And then, from the center of the storm, silence. Or no, not silence, because I could hear the distant chirping of crickets. The battle between the loa might still be going on, but it had moved out of the crossroads, out of the world. Out of the thin sphere of human influence.
“Holy shit,” someone said from the darkness. The blasphemy had more sense of real awe than anything I’d ever heard in a church. “Oh holy shit.”
And then another voice cut through the darkness, high and thin as a violin bowing a single, plaintive note.
“Where am I?” Karen Black said. “Where am I?”
She was standing naked in the fog, her pale hair plastered to her head and neck. Her ice-blue eyes were wide and frightened. Blood was running freely from her shoulder where Mfume’s hooked chain had ripped the flesh, and from a dozen other shallow cuts. The red tendrils of it made me think of a dragonfly’s wing.
“Karen,” I said, levering myself up to squatting. My head swam. Sabine Glapion appeared at my side, free of her chains, and helped me stand. I felt eighteen kinds of damaged, but seeing Karen look at me, seeing her recognize me, seeing her remember was the worst thing that had happened all night.
“No,” she said, as if asking me for something. Begging.
I let Sabine walk me forward two exquisitely painful steps. Karen shook her head slowly, the blood draining from her already pale face.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“Karen?”
Ex was behind her, a jacket open in his hands ready to cover her nakedness. Karen jumped away from him like she’d been stung. Ex tried to smile in reassurance, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He didn’t understand yet that the Karen he’d known was gone, but he suspected. I raised my hand, prepared to wave him back. Karen’s voice stopped me.
“I know you,” she said.
“Yes,” Ex said, holding out the jacket.
“We were lovers.”
Ex took a deep breath, maybe at the past tense she used, maybe at something else.
“Yes,” he said. “We were.”
“Kill me,” she said.
I winced. Ex tried again to give her the jacket and she wrenched it out of his hands and threw it into the darkness.
“Kill me,” she said, her voice stronger. “Kill me. You have to kill me!”
“It’s okay,” Ex said. “It’s over. It’s going to be all right.”
Karen was plucking unconsciously at her arms, trying to pull the skin off without knowing what she meant by it or why. Her eyes were distant, lost in years of memory that she was seeing with only her own mind for the very first time. Her eyes squeezed closed and she let out a keening wail. Ex looked to me and back at her, as helpless as I was.
“Karen,” Mfume said. “Stop this.”
He limped out from the fog. One arm still hung limp and dead at his side. He was covered in his own blood. I didn’t see any pain in his face, only a hard, insistent compassion. Karen tilted her head, disbelieving.
“You?” she said.
“Me,” he said gravely. “Also me. Everything Carrefour did to you, it also did to me. I know what is happening to you now, what it means to be free of it. It is the gift you once gave me.”
Aubrey came to my side, helping Sabine support me. I was getting a little light-headed.
“You don’t know,” Karen said. “You can’t. I laughed. I killed them, and while they died, I laughed. They were my parents.”
“You were forced to laugh,” Mfume said as he slowly, painfully pulled off his own overcoat. “It wasn’t your true feeling. It wasn’t real. This. Now. These feelings are real.”
“I killed them. Oh God, and I killed Michael.”
“You did,” Mfume said, kneeling beside her and draping the dark, bloody coat over her bare shoulders. “Only it wasn’t you. It was the demon that had taken your body and your will. You have done none of this.”
“Kill me,” Karen said. “Please kill me. You don’t understand. If you don’t, I’ll want it. I’ll want it back.”
“You will. And then, later, you won’t. I have been through all of this, and I can guide you through it too. Stay with me,” Mfume said. “If you cannot find peace, I will kill you myself.”
The tears streaming down her cheeks looked like gratitude.
“Promise me,” she said.
“I promise you,” Mfume said.
Karen reached up to him, and he leaned carefully forward, putting his arm around her, cradling her. Her arms lifted up around him, white against the black of his skin and the deep, uncompromising red of his blood-soaked shirt. The rest of us stood silently around them as Karen Black sobbed.
TWENTY-FIVE
How does anyone put a world back together? How does anyone begin again? When everything changes—changes for the better, changes for the worse, a little of both—it isn’t just the world that’s called into question. It’s you too. Who you are, and what that means.
The eight of us sat at the same table Karen had brought us to the first day in New Orleans. The same waiters brought us three huge platters of bright red crawfish. The breeze that stirred the palm fronds was warm, the light pressing down through the hazy late spring sky was probably going to sunburn my nose. If I hadn’t been quite so thoroughly bruised and abraded, I’d have been wearing shorts and a halter top. I wore slacks that went down to my ankles and a billowy cotton blouse with long sleeves and a high collar. Getting out of the hotel shower that morning, I’d looked like something from the unpleasant part of a David Lynch film.
Sabine, on the other hand, was wearing shorts and a halter top. She looked beautiful and serene and in command of the table in a way utterly unlike a sixteen-year-old orphan girl who’d lost her grandmother two days before. Daria, sitting to her left, fidgeted and frowned in what I thought of as school-uniform chic. The adults—Chogyi Jake, Aubrey, Ex, Dr. Inondé, and my lawyer—seemed like the disciples here; the city revolved around Sabine Glapion now.
“Well,” my lawyer said, scooping the papers out of the way as the third platter of crustacean floated down before her, “I think that puts it all in order. Actually filing will take some time, of course.”
“You’re sure no one’s going to object?” Dr. Inondé said. It turned out he’d grown up in a part of Brooklyn my lawyer knew.
“Emancipation proceedings at Sabine’s age aren’t at all unusual,” my lawyer said. “And with no surviving adult relatives, I can’t see anyone raising an objection.”
“But it does look awfully strange,” Dr. Inondé said, wringing his hands, “an old man like me being a business partner with, well…”
“A little girl?” Sabine said with a grin. She scooped up one of the crawfish, snapped off the head, and sucked at it while Daria made a theatrical gagging sound.
“I’m just saying it looks odd from the outside,” Dr. Inondé said.
“However it looks, it will be legal and binding,” my lawyer said, “and Jayné here has put aside a little something to cover expenses if anything does come up. You have my number. Only call, and I’ll see it’s taken care of.”
Dr. Inondé nodded, but his brow didn’t lose its furrows.
“Something’s bothering you about it?” Aubrey asked.
“He doesn’t want to fold both businesses together,” Sabine said. “Thinks that the Voodoo Heart Temple and the Authentic New Orleans Voodoo Museum ought to stay separate, like two different… franchises.”
Her use of the last word was careful and not, I thought, entirely correct. For a moment, the persona slipped, and Sabine wasn’t the voodoo queen of New Orleans, but a kid thrown into an adult world and doing her best. It was temporary. The lost little girl would appear less and less over time, and before long she’d be gone forever, and some new, still-forming Sabine Glapion would take her place, same as with anyone. Dr. Inondé waved his hands. I picked up a crawfish. Its shell was still hot from the boiler.
“I just think they pull in different types,” he said. “My museum’s a r
oadside attraction. Very touristy. The Temple is more local. Part of the community.”
“But if you combine those and cut overhead,” Ex said with a shrug.
“It will be better as one thing,” Daria said solemnly. “Believe me, I know.”
Dr. Inondé blinked, and Sabine slapped her sister smartly on the shoulder.
“Don’t go lying to him, or he’s not going to believe you when it’s important,” Sabine said, and Daria grinned impishly.
“There may be a middle path,” Chogyi Jake said, his voice abstracted and thoughtful. The conversation moved on to business planning and maximizing profit, building reputation and reaching out to the tourist trade, what to put on the Web site and whether to advertise outside of the city itself. I let the talk wash over me, a rush of sound and meaning like a wave tugging at the sand.
I was exhausted. My ribs hurt badly. The ACE bandage that I’d wrapped myself with helped some, but it was going to be several deeply uncomfortable weeks before I was whole again.
When our lunch was over, we all walked out to the street together, Sabine and Dr. Inondé still wrangling about the structure of their new joint business. In truth, it was only the fine points. He would manage and oversee the day-to-day business and draw a salary. Sabine would shoulder the more abstract burden of being the living crossroads, the queen of New Orleans, the avatar of Legba. That and she was going back to finish high school. The combination made my head swim a little.
On the street, a thin white kid was leaning against the wall playing guitar, the case open on the sidewalk with a few crumpled dollars and coins there to confirm its function. Aubrey dropped in a five. We said our good-byes, and as we turned and walked away, Daria ran back, hugging me fiercely around the waist. I held her for a long moment, then let her go pelting after her sister through the narrow, sweating street. My lawyer fell into step beside me.
“That went much better than I’d expected,” she said. “I won’t lie to you, dear. When you said you were getting involved with the Glapions, I was concerned. They aren’t the sort of people you want to be on the wrong side of.”
“It took a while, but I figured that part out,” I said.
“Your uncle would have been proud,” she said. “And about the other matter?”
“I’d like to go too,” Ex said, breaking in.
“I said it was just going to be me,” I said. “I promised.”
Ex’s expression hardened, but he didn’t push back. Part of him was probably relieved.
I DROVE out alone. The lake was familiar by now, the water greenish-brown in the midafternoon sun. Traffic along I-10 was lighter than I expected, and I got off the highway a couple exits earlier than usual rather than get to Pearl River sooner than I’d meant to. I drove, aiming myself down residential streets, letting the time pass.
The storm damage here wasn’t so bad. The bathtub ring wasn’t there on the buildings. A few places near the water showed some damage, the searchers’ X. And some had new windows. I stopped at a Subway and got a six-inch sub and some salt and vinegar chips that I ate sitting on the curb, watching the traffic and the street life. This wasn’t the Vieux Carré. The sense of history and place was less oppressive here. It was only a city, alive and functioning. A little damaged, but growing back. Becoming itself.
How do you put a city back together? One house at a time. One restaurant, one coffee stand. One hospital and one pothole and one cheesy tourist trap voodoo museum at a time. And you try to get ready for the next storm.
The safe house looked the same, but it felt different. It was like the space itself had been altered by what had happened there. I pulled up the drive. The Virgin Mary in front was covered in flowers and burned-out candles studded the lawn before her outstretched arms. Someone had left the Holy Mother a fifth of bourbon as an offering. I wasn’t sure what I thought about that, but at least she didn’t look like a tombstone anymore. I went to the door of the house I’d bought and knocked tentatively.
Mfume answered it.
He looked rough. Three days’ worth of stubble salted his chin and cheeks. He wore a white T-shirt that left visible all the pale pink divots in his arm where the shotgun pellets had been dug out. He smiled when he saw me, the wide, goofy grin I’d first seen in his police record. I smiled back, and he stepped inside, ushering me through. He was still limping pretty bad.
The sunlight in the front room was softened and indirect; shadowy without any actual shadows. It smelled like the chicken noodle soup I’d had when I was sick as a kid. Comfort food.
“She’s resting in the back bedroom,” he said.
“How’s that going?” I asked.
He shook his head and lowered himself to sit on the arm of the couch.
“She sleeps some, and then she doesn’t,” he said. “I believe she is still discovering how much has been taken from her. That will go on for some time.”
“I’m sorry to hear it,” I said.
“It could have been much worse,” he said. “It nearly was.”
“Yeah, well.”
“How are you?”
“I feel like a pit bull’s chew toy,” I said. “But it’ll heal. I’ll be fine.”
“And the others?”
“Ex is a little screwed up, I think,” I said. “I haven’t really talked to him yet, but… he was sleeping with a possessed woman and didn’t notice.”
“It isn’t obvious,” Mfume said. “The rider didn’t present itself. How could he be expected to know?”
“He’s pretty deeply into the whole self-blame thing anyway,” I said. “I’m not sure that being justified in the mistake will really slow him down much.”
“That’s too bad,” Mfume said.
“Yeah. And Aubrey’s still processing. But I think he and Marinette sort of made peace with each other during that last fight. He slept through the night last night. No particular nightmares.”
I didn’t add that I knew that because I’d been sleeping next to him. There hadn’t been any sex. Just sleeping. But still.
“And Chogyi?”
“Chogyi Jake’s Chogyi Jake,” I said. “I have no idea what happens in his head unless he lets me in on it.”
Mfume nodded, started to cross his arms, then winced and put them back down at his sides.
“So,” I said, “I’ve been thinking about it. I don’t need this house. I’ve got a lot of houses and apartments and everything. I’d like you to stay here. Or, you know, if you want to. As long as you and Karen need a place, you can have this one. I’ll pop for the utilities and everything. Cable.”
“I appreciate what you’re trying to do,” he said, “but—”
“Here’s the thing,” I said, not letting him get out a whole objection. “You’re dead. I mean, Joseph Mfume’s dead, and if he’s not, then he’s an escaped serial killer. I’ve got it figured that you’re uncomfortable accepting help and all. You spent a bunch of time killing anyone who reached out, and that’s got to put a spin on things. Just classical conditioning, like you said. But it’s not about you anymore, is it? It’s about her now.”
Mfume’s eyebrows rose and he took a deep breath.
“You were a loner when Carrefour was driving, because that’s Carrefour’s shtick,” I said. “You were solo after that because… well, you were doing the fugitive hunter thing. Not really conducive to an active social life. But that’s done too. You have to take care of Karen, and I can help with that.”
“And why would you?” he asked.
“Because I can. It costs me essentially nothing and it makes me feel better. So, you know. Go me.”
The moment was fragile, but it was precious. He nodded.
“Let me think about it,” he said.
“Think as long as you want, so long as afterward, you say yes.”
He laughed. It was a warm sound, rueful and joyful and cathartic.
“All right,” he said. “I don’t have the strength to fight with two of you.”
“Thank yo
u,” I said.
“You’re welcome,” he replied with a smile that appreciated the irony.
The voice from the kitchen was weak.
“You’re Jayné,” Karen said.
She walked in wearing a robe. Her eyes were swollen from weeping. Three black scabs on her neck showed where Marinette’s fingers had raked Carrefour’s flesh. Two riders had fought, and Karen’s body had been the battlefield.
The woman I’d known was gone. The self-assured, hyper-competent, kicking ass and taking names occult mistress of darkness had always been a load of crap, whether it was her pretending it or me trying to live up to her.
“Hey,” I said.
“I remember you,” Karen said. “It hated you a lot. And it was… scared of you too.”
“I don’t know why,” I said. “I’m just me.”
“Jayné asked us to take care of her house while she is away,” Mfume said.
“Like caretakers?” Karen asked.
“Like that, yeah,” I said, picking up my cue. “If it’s not too much trouble.”
“Sure,” she said, holding the robe closed at her neck. “I can handle that.”
We talked for another few minutes until Karen started wearing out and headed back for another nap. We said our good-byes. Karen hugged me and said how glad she was to meet me.
So here’s the thing. Any sufficiently massive change is complicated. It’s not just good or just bad. Sabine Glapion lost her grandmother and got possessed by a rider, but she also became the undisputed voodoo queen of New Orleans with money and property and a congregation of cultists bent on protecting and supporting her. Karen Black escaped years of demonic possession and walked back into a world where she had no job, no family, no friends. New Orleans was broken under the storm, but it refused to die, and the city that it became—that it was still becoming—wasn’t the one it had been. It was better and worse, lessened and increased, richer and the place where something precious had been lost forever.
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