Snake Eyes

by Hillary Monahan

  She stumbled to the shower, scrubbing off the crusted sex remains and smeared lipstick, not feeling clean even when she’d rubbed her skin red. Her clothes were wrinkled and smelled like incense. The shirt smelled like Maman’s perfume. That shit wasn’t going to fly, so Tanis grabbed her gun and headed down the stairs and left the bar, the rooster feather in her pocket. She found a twenty-four hour store along the strip and bought herself a Crescent City T-shirt. She also bought a triple-extra-large NOLA shirt for Naree in case her stomach looked like she’d swallowed a beachball.

  She changed right on the street corner, not giving a single iota of shit whether or not anyone saw her. It was pre-dawn, the sky that hazy purple gray going gold at the fringes. Street cleaners were out and about already, sweeping and hosing down the sidewalk in preparation for another busy day. Tanis slapped at her pocket for cigarettes, but finding that she’d left them in the car or at Maman’s, she grunted, surly, and crawled up the sidewalk, stepping over the revelry of the previous night’s tourists. Sparkly confetti, a spilled drink or four, empty cups, beads broken off their string, a condom wrapper.

  All of it spoke to fun she hadn’t had in New Orleans.

  She’d parked off Canal, six blocks away. As she turned the corner to navigate back to the Caddy, she smelled pipe smoke. It was a sweet blend, something pleasant and grandfatherly, and she inhaled deeply, appreciating it against the mustiness of old city. The low humming and footsteps started a moment later. Tanis’s hand moved back to hover over her pistol, just in case, which bought a low, masculine chuckle from behind her.

  “That won’t do you much good, koulèv.”

  She whirled around only to find herself looking at the chest of a tall black man with short-shorn gray hair wearing a pair of aviator sunglasses, an ornately carved ivory pipe clenched between his teeth. Her nose was assailed by the smells of fresh-turned earth, cologne, and tobacco. It was odd that he got so close to her so fast without her sensing his approach, but there he was, a foot away, when she could have sworn there’d been at least twenty feet separating them before. He was tattooed seemingly everywhere, starting at the bottom of his chin and stretching down, past the crew neck of his black T-shirt. Skulls, snakes, crosses—the images bled one into the next, black and white and red inks whorling together. He wore an open tuxedo coat with tails over his T-shirt, a pair of blue jeans, and black dress shoes.

  Tanis didn’t know much about the lwa, but anyone and everyone knew about Him.

  “I thought you had a top hat,” she said in greeting.

  He chuckled and plucked the black feather from her pocket to stroke it along her jaw. She winced at the touch. The pipe fell from his lips and he caught it without ever looking down, upending it to rain burnt tobacco on the pavement below. “We adapt to our circumstances. Let’s say I look different at parties. Call me Papa, koulèv. You are the gifted one, yes?” To demonstrate his meaning, he groped himself, giving his crotch a squeeze before bursting into laughter. “Maman is pleased with you.”

  “I’m—yeah, I suppose.” Tanis sucked in a breath, embarrassed, heat climbing her face.

  Shy, Tanis? You’re shy?

  “You’re still around? I heard the really big gods were gone?” she asked, desperate to change the subject.

  “Only the daddies. Dumballah is gone from us. Ayida grieves.” He fell in beside her and motioned at her to keep walking. Tanis did, her shoulders hunched, her head down. Papa side-eyed her, twirling the rooster feather between his fingers with a jaunty skip in his step. “Maman says little koulèv wants to know about bonds made on the rivers of death. What you heard is true. If you break a bond by the dead river, you are dragged into its depths until it sees fit to release you, which can take a very, very long time. Immortals are no different than mortals. They just have the benefit of escaping one day. Any mortal that touches the waters dies instantly.”

  “Makes sense.” Tanis licked her teeth, instantly regretting the decision. Must find a toothbrush. “Not sure how it helps, but it must somehow.”

  “Consider this: you don’t need to take someone to the river. You can take the river to them. Then it’s just a matter of getting them to vow.”

  Tanis jerked her head up at that, peering at the Baron’s profile. It was hawkish in a way, his nose long and sharp, his forehead prominent with fiercely arched silver brows. “How?”

  “You go to the river, you collect the water. If they know it’s the water, they will be suspicious, of course, but no one said they have to know what they swear upon.” Baron’s smile stretched from one ear to the other. “Can you be tricky?”

  “...sure. I guess. But how do I get the water?”

  “There’s the rub.” Papa broke into dance beside her, doing a bit of a shuffle jig before he twirled ahead, pirouetting his way into her path and stopping her short. He loomed over her. She was a tall woman, so it was odd for her to have to raise her chin to look someone in the eye—well, sunglasses—but he had at least five inches on her.

  “I can get you there. For a price,” he said.

  “What price?”

  If I have to fuck you, too, I’m out. I’ll just send Naree to parts unknown and give up now.

  “What do you have to offer?” he countered.

  “...I have a heart. A prophet’s heart. In the trunk of my car. Cassandra’s.”

  He looked thoughtful, which surprised her. After Maman’s dismissal, Tanis had come to the conclusion that the damned thing was useless beyond getting her hunted by Gorgon priests, but Papa stroked the sides of his mouth, his head tilted. “That is powerful magic. So let us say six hours in the dead lands to get your water for... half a heart. You go in, you get out. Simple.”

  Whoa. Half a heart gets me six hours? Maybe it’s worth more than I realized.

  “Okay, so what’s the small print? Because there’s always small print.”

  Papa grinned at her, walking backwards and beckoning her to walk with him. Not once did he misstep on an ending sidewalk or a fire hydrant. It was like he had eyes in the back of his head—for all Tanis knew, he did; gods were tricky things. “Small print. Good question. Well, aaah... The dead lands are dangerous, but you know this. You’ll have to be quick and clever. And if you cannot make it back to the portal through which you came within the six hours? You stay. Forever.”

  “What about the Orpheus shit with the no looking back and Eurydice getting stuck there?”

  “Singular deal for him and her. You can look back all you want.”

  “Cerberus?”

  “A silly puppy. He won’t bother you.”

  One more block and she was at the car. She pulled her keys from her pocket and jingled them in her hand, trying to think of other loopholes. It was always up to the bargaining parties to ask the right questions during negotiations. If she was too blind to see, that wasn’t Papa’s fault. “...if a mortal touches the water, they die, you said. How do I collect it?”

  “Ah. Well.” He shrugged, a big roll of his wide shoulders. “You need a proper container to hold it. Something that can touch death that will not decay.”

  Tanis nodded, spotting the Caddy, untouched, in the line of cars where she’d left it. She swept the area to be sure they weren’t being watched, but by all appearances, the world, for the most part, was still asleep, including the snake women and their priests. “Fine. A half a heart for six hours and your ivory pipe, and you have a deal.”

  The baron’s brows shot high as he looked from her to the pipe in his hand. “My pipe? Why?”

  “You’re death. It touches you. It’ll hold the water.”

  Papa smirked as he tapped the last of the tobacco from the pipe’s bowl. “Touché, little koulèv. Touché. You are clever. Do we shake on it, then?”

  “Nope.” Tanis opened the trunk of the car to pull out the heart. “I’m not touching you either. Figure out another way.”

  “This is not my usual way, koulèv, but if you insist,” Papa said, flourishing a contract he’d con
jured out of ether and whimsy. “Were you mine, I’d be insulted.”

  “My own gods have made me distrustful,” she said. “No reflection on you. I’ve heard nothing but good things about the lwa.” That seemed to placate him, and Tanis read both sides of the page, including the small print. There wasn’t anything in it they hadn’t discussed, no sly side-clauses, no double talk, and so she signed, witnessing him as he put his signature beneath hers. From there it was taking out a switchblade she had socked away with her weapons and sawing the salted heart in half. She kept the Tupperware container for herself and offered Papa his due in one of the Walmart bags, which amused her on a sick level.

  “Good doing business with you, Tanis Barlas. Tonight, midnight, Poul Mwen’s. Maman will help you cross over with my blessing. Six hours, but no more. Six hours, but no less. I wish you luck in your endeavors.”

  Before she could answer, he, the heart, and the contract were gone, leaving her alone in a sea of pollen-covered cars. “Plant spooge,” Naree called it, and Tanis smiled faintly as she climbed behind the wheel. The sun was up, creeping past the trees, and soon would shine down a zillion watts of almost-summer. She drove back to the motel with the windows down, the radio loud to keep her awake. It was six-thirty when she parked, and after collecting the heart from the trunk, she rapped her knuckles on the door. Shuffling inside, the smell of cigarettes. Bernie.

  “It’s me,” Tanis whispered.

  “Thank Christ.” The locks rattled and Bernie pulled open the door. She was grayer than the day before, especially around the face, and had lost more of her arm at some point. Still she wore the wrapped, tattered T-shirt, now tied off at the elbow. The forearm was nowhere to be seen.

  Tanis leaned in to hug her, gentle with Bernie’s decrepit body, and Bernie slapped her on the back affectionately, if awkwardly.

  “None of that shit. Get in here.”

  Naree snored from the bed. Tanis slid the heart, the ivory pipe, and the trinket shop bag with Naree’s T-shirt onto the table, peering at her across the room. She was peaceful, glossy black hair covering half her face, mouth open. Every once in a while, she rumbled like Gentle Ben, but that was okay, because it was Naree, and she was perfect regardless of her Weed Whacker sounds.

  I’m so sorry for what I did, sweetheart.

  So sorry.

  Tanis’s eyes stung. She’d taken no other lovers in her life, not among her sisters, not among the humans. There’d been Naree and Naree alone, and she’d gone and sullied the purity of that bond. She hadn’t wanted to, hadn’t sought out the affair, but it’d happened anyway and she’d have to live with it for the rest of her life. She could tell Naree, she supposed, to assuage her guilt, but what would that accomplish, besides making Naree upset and potentially hurting the baby?

  No, I’ll keep it to myself.

  Not because I’m noble, but because I’m a coward. I want her to remember me fondly.

  She sniveled as she climbed into bed behind her girlfriend, her arm sliding over her waist. The stomach was bigger, rounder, and so warm. She dropped her face into Naree’s hair and breathed her in, relishing her sweet scent, the mix of ripe hormones and hotel shampoo. Maman had been something different, something spicy and musky and laden with sex. She had her own appeal, but this was home. Naree was what she needed.

  She fell asleep surrounding her. When she woke hours later, at nearly eleven if the digital clock was to be believed, Naree and Bernie were sitting together in the second bed, side by side, doing despicable things to a pile of beignets while they watched game shows on the ancient TV. Tanis sat up, yawning, and Naree grinned over at her, handing her a half-eaten beignet powdered with sugar.

  “There’s a bakery across the street. I couldn’t resist.”

  Tanis accepted the offering, jamming hot, greasy deliciousness into her face. Naree gleefully plucked another from the pile, her hand resting on her bare belly. She’d foregone trying to cover her roundness, instead tying her T-shirt off beneath her swollen breasts.

  “I got you something,” Tanis said. She got up, rubbed the sleep from her eyes, and fished around inside the bag for the T-shirt. It was purple, Naree’s favorite color, with fancy script lettering and a glittery crescent moon. Naree wasted no time changing. The stomach still protruded, but not so much that the T-shirt’s seams screeched in agony.

  “Oh, thank God. The girl at the bakery saw me with my shirt tied up and probably figured I was one of those hippy moms who draws globes on my preggo gut. Which, all power to the hippies, but I think I littered twice on my way across the street alone.”

  Bernie reached for another beignet but winced and stiffened. Naree tucked one into a napkin for her and handed it over, patting Bernie’s upper thigh.

  They’re getting along. Good. Bernie’s good people.

  “So where was the mighty hunter all night?” Bernie said, chomping on her breakfast.

  “Making a deal with a death dealer. Maman Brigitte.” Tanis paused. “She’s a lwa. Met Papa—Baron Samedi—today to hash out the details.”

  “What details?” Naree paused her feasting to eyeball her. “Aren’t lwa vodou spirits?”

  “Gods, really, but yes.” Tanis sat on the edge of the bed, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, her hands clasped together. What spilled from her mouth was a loose plan that sounded like gibberish even to her ears: have Bernie drop her off at the bar, go into the afterworld, get some water from the Styx in a six-hour window of time, bring it back, put it in something, eventually make the Gorgons swear on it, hope for the best. The blank stares she got were not encouraging, but then, nothing about the situation was encouraging.

  They look how I feel.

  “...how are you going to get the Gorgons to swear on anything?” Bernie demanded.

  “I don’t know yet.”

  “So you’re risking a trip into the underworld with nothing to go on for what happens next?”

  “Pretty much.”

  Bernie said “Why?” at the same time Naree said “No.”

  “You can’t,” Naree said. “It’s dangerous.”

  Tanis sighed. “So are Gorgons and lamias. I have an idea. It’s not much of one, but it’s something, and it might take care of both problems, but I have to get the water first.” She eyed them both. “The less I say, the better. Don’t know who’s scrying. So here’s the deal: I go tonight, at midnight. If I am not back tomorrow by, say, eight o’clock, go north. Chicago, the Pacific Northwest. Take the money and go. Alaska is probably your best bet. It’s cold and anyone following would have to fly or get through Canada to get you. The Gorgons probably don’t care about Naree, but Lamia—I don’t trust her. Do not wait for me. It’s a death sentence if you do. For you two, for the baby. And staying anywhere for too long is risky right now, so we’re probably going to want to switch motels at the very least. We should pack it up, and soon.”

  Naree studied the beignet in her hand instead of looking at Tanis. Tears trickled down from behind her glasses and over her rose-kissed cheeks, a few sprinkling her new T-shirt. “This is the only way?”

  “I’m afraid so. I can’t kill something unkillable, but I might be able to trap it long enough it can’t hurt anyone for a lifetime or sixty.”

  Bernie grunted and dropped her head to the headboard, powdered sugar dusting the bottom of her face and her LA Lakers T-shirt. “Alright. It sucks, but alright. I’ll do what I can to get her out of here. We’ll go at eight tomorrow without you. I don’t have much left in the old gas tank, but what I’ve got is yours.”

  “Thank you. Truly. Thanks.”

  “Tanis. No. Please, no.” Naree burst into sobs, body shaking, the donuts teetering precariously on her mountain of stomach. Tanis wedged herself onto the bed beside her, handing the beignets to Bernie so she could pull Naree in against her chest. She murmured against her girlfriend’s neck, her hand stroking over her back as Naree pleaded for her to stay. Tanis said nothing, holding her close, and for the first time, with that b
ig belly pressed to her side, she felt her daughter move.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  POUL MWEN HAD been quiet the night before. Not so the second night; it was packed. A writhing throng of bodies pulsed inside and just outside of the door, people congregating with plastic cups full of frothy gasoline. Renaud was behind the bar, along with a short, skinny white girl with a blond French braid, both slinging drinks and smiles. Lively jazz music played over the speakers. Once a barstool was vacated, it was quickly filled.

  Seeing Tanis pushing her way through the crowd, Renaud raised his hand to catch her attention, pointing her toward the back room. Tanis signalled Bernie away from the curb. It was hard to watch the Caddy’s taillights disappear up the street, the gesture speaking to goodbyes she wasn’t ready to say, but there was nothing she could do about it now. The deal had been struck.

  At least it had been a good day. They’d spent it walking around New Orleans, alert and anticipating trouble, but there’d been none, not as Naree waddled along the Moon Walk holding Tanis’s hand, not as they’d enjoyed crawfish at a restaurant overlooking the Mississippi. After ice cream dessert and Naree bursting into another crying fit that saw Tanis tearing up, too—she couldn’t witness Naree’s hurt without feeling like shit—they’d gone to a boarding house in the Tremé to rest. Naree passed out in their room, face buried in the pillows. Tanis sat with her for hours, holding her hand. She never let go, not until eleven o’clock when it was time to leave for the bar and Bernie gently guided her out the door.

  “The sleep is good for the baby,” she said. “Let her rest.”

  “But she’s alone in there.”

  “I’ll be back in twenty minutes. She’ll be okay. You focus on getting your ass back to us, you hear? No dying. I won’t allow it.”