by Ariella Moon
Yemaya spread open the sack and peered inside.
"You said it might be muddy so I brought an extra pair of rain boots," I explained. "Hope you can wear a size six."
Yemaya's defensive expression morphed into one of surprised delight. "Purple with black skulls and crossbones!"
"I thought you'd approve." Anxiety thrummed my nerves. Nightmares of Sophia caught in a deep whirlpool had plagued my sleep. When I had escaped the bad dream by waking up, my chest had been slick with sweat and I had to breathe into a paper bag to calm myself. The ordeal reminded me of the nightmares I'd had two-and-a-half years ago of Sophia and a fiery explosion.
Yemaya hugged the bag to her chest. "Why, thank you."
"You're welcome." With a twinge I realized gifts might be scarce in Yemaya's life, just like they had been in Sophia's. I settled into the stiff bench seat and reached for the lap belt. I wondered if Yemaya had installed it. I'd have to ask Mom and Dad if cars had come with seatbelts back in the sixties.
"I'll hold it for you." Aidan took the bag and stood aside while Yemaya crawled over his seat and the parking brake to reach the driver's side. Like Aidan and me, she had dressed for the occasion — worn-out jeans, turtleneck, hoodie, her cracked leather boots, a knit cap over her dreads, and the thin jacket she had worn yesterday.
Once Yemaya squirmed into the driver's seat, Aidan climbed in. "Pass me back the bag," I said. "There's more room back here." Room being a relative term.
Aidan handed me the boot bag and I settled it atop the heavy-looking toolbox. The object made me nervous. What if we were in an accident? Would the toolbox become a lethal projectile and ricochet about, maiming us? Would the latch give way, shooting screwdrivers and hammers?
Face it. If we're in an accident, the toolbox will be the least of our worries.
Bugsy smelled of road dust and incense. The small car started on the third attempt, chugging with more grit and determination than I had expected. Yemaya patted the steering wheel the way some people pat a dog's head. Her glance swept from Aidan to me. "Looks can be deceiving." One corner of her mouth curved into a smirk.
"Just get us there safely," I implored.
"Don't worry," she said. "Bugsy is held together with chicken wire and protection spells."
I'd prefer air bags, harness belts, and antilock brakes. Cold wind whistled through the gaps around the driver's door and the hole in the floorboard. When Yemaya drove over twenty-five miles per hour, the door rattled in the wind. I feared it would break the wire holding it and tear off if we ventured onto the freeway.
Maybe I should have consulted the daily almanac Aunt Terra and Uncle Esmun had created. If doom lurked around the corner, the handcrafted book would have warned me. In fact, it contained so many dire predictions I had stopped reading it. Or I'd catch-up at week's end to see how many of their prophecies had come true. Many had. Some were too obscure to tell.
After about forty-five minutes of back roads, I was lost. Judging from the neighborhood blight — graffiti, empty buildings, and chain link fences around the front yards — we had reached the Wrong Side of the Tracks. I decided against asking what town we were in. The less I knew, the less I'd have to confess to Mom later. I just hoped we didn't end up as tomorrow's news headline.
We cruised the outskirts of town, eventually turning onto a wooded single-lane road. Yemaya pulled up next to a mud-splattered tow truck with Jeb's Towing and Salvage emblazoned on the side. Dirt obscured the phone number. Yemaya cut Bugsy's engine. For a moment we all leaned forward, examining the rust-colored, ramshackle house flanked on one side by a corrugated tin fence topped with coiled barbwire. For the millionth time I wished I hadn't ruined my smartphone. If I still had it, the police could use its GPS to find my body.
I'm doing this for Sophia, I reminded myself.
An unseen dog barked as we opened the car door and trooped out. My Unease Meter jumped from six to nine on a ten-point scale. Every movie involving sharp-fanged, mad-eyed guard dogs looped through my mind.
The front door to the house swung open and a greasy-haired guy dressed in a plaid shirt over a white tee, oil-stained jeans, and dirty hiking boots crossed the threshold. Yemaya and I stepped closer to Aidan.
The guy eyed Bugsy. "One of you the girl who called about the VW door?"
Yemaya stepped forward. "Yes. You must be Jeb. Mind if we look around?"
The man narrowed his eyes. Yemaya held his gaze. I clutched my fingers, wishing her ski cap covered more of her long dreadlocks. Aidan's intense expression suggested he was casting soothing mojo on the situation.
"We won't take up much of your time," I promised.
Jeb regarded me with a bemused smile, as though he figured I wouldn't last five minutes. He spit tobacco juice into a nearby mud puddle. My skin crawled.
"Twenty bucks entry fee. But like I said over the phone, I don't think I have what you're looking for."
I faced Yemaya and whispered, "I thought you said—"
Aidan grazed my forearm. The energy jolt silenced me.
"Much obliged," Yemaya said. "Ainslie? The fee?"
An angry flush warmed my cheeks. I withdrew my wallet and angled it so no one could see the thick stack of bills. I plucked the most worn looking twenty from the money holder, stashed the wallet in my purse, and approached the wrecking yard owner. I held the Andrew Jackson at arm's length, repulsed by the spit stain on Jeb's chin and the nauseating odor of tobacco and axle grease.
"Much obliged, princess." Jeb lifted the brim of his American flag baseball cap and scratched his receding hairline. Nicotine had yellowed his teeth. "Give me a minute to lock up Rocky. I'll be right back."
As soon as Jeb disappeared into the house and shut the door, Yemaya said, "I know what you're thinking. But I don't care what he said over the phone. My shamanic journey indicated the door is here. Somewhere."
"Should I grab the toolbox, or wait until we find your door?" Aidan asked.
"It's not too heavy. Do you mind carrying it?"
Aidan glanced my way, a smile twitching his lips. "We can throw it at Rocky if he comes after us."
"Great." I could be sleeping in or cruising the mall with Jazmin, but no… My Unease Meter remained notched at nine.
Yemaya had just slipped into the purple rubber boots when a wide section of the corrugated tin fence swung open, rattling as the breeze came up and scraping over a rock patch.
"If you find anything or have any questions, come see me on the back porch," Jeb instructed. "This gate will be locked, so you'll have to fetch me when you're ready to leave." He spit black juice onto a weed. My stomach churned. Jeb stared at the toolbox in Aidan's hand. "Some people try to steal small auto parts. My policy is to inspect upon entering, and again before you leave. This way, there is no misunderstanding."
"No problem." Aidan placed the toolbox on the ground. After a quick rooting and finger-jabbing, Jeb waved us through and closed the fence behind us.
My anxiety swirled as I panned the football field-sized auto graveyard, a nightmarish homage to mud, weeds, steel, and rust. If Jeb possessed any organizational skills, he hadn't applied them. There were no racks, no rows, and no groupings by car type or manufacturer.
Aidan rubbed the back of his neck. "It looks like the most recently towed cars are up front."
"Mostly nineties models," Yemaya observed out loud.
"I wonder how old this place is," Aidan said.
"Old." Judging from the numerous oil spills and the stench of old tires, grease, and sulfuric acid, the yard was not on the Environmental Protection Agency's radar. "Don't touch anything," I warned. "I smell sulfuric acid from leaking batteries. The stuff can burn a hole in you."
Aidan and Yemaya gaped at me.
I shrugged. "Private school education."
Aidan and Yemaya exchanged a sideways glance. "Power to the nerds," Yemaya said.
"Spread out or stick together?" Aidan asked.
"Which option will get us out of here the fastest with
out getting killed?" I asked.
"We stick together." Yemaya's tone defied argument. "If either of you have a pendulum, now would be the time to pull it out."
"Why?" I asked, retrieving mine from my purse.
"You'll see." Yemaya waited until I had Thor's gift in hand and Aidan had removed a Saint Christopher necklace from around his neck. Then she grasped own her pendulum — a clear crystal point — by the chain and held it in front of her at heart level. Aidan and I followed suit. Focused on the crystal, she commanded, "Show me the best replacement door for Bugsy."
I stared at my rose crystal point and repeated Yemaya's words. For several heartbeats, nothing happened. Then the inverted pyramid point moved in a small clockwise circle as though it were searching. I held my breath. The circling stopped and it swung back and forth in front of me. Then, like a possessed playground swing, the pendulum froze at the farthest point in its arc.
Yemaya's pendulum and Aidan's necklace had also stopped mid-swing, both pointing in the same direction as mine: ahead and slightly to the left. Something compelled me forward as though an airborne dog was tugging me. The chain between my fingers hummed; the pull grew stronger. I stepped over a small oil slick, following the crystal's lead. Aidan and Yemaya flanked me.
The hunt was on.
Chapter Thirteen
I should have worn a HAZMAT suit instead of my tan designer rain boots with their trademark Haymarket check plaid. The pendulums didn't care about footpaths, however narrow and obscure they might have been. Instead, they sent us scrambling through boot-wrecking mud, weeds, and oil. Like bighorn sheep we climbed over and around cars in various stages of decay. My chest hurt from breathing in the toxins. Following the pendulum, I climbed onto the hood of a pink Rambler. No small feat considering I did it without an inch of my bare skin touching the filthy metal. Aidan joined me, placing the toolbox on the hood still slick from the previous night's rain. He extended his hand and helped Yemaya up. The hood squeaked and groaned beneath our combined weight. Water dripped over the side and onto the loose tires haphazardly strewn on the ground.
"See anything?" I asked.
Yemaya did a slow pan of the yard ahead of us. A storm cloud drifted in front of the sun, graying the sky. "Nothing we want." Disappointment shaded her voice.
Aidan said, "It's here. We're just being tested. I bet the Beetle is hiding in the farthest corner, wedged between two vans or something."
"Funny. I got the same psychic hit." Yemaya glanced up at the threatening sky, then tapped her fingers against her lips.
"What?" I asked.
"Nothing." She pivoted to garner a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view. "It's just this car is from a different time period than the others in this section. And it's in the exact center of the yard."
"Is there some significance?" I asked.
Yemaya rubbed her arms. "Something led us to the center — the crossroads. We could ask—" She shook her head.
"Who?" Aidan and I asked in unison.
"Never mind. He's an unreliable source. Forget I said anything." She pushed back her sleeves despite the December cold. "Let's do this."
I exhaled through my nose and raised my pendulum. "Together on three. One…two…three!"
"Show us the best replacement door for Bugsy." Our voices blended as one. To my ear, it seemed as though our words carried supernaturally over the salvage yard. The sound reverberated in my throat. A tingle like an electrical charge buzzed across my shoulder and down my arm and then shot into my forefinger and thumb. My rose quartz jerked awake, swung away from me, and froze. Beside me, Yemaya's white crystal and Aidan's Saint Christopher necklace did the same.
Yemaya sighted her arm along the pendulum's trajectory and pointed. "Either of you feel a particular pull toward the vintage delivery truck in the far corner?"
"No, but let's see if the pendulums lead us to it," Aidan said.
Unless the Beetle was hidden inside the truck, I didn't see the relevance. But I slid off the Rambler anyway, my oil- and mud-splattered boots landing on an abandoned tire. I didn't want to think about the dirt covering my damp backside.
"Onward," Aidan practically whooped as he jumped to the ground. Yemaya handed him the toolbox, then slid off after him.
From our lower vantage point, we lost sight of the old delivery truck. The deeper we trudged through the junkyard, the older and rustier the cars became. We passed through the nineties, the eighties, and at last wandered among seventies-era muscle cars. My pendulum pointed toward a crumpled Datsun. The pungent smell of sulfuric acid grew stronger, irritating my nose.
"Be careful," I warned. "Lots of sulfuric acid. Watch your step. And don't breathe through your mouth. You'll increase your exposure."
"Great," Aidan muttered.
I led the way. The pendulum strained on its chain as I slowed my steps, watching for the clear, oily substance. I figured sulfuric acid could burn through my rubber boots, and then scorch through my socks, and I would die a horrible death. Things couldn't get worse.
"I see the delivery truck!" Yemaya shouted.
"What about the VW?" I asked.
Yemaya ignored me and picked her way through the weeds and half-hidden auto parts. Her new purple rubber rain boots clomped against the uneven ground. She soon disappeared around the side of the delivery truck and shrieked, "Eureka!"
Aidan and I glanced at each other then broke into a clumsy jog. On the far side of the vintage truck we spotted Yemaya tearing away at some waist-high weeds. She glanced back at us and her elated expression vanished. Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped.
Goose flesh erupted on my forearms. My ears registered the click of a dog's toenails over scrap metal. A low growl accompanied the sound of a heavy chain being dragged rapidly over metal debris. Cold fear iced my veins. I twisted toward the noise as a guard dog raced around the front bumper of a half-crushed Camaro and, with a single bark, lunged.
"Move!" Yemaya shouted.
Aidan stepped between the guard dog and me and raised his arms to ward off the oncoming attack. Time slowed. I dove for a jagged scrap of metal and twisted to hurl it. Before I could wield it, a horizontal bolt of blue lightning struck the creature's chest. Simultaneously the dog's chain caught on the Camaro's bumper. With a whimper, the junkyard dog jerked backward and collapsed.
I dropped the makeshift throwing star and gawked at Yemaya. She rubbed her hand, a dazed expression on her face.
"Booker!" Jeb's shout carried across the yard. "Dang it! You kids watch out."
Aidan's chest heaved. Our arms encircled each other's waists as we stumbled to Yemaya's side. Huddled, we stared at the fallen pit bull. Its nostrils flared and its massive, muscular chest rose and fell. Its pale eyes, which seconds ago had glared at us with murderous intent, rolled beneath the dog's closed lids.
"Booker! Come here!" Jeb huffed up to us. "You kids all right? I forgot my other dog was still—" He followed our shocked gazes to the prone beast. "What did you do to him?"
"His chain caught." I tilted my head toward the rusty bumper, hoping Jeb would follow my gaze and not notice Booker's singed chest or the faint stench of burnt fur.
Aidan added, "He lunged. Ran out of chain, and passed out."
"Good thing or he would have killed us," Yemaya said. "And just when we found the right car."
"A VW Beetle? Where?" Jeb asked.
Yemaya jabbed her thumb toward the high weeds.
Jeb's eyebrows drew together. He strode over and parted the weeds, then spat off to the side. "Well, I'll be." He stepped back and wiped his chin. "This is the first car I ever towed. I had forgotten all about it."
"How's the driver's side door?" Aidan asked.
Yemaya stomped on the wet weeds with her boots. "It looks decent from the outside. A little dinged. Come help me open it."
Aidan hustled to her side.
"What about you, princess? Aren't you going to help?" Jeb asked me.
"They can figure it out while we discuss price."<
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Jeb spat foul-smelling tobacco juice. Disgusting droplets hit the side of my designer rain boots. My toes recoiled. "Parts for a nineteen-sixty-five VW Beetle don't come cheap."
I stared at him.
Jeb swiped nervously at his chin.
"It looks doable," Yemaya called out.
I kept staring.
"Princess, I hope you're thinking of a big number, because your friend seems to have her heart set on that door."
"How's the throttle?" I called over my shoulder.
"Looks unharmed by the crash," Aidan replied.
"It'll cost you more." Jeb's eyes glinted.
I stared at him for few seconds more, then extracted my Stone Age phone from my purse. Some of the greed faded from Jeb's eyes. "A flip phone? Guess I had you figured wrong."
"Looks can be deceiving." I opened the phone and scrolled through my contact list.
"What are you doing?" Jeb asked.
"Waiting for your offer."
"I'm not supposed to make the offer, you are. You're the one who wants to buy the darn thing."
"Hmm."
Yemaya and Aidan joined us. "The bug was hit on the passenger's side," Yemaya said. "It's hard to tell if the driver's door got torqued in the accident. It's the wrong color, but I'm willing to give it a try if the price is right."
"Oh, the price will be right," I said, not looking up from my phone.
"What are you doing?" Jeb sounded exasperated.
"I'm looking for Esperanza Huerta-Cole's number. She went to law school with my mother. Perhaps you've seen her on the news. She's a big honcho at the Environmental Protection Agency. Can you believe it? She taught me how to identify sulfuric acid by its smell." I rubbed my nose. "There's her number."
Jeb repositioned his baseball cap over his bald spot. "Girl, you're crazy."
Crazy girl. I flashed him my death stare and waited for him to crumble.
Jeb spat, this time taking care to avoid my boots. He glanced at the half-hidden Volkswagen. "I guess I owe you something, on account of Booker."
"Child endangerment." Yemaya crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head.