by Ariella Moon
Jeb raised his arms then swung them down to his sides. "Fine! If you can get the door off, it's yours for a hundred dollars. That's a huge discount. Twenty bucks for the throttle."
"Deal." I snapped my phone closed and schooled my features into a dismissive Are-You-Still-Here expression. To Yemaya I said, "Break out your metric wrenches and rust penetrant. We have a door and throttle to swap out."
Chapter Fourteen
Because of the drought, I only used one of the three showerheads in my bathroom. I doubted there was enough water, soap, or shampoo left in California to remove the grease, rust, and dirt clinging to my skin and hair. Funny thing — once I'd gotten involved in the mechanics of the swap out, my phobias had disappeared. I was reminded of how much Sophia and I had loved taking things apart to see how they worked, then rebuilding them.
Soap bubbles swirled down the drain. Watching them, I felt an odd tug in my stomach and a whoosh of nausea. My feet tensed. I braced my hand against the white tile wall. The previous night's dream of Sophia caught in a whirlpool replayed in my mind. A sense of urgency and dread prickled my skin. I twisted off the water and reached for a towel.
We need to do the shamanic journey now — tonight.
I squeezed as much water as I could out of my long tresses and wrapped my hair turban-style in a thick, snow-white towel. I employed a second towel, toasty from being hung over the heated towel rack, to dry my body. My heavy spa robe felt warm and luxurious against my skin as I padded into the bedroom. I wasn't sure where my parents were in the mansion, so I depressed the speaker button on the house intercom and said, "Mom? You still here?"
Her voice crackled over the device. "We're walking out the door. My cell will be set on vibrate during the movie. The dinner meeting afterward is at Lark Creek if you need to reach us. I left you a note."
Dinner with Dad's business partners — so glad I don't have to go. "Okay if I invite Yemaya to sleep over?"
The silence on the other end made me wonder if the system had gone down or if Mom was just thinking. "Mom?"
"You two were together all day," she said.
"I know, but that was for her stuff." I assumed Dad was standing next to her, and I didn't want to mention the shamanic journey in front of him. I trusted Mom to fill in the blank.
Mom's sigh heaved over the intercom. "Okay. Just remember what I said in the car."
"Thanks, Mom."
"Bye!" Dad's voice squawked from the speaker. "We'll be back around nine-ish. Ten at the latest."
"Bye. Have fun." I released the talk button and retrieved my cell phone and the nail salon receipt containing Yemaya's phone number. She answered on the fourth ring.
"Yo. This is Yemaya." A television played in the background, making it difficult to hear her.
"Hi. It's Ainslie. How's Bugsy?"
"Looking good with the new door. I can't wait to install the throttle tomorrow. Thank you, again."
"You're welcome. Hey. I'm calling because I have a mondo bad feeling about Sophia. Can you do the shamanic journey tonight? My place? You can spend the night if you'd like."
"I'm kind of worn out from our little adventure."
"Please?" I waited.
Her sigh huffed through the phone. "Okay. A deal is a deal. What is your address?"
I gave her our street number on Happy Valley Road.
"What time?" Yemaya asked.
"How about five? I'll have dinner delivered so you can build up your strength before the journey. Any food allergies or aversions?"
"No. I'll eat anything."
"Great. I'll make sure the gate is open. See ya."
"Bye." Yemaya severed the connection.
****
Yemaya plowed into the take-out food from Yu's Chinese restaurant as if it were her first substantial meal in weeks. With a pang, I remembered her rundown boots and derelict car and wondered how her family afforded to live in such an affluent school district.
"Were you seriously going to hurl a piece of metal at that dog?" she asked.
"Are you kidding? Throwing stars are my secret talent."
Yemaya's eyebrows elevated. "You don't look like the kind of girl who'd engage in violent illegal activity."
"Au contraire. At first I didn't know about the illegal part. I took up ninja training after Sophia disappeared. Nothing else got me out of bed." I hooked my finger under the metal handles on the takeout boxes. "My parents made me give it up when they found out about the throwing stars. Mom's a lawyer. She's a stickler for the law. Plus, you know, weapons and mental instability…"
"Not the best mix."
"No." I opened the stainless steel refrigerator and placed the scant leftover sweet and sour pork, steamed vegetables, and fried rice on the second shelf. "Cheesecake and strawberries for dessert."
"Can we save it until after the journey?" Yemaya asked.
"Sure. I'll stave off my sugar craving until then." I pressed my lips together, unsure of how successful I'd be. The refrigerator door whispered closed. Two plates clicked together as Yemaya loaded them into the dishwasher. "You don't have to clean up," I protested.
"My mama didn't raise me to sit and be waited on."
"Well, thanks." I glanced at my watch. "We have at least a couple of hours, probably three, before my parents return. Where do you want to do this?"
"Where did you and Sophia hang out when she came over?"
"Usually my room, but sometimes the media room."
"Let's go to your room, then," Yemaya decided. "Do you have a plate we can place under three tea candles? They're in aluminum holders."
"Sure." I scanned the dishes visible through the bubble glass inserts in the cabinets. In case the spell book went postal, I skipped the fine china and hand-painted Italian dinnerware and chose a white salad plate from our least expensive set. "We'll grab your stuff from the entry and go up the main staircase."
"There's more than one staircase?" Yemaya asked.
I gestured to the half-wall at the far end of the kitchen. "Concealed servant stairs."
"You have servants?" Yemaya's brows huddled together.
"Not live-in." I walked her through the door to the dining room with its plush floral area rug and oval inlay table. My ballet flats sank into the thick Persian rug in the adjoining entry. Yemaya brushed past me and hefted her possessions. She and the delivery guy from Yu's had arrived at the same time, so Yemaya had left her backpack, vintage CD player, and woven hippie purse in the entry.
"Let me carry something," I said.
"No thanks, I got it."
We approached the grand staircase with me in the lead. The polished brass runner rods gleamed as I ascended — left, right, left, landing, left, right, left, right, left, second floor. The oak banister was slippery beneath my hand and smelled of orange-scented furniture polish. The double doors to my suite were open to the hall. Yemaya paused, soaking in my moonscape-hued room with its framed photos from the Hubble Telescope and my posters of kung-fu action stars Gong-Li and Maggie Q.
"I want to be an astrophysicist," I explained.
Yemaya's lips twitched as though they wanted to curve upward into a smile. "In case you can't get work as a ninja."
"Exactly."
She angled her head to the side. "There's more to you than meets the eye, Blondie."
"Says the girl who shoots blue lightning from her hands."
"Point taken." Yemaya dropped her purse, blue CD player, and backpack at her feet. Like a mime pushing against an invisible wall, she extended her arms and flexed her palms toward my room. "Houston, we have a problem."
My pulse zigzagged. "What?"
Yemaya's features scrunched as though her senses had detected a repulsive smell. "Your room is thick with unstable energy. There are psychic shadows everywhere."
Shadows? With dismay I scrutinized my beautiful white suite from its high ceiling and the small chandelier above my bed to my snowy four-poster bed and day sofa with their dove gray accent pillows. Shadows? Were they sliding across my
spotless white area rug or the Italian floor tiles that mimicked distressed birch planks?
"Maybe they're coming from the spell book. Hang on." I handed her the plate, then hurried to my room-sized walk-in closet and retrieved the black tote from its hiding place. A muffled harrumph sounded from the grimoire as I carried the tote into the hall and placed it at Yemaya's feet. "Are the shadows coming from this?"
She crouched and passed her hand over the zipped bag. The spell book emitted a disgruntled roar. "Quiet," Yemaya warned.
"Well?" I asked as Yemaya stood up.
"It definitely has issues, but its energy is different than the shadows in your room."
"But I was able to see demonic shadows when bad entities invaded Spiral Journeys, my aunt and uncle's store. How come I can't see these?"
Yemaya shrugged. "Maybe because they're your demons. They've been around so long you stopped noticing them."
"Crap."
"You must have sensed them. Why else would you decorate your room in white when the rest of the house is yellow and red?"
"I thought I was creating a moonscape."
"Maybe you were. Magical people connect to the moon. But no amount of white paint can hide psychic shadows." Sympathy softened her words, like spa music accompanying bad news. "We can't do anything until we clear the energy in here."
Another delay. I dug my fingernails into my palms to short-circuit the anxiety welling within me. An orange light blinked from the plastic disc above my double doors. "We can't burn sage. It will set off the fire alarm, which is wired to a central monitoring station."
Yemaya frowned down at her hippie bag and backpack. "I should have packed my liquid sage."
"I bought some at Spiral Journeys." I dashed into the bathroom and retrieved the blue spray bottle from the medicine closet. "Here." I pressed it into her hand.
Yemaya read the label. "Organic. Sweet. Any chance you have a black candle and a white candle of equal size?"
"Yes. Aunt Terra and Uncle Esmun gave me a 'Box of Magical Necessities' for Christmas. I'll get it."
When I returned from my walk-in closet, I found Yemaya kneeling beside her open backpack. A purple velvet pouch lay on the floor beneath a pair of flat brass bells connected by a leather cord — tingshaws.
Yemaya glanced up. "I figured we'd throw everything we have at it."
"Please. Whatever it takes." I handed her the square wooden box. A gold dragon with a crimson chest and tail had been carved into the lid and painted against a blueberry-colored background.
"Nice dragon." Yemaya popped the lid and rummaged through the contents. "Cool treasure trove." She read the labels on a few of the sealed plastic bags. "Lemon balm, myrrh, frankincense, even Balm of Gilead buds." The candles had been wrapped in white tissue paper so the colors wouldn't bleed on each other. Yemaya found two six-inch tapers, one white and one black.
"Take these." She added a pair of simple glass candleholders and a small box of matches. "Find a place for them away from any drafts. Light them both. Envision all dark energies being absorbed by the black candle. Then picture the purifying light from the white candle filling the void left by the shadows."
"Got it."
"While the candles burn, we'll circle the room. You spray the sage as high into the air as you can. Be sure you douse every corner from top to bottom. I'll ring the tingshaws and speak the banishing."
"Okay. Hey, I almost forgot to tell you. I emailed Arthur and Betty, the elderly couple that were onstage during the fire fortune. Arthur emailed me back. He said they used to live in New Orleans and raised their daughter there."
"So they do have a connection to the city."
"Yep. Neither of them has ever been involved in voodoo."
"What about their daughter?"
I shrugged. "They didn't know of any connection."
Yemaya cradled the tingshaws. "So probably a dead end, which brings us back to Sophia."
"I guess. Once the room has been cleared we'll look for her, right?"
"Yes. And we better hurry, because I sense you're right. She is in danger."
Chapter Fifteen
Sophia
Must…keep…my…head…down. The edge of the bench seat cut into my left cheek. I strained to keep my chin tucked against the centrifugal force caused by the spinning boat. The breath-stealing weight of Breaux's body pinned me facedown across the plank bench, but my head… My neck muscles burned. If my chin lifts, the centrifugal force will push my head back and snap my neck. Tears escaped my eyes and were swept away by the tornado.
"Please, Oya-Yansa, Goddess of the Winds, stop this whirlwind!" With my lungs flattened and my jaw almost locked, my feeble cry trickled into the howling funnel cloud and was lost.
She'll never hear me. My focus faltered. My brain moved like a carousel ride, circling without purpose, unable to form a linear thought. My strength ebbed. My chin inched upward. No!
The tempest halted. The spinning slowed like the wind-down of a ceiling fan. The pressure against my forehead eased. The boat tweaked and groaned.
We're dropping. Breaux's heartbeat drummed a wild rhythm against my back as though there were no clothes between us to block its path. The roaring in my ears stopped, replaced by Breaux's labored breaths and the rush of air skidding up the sides of the boat as it freefell. My head throbbed. The boat's spinning slowed as we descended. The whirling within me didn't. My eyes refused to focus.
"Breaux?"
He lifted off me, arching maybe two inches, and clasped the edge of the boat with his arms locked. The force of the descent pushed me upward. My back slammed against Breaux's chest. Time sped up. I braced for a hard landing.
The boat crashed into deep water, sending icy liquid cascading over the sides. I bellyflopped onto the bench and the air oofed out of my lungs. With a sickening crack, Breaux's skull slammed against the side of the boat. He collapsed on top of me with rib-bruising force, knocking the last of the air from my lungs.
The boat popped back to the surface. Cold water seeped into my sneakers and jeans. I kicked backward to escape it and my heel banged into the underside of the second bench. A fresh world of hurt shot down my foot and up my leg. My torso crushed, Spanish, English, and French curse words eked from my mouth in a pained whisper.
Breaux didn't move. Fear spiked through me. Is he breathing? Chill from the water penetrated my feet and ankles, wrapped around my bones, and set my teeth on edge. "Breaux, please! I… can't… breathe."
He groaned and stirred above me. Thank all the powers that be. Breaux's muscles tensed. "Soph?" The boat rocked as he scrambled off me and plummeted onto the floor with a splash. Air wheezed into my lungs, carrying pain and river smells. My ears filled with the slap of waves and the distant, brassy notes of a street band. I gritted my teeth against the cold water splashed by Breaux's size ten sneakers as he crawled onto the other bench.
My vision wobbled. The puddle in the bottom of the boat reflected taffy-colored clouds in a wide-open sky. I squinted, adjusting to the brilliance, confused by the light and the absence of a cypress canopy dripping with Spanish moss. A bloodstain on the inside of the boat a few inches from my head came into focus. Renewed fear surged through me. "Breaux!"
The boat swayed as he vomited over the side. "Present." His voice shook.
I willed my stomach to stop whirling, my ribs to stop hurting. Tears clumped my eyelashes. I must get up. My limbs dangled heavy and unmoving, as though my bones and muscles had disintegrated into wet sand. Or become road-kill. Waves lapped the boat, tipping it from side to side.
"Soph—"
The deafening blast of a ship's horn sliced off Breaux's words. My heart stopped, then restarted. Adrenaline pumped strength into my arms. Trembling, I pushed up into a sitting position. Ow. For a moment I thought I, too, might throw up over the side. My backpack slid off my arm and tumbled off the bench. I caught it before it fell onto the wet floor. Muscles burning, ribs sore, I dragged the bulging pack onto the bench.
&nb
sp; "Uh, Soph…"
"What?" With my arm wrapped around my ribs, I lifted my gaze. The lush, narrow bayou had vanished. A black tugboat and a red, pencil-thin barge stormed past us on a vast, wide-open river. The water glowed pink, reflecting the rising sun. Impossible. It was midnight just minutes ago. My attention shifted to Breaux. "You're bleeding."
"You're crying."
"The wind made my eyes water." I swiped my eyes with my scarlet scarf, then rubbed my ribcage. "You scared me! I thought you were dead."
"Are you sure I'm not?" He touched his fingers to the cut over his brow. Already a bruise was forming.
"You might have a concussion." I held up one finger. "How many fingers do you see?"
His eyes crossed, then refocused. "Uh, one."
"Good guess." I clutched the seat as successive waves rolled from the tugboat and barge, rocking our small vessel almost to the tipping point. Breaux clawed at the oars, catching them before they pitched overboard.
"Where are we?" I asked.
"The Mississippi River." He balanced the oars on his lap, then pressed his hand against the deep cut above his left eye. Blood trickled between his fingers.
I leaned forward, holding my ribs, and extricated Mam'zelle's bandana from Breaux's hoodie pocket. His ashen pallor scared me. "Scoot over. I'm going to tie this around your head to stop the bleeding."
"Thanks." He bobbed forward and I caught him before he tumbled off the bench.
My worry intensified. "Are you dizzy?"
He took several breaths. I scooted beside him, shifting so my arm locked through his. Breaux rubbed his hands toward his knees. "I'm fine."
"Liar." I waited until he straightened back up before daring to release him. Then I half rose in the wet, rocking boat and knotted the bandana around his head. Blood from the wound stained the white cloth a bright red.
The wake waves subsided. Breaux angled his chin toward the far levee with its curved iron benches and elegant streetlights. "We're in New Orleans. I recognize the bridge and the Moon Walk near the Washington Artillery Park." He fumbled for my oar. "We're in the shipping lane. We've got to move."