Voodoo

by Samantha Boyette

  “This isn’t what it seems. You’re not meant to be here, but until you find what you seek you’ll never leave.” Her eyes met mine and she growled. “Get gone with you.” I dipped under the curtain.

  We were in another small hallway, and this time I could feel the walls grazing both of my shoulders as I hurried after Stephen. There was no light in the hall and it took everything I had in me to hurry into the black. The disorienting darkness made the seconds drag on, but soon my hand found Stephen's back.

  “She's here,” Stephen whispered to the boy. A dim crack of light appeared, and I could see Alphonse.

  “Go. Get away from here. Don’t you lead those beasts here,” Alphonse said as he waved us out.

  We slipped out past him. The door he held open wasn't a door at all. Instead, it looked like just another section of wall inside the house. When he slammed it shut behind us I couldn't see any seam that would hint a door had been opened.

  “Come on,” Stephen said. “We have to get out of here. If the Tigers catch us, we won't last through the night.”

  “What the hell are Tigers?” I asked as we ran down the alley. We were headed away from the path we had taken to reach the house.

  “Clea's guard. Bad guys you don't want to mess with.”

  We reached the next street. I was ready to dash across to the next alley, but Stephen pushed me back against the wall. Pressed to the wall, deep in shadow, we watched as three men ran past. They were dressed in black suits and ties, each with a hat similar to Stephen's. For the most part they didn't look like anything special, until I saw their faces. Each had four long scars running from their foreheads down to their chins.

  “The other three must be going in from the front,” Stephen said, after they had passed. He edged carefully to the street and looked out before motioning for me and taking my hand.

  We ran across the street and up another alley. I had no trouble keeping up with Stephen now. One look at those men had scared me enough that I was willing to follow him wherever without any explanation.

  We dashed down alley after alley until Stephen decided we had put enough distance between us and the Tigers. We started a zigzag path back up toward the city’s busier streets.

  We slowed to a walk when we were back on the main thoroughfare, but we still moved quickly. Old fashioned street lights lit the street every dozen feet, shoving away the darkness of the rest of the city.

  “Where are we going?”

  “I have a boat. It will be safe.” Stephen led the way to a harbor. I was wary of the dark docks at first, but had given in to trusting Stephen's judgment. The dock was sturdy beneath my feet, and the gentle lapping of water served to calm my jangled nerves. I could still hear indistinct music from the city behind us, but out on the docks we seemed to be in a whole new world.

  We climbed aboard a midsized boat, all white and wood. There was a small cabin and once inside Stephen lit an oil lamp. The cabin held a small bed on one side and a set of cabinets on the other. Stephen set the lamp on the counter above the cabinets and sat on the bed. After a moment's hesitation, I sat beside him, but not too close.

  “Okay,” I said with a heavy sigh. I met his eyes. “Start explaining.”

  Stephen let out a long breath, and took off his hat. He wiped at the sweat on his forehead, pushing his hand back over his short hair. He set his hat on the counter before unbuttoning his suit jacket and loosening his tie.

  “What do you want to know?” His voice was as weary as I felt.

  “Let's start with my sister, and Clea.” My stomach flip-flopped. I was scared to hear the explanation.

  “What does your sister look like?” Stephen asked, removing his tie.

  “She’s a little bit taller than me, red hair, hazel eyes like mine.” Unconsciously, I put my hand to my left temple. “She has a little scar above her eyebrow from when we were kids.” I had hit her in the head with a stick when I was eight and she was ten, but that was ten years ago now.

  Stephen sighed, wiping a hand over his face. “I think Madam Delia is right. You sister is Clea, or something like that at least. You just described Clea spot on, though the scar isn't so little.”

  “I don't understand.” I stood, wanting to pace but realizing the boat was too small. I sat down again. “How can Claire be Clea? She’s only been here as long as I have.”

  “Clea has been here for years,” Stephen said. “She is one of the power players in Crescent. They call her the Tiger Demon because she uses a severed tiger paw to mark each of the men who works for her.” I thought of the scars on the faces of the men, and shuddered. “She is not someone you want to mess with from what I hear. She's been controlling the north side for as long as I can remember.”

  “How long have you been here?”

  “I don't really know for sure.” Stephen frowned. Again his eyes took on that look of being far away. “It feels like years, but it also doesn't. I know that doesn't make any sense. All I know is I need to find Hannah.”

  “Okay, how about the lost angels? What does that mean? Is it a place, a group, or what?”

  “The Lost Angels,” Stephen said, emphasizing it as a name. “It's a club on the west side. They have entertainment, gambling, and booze. It's a pretty shady place.”

  “So Hannah and Claire-”

  “Clea,” Stephen interrupted.

  “Fine, Hannah, and Clea, they could both be there?” I asked

  “If Madam Delia is right.” He wiped a hand over his face. “I sort of hope she isn't. Getting Hannah out of there won't be easy. The man who owns it is a monster.”

  “We won't know until we check the place out.” I was ready to get moving. I needed to see this Clea for myself.

  “We should lay low for a little bit,” Stephen said. “Wait for the Tigers to move on. Are you hungry?”

  “No,” I said. My stomach growled and Stephen smiled. “Alright, maybe I am.”

  Stephen stood, and went to the cabinets. He pulled open a drawer and took out a loaf of bread. He tore it in half before he opened a cabinet to pull out a block of hard cheese. He handed me half the loaf of bread. We took turns breaking off pieces of the tangy cheese. We would eat, and I would try to be patient.

  *

  The Lost Angels looked like a museum from the outside. Wide stairs led up to an entrance flanked by tall pillars holding up a peaked roof. ‘The Lost Angels’ was carved into the stone above the entrance, and lit by spotlights. Men and women strolled in and out of the building, music flowing through the door each time it opened. We watched for a few minutes from across the street. The night had become cold, and I drew the jacket Stephen had given me more tightly around myself. The wind blew my hair across my face, forcing me to tuck it back behind my ear.

  “Can we get in?” I asked. The women leaving the building were dressed in flashier dresses than what I wore, and almost all of them wore fancy clips or headbands in their hair.

  “It's an open club,” Stephen said. “He's willing to take anyone's money.” Both of us had gold, silver, and copper coins in our pockets now. Stephen had pulled a small locked box of money out from under the bed on the boat. He had taken most of it, but made it clear it was for both of us.

  “Let's go then,” I said after taking a deep breath.

  At the next break in traffic we crossed the road. Climbing up the stairs, I found the building breathtaking. I felt like we were a rich couple going to an opera, or some benefit gala. Stephen took my hand again and I tried not to blush. We stepped into a long, narrow lobby, my heels echoing across the wood floor. We joined a line of people waiting to pay the entrance fee.

  That done, Stephen took my arm, looping it through his own so my hand rested on his wrist. We stood with a few others, waiting to be let in. Scratchy recorded music filled the lobby. When ten of us had paid the fee, a man in a red jacket with gold braiding across the shoulders led us to a set of double doors. We all walked through and waited for him to shut them behind us. He went to the next set
of double doors, unlocking them with a large brass key.

  The doors opened and we spilled into the club. The noise of the place hit me like a wall: people talking, piano music, a woman singing. We stepped aside, letting the rest of the group walk past us. They quickly melted into the crowd. Immediately in front of us were rows of tables hosting card games. I also saw few roulette wheels, and craps tables. A wooden bar stood against the left wall, a row of slot machines on the right. They were the old fashioned kind where you pulled the handle. As I watched, one of the machines lit up and bells rang as coins poured out at the woman in front of it.

  “Let's get a drink,” Stephen muttered. I nodded dumbly, overwhelmed by the club. We forced our way through the crowd until we stood in front of the bar.

  “What will it be?” asked the stocky, balding man behind the counter. His sleeves were rolled up past his elbows and his face was red and sweaty.

  “Give me an old fashioned,” Stephen said, nodding to the man.

  “And for your lady?” the bartender asked, looking at me. I had no idea. I’d never ordered a drink at a bar before.

  “Martini?” I finally said, even though it came out like a question.

  “Dirty?” The bartender raised an eyebrow at me.

  “Sure,” I said, with no idea what that meant.

  “Gonna be three copper,” the bartender said when he set the drinks on the counter. I took mine as Stephen dropped four copper coins into the man's hand.

  “Keep it,” Stephen said, picking up his drink. The man nodded, curling his hand around the coins

  We moved back into the crowd, winding our way through the gamblers until we came to the tables that led up to the stage. Round tables of varying sizes filled the space between the gamblers and the stage, most of them occupied. Along the walls the padded booths were all filled. We found a small round table with empty glasses on it, and claimed it as our own.

  “Now what?” I asked. I took a sip of my drink, and grimaced; it was very strong. I pulled out one of the olives and popped it into my mouth.

  “I guess we look for Hannah,” Stephen said, sipping from his glass. The ice clinked against his teeth. “Or Clea, but I really don't want her to see us.” I nodded, though I wasn't sure if I was going to be able to hold myself back if I saw my sister.

  “Where do you think we might find Hannah?” I asked.

  “I don't know. Maybe-”

  “Welcome to Lost Angels,” a man's voice boomed out of the speakers, making them crackle. I hadn't noticed the woman had stopped singing. Stephen and I turned to look at the stage. The man wore a tux and top hat, and a graying mustache took up half his face. “Now for the show you have all been waiting for. I know you've all been hearing about this little gem our dear club has dug up. This little beauty will tickle your soul and charm even the blackest heart. I give you our pride and joy, our heart and soul. The Littlest Angel!

  3.

  The stage went dark, the only light in the place coming from the gambling area behind us. Gentle music filled the room like water and wind chimes, the noise of the gamblers forgotten. The feeling of expectancy was thick in the room as all eyes focused on the stage. The lights came up as the girl began to sing.

  She was beautiful. The white evening gown fit her small frame like a glove, accenting her slight curves and tan skin. Her dark hair flowed in waves over her shoulders to the small of her back. With her wide brown eyes and small turned up nose, I had never seen anyone who looked so much like a doll. Her voice was to die for.

  I was so enthralled by her singing that she was a few lines into her song before I glanced over at Stephen. One look at him and I knew the girl was Hannah. Pain flickered unmistakably in his eyes as he watched her. Looking back at Hannah, I saw that same pain reflected in her eyes. She was not enjoying herself. She was making everyone in the room feel something amazing, but she looked tortured.

  I thought of my own sister. Would I be that pained to see her after missing her? I thought I would, but we had never been very close. In the past few years it had gotten worse as we fought over clothes, guys, and our dad's dwindling attention as his business grew. We had even been fighting when the accident happened. Nothing major, just the usual bickering. It all seemed so stupid now. I took Stephen's hand.

  “That's Hannah, isn't it?” I leaned into him so I could speak without being overheard. He nodded, swallowing hard.

  “Yeah, that's her. She always had a great voice.” Stephen’s voice had the strained quality of someone holding back tears

  “We'll get her out of here.” I squeezed Stephen's hand. “We have to get backstage.”

  Stephen nodded and stood when I stood. We wound through the tables without a single eye falling on us. No one dared look away from Hannah for a moment. We reached the backstage doors to find them guarded. Two gold coins, easily slipped from my pocket and into the hand of the guard, bought us entrance.

  The hall behind the stage was plain after the luxury of the club. White walls, and a worn wooded floor lit by lamps attached to the walls every few feet.

  “We should wait just off stage.” I started to turn for the stage door, but Stephen held me back.

  “No,” he said. I stopped; glad he had shaken off his shock and was going to help now. “We find her dressing room and hide there.”

  It wasn't hard to find her dressing room. Hurricane Girl had been stenciled on a sign that hung crookedly from a hook in the middle of the door. The door was unlocked and we slipped inside unnoticed. The room was dark except for one lamp glowing softly on the dressing table. We passed a green velvet couch and stood behind a rack of dresses.

  “Now we wait,” Stephen said.

  I leaned against the wall, feeling cramped in the small space. Stephen leaned beside me, and I pulled away when his hand accidentally brushed mine. I blushed at the jolt of feeling it sent through me. In that small dark space I couldn't help but admit to myself that I was starting to fall for him. Maybe it was the stressful situation we were in, or the fancy clothes, but each time he took my hand my heart did back flips. When his hand again brushed mine I left mine where it was, sinking into the feeling as his little finger slowly moved against mine.

  I swallowed hard when his finger wrapped around mine. It was so much less contact than holding his hand, but it seemed to mean so much more. I wanted to turn to look at him, but I wasn’t ready for what would happen if I did. I almost jumped when his thumb began to caress my palm. I swallowed hard, shutting my eyes and letting the feelings wash over me.

  It seemed like no time passed before we heard the door to the room open. My eyes opened and Stephen put his finger to his lips as footsteps entered the room. When the door shut again Stephen risked moving one of the dresses enough to see out into the room. He stepped out from behind the dresses.

  “Hannah,” he said quietly. She was sitting at the dressing table, and turned at the sound of his voice.

  “Stephen?” she asked, tears in her dark eyes. “Is that really you?”

  “It's me.” Stephen smiled.

  Hannah jumped up from the stool and fell into his arms, clinging tightly to him. She barely came to his shoulder, and buried her head in his chest. Her shoulders shook with silent tears as he smoothed her hair. I shifted uneasily, I felt like I was witnessing a very private moment.

  “Uh, guys,” I finally said. “We should probably get out of here.”

  “Right.” Stephen gently pushed Hannah back. She nodded, wiping tears from her eyes. Up close she looked so childlike that I couldn’t believe she was the same person I’d seen on stage. Her eye makeup smeared as she wiped her eyes, adding to the impression that she was nothing more than a little girl playing dress up.

  Stephen ushered Hannah out of the room. She still seemed to be in shock, letting him lead her mutely towards the back of the club. We found the back door easily enough and were out in the cold night air in minutes. The cold seemed to bring Hannah to her senses. We hadn't gone a dozen steps from the back do
or before she stopped walking.

  “I can't go,” Hannah said. “I can't leave.” She shook her head, and ducked out from under Stephen's protective arm.

  “Yes, you can,” Stephen said. “You have to.” He tried to put his arm around her again, but she dodged away.

  “No,” Hannah said, tears welling up in her eyes again. “He'll find me.” She crossed her arms, backing up toward the door.

  “Who?” I asked. I looked back at the door, sure that any minute it would start to open. I looked up the alley. We were too far from the safety of the street lights in my opinion. I shivered, turning back to them.

  Hannah’s eyes met mine and I saw fear there. “Mr. Jones. He'll find me and bring me back. He always does. If a girl ever tries to leave, he finds her.”

  “Not this time,” Stephen assured her. He hugged her tightly again. “We're here for you now, and nothing bad is going to happen.” Hannah let him hug her for a moment, and then pulled away again, standing at arm's length from Stephen. She didn’t look convinced.

  “He's right,” I said. “We just need to get far enough away from here before they notice you’re gone.” The longer we stood right outside the back door of the club, the less confident I was that we were really going to be able to escape. “Should we go back to the boat?”

  “No,” Stephen said. “My friend had a place around here.”

  “Had?”

  “Well the place is still there,” Stephen said. “But my friend disappeared. It's close though, we can hole up there while they search for her.”

  “Good enough for me.” I nodded. Anywhere that wasn’t a dark alley outside the place we were trying to escape was good enough. Stephen was holding one of Hannah's hands, and I took the other. “Come on, Hannah.” I don't know if we had convinced her that she was going to be safe with us, but her cold fingers wrapped around mine. Trusting us with her life, she let us lead her away into the night.