by Ariella Moon
The woman clutching the visitors' guide fumbled with the map. Two lifetimes seemed to pass before she straightened it and held it steady long enough for me to find the Garden District. I could see following the river would take me far out of my way. I dove in closer and memorized the route to the streetcar station. If I followed the trolley tracks, they'd lead me straight to Tulane. I decided to go for it.
The easiest course would be to edge the French Quarter. I could glide left on Decatur, past Jackson Square, then right on Canal Street. What if time rippled again and the public executions reappeared? I couldn't risk a panic attack. If I went straight on Saint Ann Street instead of left on Decatur and kept my head down, I could skirt Jackson Square and then turn left behind the Saint Louis Cathedral. Safer, I decided.
Straight. Then left on Royal Street, right on Canal, left on Saint Charles. Straight, I mentally repeated, then left, right, left, then follow the streetcar tracks. I flew low enough to read the street signs. As I sped down Saint Ann Street, I averted my gaze from Jackson Square on my left. Instead, my focus jumped from a mime with gold-painted skin to painters setting up easels to tarot readers casting crushed velvet cloths over card tables. A grim-faced man wailed on a saxophone.
With relief I made the left onto Royal Street behind the Saint Louis Cathedral. As I approached the backside of the large church, the color bled from the cityscape, filling my astral body with dread. A giant surge of warp energy barreled down the street. Before I could escape, it slammed me in midair, knocking me backward. My astral body crackled and buzzed, floundered and flipped. Heat engulfed me. I glanced off buildings and trees until finally halting in midair above the street. I hovered, shaken and disoriented. Night had overtaken day. Is it twilight or dawn? The present or past?
A shot cracked the silence and reverberated off the closely wedged buildings. I rocketed onto a shadowy balcony across the street from the cathedral and crouched behind a large potted plant. The gunfire hadn't popped like a modern gun. It sounded messier, reminding me of the historical dramas Mom and I used to watch.
I inched out and peered down onto the empty street. Seeing no one, I glided over the wrought-iron railing to survey the dark alley. A puff of smoke, pale gray against the night sky, led me to the patch of sky above a church courtyard. I spotted two Creole men garbed in nineteenth-century clothing. Each wore a sword strapped to his waist and aimed a long, old-fashioned pistol at his opponent.
A duel! I recoiled as sparks flew from the pistol muzzles. One bullet hit its mark. I screamed as the man who had been shot dropped his pistol and crumpled to the ground. Horror filled me as blood stained his white shirt and seeped onto his unbuttoned vest. A bystander shouted in French. As I hovered, paralyzed by shock, the duel repeated like a movie clip playing in an unending loop. I gathered my wits and fled.
Dawn broke, casting a soft glow. The street now teemed with ghosts. Two Creole women dressed in wide-tiered gowns swished past. A monk hurried to the church. A yellow fever victim slumped against the side of a building and vomited what looked like coffee grounds. I swallowed hard and gave him a wide berth, flying while I stared.
Too late I sensed another presence and swiveled my head. I came eye to yellow eye with a trio of yellow fever victims. Blood streamed from their eyes, noses, and mouths. Unable to stop, I passed through them. Heebie-jeebies! Heebie-jeebies! The hysteria I had staved off in the Void unleashed. Shrieking, I batted at my face, certain their blood, their germs, their death clung to my auric field.
I'm going to die. I'm going to die. I needed to shower in antiseptic gel. My stomach and kidneys hurt. I started to think I want to go home, but stopped myself before the universe heard me and answered my request.
I flew upward to escape the plague victims and came face to dead-eyed face with flood or hurricane casualties caught in the branches of a tree. Drums pounded in my ears, warning me to bail and go home.
"Yemaya? Bayou?" Their names came out as shrill shrieks.
Sophia, I reminded myself. Tulane. I dipped down to street level again and dodged a mule-drawn wagon carrying wounded soldiers. Just get to the next cross street.
As I approached what I hoped was Canal Street, time shuddered, somersaulting me forward. I tumbled and tumbled, my astral hand clutched around the pendulum. When the wave finally stopped, New Orleans had returned to bright daylight and full color. To my relief, cars rushed past me and modern high-rise hotels stood out among the glass-fronted tourist traps. Streetcar tracks bisected the wide, multi-lane street. I wished I had a sense of smell in my astral body so I could breathe in the car pollution.
For a moment I gaped, waiting for the buzzing up and down my astral body to stop. Rapid percussion screamed at me from across the Void. Fearing further delay, I gathered what energy I had left and sped off to find Sophia.
Chapter Twenty-One
Sophia
I hefted the table knife. I didn't have to run my thumb over it and locate the engraver's stamp. I could tell by its old-fashioned handle design and the way it balanced in my palm; it was the real deal. Silver. I tore my gaze from the Overseer and checked Nervous Guy's solar plexus. Crap. The parasitic soul had escaped into the vortex, into Nervous Guy. My stare plummeted down to Nervous Guy's root chakra. There, tethered by the thinnest of silver cords, I spotted the quivering remnant of his true soul.
"Are all y'all getting off at this stop or not?" the driver called back to us. "I have people waiting."
The Overseer rose as though he planned to invade the aisle. Breaux closed the gap between us and cut him off.
"Hey," the guy behind Breaux protested. I wasn't sure if his anger was directed at Breaux or the Overseer.
The driver stood and crossed her arms over her chest. "Y'all leave. This is the end of the line for all y'all."
"Yes, ma'am, we're going," Breaux called out. "My apologies for the delay." He shielded me from the Overseer as I tucked the leather clutch into my hoodie pocket, careful to not dislodge the twine and poppet. Then, knife clutched low at my side, I sheathed the magical weapon as I did a one-eighty. A quick tug on the hem of my hoodie concealed the sheath. The crowd packing the aisle had disembarked. Set, I strode forward.
Through the windows I spotted a few people congregated outside. Most were university students wearing Tulane green and shouldering backpacks. The silvery teen glided among them, sticking close to the windows, shadowing us from outside. High emotions flowed from her in waves. Hatred. Anger. Fear. Revenge. Worry. Heartache.
I glanced back as the Overseer commandeered the aisle behind Breaux, cutting in front of the complaining guy, who compressed his lips and remained silent.
"Do not let him get hold of the knife," Bayou warned, splattering swamp water as she backstepped through the wooden seats.
"I know," I said through my teeth.
"What do you know, little girl?" the Overseer called over Breaux's shoulder.
"Shut up," Breaux warned him.
Two rows from the front I told the driver, "Sorry for the trouble, ma'am."
She grunted at me, but uncrossed her arms and returned to her seat. As I approached the open glass door, the silvery girl retreated behind an oak tree. My thoughts darted. I knew what I needed to do. But first I had to get Nervous Guy to take control of his body again. Something had triggered his reemergence last time, but what?
I grasped the vertical pole and eased down the streetcar step, my free hand pressed to my sore ribs. The students waiting to board the vehicle threw me curious looks as I disembarked, some hostile. Murmurs rose as Breaux descended behind me. My cheeks heated. As disheveled and strung-out as I must appear, Breaux looked worse with his bloody bandana. Too many people eyed him. My stomach wrenched. What if someone pulled out a cell phone and snapped his picture? What if people started asking questions? If his bright future were ruined because I had forgotten to ask Papa Legba to close the door, I'd never forgive myself.
I stumbled from lack of sleep and protein. Breaux quick-stepped and cau
ght my elbow.
"Thanks." Our eyes met, and for a second everything else melted away and I flashed on the day we had first met by the schoolyard.
Breaux squeezed my elbow.
"I can walk," I mumbled.
His lips lifted into a smile. "Sure you can."
"We must be in the homestretch." My gaze jumped from the gold letters spelling out Tulane University on a low wall to the massive, pale stone building beyond. Large arched doorways and windows defined the ground floor. One story up, the curved windows were smaller, uniform, and laid out in a neat horizontal row. My gaze swept upward and followed the triangular façade on the top floor to its peak. My heart clutched. I'd love to go to a college like this. Regret exploded inside me. I wish I had never tracked down my bio-parents and crawled into their car.
"We need to ditch the crazy guy, then see if Grand-mère left us any clues."
Adrenaline pumped through my veins. "No. I have to help him."
Breaux released my elbow. "Are you serious? Take off your hat. I want to check for a brain injury."
"Ha ha," I mocked. He reached for my knit cap and I swatted away his hand. "I have a plan."
"Watch your back!" Bayou yelled.
Too late, I sensed bad mojo pressing against me and felt the Overseer's hot breath through the knitted yarn. The silvery teen dive-bombed me from the left. Bayou screamed.
I ducked, twisting away from Breaux and the Overseer. I recovered, and as I rose from my crouch, time slowed. The murmurs of the college kids and the rattle of the streetcar dimmed as though someone had rotated a dial from eight to one. The peculiar metallic smell of the departing streetcar reached my nose, then faded. My body angled toward the silvery teen's trajectory. I spotted her a few feet away as another silvery being joined her. The newcomer clutched a rose quartz pendulum in her translucent hand. The two hovered above a strip of grass between two oaks and stared down at me. Chills tingled my skin. Ainslie?
"Behind you!" Bayou warned.
I swung about and faced the Overseer. He glanced at me, then his gaze shifted and his eyes widened. His shoulders jerked. He took a step toward the silvery being with the dreadlocks, the one who had dive-bombed me.
"I remember you." His voice was as smooth and black as a scrying mirror and infused with the fire and ice of cooled lava. He whipped back to me and his gaze dropped to my waist. My hoodie must have inched up when I stumbled, exposing the leather knife sheath. His lips spread into a feral smile.
No. No. No.
The Overseer lunged for the knife. I pivoted away from him and thrust one hand inside my pocket.
The Overseer's hand connected with my ribs instead of the leather sheath. In an explosion of pain, time accelerated. I extracted the black man-purse, heedlessly knocking the poppet and twine from my pocket. They landed near Breaux's feet. The Overseer's face contorted with rage. Breaux's lips moved, but the time warp distorted his words. He launched himself at the Overseer.
I still had the knife. I could do this. Remembering what had snapped Nervous Guy back into his body the last time, I held up the man-purse. "Lose something?"
Spying the leather clutch, the Overseer went limp and slipped from Breaux's grasp. Nervous Guy sank to the ground, his legs bent at the knee as much as his black skinny jeans would allow.
A group of students surrounded us. "Everything cool here?" a brawny football player asked.
"Is he okay?" a young woman with a bicycle asked.
"He skipped breakfast and became lightheaded." I knelt next to Nervous Guy's feet. The small, mottled soul of the Overseer writhed across his solar plexus. "He'll be fine. We'll take care of him." As soon as you all leave.
Instead of heading off to class, the students opened their backpacks and messenger bags. Protein bars, a banana, and possibly a Hurricane drink were placed on the ground beside Nervous Guy.
"Thanks, y'all," Breaux said.
The football player pointed at Breaux. "Wow, you resemble Congressman—"
"Yeah, so I've heard." He gave the banana to Nervous Guy, whose hand trembled.
"Bro, you better get to the health center and get your head examined. You're bleeding."
"I will," Breaux promised.
I sensed the silvery beings and swamp ghost inch closer, but didn't dare tear my gaze from Nervous Guy or the Overseer's mottled soul attached to his solar plexus. Nervous Guy propped himself up on his elbows. When he started to push upright into a sitting position, I stared him in the eye and almost imperceptibly shook my head. His gaze dropped to the man-purse in my hand. Understanding dawned in his eyes. He settled back into the half-prone position and waved feebly at the students who had stopped to help.
"Later, man," the jock said. He and the others dispersed.
"Are we cool here?" Breaux asked.
I nodded. Breaux cast a warning look at Nervous Guy. "I'm going to get your stuff," he told me. "I'll be right back." He stepped away to gather up the poppet and cords and the backpack he must have dropped when he'd lunged at the Overseer.
"Ready?" I asked.
Nervous Guy nodded.
I laid the man-purse on the ground and wiped my palms on the thighs of my jeans before scooting within striking distance. My hand closed around the sheath and unsnapped the leather safety strap. One pass. If I could get a clean cut and sever the Overseer's cord, it should kill him without harming Nervous Guy. I withdrew the knife.
The Overseer's mottled soul scuttled like a spider, concealing the cord. Nervous Guy fell back, legs kicking as though he were having a seizure. The man-purse flew beyond my reach. Nervous Guy made a guttural sound and clutched the heavy padlock hung around his neck. I glanced back at his third chakra as the Overseer's foul soul disappeared into the vortex.
Sophia, watch out! Ainslie's voice screamed.
I scrambled backward as the Overseer lunged.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Hands closed around my neck, choking off my cry for help. Thumbs pressed against my skin graft. I dropped the blunt-edged table knife and tore at the Overseer's hands, scratching and pulling. White light burst before my eyes, then blackness started to close in on me. Bayou hollered at the Overseer to stop. Ainslie shouted too, but it was hard to make out her words over the ghost. Was she saying something about soccer?
The blackness grew. My vision tunneled. I could no longer see my assailant's face inches from my own. Kick it, Breaux! Turn around. I'm dying here. Kick…it. Ainslie was screaming for me to kick him. I sent what strength I had left into my right leg and aimed blindly, praying I'd connect with the Overseer's groin. With a howl, he released me and dropped to his knees, clutching between his legs. I crashed to the ground; the blackness receded.
The howl had alerted Breaux, who swung about. Fury and pain contorted the Overseer's expression. He launched himself sideways and knocked Breaux's feet out from under him. Breaux hit the pavement hard and fell still. The backpack thudded on the concrete near his waist. The poppet and binding cords flew from his hands and landed on the pavement between the Overseer and me.
Gulping air, I staggered to my feet. Too late I remembered the knife.
The Overseer rose as well. Nervous Guy's facial features had morphed. The Overseer's face — older, with higher, sharper cheekbones, dark flecks in his eyes, and a cruel cast to his fleshy lips — had reemerged. The fine hairs on my forearms and nape stood on end.
"Funny thing about head injuries." He tugged at the cuff of his leather jacket as he limped back toward me. "They make you slow. Dull-witted." His gaze dropped to the spirit doll and table knife, then scythed up to me. "Planning to be a mambo queen when you grow up, little girl?"
My hands closed into fists. The Overseer stooped and picked up the knife and poppet with his bloodied hands. He scrutinized the now deserted streetcar station. Classes must have started. His piercing gaze swung back to me.
"I see you." My words scratched to the surface, my throat raw from having been choked. "The real you. Why do you have a veve branded
on your forehead?"
She can see it! Ainslie words entered my head.
Another voice sounded inside my head. But she won't understand what it means without the spell book. We have to leave. Now. The drums…
The Overseer's brows trenched together. I wasn't sure if it was because of my remark or because he could hear Ainslie and her astral friend. He hurled the poppet onto the ground and stomped on it. When he lifted his foot, dirt and pebbles from the sole of his boot clung to the bloodstains on the doll's rough cotton skin. The Overseer brushed his fingertips across his forehead. Behind him and off to the side, Bayou knelt over Breaux.
"You lie." The Overseer tossed the silver knife from his right hand to his left and then back again.
"Nope. The symbol is there, big as life. Oh. Sorry. Poor choice of words." I sidestepped. A small surge of hope coursed through me as I hid the lump of binding twine beneath my sneaker. I stared at the Overseer, but watched Breaux in my peripheral vision as he struggled to his hands and knees.
Ainslie! the silvery girl warned. The drums!
Leave! I'll catch up with you, Ainslie told the girl. I'm going to stay and buy her time.
Air whooshed behind me. Ainslie hurtled past me like a comet, rocketing toward the Overseer's face. He raised the knife to slash her.
"Go!" Breaux yelled.
I swept up the poppet and binding cords. My heart accelerated when I realized the twine had become tangled. I knelt to free it. My fingers trembled as I followed the thread, loosened the loops and knots. I glanced up as Ainslie made a second pass at the Overseer. My heart bungee-jumped as his knife hand arced toward her lifeline.
Breaux swung the backpack two-handed. The overstuffed pack boxed the Overseer in the side of the head before tumbling off his shoulder and thudding to the ground. With a clatter, the table knife bounced off the pavement. The Overseer staggered sideways and collapsed to his knees. Ainslie twisted in air as though checking her lifeline.