Infatuate

by Aimee Agresti

  The voice came from behind me, no warning: “Good morning, Haven, dear.”

  Though she couldn’t have sounded more soothing, she startled me enough that I fumbled, dropping the roller right back into the tray and splattering myself with white paint.

  “I’m so sorry. Good morning, Sister Catherine.” I scurried up to my feet, wiping my sticky, speckled hands on my pants. “Oh, I hope I didn’t get any on you.”

  “No, dear, I’m fine. Besides, I have plenty of these.” She smoothed her habit. I had to smile. “It looks like you’re making lovely progress.”

  “Thanks. I’m almost done with this one and I’ll be starting the next in no time—I might tackle the Protestant section.” I pointed toward the back of the cemetery, where a great expanse of grass that seemed to be awaiting new graves sprawled beside a series of low-lying ancient brick crypts. “Unless, of course, there’s anything else you’d like me to get to first?”

  “No, that sounds excellent. I appreciate your initiative. Our city of the dead is so lucky to have you. I hope you consider it your new home.”

  “Of course,” I said, but actually, I didn’t like the idea of finding a home in the city of the dead at all. With a goodbye nod, Sister Catherine swooshed to turn around, making her slow, steady way back out.

  I missed Sabine and Drew, and by midday, I had had enough alone time in the cemetery. I packed it in early and headed to the voodoo shop to take Dante up on his offer. I had my camera in my backpack, so why not take that picture? Dante had his back to the shop’s front window, adjusting a display of voodoo dolls. When the bells on the door jingled announcing my arrival, he spun around.

  “I can’t wait for you to meet Mariette! We’ve been working on putting together her altar room all day. It’s still getting there, but you’ll get the idea.” He took me back through the shop, past a cramped pantry whose door was cracked open just enough for me to see rows and rows of jars containing all manner of mysterious ingredients, arranged along floor-to-ceiling shelves. Finally, we reached a closed nicked-up wooden door with a snake painted on the front. I didn’t like the way it seemed to be staring at me.

  Dante knocked and a voice, deep and rich, called slowly, “Come, my child.”

  He wiggled his eyebrows up and down, giving me that look that said I was in store for quite a show. Gently, he creaked the door open to reveal a beautiful woman seated on a silk tapestry on the floor. She looked to be in her late twenties and had a long, luscious black onyx mane, sharp features, and flawless cocoa skin. She wore a tank dress long enough to fan out around her and she sat behind a low circular wooden table with candles flickering on top of it. This whole windowless chamber smelled of spices and herbs difficult to place. The room itself was a riot of colors and knickknacks, and every square inch seemed to be occupied: voodoo dolls, candles of every height and width, a skeleton, a few skulls, toy dolls, stones, masks, beads, dollar bills, a small trickling fountain. It was all too much to take in at once.

  “Come,” Mariette said, waving us in with a long, sinewy arm, the gold bangles on her wrist clanging. “Please, be seated.” We took our places on the floor on the other side of the felt-covered table. “You must be Haven. I’ve heard so much about you,” she said in a slow, soothing tone that could possibly lull me to sleep or hypnotize me. She held out her hand, but not for a formal handshake. Instead she presented her left hand palm up. When I reached mine out too, she seized it, wrapped both hands around it, and squeezed. “I am Priestess Mariette.”

  “So good to meet you,” I said softly, trying to match her serenity. She closed her eyes for a moment. I glanced at Dante but he was just watching her. The seconds felt incredibly long. As I waited, I internally debated when the right time might be to take that photo. There probably wasn’t one, I decided. So, when she finally opened her eyes, I went for it.

  “Um, I wondered, I’m kind of an amateur photographer. Would it be possible to take a picture of you here? It’s just so . . . beautiful.”

  “Of course. I understand completely,” she said, a response I didn’t expect, but everything here was a little strange. As quickly as possible, I pulled out my camera and snapped a few shots. Mariette didn’t bother smiling or posing, but she didn’t need to; she was the type who could look stunning in a setting like this, even with that terrifying snake tattoo engulfing her arm.

  “Now, perhaps you will you do something for me in return. Can I read you, Haven?” she asked in such a smooth intonation, it almost didn’t seem like a question at all.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Would you like a reading? Because I would very much like to read you.” Her smile was so sparkling white it nearly blinded me. “Your aura is demanding it. I think I may have to . . . regardless.”

  “Oh, um, okay? Okay. Sure,” I said, because there seemed no way around it. With careful fingers, she unfolded each layer of a red satin scarf as though it were made of tissue and spread it out on the table. She lit a pair of black candles, easily the size of two-liter soda bottles, and pulled a white sketchpad and metal tin from a drawer in the table and handed it to Dante. He opened the pad to a clean page and pulled a sharpened pencil from the tin. When he was situated, Mariette took the black velvet sack that had been tucked off to the side, lifted it to her mouth, and whispered into the soft material words in a language I couldn’t understand. She clasped the bag between both hands, shook it, and chanted something low and guttural. I found my eyes unable to look away from her tattoo. All the shaking made the snake appear to be slithering up her tight, firm arm. The serpent was black with a blood-red forked tongue. Her bracelets jangled, until all at once, she stopped. She kissed the bag, loosened its braided tie, and let the contents spill out onto the silky table covering.

  Littered before us now was an array of bones: a few hearty ones, like long fat fingers; others wispy like twigs; and a broken one, but not completely in two pieces. Also among them were two stones, one brown and one smooth and red. Dante began sketching, his pencil quickly scraping against the paper. Mariette held her palms in the air above this collection, as though the pieces might levitate into her hands, and closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, she leaned down to study the formation they had made. A few bones had landed overlapping one another, while two others were by themselves. The red stone touched the broken bone and the brown stone sat away from the rest of the group. She looked at me.

  “You are destined to fly,” she said. “But you already know this.”

  I said nothing, not wanting to out myself in case she was speaking purely metaphorically.

  “There are certain curses that must first be broken before this can be achieved. Your lifeline is interrupted.” She pointed to the broken bone. “You yourself are not cursed, but you must save those who have had curses placed upon them. Or you must defeat them. This is how you grow to your full potential.”

  I didn’t say a word.

  “You are right to be afraid.” She pointed to the red stone now. “You have to be careful, Haven.” She looked deep into my eyes. “You are going to be taken. It is inevitable. But if you keep your spirit strong, you will defeat the forces working against you. This strength is part of the natural order of what you are.”

  I hardly knew where to begin, so I started with the most basic question: “What do you mean, what I am?” My head whipped to Dante beside me and he looked away.

  “Don’t blame him. I knew the very moment he set foot in here, just as I know it’s true of you. You’re both special, and here we protect angels. I am grateful to be working with Dante. And he will be vital to your survival and your success, as I’m sure you already know. I will guide him on his journey and he will supply you with the materials you need as you face your challenges.”

  All of a sudden, everyone seemed to know everything there was to know about me.

  “And, wait, who is going to take me? I don’t understand what you mean.”

  “Those who oppose you.”

  �
��What am I supposed to do, though?” I asked, the hopelessness setting in, releasing itself into my system and making me instantly lethargic.

  Mariette didn’t respond. She simply turned to Dante: “Please bring me the three ingredients you put away on the second shelf this morning and the oil there, along with one of the bags.” He nodded and scurried away.

  She motioned for my hand. I reached out, and she took it in hers and spoke with the urgency of someone who desperately wants for you to do as you’re told. “Promise me you’ll come back for another reading soon. Promise me you will. I’m worried and I need you to stay close so I can help you guard against them.”

  I just nodded.

  Dante returned with three Mason jars and a tiny eyedropper bottle lined up like soldiers on a small silver tray beside three teaspoons, a thick plastic bag, and a ribbon. He presented the tray to Mariette and she placed it on the floor.

  “You’ve finished?” she asked him, gesturing to the bones.

  “Yes, Priestess.”

  “Very well.” She delicately gathered the items on the table and placed them back in the velvet sack, then lifted the tray onto the table. The jars were half-filled with what looked to be sand, each jar containing a different color: green, red, and blue. She put two scoops of each into the bag, shook it up, and then added three drops of the amber oil.

  “This gris-gris bag,” pronouncing it gree-gree, which I had never heard before, “won’t protect you from them,” she explained, tying the ribbon tightly around the bag. “But it will guard you against general, everyday wickedness and malevolence.” She handed it to me. “It will have to do for now,” she said, apologetic. “Dante has shared with me your message from one of the demons. May I see the missing piece?”

  I was puzzled for a moment and then it occurred to me. I dug into my bag and pulled out my wallet, finding that crinkled scrap of paper, and holding it out. “Oh, you mean this.” She made no move for it. Instead, she pulled from beneath one of the candles the rest of the note, which Dante had been keeping.

  “It may be too much to ask, but may I retain this portion?” she asked respectfully, unfolding it on the table. “I will do my best to make something to help ward them off. It’s exceedingly difficult to deter them. But if I have an object one of them has touched then I could possibly hit upon something.”

  “Of course,” I said, trying not to show my disappointment at letting it go for good. I set the scrap on the table, knowing it was for the best. “It’s yours, if it can help.”

  “Thank you. I hope you know that this should always be a safe place for you. You are always welcome here.”

  “Thank you,” I said, anxious to go. I rose to my feet.

  “If that’s all today, I’ll see you tomorrow,” Dante said to Mariette. I had already fled, winding my way back to the front of the store. He caught up with me just as I had made it to the street.

  “Hey! Hav!” he called, when I didn’t stop. I turned around. “Are you okay?”

  “Define ‘okay,’” I said, not bothering to mask my huffiness.

  “I’m really sorry,” he pleaded. “I didn’t know she was going to do all that. I had no idea.”

  “I don’t really need another source telling me I’m in trouble.” This weekend had been enough. I felt I was losing my grip.

  “I know, I know.” He tried to calm me. “Maybe Mariette really will be able to help. Maybe she’ll be able to make something, you know?” We walked on and boarded the streetcar to the library for tutoring.

  12. A Zydeco Birthday

  I was glad to spend the rest of the afternoon lost in algebra problems. Lance and the Habitat for Humanity group had been relieved of their tutoring duties for the rest of the week, so I was juggling a trio of math-challenged girls, who seemed a little disappointed to be stuck with me instead of Lance.

  When we arrived home, the house-building crew had beat us there. The TV was on in the living room, though no one was watching, and there was all sorts of rattling going on in the kitchen. Dante peeled off, looking for Max, and I went to my room. I turned down the hallway just as Jimmy stormed past, looking angry. Ramming into my shoulder, he almost knocked me over. “Geez, Jimbo!” Tom laughed, passing us both. But Jimmy stalked off without apologizing. Seconds later, Emma appeared, tears in her eyes. She seemed to be hurrying after him.

  “Are you okay?” I asked as she hustled by. But she just wiped her wet face and kept going.

  I reached Lance’s door and knocked. He called out in his deep voice, “C’mon in.” I opened up and found him perched on his bed, his back against the wall and a book face-down beside him. On the other side of the bed was Sabine, playing one of his handheld video games.

  “Hey, you,” Lance said, smiling.

  “Hey, Haven!” Sabine perked right up.

  The game made one of those electronic descending-scale beep-beep-beeps like someone had just died.

  “Hey.” I tried not to sound shocked to find her there. An orange glow of late-day sunlight pouring in through the window framed them perfectly. I felt like a guest here.

  “So, what’s up?” Lance asked.

  “Oh, me, nothing, or, I mean . . .” I struggled to find anything, anything at all, that might make me sound like everything was fine and I was unbothered by this scene. “So, I just saw Emma, like, crying.”

  “Yeah. She and Jimmy broke up,” Sabine said matter-of-factly, like I was clearly the last to know. “They’re so hot and cold . . . crazy.” She shook her head. “Come hang out. Lance is telling me all about life at Evanston High.”

  “Yeah, it’s a pretty exciting place,” I said, no life in my voice. “I’m just gonna toss my bag, be right back.” But I knew I didn’t mean it. For some reason, my instinct was to retreat.

  “Yay!” she said, perfectly friendly. She started the game up again.

  Lance glanced at the screen and said, “Whoa! You’re about to die.” I let the door close behind me.

  What was she doing in there? Why did I feel this way? Remember what Dante said, I told myself. You’re just blowing things out of proportion. You’re not thinking clearly. You’ve had an intense few days. I cut myself some slack, but it all chipped away at me.

  Back in my room, I grabbed my camera and its peripheral cords. I scowled as I passed Lance’s room again, and continued on to the study room with the computers. I had it all to myself. I didn’t need to be wasting time playing video games or whatever Lance and Sabine were doing. I pulled up my e-mail first; among the highlights were three messages from Joan (she had written daily). Then I set to work printing those pictures from the other night and the one today of Mariette.

  I had to inventory the souls around me and then start monitoring them. This was the only way I knew how to chart who might pose a threat to us. Slowly, I would learn who I could trust, who I should fear, and who would eventually need to be banished to the underworld.

  I opened the few shots of the volunteer group as a whole and isolated in new files each tiny face seated around that dinner table from Friday night so I could print each on its own. If there was anyone here to worry about, I would need to know most urgently.

  By the time I finished, amassing a thick stack of images, the outdoor sky had gone dark. Sabine still wasn’t back in our room. I tucked the photos into the bottom of the drawer in my nightstand and vowed to check them daily for any mutations or disfigurements, the telltale signs that indicated those in the pictures were losing their souls. Being an angel with no wings didn’t get you very far, but being a soul illuminator, as I had been dubbed, seemed to bring with it at least a tiny bit of power. I wondered if anyone else here shared that skill. I hoped not. I had only just gotten accustomed to the idea of being different and special, and now to suddenly find out that there was a whole houseful of mes here, well, it would be an adjustment.

  It was nearly midnight when Lance came knocking on my door. I had left it unlocked and he let himself in and climbed up the ladder.

 
; “Hey, what happened to you tonight?” he asked, lounging at the foot of my bed.

  “Oh! I know, I totally got carried away printing.” I tried my best to sound normal, breezy, but it came out too excited. I opened the drawer and pulled out the stack, fanning the sheets.

  He took them and flipped through the photos. “Anything yet?”

  I shook my head. “Who knows, it could take a little while.”

  He lay on his back, looking up at the ceiling. “Have you noticed people are kind of weird about how the three of us came into this together?”

  I thought about River in the cabin and replied, “Now that you mention it, yeah, actually.”

  “Sabine said it’s because everyone else lost someone in their battle.” He looked at me, those deep eyes spearing mine, that scar peeking out from behind his heavy frames.

  “Wow.” I thought about how that would have felt. I couldn’t imagine life without either Lance or Dante. Even considering it increased my heart rate and made it more difficult to breathe. Then something occurred to me. “What about Jimmy and Emma? They came here together too.”

  Lance nodded. “That’s true. But they started their first challenge with two other friends. Remember the song they sang up at the cabin? It was about them.”

  “Oh, wow.” I sighed. “Did Sabine . . . lose someone?”

  “She didn’t talk about it, but I can tell that she did.”

  Now I felt even worse for having been so petty. It was so typically, disappointingly girlish for me to be the least bit upset that she was spending time with Lance.

  “Anyway, she seems pretty cool.”

  “Good thing you saved her from a pack of hungry gators then.” I smiled.

  “You’re the one who got her off the boat. It was a team effort.”