by Ariella Moon
"We need to do something," Yemaya said. "I don't know if the past is overlaying the present or what, but I can't shake the feeling something awful is about to happen."
"When I chased dark entities at Spiral Journeys, I followed their vapor trail. Do you think Sophia might have left some kind of trail?"
"It's worth checking."
"One problem," I confessed. "The dragon helped me see the vapors, and I haven't felt its presence since it pitched me through the white light."
"Maybe you don't need it when you're tracking a friend. Let's concentrate on the subtle energy you found on the napkin holder. Maybe it left a trail we can follow." Yemaya faced Café Du Monde, raised her arm to shoulder level, and unfurled her pendulum. I swiveled toward the café and echoed her movement. My rose quartz point bobbed at the end of its chain. Show me Sophia's trail.
The high-pitched drums resumed their persistent, driving beat. A tree blocked my view of Café Du Monde, so I pulled up a mental image of the table where Sophia had sat. The quartz tip drew a tiny circle in the air. Show me Sophia's trail, I insisted. The quartz point came to a standstill.
"Nothing," Yemaya reported. "The drums will shift soon and we'll have to leave. I should try and connect with Bayou."
"I want to stay here and try some more. But go. Just try to find me before we have to enter the Void."
"If we enter the Void. I hope we get the underground passage for the return trip. No heights. No Void madness." She flew off.
I rubbed my spectral cheeks and eyes. Maybe I needed to come at the problem in a different way. I raised the pendulum again and focused on the rose quartz. Please help me find Sophia.
The gemstone tip resumed drawing a tiny circle in the air. I blocked out everything except the stone and my plea for help. The pendulum began swinging to one side, faintly at first, then more and more emphatically.
Come on. You can do it.
The pendulum swung outward and pulled me down the ramp toward the Café Du Monde. For a wild moment I thought Sophia had returned. I kept my gaze locked on the rose quartz. Like a hound after a scent, the pendulum tugged me over the low wrought-iron fence and back to the table where the three guys still sat.
My hopes crashed. She's not here, I told the pendulum. Where is Sophia?
The pendulum heaved forward with such force it almost flew out of my hand. I managed to catch the end of it — a small rose quartz heart — before it could slip from my grasp. The chain wobbled. I gaped at the tip, which was trained like an arrow at one of the college guys' heart.
No, I realized. It's pointing at the lettering on his hoodie.
Tulane University.
Chapter Nineteen
Sophia
"People are searching for you," the ghost said.
I stiffened. "What people?"
"Did you say something?" Breaux broke his surveillance of Nervous Guy and glanced at me.
"Are you still clairvoyant?" I tilted my head toward the window. "What do you see?"
His brow crinkled, but he leaned forward, his hands planted on his thighs while he stared out the window. "Nothing unusual. Antebellum mansions. The trees are a lot taller. Many of the cars are unfamiliar models. Otherwise, not much has changed in the future. Why?"
The ghost puffed her lips into a pout. "He can't see me."
I lowered my voice and told Breaux, "We have company."
"Grand-mère?"
"No. She's—"
"Family. They call me Bayou. What happened to his head?"
"Boating accident," I explained.
"The ancestors warned me he needed help." The ghost backed away from the window, leaving water droplets on the glass. She raised her hand as though it were a stop sign. "Don't go anywhere. I need to tell them I found you."
"Tell who?" I pressed my palm against the pane.
The ghost vanished.
"Whom are you talking to?" Breaux asked.
I shifted so my mouth was close to his ear and whispered, "A ghost relative of yours, about your age. Said she's called Bayou. Probably died in the seventies. Her body must be in a swamp somewhere. She said the ancestors—"
"Hey, man."
My skin prickled. Breaux touched my arm, then twisted in the seat toward Nervous Guy. I shadowed Breaux's back and peered over his shoulder. Across the narrow aisle, Nervous Guy swiped his forefinger beneath his eye, leaving a wet stain.
"Yo," Breaux answered.
Nervous Guy's hand dropped to his man-purse. His fingers picked at the smooth black leather flap, unsnapping it and then snapping it. "Did it hurt much?" He pointed to the gash above Breaux's eye.
Breaux touched the bloody bandana. "Like crazy."
"Knife fight?" Both of Nervous Guy's hands worked the flap now. Snap. Unsnap. Snap. Unsnap.
"Boating accident," Breaux corrected.
"Oh." Snap-unsnap-snap-unsnap-snap. Nervous Guy grew more agitated. The brass padlock at his throat oozed major bad vibes. "A knife wound would have been worse. Now, silver knives…" His eyebrows arched. "Ya know." He raised the black clutch to his face, flipped back the flap, and peered at the contents.
Silver knives? I glanced down at the empty sheath at my hip. Worry stabbed anew. Mam'zelle had insisted I always carry a sterling silver knife so I could cut the psychic cords connecting me to my bio-parents. How could I have left it on the floor of the magic room? Surely Nervous Guy hadn't meant that kind of silver knife.
Snap-unsnap-snap-unsnap-snap.
Or maybe he did.
I checked the window, half-hoping the ghost had returned with a spectral cavalry. Not seeing her, I ignored the soreness in my ribs and eased my hand toward the backpack at Breaux's feet. The thought of casting a binding hex sent bile rising in my throat. The magic was powerful, ugly, and unforgiving. And if I failed to word the hex correctly, then serious karmic consequences would befall Nervous Guy and me. The last thing I wanted was some nut case popping up in my future incarnations. But if he became more unhinged, I would cast the hex. I'd protect Breaux no matter the cost. I just hoped I could reach the cords and one of the spirit dolls in time.
"Aren't all knives silver?" Breaux asked.
"Not all knives are pure silver," Nervous Guy and I answered in unison. Crap. "Not one hundred percent pure," I corrected. "Sterling silver knives are ninety-two-point-five percent pure."
The dude's jaw dropped. Hope bloomed in his wild, widening eyes. He clutched the heavy-looking padlock and tried to yank it from its thick chain. After a few seconds he gave up and lowered his hand to his lap. His shoulders rolled forward and he closed his eyes.
I snatched up the backpack. Breaux shifted so he half-faced the guy. I nestled the pack against Breaux's back where my movements would be shielded. Keeping my elbows tucked close to my torso, I began the slow zipper slide.
I glanced across the aisle. Nervous Guy raised his chin and opened his eyes. I did a double take, glancing away and then riveting back. He appeared older. His cheekbones seemed higher, sharper. His fleshy mouth had a new, cruel cast. Coffee-colored flecks darkened his light brown eyes when he glanced down at his clothes. His features scrunched up in distaste as though he were noticing the tight, angry outfit for the first time. He slanted into the aisle like he owned it and pinned me with a predatory gaze.
"What's with the satchel?" His voice had dropped an octave.
Breaux flexed his hands so his fingers pointed to the roof of the streetcar, displaying his palms in a placating gesture. "Nothing special about the pack. We're just tourists."
"Truly?" Sarcasm dripped from his voice like summer rain off a cypress tree. "You resemble our do-gooder congressman. You a relative of his?"
I paused mid-unzip. "Never met the man," I said over Breaux's shoulder.
A woman two rows toward the front said in a loud excited voice, "Look at this house! I bet some movie star owns it."
Nervous Guy, or whoever he had become, swiveled toward the empty window seat on his left. While he glanced out, I unzippe
d the pack with a quick tug. He whipped back toward us and eyed me.
Breaux gestured to the guy's man-purse. "Cool. Real leather?"
"Maybe." His face morphed back into Nervous Guy, and he hid the purse with his hands.
I regretted overstuffing the backpack. I had to tilt it toward me to peer inside. Restless movements in several other seats warned me the next stop was approaching. I scooted so I could see out my window. No sign of the ghost. Breaux glanced over his shoulder and raised one eyebrow.
"Not yet, " I murmured.
Breaux widened his eyes and rolled them toward Nervous Guy. I angled my head toward our window. Bayou better return soon. I had the bad feeling our friend across the aisle was waiting like a coiled serpent for the right moment to strike.
I glanced over Breaux's shoulder. Nervous Guy's leg jiggled up and down. He tucked his man-purse under the hem of his tight graphic tee, partially concealing it, then crossed and uncrossed his arms before biting his thumbnail. The man-purse, I decided, could conceal a sterling silver table knife or a switchblade. And if he pulled the latter on Breaux…
Nervous Guy leaned across the aisle toward Breaux. My pulsed spiked. A ribbed shirt and pair of socks tumbled out of the pack and fell into my lap. I pushed aside the bottle of Four Thieves vinegar. My fingertips grazed the rough cotton skin of one of the spirit dolls.
"The Overseer and I had an agreement." Nervous Guy's lower lip trembled and tears escaped his pale brown eyes. "In exchange for me leaving, he promised he wouldn't do anything I wouldn't do."
Overseer? I lifted the vinegar jar and extracted the hand-sized poppet, tucking the spirit doll between my hip and the back of the polished mahogany seat.
Breaux drew in his outstretched legs. I could tell he was wrestling with his next move — ignore Crazy Nervous Guy and hope he moved on, or play along and pray nothing set him off.
The streetcar ambled to a noisy stop. A few people stood and strolled down the aisle to disembark. A man with a daypack stepped between Breaux and Nervous Guy. I plunged my hand between a pair of socks and a bag of Evil Away incense and groped, searching for the binding cords. My fingertips scraped the bottom of the pack. More passengers continued toward the front of the streetcar and exited. Nervous Guy came back into view. He bobbed up and down as if looking for someone or checking to see if the coast was clear.
New passengers crowded onto the streetcar. Five people stood in the aisle. The one remaining empty seat was next to Nervous Guy and no one, not even a tired-looking, tight-lipped woman carrying a reusable grocery bag risked it. Breaux drummed his fingers on his thigh. I knew he itched to offer the woman his seat, but didn't because of me, and because the woman would have refused it.
I clawed through the tightly wedged clothing and magical necessities. Where are the binding cords?
The streetcar resumed its loud, creaky trek. Nervous Guy balanced on the outside edge of his seat and planted his black-booted feet in the aisle close to Breaux.
"Hey, man."
Breaux's shoulders slumped. "Yo."
Nervous Guy jerked his chin up and pointed it at me. I lowered my gaze and unzipped the small front compartment on the backpack.
"Your girlfriend looks like she knows magic."
"My girlfriend is magic."
A warm blush stormed across my cheeks. Had I been elevated to girlfriend, or was Breaux just playing along to keep the guy calm? I glanced over my shoulder. An oak branch missed our window by a hair's width, startling me. We creaked past it. Come on, Bayou. We could use some backup here.
Snap-unsnap-snap-unsnap-snap. "You two better leave."
Breaux stiffened and stilled. His head moved slightly as though he were checking the exit. "Why?"
Nervous Guy wrapped his hand around the heavy brass padlock. "The Overseer doesn't like her. He distrusts her." He tilted his head back. Twin blue-green veins in his neck pulsed against his skin. "She knows about silver knives. So she needs to leave."
The hair on my nape rose like hackles on a panther. I dug behind a laminated card depicting Mother Mary. My pulse accelerated when my fingers encountered scratchy twine. The binding cords! I extracted them, then shoved everything but the poppet and twine back inside the pack and zipped it shut.
"Thank you for the warning." Breaux twisted and glanced over his shoulder. I pushed aside the backpack so he could see the poppet and small bundle of twine.
I need his name. There wasn't time to prepare the poppet. I didn't have any of Nervous Guy's DNA or dust from his footprints. But if I had his name, I could invoke the Hermetic Law of Similarity.
Breaux must have read my mind. He rubbed the back of his neck then wheeled back to Nervous Guy. "I didn't catch your name."
The antiquated streetcar slowed and several people rose from their seats, adding to the general noise. Maybe Nervous Guy answered. If he did, I didn't hear him. But I did sense several looks drifting our way, so I shoved the poppet and restraints into my hoodie pocket.
Breaux swiveled in the seat and grabbed the backpack. "We're getting off. Now. Stay in front of me. I'll protect your back."
"Okay." I glanced out the window. With a surge of relief I spotted the dripping ghost and a silver ethereal girl at her side. The shiny girl floated to the front of the streetcar and studied each passenger before moving to the next. I could just make out dreadlocks and a long silver cord stretching from her belly button to the clouds.
"Sophia!" Bayou motioned in quick, frantic gestures. "Get out! Get out!"
"Crap!" I splayed my hand across my ribs and scrambled to my feet.
Breaux shouldered the backpack and stepped into the aisle. He backed up, making room for me to squeeze in. I popped into the gap, so close to Nervous Guy I could smell the fabric softener on his clothes. His lower lip trembled as he fumbled beneath the flap of his leather man-purse.
Unsnap.
Desperate energy assaulted me. Fear jumped along my nerves. Tourists and university students blocked the aisle. I fought back the urge to shove my way to the front, climb over the mahogany seats if necessary, and dart out the open red-trimmed glass door. Stuck, I uttered another protection spell and cast it to include Breaux.
Outside the streetcar, the silvery translucent girl made her way toward me. She called out to Bayou, but her words didn't penetrate the noisy streetcar. It seemed everyone had risen to leave, but no one was in a hurry — no one but Breaux and me.
A flash of movement in my peripheral vision caught my eye. Unable to move forward, I pivoted and glanced back. Nervous Guy eased a table knife out of his man-purse.
"Don't do it," Breaux warned.
Nervous Guy rose. His black leather clutch thudded to the floor. "She has to take it, man. Quick, before the Overseer comes back."
"There is no Overseer," Breaux said.
Nervous Guy's pleading eyes met mine. "You saw him, didn't you?"
My memory triggered. Never show affinity for a departing spirit lest it slips into you slick as melted butter on shrimp. It'll seep right into one your vortexes. My gaze dropped to the padlock blocking Nervous Guy's throat chakra. Despite its horrible energy, I detected no parasitic spirits. I scanned lower. Heart chakra — closed.
"What's the holdup?" a passenger in the aisle behind Breaux demanded.
"Soph?"
Solar plexus chakra— Cold dread swept over me like crypt dust. A fist-sized mass the mottled color of tarnished silver had tethered itself to the vortex at the upper part of his abdomen.
"Don't let the Overseer…" The knife tumbled from Nervous Guy's hand and clattered onto the aisle between our feet. He clutched the padlock at his throat.
Bayou rushed to my side and screamed, "Get the knife! Hurry!"
I couldn't see Mam'zelle, but I heard her voice fuse with the ghost's. Maybe a whole line of deceased Martine women shouted at me. I dipped and retrieved the silver knife and the man-purse. Then I straightened up and stared into the cold, heartless eyes of the Overseer.
Chapter Twent
y
Ainslie
Excitement and panic short-circuited my brain. Calm down. You'll never remember how to get to Tulane if you panic. I closed my eyes and tuned out the accelerated drumming signaling from across the Void. Work backward. What do you remember about Tulane?
I remembered the flush of excitement when I'd boarded an old-fashioned green streetcar with its curved wooden seats. We had made the trip when I was ten. Houses. I remembered oohing over the antebellum homes I had spied out the streetcar window. A massive brick-colored, old-world style building flashed into my mind. It was too big for a house. A statue of Jesus stood out front. I remember —Loyola University.
We had exited the streetcar at the entrance to a sizeable park. A large European-style building drifted into my mind, followed by a wall with Tulane University spelled out in gold letters. It's in the Garden District. The Mississippi River flowed past one end of the huge park and Tulane loomed at the opposite end.
I whirled about and faced the river, visible across the railroad tracks and beyond the high levee punctuated with metal benches. The drums rushed back into my consciousness, faster and more insistent than ever. If I didn't reunite with Yemaya soon, I'd have to brave the Void alone. The thought sent waves of panic shuddering through me.
Following the river wouldn't be the most direct route, I reasoned, but it was the surest. I glanced up and down the Mississippi. Which way? What if it were Bayou's "River of Time?" Would one way send me forward in time, and the other way backward?
A few tourists wandered up the ramp from the Café Du Monde. Two thirty-something women stopped by the cannon. One pulled out a slick visitors' guide and opened it to a foldout map. While the two discussed where to head next, I ignored the frantic drums reverberating through me and peered over the women's shoulders. The breeze caught the map, twisting and fluttering it just as I located Jackson Square and the Moon Walk.