Ashes and Ice

by Rochelle Maya Callen

  “Oh no, Nanan is going to kill me now.” Desi plucks the cup from my hand.

  I can feel waves of warmth press in on me. I can almost hear the spiked tea bouncing off the corners of my mind, soaking and smudging everything. My whole body feels heavy and relaxed. I can feel small bits of me fleeting away, under the current of tequila—the worry, the disappointment, the awkwardness. I lick my lips, allowing the feeling to fill me.

  Chapter 42

  Connor

  The sound blares out past the front door. What the hell? Women’s voices echo above the singer’s voice. I walk in, careful not to be knocked out by the sound of booming females and their angst. No one is in the living room. No one is in the kitchen. I look into Dad’s study. Jade and Mom are dancing, singing, extravagantly performing for a large assortment of Dad’s photo frames. All the photos that had been tucked away are neatly stacked and aligned around like a studio audience. Mom’s hair is down, flopping around. Jade’s arm is tangled about Mom’s shoulders. I watch them—my mouth gaping open. Mom has a margarita glass spilling pale green liquid and Jade has another one in her hand, waving about as she dances.

  “Hey, can I interrupt the party?”

  They jerk their heads toward me. Then look at each other. An eruption of laughter as they collapse on the floor, their respective tequila-filled glasses balanced in their hands.

  “Hi, my darlin’?” Mom is drunk.

  “Yeeeah, hi, my darlin’!” So is Jade. Her voice is strange, slow, forced. “C’mon Connor! Have a Marga-marga-a-yummy-drink!”

  I snatch the glass from her hand. “Oh my god, ladies. Drink, much?”

  Another eruption of laughter. “We needed it, hon.”

  “Yeeeah, we needed to relax.” Jade stood up, wobbly. “Connor.” She falls into me and laces her arms around my neck, pulling her lips closer to my ear. “I’m very, very drunk.”

  “I see that.”

  “Reeeally?”

  “Yeah, you don’t have to be a genius or have supernatural powers for that one.”

  “Shhhhh.”

  She cocks her head to the side and examines my face, scouring every piece of it.

  “What?”

  “You know what?”

  “What?”

  “You are very handsome.” She smiles, and her half-lidded eyes are warm and precious.

  “I—uh—yeah, you are really drunk.”

  “Yep! And… and I’m tired.” She rests her head on my shoulder, perfectly under my chin and yawns.

  “I could take you home—.” I can’t take her home like this. Nanan would kill me. I start to walk into the hallway and Jade’s body gives way and plops on the floor. She laughs, her whole body trembling from her giddiness.

  “Connor, just let her stay here tonight.” Mom says. “She may need you to hold her hair back in the morning.”

  “Lovely.”

  Mom smiles while grasping the wall for support. “And we don’t want Nanan skinning you either.”

  “But I didn’t even do this to her!” I lift Jade’s whole body in my arms like a baby. I carry her to my room and lay her down gently on my bed, tucking her under the covers. She snuggles into them. I grab a pillow and the extra blanket from the edge of the bed and start arranging them on the floor.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Making my bed.”

  “Why?”

  I’m stumped. Beautiful, girl of my dreams in my bed and I want to sleep on the floor? “I—I thought it would be ya’ know the gentlemanly thing to do.”

  She shakes her head, “Nope.” She says with an extra pop on the “p”. “A gentleman would keep me warm and safe.” She pats the space next to her.

  I look at the emptiness next to her. It seems so far away. So perfect, yet so out of reach.

  She regards me carefully, “I won’t hurt you.” She says finally.

  “No! I know that. Are you sure that you’re okay with me—you know, sleeping next to you?”

  “Of course! It’s not like we are having sex. Just keep me warm.”

  This doesn’t make any sense to me because, even with the AC on, it is warm in here, but that hardly seems relevant when a gorgeous girl is asking me to sleep next to her. I stop breathing and then force myself to continue again. “Um, okay.” I slowly sit on my bed, hyper-aware of every creak it makes. It feels like someone else’s bed, and it’s fragile and I don’t want to break it. I lie down and hold my breath again as I feel Jade shifting beside me.

  Jade curls up next to me and places her head in the nook of my neck, smelling like tequila and honeysuckles. “Can I ask you a question?” Her words slur together like warm honey. She could almost be from Louisiana herself.

  “Sure.”

  She slowly traces my neck with her fingertips, “Do you like me?”

  “Of course I like you. You’re my best friend.”

  “No.” She lifts up her head so the heat of her breath tickles my ear. She lowers her voice, “Do you like me?”

  I’m quiet. I know what she is asking, but I don’t know how to respond.

  “Do you like me like Dominic likes me?”

  “No.” I blurt out, the words harsh and cold like scolding an insubordinate child. What a horrible comparison. Dominic just wants to sleep with her and while, yeah, that would be incredible it is not what I’m after. I want to love her and for her to love me. I want us to dance, kiss, and throw dish towels at each other after dinner every night like Mom and Dad used to. I want – wait… what did I say to her? Just no? Crap. I meant no to the comparison, not to the liking.

  “Jade, I mean…”

  But she’s already sleeping. And I know I have blown yet another chance. I’m bitter. I replay the few seconds over and over in my mind. Why didn’t I say yes? I’m angry with myself for my stupidity. I almost want to wake her up and explain. But she looks too peaceful now, too tired and serene.

  I look at her. Her eyes are closed, her arm draped over my chest. I watch it rise and fall as I breathe in and out, slow and controlled. My whole body shudders from the touch of her, from the warmth , from the way I feel she clings to me in these unconscious moments. I wish she would dream of me as I dream of her. She doesn’t, I’m sure. But I wrap myself up in the thought of it, feeling whole and happy. She starts to shift and I feel her warmth leaving. I sigh as she brings her arms to her chest and turns away, curling her legs up slightly. Her closeness still reaches out, but her back is to me. As it always has been, as it will be. Her breath is steady and constant. She starts to wiggle and shift under the covers—perhaps trying to pull herself farther away.

  “Connor.” Her voice whispers, lazy from sleep, but as warm and beautiful as a song, with a slight inflection at the end as though questioning if I’m still there.

  “Yes, Jade?” My voice is soft, urging her to respond.

  But all she says is, “Connor.” It rolls off her tongue. It sounds elegant coming from her. She wiggles, scooting back closer to me. Her voice sounds like confirmation. I’m here. She’s safe. I hope that’s what the slight inflection means. I turn toward her and curl my legs so they align in the nook of hers. I put my arm around her. I feel so right there. I wish I had held her like this a long time ago. Pretending she is mine and I’m hers and no one else exists in this world. I focus on the feeling of her and forget everything else—every piece of me that is cold and guarded melts away. Eventually the warmth of her lulls me to sleep.

  Jade hovers over me when I open my eyes in the morning, a playful smile parting her lips, her dark silhouette bathed in bright morning light casting an array of gold all about her like she is some divine princess.

  She continues to smile. It’s a slight, sweet smirk. Her lips purse, pulled in line, and her eyes twinkle with lightheartedness. I know this smile. It’s how she smiles when she is about to attempt silliness.

  She raises her palms, wiggling her fingers like the legs of spiders. I’ve done it so many times before so I know exactly what she is about to
do. With a quick jolt, she bounces forward and her fingernails scratch my skin violently even through the fabric, while she laughs out, “Tickle, tickle, tickle!”

  “Ouch!” The pain ripples through me. I push back her hands in defense of my poor tattered skin. I immediately regret it.

  Her smile fades and eyes widen while she sits back. It almost looks like she wants to cry, “I don’t do anything right do I?”

  “No, no, no—” I say, rubbing the raw spots on my chest. “You just need practice.” I smile.

  She shrugs and looks away.

  “Tickling, my dear friend, is an art which requires much practice.”

  She nods. She pulls her lips in a tight line, in a smile. It’s not a real smile, but the smile she wears when she knows she is supposed to smile—an unhappy smile, a smile of obligation. I hate seeing it, because I hate knowing she isn’t genuinely happy. I want to replace it with a real one, one that lights up her face, one that she can’t hold back, because it is so true and honest it can’t be contained.

  “Like I said,” I hold up an index finger like a teacher giving a lesson, “Ticking requires lots of practice—and observation.” I smile wide. Before she looks back at me, I lace my fingers around her arms and yank her down, pinning her to the bed. My fingers find her ribcage and tickle. She curls up her legs in defense and bursts out in uncontrollable laughter, a smile spreading so wide it parts her lips and illuminates her face. She is so beautiful this way. This is my favorite smile. And now I am laughing too.

  Her giddy giggles continue. She mouths “stop”, but the words don’t quite come out so I ignore them and tickle ruthlessly, relishing her uncontrolled, unrelenting smile because I know I am the cause of it.

  Before I know what she is doing, I feel her legs snake around me and then pull me into her, our bodies perfectly aligning on top of one another. A kick of adrenaline courses through me. I stop laughing. She still shakes with the laughter that doesn’t lose grip of her. Here we are, me on top, her legs wrapped around me. I feel hollow, excited, happy, and nervous. We’ve never been like this before—in this forbidden position, and I can’t keep the thoughts of the desires within me from clouding my mind.

  She is still giggling. She is so innocent. Guilt nags at me for feeling this way. But the adrenaline still sends waves through me, taunting some brave soul within me and I want to kiss her. I want to kiss her and recant my stupidity from yesterday. I want to kiss her and tell her I do like her, but not like Dominic—I like her so much more than that. I love her. And I want her to choose me. I start to lean in closer to her, the strength within me taking charge.

  A man clears his throat at the door.

  I’m startled and my head snaps up. It’s Wade. Dammit.

  He’s leaning on the doorway, looking at us with lazy, but amused eyes. “Atta boy, Connor.” He winks. “Didn’t know you had it in you.”

  I want to sit up, but Jade’s legs are still around me and she is too strong. I would have to flinch away and that would be obvious.

  “But in terms of the general order of events,” he says, “first you lock the door.” He points to the door, “and second—”

  I already know what he is going to say. I close my eyes to brace myself and try to plead with him to shut up, “Wa—”

  He doesn’t wait for me to finish, “And second, your clothes have to come off sometime or this whole thing won’t work too well.”

  I hang my head in embarrassment and shame. Am I seriously related to this guy? Is it genetically possible? I look at Jade.

  She’s confused—her brow is furrowed, lips pursed, her eyes nearly blinking a neon question mark. And I am relieved. But then a flicker of understanding brightens her eyes and her whole face turns serious. Her legs let go of me as she sits up, shaking her head. “Oh no, Uncle Wade.” She glances at me quickly, “Connor doesn’t like me like that at all.” Her lips tighten and she looks away from me as she stands up.

  Wade raises an eyebrow. Now he’s confused.

  “I—I better go.”She looks flustered and shuffles around Wade as if she’s scared to touch him.

  “Nice job, Wade.” I say and he shrugs his shoulders and smirks.

  Chapter 43

  Jade

  Cold descended on me as I heard the sound of Wade’s jaw unhinging, the bones in him breaking, his blood drip, drip, dripping on the ground. Worse, I liked the sound. It was only a split second, but the terrible dread of it hovers over me. Wade is okay. He is far away and I can’t hurt him. The floral wallpaper reassures me. The cold tickles its way deeper. I grit my teeth and squeeze my eyes shut.

  NO. NO. NO. I don’t want this cold! I don’t want these wicked thoughts.

  My nostrils flare as I breathe in something smoky, something burnt. A heat so heavy it feels like a Mac truck slams into me and I gasp as I open my eyes.

  Shadows swirl into smoky images, like heat rising off asphalt, spiraling into a violent tumble of fog. It takes shape slowly, the colors filling up the mass and clarifying it into something real…. And unbelievable.

  Black hair. Ashen brown skin. Eyes white. Neck slashed. Head crooked over her shoulder. Unnatural and decaying. The girl from the restaurant. I gasp as I hear the faint sound of her toes scrape the wood floor coming toward me.

  “Wha-what do you want?”

  The girl’s blue lips smack open and closed. “Imppprrroooobesss es.”

  “What?” She’s too ugly to look at; I want to vomit. My lungs heave, trying to keep the bile down.

  The foreign words tumble from her lips in a throaty, vacant sound. Her mouth opens and closes almost mechanically. But she drags out the “es”. I press myself against the wall. She reaches one white, trembling hand toward me.

  “What do you want?”

  “Improbus es.”

  “What?”

  “ImprobusesImprobusesImprobusesImprobusesImprobuses…” Her bloody toes scratch at the wood, her black tongue flops in her mouth.

  Is this it? Is this death? Am I ready? I clench my teeth, preparing myself.

  Her hand collides with my chest, burning me. It sears into my skin like a knife. I grab at her arm, but it doesn’t move. Fingers splayed, palm on my chest, she lifts me up, my back dragging against the wall. The pain stretches from my chest to my back, from the base of my throat to my belly.

  “ImprobusesImprobusesImprobusesImprobusesImprobuses…”

  “Please,” I say, breathless. “Please, stop.” My head spins from the pain. Consciousness slips away from me and as it does, so does she. As soon as I hit the bed, the fog and the girl are gone. Where she stood, a pile of ash lies in a heap on the floor. My skin burns. I touch my chest and feel thick, gaping cuts across my chest. I run to my mirror.

  The cuts in the shapes of letters are deep and ugly.

  “Improbus es.” I will tears to come, but they don’t.

  Blackness pulls me under. When I wake up, I run to the mirror. The words are gone.

  I have to find the red door. Time is running out.

  Chapter 44

  Connor

  Pulling up near the shop, I park in the alley and hop out the truck. Jade gets out slowly.

  “Here we are.” I say motioning to the store. It’s on a fairly vacant street. Candles light the window. Jade walks up and opens the door. Incense smoke swirls in the air and fills my nostrils. “So do you need to just look around or do you need to talk to Alathea?”

  “Probably both.”

  “Did I hear someone say my name?” A voice, raspy and familiar says from a few aisles away.

  “Um, yes. Ms. Alathea? I wanted to ask you a couple questions.”

  Alathea appears in front of us. A black, skeletal woman with heaps of fabric folded around her. “Ah, I see.”

  “Were you the one who did the charcoal painting in the Quarter? The one of a red door?”

  “Ah, yes. The door to the in-between? Yes, I drew it.” She tilts her head, a bit too much to one side and intently stares at Jade. “What
do you seek with the red door, young one?”

  “I, um, where is the door? I mean, where have you seen a door like that?”

  Jade looks nervous and I can’t tell why.

  “Ah, you are looking for it then.” She narrows her eyes at Jade. “Why?”

  “I, well, I was just curious…” Jade being flustered makes me shift my weight, makes me nervous and I want to get out of here.

  “Come here.” Alathea says abruptly. She pivots around and disappears behind a rack of books, candles and alligator skulls.

  Jade glances at me and raises her eyebrows before following her.

  I want to scream at her, I want to drag her out of the shop, but instead I follow too, dragging my feet on the wood floor, watching the dust part and leave my trail.

  Around the corner, we see the lady sitting at a low table, candles glowing around her, casting her sharp angular face in shadows and light.

  She looks at the floor near Jade’s feet. “What card chose you.”

  “What?” Jade asks.

  The lady nods to the floor and in a bird like gesture tilts her head to the side and watches as Jade bends down to pick up a card at her feet.

  “Um, I don’t know. It’s blank.”

  Alathea’s eyes grow wide and she crooks a finger at Jade. “Come here.”

  I peer over Jade’s shoulder and see the whiteness of the card stare back at me. What the hell was it doing at her feet?

  Jade doesn’t move for a second. Slowly, she approaches her. “Ah, yes. You are the little-jade-eyed child, aren’t you?” The old woman smiles, teeth blackened, some missing. “He’s been waiting for you.”

  “What? Who’s waiting?” I say, confused.

  The old hag’s stare trips on itself, tumbles on me, and promptly turns into a glare as if she just noticed my intrusion. She shifts her gaze back to Jade and softens, never answering my question.