Dark Sacrifice

by Angie Sandro

  “Oh.” I open the refrigerator and pull out a can of soda. When she doesn’t say anything else, I ask, “You understand why I didn’t tell you about her?”

  “Yeah.” She slams the skillet in the drying rack.

  Prickles of unease run down my spine. What aren’t you telling me, Mala?

  I venture forth with another question. “With George hanging around after Acker’s attack, I couldn’t ask but…what happened to him?” I hop up onto the counter, but she shoos me off with a snap of a wet dishtowel. I barely dodge it.

  “Mala?”

  She lets out a heavy sigh. “Acker chased me into the Black Hole. He had me cornered by a tree. That’s when he shot me again, point blank. No remorse. And while I lay on the ground bleeding, he taunted me with how excited he was to kill me. How he couldn’t wait to watch me die. Lainey shoved him into quicksand before he could shoot me in the head.”

  Her breaths come in ragged gasps. I’m standing right in front of her, but she doesn’t see me. It’s Acker’s face that fills her vision.

  “Mala, stop,” I whisper.

  She blinks, glancing in my direction. “I could’ve pulled him out, but I didn’t. Then he was gone.”

  I reach for her.

  Her eyes flick to my hands, then she vanishes into my blind spot.

  “You don’t have to feel guilty. Evil begets evil,” I say to her retreating back.

  She pauses in the doorway. Her hand clutches the door frame. “Don’t you get it, Landry? What I did or, rather, didn’t do. That’s evil.”

  * * *

  Why am I doing this?

  Mala sits at the kitchen table hunched in front of a laptop only a decade younger than she is, gnawing on the tip of her braid like a squirrel. She shouts the occasional order in my direction but doesn’t stop researching spells to see if I’m following through. Maybe she knows I don’t have a choice any more than she does.

  A bald Clarice bothers me. We lived across the street from one another our whole lives. She was my best friend until middle school drove us apart. Our moms held the crazy idea their offspring would marry someday—though it seemed more likely Red and Lainey would get hitched. Our moms weren’t subtle about their desire either. If I’d been born a couple hundred years earlier, I would’ve been betrothed to Clarice at birth.

  I’d never been too keen on the idea of having my life planned out. Clarice didn’t feel the same. She saw me as hers, and made sure the girls in town knew it. Most were too scared to go against her. The only person Clarice didn’t scare was Mala.

  I glance at her again. “You know, inviting Clarice over to perform a fake spell seems the epitome of hypocrisy. Remember how you felt about fake Madame Ruby?”

  She sighs and stretches. “We’re not discussing this again.”

  “The woman died after letting Lainey possess her.”

  “The difference between me and Ruby is I really can speak to the dead, and I don’t need to be possessed to do it.” She slaps the laptop closed. “Remind me if I forget to ask Clarice for my payment.”

  “You’re really making her pay?”

  “If I don’t, she won’t appreciate my efforts as much. Plus I need the money,” she mutters. Her eyebrows droop. “Did you finish inventorying the spice rack?”

  “Thyme?” I raise the bottle and shake it.

  “I’m supposed to use sage, but I’m allergic. I don’t feel like spending the next few hours sneezing. Plus it keeps spirits away.”

  I line up bottles of spices in front of her. She starts mixing them up in a bowl, referring off and on to a print-out of the instructions—for the magic spell, which won’t do shit!

  This has got to be the worst idea.

  “What do you want me to do now?” I ask, sitting across from her.

  She hands me a rolling pin and a cardboard container of Morton’s Salt. “Grind this up.”

  I scowl, and she sighs. “Salt protects against evil spirits. It’s why Acker couldn’t pass the boundary of the house.”

  “And the thyme?”

  “The thyme—far as I know, it makes super-delicious chicken soup.”

  I push the salt back across the table. “I hear a car pulling down the driveway.”

  “That’ll be Clarice. Dena will be coming through the woods.” She runs her hands down the sides of Ms. Jasmine’s shimmery blue dress. It hugs her curves in all the right places. “Do I look okay?”

  Fear flickers in her brown eyes. I wish I could talk her out of this. It seems wrong, but maybe she’s right. Seeing Clarice earlier shocked me. She looked like she had lost a girl fight and got clumps of hair yanked out of her head. If the cause of her hair loss really is due to her mind playing tricks on her—a psychological response to the “curse” Mala put on her—then the only way to break the curse is for Mala do something supernaturally impressive.

  Mala clears her throat. “Well, do I?”

  I shrug. “Yeah, you look beautiful.”

  Her cheeks flush. She spins in a circle, giggling, as the bottom of her dress bells out, flashing sleek calves. My mouth goes dry…I mentally slap myself on the forehead. Why can’t I keep my opinions to myself? I never thought I’d actually wish for George to show up to provide a buffer between us. I take a step back. “Let’s go meet your guest.”

  She grabs my arm. “Why do you keep doing that—pulling away from me?” She bites her plump bottom lip, and my own starts to tingle at the memory of the kiss we shared earlier. She looks up at me with bitter-chocolate eyes melting in sadness. “Are you upset because you overheard Mama talking about me kissing Georgie?”

  Whoa, unexpected. A rush of anger flows through me at being blindsided. I’m a guy. Doesn’t she know guys don’t talk about their “feelings”? Not that I want to discuss this now. Or yeah, ever.

  I craft a mask of indifference on my face, praying it won’t crack. “Your love life’s none of my business. We’re roommates, Mala. You don’t owe me an explanation.”

  Her mouth opens, but I brush past her. I get to the door first in case it’s not Clarice outside. Mala comes up to stand on my good side without arguing for once, smoothing down the front of her dress and then the curl that escaped from her braid, unable to stop her nervous fidgeting. A quick peek through the window makes me laugh. “Clarice brought Amanda for moral support.”

  “Hmm, not sure I want a witness if things go bad with Clarice.”

  “Mandy’s kind of timid. If I go out onto the porch, I’ll freak her out so bad she’ll wait in the car.” I reach for the doorknob, but Mala grabs my hand. Warmth flows into my chilled skin and travels upward.

  She’s too close. I can’t breathe when she gets so close. Not without inhaling her scent. Why does she smell so good? I lift her fingers from mine and step aside.

  Mala steps closer, forcing my back against the door. “You’re pulling away from me again. Why?”

  I hold back my sigh.

  “George and I aren’t—”

  “Fine, we’ll talk after your magic act.”

  “Promise you’ll explain why you’re acting so weird around me?”

  I run a finger across my eye patch. The doorbell rings. I turn, forcing her to stumble back, and throw open the door. I step onto the porch with a wide grin. “Clarice…” I drawl, using my best Hannibal Lecter imitation.

  We watched The Silence of the Lambs last night, and Mala laughs in reference to the serial killer. For a roommate, she’s not too bad. We like the same movies and music. If I move away whenever she tries to sit beside me on the couch, even for the most innocent of reasons, she’s diplomatic enough not to bring it up. At least until today.

  Mala steps into the hallway. Clarice keeps her head down and the scarf pulled over her eyebrows. A strong wind wouldn’t be able to blow it off. She edges around me without speaking.

  Tension tightens my shoulders. I don’t say another word but go outside. Amanda sees me and lets out a squeak. She dashes back to the car. My lips clench, but I keep the wor
ds locked in. I leave the door open and go sit in the rocking chair. With my chair tilted, I can see and hear everything going on in the house.

  Clarice doesn’t notice my absence. The girl looks around the small room, and her nose wrinkles. I felt the same way the first time I entered. Yeah, it’s a run-down old farmhouse. The living room is the size of my old bedroom, but over the last week, it’s become home, and I feel unusually protective of it. And of Mala, whose back stiffens when she notices the slight.

  I glance at the painting of Velvet Elvis, and he winks.

  “Have a seat,” Mala says, pointing to the card table set up in the middle of the living room. I’d covered it with a tablecloth and lit the leftover candles that Mala’s Aunt Magnolia had given her to cleanse the house. They add to the ambiance we’re going for. This is a matter of psychological warfare.

  “What are you planning?” Clarice asks. She runs her fingers through the thinning ends of hair hanging from beneath the scarf. Strands cling to her fingers. She shakes them onto the floor with a low moan.

  Mala’s eyes soften in sympathy. “You said I fixed a curse on you.”

  Clarice nods.

  Mala wanted me to hide in the bedroom during the performance, but I refused. I want to be close if something goes wrong. And with Mala playing around with magic she knows nothing about, even if it probably is fake, chances are good something might go wrong.

  The chair beside me rocks, and the hairs on my arms rise. “Ms. Jasmine? Is that you? Gaston?”

  “BOO!” Mala’s mom yells right in my ear and lets out a cackling laugh as she materializes. She slaps her leg and her white nightgown flutters. “Thought I could sneak up on you.”

  I rub my ringing ear. “You got me.” My attention returns to what’s going on inside.

  Ms. Jasmine leans around me. “What’s my girl up to?”

  “She took a page out of your book and is performing a magic act.”

  “Oh? She gettin’ paid?”

  “Of course.” My voice lowers. “She researched online and found a fake spell. Shush, she’s about to start. This should be interesting.”

  Mala nods toward a metal folding chair, and Clarice follows her lead and sits down. “Things have been so chaotic I kind of forgot the exact details of our fight,” Mala says in a fake, buttery voice.

  “I didn’t.” Clarice’s voice quivers. “I can’t stop thinking about it. I’m sorry for slapping you.”

  Ms. Jasmine rises out of her seat with a cry. “That skinny bitch slapped my baby?”

  “No, stop,” I hiss. I forget I can’t physically restrain her. My hand passes right through her chest, and her eyes widen.

  “Did you just try to touch my breasts?”

  A scarlet heat rushes through my body. “No, Ms. Jasmine. I’d never touch your—do that, I swear.” I glance inside the house.

  Mala’s lips quiver. Did she hear?

  “Please forgive me,” Clarice cries, grabbing on to Mala’s hands.

  The smile drops from Mala’s lips. She squeezes Clarice’s hands. “I forgive you.”

  “You said you didn’t want Landry.”

  Mala’s gaze flickers in my direction. “I did.”

  My stomach tightens, and I sink lower in the rocking chair.

  Ms. Jasmine shakes her head. “Mala’s lyin’. She’s got a powerful lust for you. A mama knows her child.”

  “If this is supposed to make me feel better, Ms. Jasmine, it’s not.”

  “Course not. You’re too busy denyin’ yourself. Gaston told me you feel guilty and don’t think you deserve my daughter. Does being a martyr make you feel like more of a man?”

  “Neither of you would’ve been hurt if it wasn’t for my family.” I choke on a bitter laugh. “I’m okay with it. I just want her to be safe—happy. She’s got George.”

  “Ha, that boy’s too conflicted to make her happy. Do you really think his mama, hell, even her own father, will ever accept their relationship? She’s a livin’ reminder of his infidelity.” She waves me off when I glance at Mala again. “She’s not listenin’ to us, but it might save her a lot of heartache if she did. Never mind. I’m wastin’ my breath, ain’t I? Maybe someday you’ll remember my words and take them to heart.”

  I expect her to disappear, but she doesn’t. Guess she’s bored enough being dead that this seems entertaining.

  Ms. Jasmine shakes her head. “That poor girl looks tore up from the ground up. What happened to her anyway?”

  “She says Mala cursed her into losing her hair.”

  “Heh, my girl’s learned to throw curses. Knew she had power, but not how to use it. Sounds like they got into a fight over you, huh?”

  Are they still talking about me? Time for me to pay more attention to the conversation going on inside. Mala leans over the table, listening to Clarice. I find both of their eyes on me, and I look back at Ms. Jasmine. The woman wiggles her eyebrows at me, and I laugh.

  “I’ve loved Landry since we were in kindergarten,” Clarice says. “He’s never seen me as anything but a friend. Guess I dodged a bullet with him. He’s gone crazy, hasn’t he?”

  I jerk in surprise. “What’s she talking about?”

  Ms. Jasmine rolls her index finger around her ear. “She can’t see me, remember. Looks to her like you’re sittin’ out here conversin’ with an invisible person.”

  Mala laughs. “He’s no crazier than you begging me to un-curse you.”

  Tears fill Clarice’s eyes. “I’m desperate.”

  “Well, take off your scarf.” Clarice does, and Mala picks up the spices I mixed together—cayenne pepper, thyme, and oregano. She sprinkles the mixture onto Clarice’s head. “Rub it in good.”

  She does. “It burns.”

  “Good. That means it’s working.” Mala covers her mouth and sneezes. “You’re done. Go on outside and make sure you rub that in good. Don’t wash your hair for a week. Don’t run your fingers through it or scratch your scalp. After seven days, wash your hair with peppermint tea. On the full moon, burn a strand of hair and throw the ashes in running water, like a stream or creek.”

  Clarice’s eyes narrow.

  “What? Do you think I’m making this up?” Mala snaps.

  “N-no, I trust you.” Clarice pulls out an envelope. “Here’s your money. Thank you.”

  Mala flips through it, lips moving as she counts the bills stuffed inside. “Good. Now go on and get out of here. Make sure you speak nicely to Landry on the way out.”

  CHAPTER 18

  MALA

  Pit Viper

  I watch Clarice leave, then sink onto the sofa. Why did I ask her over? Part of me feels like I did a good deed. The other part feels dirty. Landry and Mama come inside with Cheshire Cat grins stretching their cheeks, and I sigh. “What now?”

  “When did you learn how to throw a curse?” Mama asks.

  I glance at Landry. “What is she talking about?”

  Landry plops down on the edge of the sofa. He runs his fingers through his black hair then rolls his wide shoulders in circles. He looks as mentally drained as I feel. “Ms. Jasmine saw Clarice pay you and started complaining about how, if you can throw curses, you should get more than fifty,” he says.

  Of course, why did I bother to ask? I roll my eyes. “Are you kidding me?”

  “She has a point.” Landry shares a look with Mama, and I feel excluded. They’ve bonded during their time on the porch. Jealousy makes my stomach burn. I’m not sure who I’m jealous of, only that I envy the ease of their relationship. “I paid Madame Ruby a hundred dollars to contact Lainey’s spirit,” Landry says, and I blink at him. He leans in my direction. “Don’t you get it?”

  Mama settles in her favorite armchair with one leg propped over the arm. Her foot bops up and down. Luckily she wore her long white cotton nightgown the night she died; otherwise she would’ve spent eternity in a muscle skirt and thong. A shudder-worthy thought, since Landry can see her.

  Fingers snap in front of my ey
es. “Are you listening?”

  I wave Landry’s hand away and lean my head against the back of the sofa.

  “With your ability to speak to the dead, you’re more powerful than she was,” he says. “Plus, if you can work magic…”

  Nothing happened when I tried to take down Reverend Prince yesterday, but what if I really can work magic?

  “You’re talking about black magic,” I snap, crossing my arms. “Curses are evil. If I really cursed Clarice to have her hair fall out, then that was wrong.”

  Mama and Landry share a confused grimace. They don’t get it. Two peas in a pod.

  My chest clenches. “That’s the kind of magic Auntie Magnolia does.”

  “Exactly,” Mama cries. “That’s why you got to take yourself to New Orleans to apprentice with her.”

  I die a little death every time I think about visiting that woman.

  Landry stiffens. “Hold on. What do you mean? New Orleans?”

  “Mama made me promise to go to Magnolia so she can teach me how to use my powers.” I feel like an idiot for saying the word. Powers. What a load of bullshit. I don’t feel very powerful—confused bordering on schizoid, yes.

  “When did you plan on telling me that you’re leaving?”

  I pat Landry on the knee. It’s a testament to how badly I’ve annoyed him when he doesn’t shift away from my hand. “Sorry. It’s not a promise I can get out of, but I can choose when I go. Don’t worry. I’ll stay here until you heal up some more.”

  Landry’s quiet for a long, thoughtful moment. “Getting out of Paradise Pointe isn’t such a bad idea. It’ll be less stressful…safer living with your aunt. Plus if you can learn how to use your gifts to make some money—”

  “Then you go if you want to learn how to swindle the gullible bereaved out of their hard-earned cash. Not like I’m the only one in this room who can speak to the dead.”

  “Don’t you need money to pay your bills?”

  “I need to earn money by performing fake séances like I need a hole in my head.” I meet his concerned eyes. I don’t buy his excuse…money, hah. He’s trying to get rid of me. My stomach burns at the thought. Man, I hope I’m reading too much into his sudden enthusiasm. “Look, I didn’t tell you, since we weren’t on speaking terms this morning, but Bill Aldridge called. He’s Mama’s attorney, been on retainer for years due to her repeated brushes with the law…” I shake my head. “Long story short, Mama had a life insurance policy, and I’m the beneficiary.”