hit me with it when I was barely awake. I’ll go see him.”

  The ladies came up and paid for boxes of stick incense and left only Jen and Tonic in the store.

  “Guess who I ran into the other day?” Brit asked with hushed voice. “Datura.”

  “Where did you see her?”

  “On my way here from school, um, Tuesday. She was walking down Valencia exactly as I was getting my bike. I was almost late, but I couldn’t help thinking it had something to do with me. So I followed her.”

  “You followed Datura? That’s a switch.”

  “Yeah.”

  “How far?”

  “Just to where she turned onto Saint George from Treasury. I turned to come here and she was right behind me. Had me pinned against the wall.”

  “Holy shit! Was her wand out?”

  “Yeah. Mine too. I totally faced her down in the street.”

  “Are you kidding me! What happened? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I’m telling you now.”

  “Well what happened?”

  “She tricked me to get me against the wall, then she bitched me out for Thought-Flooding Marshal. Apparently it does
erase the hexpawn curse. And the hexpawn thing can only be done once.”

  “You found all that out from Datura?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It could be a lie you know.”

  “It didn’t seem that way. Anyway, she could have got me if she wanted to, but in the end I could tell she didn’t want to chance it when I had my wand in her face.”

  “Damn, you go witch!”

  “Still,” Brit said. “Whenever you start to see Shadowclan out in the light, you know something’s going on. Am I wrong?”

  “No, you’re not wrong. You realize a few months ago, just seeing her would’ve freaked you out beyond reason. First you blast Marshal and now this. What’s next?

  “If you can hold your own against her in any situation, you should feel good about yourself. I’ve known Datura since school. She could never really connect with anyone on a social level. She liked to scare people, then work from there. She was always beautiful, but sinister. And if anyone with any situational awareness at all spent more than an hour or so around her, they’d begin to realize she was dangerous.”

  “Like how?” Brit asked.

  “I don’t know. Like sometimes it would be just a single comment. Like she’d say something like, if you wanted to kill someone and get away with it, you could weight them down with concrete and sink them a few miles out in the ocean.

  “Now that kind of comment may be late night teenage speculation that we all engage in at some point. But then Datura would say something like, not that I’d ever kill someone just to see if I could get away with it. And it was those little unnecessary comments that did it. No normal person would ever have to clarify that. So it was always some seemingly innocent phrase or comment that just gave you an uneasy feeling. Like you were really around someone who was dangerous. Not physically so much, but capable. Just a notch enough antisocial to casually do the wrong thing without warning.”

  “Born Shadowclan,” Brit said.

  “Born Shadowclan,” Jordan agreed. “Speaking of Shadowclan, you know, I saw those little devils Darkspell at The Poison Apple,” Jordan said standing there in her giant blue sunglasses and horns. “They’re so weird.”

  Brit smiled and thought of Darkspell with a fondness that surprised her. “Yeah, They’re weird for sure. But I’m feeling so alive these days. I spent so much energy blaming magick for my parent’s divorce. Maybe my life won’t ever be white picket fences and parents living together until they’re the old, but that’s okay.

  “Once I realized that, and stopped trying to fix it all, I got this flood of bright energy and it feels so good. And being a witch, even with all it’s craziness, feels so right. I’m learning to let other people be. Not just my parents. If Mims takes ten years to become a witch, then fine. I love her for who she is. It’s silly to wish she was more like me. I’m a workaholic. I get that. But I’m ready to see the world. I want to do everything.”

  “I know how you feel,” Jordan said and her look was distant but calm.

  “No you don’t. You’re the one who gets to go everywhere.”

  “Hey. Be glad for who you are. You get to do a lot.”

  “I am. I know. I didn’t mean it like that,” Brit said. The girls traded smiles and Jordan moved off into the shop.

  Carol was back when Tanner came in at one p.m. to close with Jordan. He backed in through the door, his arms loaded with a bale of papers. Brit had gathered her things to leave. “The Last Dragon,” she said.

  “Yule edition,” Tanner confirmed and he slid the stack of papers onto the glass counter.

  “Thank you,” Brit said taking one. “I’ll take one to Mims too. I’m going to see her.”

  “Take them a stack for the shop. Save me a trip,” Tanner said and he handed Brit a stack of papers.

  “Is my article in here?” Brit asked.

  “Yep.”

  “Cool. Bye guys,”

  “Bye,” everyone said, and Brit slipped toward the door.

  “Wait!” Carol called coming up from the back and stopping Brit short. “Just a second,” she said and she brought a newspaper and spread it on the counter.

  Jordan and Tanner looked and Brit put her stack of The Last Dragon papers on the floor by the window and stepped up to Carol’s side.

  “Where’d you get a cowan newspaper?” Jordan asked.

  “Brenna gave it to me at lunch. She wanted me to see this article.”

  “Brenna had a newspaper? I can’t believe she had that thing.”

  Brit reached to lift the page and look at the article.

  “Don’t touch it,” Jordan said. “Bad vibes.”

  Brit pulled her hand away but grinned. Carol spoke.

  “Look,” Carol said and indicated the headline in an opened hand gesture as if revealing something they had all expected. The group leaned to see it.

  “Klepto Kids Still Baffle Police.” Tanner read and he looked up to Carol.

  “They robbed another bank. In New Orleans this time. It’s the Dark Moon Induction final step. He will have built up his full dark energy now. But there was a glitch and they missed a secondary silent alarm that went off. The police pulled up just as two kids were coming out. One of the kids pulled a gun and shot, and the police shot him in the shoulder.”

  “Holy shit,” burst Jordan. “Is the kid okay?”

  “You mean aside from being hexed and shot? I guess. I mean he’s alive,” Carol said. “They caught him and he was hexed like Casey. It says he mumbled Figment all the way to the hospital. The other kid was a girl. She got away.”

  “Got away?” Tanner asked.

  “Vanished,” Brit said lifting the paper, bad vibes and all, and reading. “It says they chased the girl around the south side of the building and when the police made the corner she was gone.”

  “Gone like she outran them?” Jordan asked.

  “I don’t know,” Brit said and read. “The officer reported as she rounded the corner into the alley no one was visible and she returned to aid her partner and the wounded suspect.”

  “Keep that rag,” Jordan said. “When we get there, I wanna start by looking at that alley.”

  Carol folded the paper closed. “I’m having second thoughts about you two going. Guns and bullets. This is heavy. You two are more important to me.”

  “We have to go,” asserted Jordan. “These kids are in deep shit. You said this was the final act in the Dark Moon Induction. Don’t you think the robberies are done for now? This is about finding that bastard Figment. This was just his trial run, I can feel it. We have to stop him before the big event. The police are way outgunned, magickally speaking.”

  “Okay but you listen to me. I want both of you on high alert. Every step you take will have Jordan on point and you, Tanner, watching your backs. Wands out and protection spells fully up. I don’t care how it looks or what people think of you. This isn’t a witchcraft public relations tour. Understand?”

  “As if I care,” Jordan said adjusting her horns.

  “Jordan,” Carol said.

  “Understood,” Jordan said and Tanner said, “Got it.”

  ***

  In the dark, monitor-lit, New Orleans house Figment hunched over the keyboard, his face illuminated from the green glow of the screen and his fingers in swift typing motion.

  Along the wall stood a concrete slab perched upon two stone pillars. The slab was a cemetery coffin box lid, the pillars were headstone end braces, and both had been stolen from the same saint’s grave. The table top held a demonic Shadowclan altar and in spots across its cold top black wax stood in dried pools. More black candles cast wavering light across a skull wrapped with copper wire and carved with malicious black binding symbols. Pentacles of power scorched onto applewood plates held smokey quartz points and iron cups of ash. Sickly lichen incense smoke trailed and twisted upward to the high ceiling. Raven feathers cradled the skull of some large rodent and from its forlorn eye sockets dull violet light searched the room. The languid red sigil
of a spell to thwart intruders levitated like a wobbling cast of phosphorescent blood above a cluster of decayed and shriveled poisonous herbs.

  Figment had known the second he moved the kid’s arm and pulled the perfectly compromised safe door open, that the silent alarm was still active. He immediately heard his hacked bank phone line patch stutter and spit out a stream of digital static. The modern equivalent of a morse code distress signal was lighting up a police switchboard somewhere, even as he rolled his chair from the gaming desk to the control terminal. The clicking sounds of erratic programmer typing filled the austere room and the hooded figure leaned closer to the screen. His fingers flew is desperation.

  “Son of a bitch,” he spat and he typed on. “Fuck it now,” he said and added, “too late to stop it anyway,” as he spun around and wheeled across the four feet of black stained pine floor to the gaming desk. He set the exit sequence in play with a frantic mouse move and click, then took up the gaming controller.

  He watched the camera views on the spilt screen as both kids exited through the dark bank lobby. Backpacks and cash-filled duffels made their steps more studied, and as he saw the main doors come into his monochrome view, the minuscule cameras mounted on each kid’s hat, both kids were seeing the same scene. Each kid witnessed it unfold as if they were watching a movie and they were just as helpless to change the outcome or the action or even utter a sound about it.

  Behind their hexed eyes they cried, but no tears came. Their souls were with them. Their awareness their own. But any and all control belonged to someone they had neither met nor seen. Indeed they could only imagine what was causing them to do such things at all. Both were trapped in a waking nightmare and as their bodies betrayed them they watched, and deep inside their tormented hearts, they begged, and prayed, and hoped beyond all reason to awake. They watched the doors push open at the urging of one hand each, and when they heard the police shout, the young boy of eleven watched his own hand extend the pistol.