Love, Lattes and Angel

by Sandra Cox

  “We’ll all be safer together.”

  “I get it.” I sweep out my arm. “Be our guest.”

  “You and Molita can have my room. I’ll sleep on the couch,” Mr. Dunn says. Mina leans over and whispers something in his ear. I watch in fascination as a tidal wave of color sweeps his face. Piper’s mouth falls. Angel giggles. Mr. Dunn clears his throat and mutters, “Maybe another time.”

  Mr. Dunn looks at the little yellow sun-shaped clock on the kitchen wall. Ten o’clock. “Well there’s no need to pretend we’re going to be sleeping. How about a game of cards?”

  He looks at Mina. “Do you know how to play rummy?”

  She smiles at him. “Yes.”

  Clara goes to the door clucking.

  “She needs to use the facilities,” Angel informs us heading for the door.

  “Wait, Angel.”

  “It’s not midnight, Daddy.”

  “Wait.”

  I look around. What I wouldn’t give for a baseball bat about now.

  Angel grimaces. “There’s some driftwood in the backyard.”

  “Inside the fence?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay then let’s go.” I touch my pocket to make sure the knife is still there.

  Mina pulls out her cell. “I’ll let Molita and Tyler know our plans.”

  “Thanks.” Angel and I head for the door. Clara clucks impatiently, lifting first one foot then the other.

  “Wait until I get that driftwood.”

  “There’s a flashlight in the top of the cabinet on your right,” Mina offers.

  I reach for the light. It’s got a wide beam and a long, heavy handle. “Perfect. I won’t need the driftwood after all.”

  I open the door and stand in the doorway, letting my eyes adjust to the dark. I take one step out, flick on the light, and scan the area. Nothing moves in the black gloom. It’s quiet, except for a soft sighing of the bamboo as they gently slap against the warm winds. “Okay, Angel.”

  Clara bolts through the door with her angular, jolting walk, squawking away. Angel steps out, but I keep her at my side. Clara does her business and begins to peck at the ground hunting for bugs.

  “Call her back.”

  “Come on, Clara.”

  But Clara is on a mission. She moves farther from the house, her beak busily pecking in the grass, her talons scratching, sending dirt and pebbles flying.

  “Come on, Clara,” Angel’s voice increases in volume. When the chicken ignores her, she heaves a sigh that has her small shoulders sagging. “I’ll get her.”

  “No you won’t. Hold the flashlight.”

  I transfer the light to her and start after the chicken that is getting closer and closer to the gate. The hair on the back of my neck rises as I realize our night of horrors isn’t over.

  Slithering down the path toward Clara is another boa. It’s half the size of Simba but still large. The snake and I reach her in a dead heat. The sinewy body begins to curl around the tiny fowl just as I grab for her. The chicken is squawking madly. Angel pelts down the stone walk behind me. “Stay back!” I yell.

  The noise brings everyone racing out of the house.

  “Oh my God.” I hear Piper. “Angel, honey, come here.” Her voice is velvet at its softest and most soothing. “Now, Angel. Daddy can handle this.”

  The snake is coiled around Clara whose squawks are taking on a breathless quality. The light doesn’t dim. It’s directly on the serpent and Clara. Angel hasn’t gone back to her mom but she isn’t moving forward either. I pull out the knife and jab at the snake. This one is easier. Its hide isn’t as tough. The knife sinks in deeper and the coils loosen. Clara stretches out her talons on the leather-like skin, flaps her wings, and manages to get loose.

  When the snake’s head comes in her direction, I stab again. Unfortunately, he slithers at the last moment and the knife comes down on his meaty body. He’s had enough and glides away, leaving a dark wet trail behind him.

  Her wings still flapping, Clara half-hops, half-flies to my daughter. I keep my eye on the boa until he’s slithered through the gate then I turn. My baby has gathered her pet into her arms, Clara’s head buried in her armpit. She’s still got a grip on the flashlight. Before I can get to her, her mom scoops her up, rocking her and murmuring indistinctly. Everyone else is gathered in the doorway.

  “What is this place, the garden of evil?”

  Chapter 18

  Piper

  Angel’s heart beats rapidly against me in sync with Clara’s trembling. I tighten my grip on both of them and respond to Joel. “It makes you wonder.”

  “There is no evil on this island,” Mina says firmly. “Now let’s go inside.”

  We tumble back into the house. Joel goes to the sink and washes his hands.

  “Are you all right?” I long to run my hands up and down his body to determine for myself that he hasn’t been bitten but awkwardness prevents me.

  “I’m fine. I wasn’t bitten.”

  My breath whooshes out in a relieved whistle. I rub my daughter’s arm. “Time for bed, sweetie.” She opens her mouth. I add hastily, “Of course, you can keep Clara with you.”

  “Okay, Momma.”

  Love swells my heart. She’s absolutely perfect, this daughter of ours. She gives me a hug, and after taking one comprehensive look around the room, trots into the bedroom. I follow and peer out the window, look under the beds, and into the closet.

  “Everything’s okay.” I assure her before I tuck her in. “I’m going to leave the door open, if anything at all bothers or frightens you, call.”

  “Clara and I are okay.”

  “You’re more than okay.” Her skin is warm, and smells of youth and innocence. I bury my nose in her neck then kiss her goodnight.

  “Think we can have that card game now?” Gramps ask when I walk back in.

  “Great idea,” Dylan pulls out a chair for Amy.

  Mina gets the cards, and chairs scrape as we push around the table.

  I settle in. The clock says 11:05. Jon-Jo will be here at midnight and will unleash his evil. I know it in the ache of my bones and the building pressure in my head.

  The talk eddies and flows around me. I watch Joel watch Amy and Dylan. I understand his concern. Twenty-two is a million light years from seventeen. But at the moment they just appear to be enjoying each other’s company.

  Gramps leans over and whispers something to Mina that makes her chuckle. The look she turns on him is full of warmth. My chest tightens then relaxes. He’s done so much for me, made me the focus of his world. The very least I can do is wish him happy. He glances up, catches my eye and smiles. And in that smile is the love that’s always there. The smile that says no one will ever take my place. I bask in it, return it, and relax a little.

  The minute hand crawls around the clock. At 11:55, conversation winds down and all the cards are flat on the table. Joel fondles the handle of a flashlight. “I think I’ll call Tyler and make sure everything’s okay.” Everyone is watching as I hit favorites on my phone. “Are you and Molita all right?” I ask when Tyler picks up.

  “Yeah. What about you?”

  “We’re fine.” Except for my skin, which has a tendency to crawl and nerve endings that are jumping all over the place.

  “We’ll be back soon. Molita’s almost done.”

  “Okay.” I click off.

  “They’re fine,” I tell the table at large.

  The clock draws my gaze like a magnet. 11:59. The house feels several degrees cooler. He’s coming. What can I do to protect Angel? My muscles tighten. My gaze collides with Joel’s. His chin lifts, his turquoise eyes are darker than usual, the pupils dilated. His hand is locked around the flashlight. He has the look of a tiger, crouched and ready to spring. My chin goes up in response.

  He speaks directly to me. “If I don’t look him in the eye I should be able to take him. But if something goes wrong, I want you,
and everyone else, out of here. Snatch up Angel and run like hell.”

  I don’t respond.

  “I mean it, Piper.”

  I say nothing, my gaze involuntarily flicking to the clock. If I need to leave to keep Angel safe, I will, but my game plan is to fight by Joel’s side and trust I won’t have to abandon him.

  12:01. I barely register the time before the back door crashes open. Jon-Jo’s wild hypnotic gaze sweeps around the table. My breath lodges in my throat and my blood turns to ice.

  Joel lunges to his feet and jumps in front of us as the rest rise in slow motion. I’d forgotten just how big the houngan is. He needs no evil powers. Just his body mass alone is enough to squish Joel like a bug. I wish I had a Taser.

  Jon-Jo zeroes in on Joel. “You killed my snake, hacked it to death.”

  Joel neither confirms nor denies.

  Light sparks off silver as the houngan pulls out a machete. “Now I’m going to return the favor.”

  “I’m calling the police,” I shriek. Mutants avoid cops and other government officials like the plague, but I can’t stand here and watch Joel be hacked to death.

  His movements as stiff as a robot, Jon-Jo turns the full heat of his hot brown eyes on me. I’m instantly immobilized. He bares his teeth. The wind outside picks up and begins to howl. A branch thumps a jangling beat against the window. In a show of bravado, Jon-Jo tosses the machete across the room. It takes off the back of a wooden chair.

  My body sags when his gaze leaves me and I gulp in air.

  His attention is back on Joel. “I don’t need the machete. I will tear you from limb to limb.”

  Gramps steps forward. “Aren’t you jumping to conclusions? What makes you think this young man killed your snake? I saw that creature. How could anyone take him out?”

  My heart swells and my eyelids burn. Gramps is no longer a young man but he uses the weapon at hand, his mind, which is still agile and young.

  Jon-Jo’s head swivels toward him. Gramps freezes in place.

  “Because I can smell the blood of Simba on him.” His voice hisses like one of his snakes.

  I’m about to race forward and demand he leave Gramps alone when his attention turns back to Joel. Gramps’ shoulders slump and his chest pumps up and down as he draws in deep gulps of air. Joel crouches and springs. Personally, I think his best bet would have been to run like hell, but that’s not Joel’s style.

  Jon-Jo shoots out his massive arm, closes his hand around Joel’s neck, and lifts him off the ground. Joel’s face reddens. He plucks at the hands holding him but Jon-Jo simply shakes him. Joel’s rangy body moves back and forth like a ragdoll.

  Dear God, I’m afraid he’ll break Joel’s neck or his spine. I race forward. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Gramps grab Angel as she leaps out of the bedroom and tries to get to her dad.

  Dylan and I rush forward.

  Before I can reach Jon-Jo, Dylan speeds past me and launches himself at the houngan. With his free hand, Jon-Jo gives a careless swipe that sends Dylan flying through the air. He lands with a hard thump up against a wall where he slides down, unconscious.

  “Piece by piece.” Still holding Joel by the throat, the houngan takes one of Joel’s flailing hands with the other. The snap of Joel’s finger sounds like a tree cracking in the kitchen.

  I scream and launch myself at the giant. “You bastard.”

  I get the same treatment as Dylan, just land on a different wall. I sit dazed and watch stars circle around my head and hear birds tweet. Amy charges. Jon-Jo simply lifts his foot. It connects with her stomach and sends her reeling back. Thank goodness, Gramps has Angel.

  Next Jon-Jo grabs at Joel’s shoulder. Joel’s eyes widen and his face takes on a purplish hue. I rock back and forth. Crap. Crap. He’s dislocated his shoulder. I pull myself up along the wall and ready myself for another attack. I don’t have much hope for success but I’ve got to keep trying, even if it means being destroyed along with Joel.

  Jon-Jo reaches for Joel’s knee. I shove myself off the wall and weave toward them. Joel looks at me and tries to shake his head, warning me back. Before I can reach them, Jon-Jo lets out a guttural wail and grabs his wrist. Joel falls to the floor.

  “Uhh.” He’s landed on his bad shoulder and rolls over. He pushes to his feet and stands weaving, his face gray.

  What the hell just happened?

  Cool air blows in from an open door. In the entryway stand Molita and Tyler. Molita holds a doll made from moss and wood. It has curly dark hair the shade of Jon-Jo’s and a red gash across the lower half of the face for its mouth.

  My skin tingles and my nerves jump in a crazy dance as Molita stares into the eyes of the houngan, hers every bit as mesmerizing as his. With a delicacy that belies the intent, she removes the pin sticking from the doll’s wrist and shoves it higher up his arm, her gaze still locked with his.

  Jon-Jo screams and grabs his arm. “You dare? You dare pit your pitiful magic against mine?”

  In response, her mouth thins and she again removes the needle and plunges it into the doll’s belly.

  “Ow,” he yells again, doubling over.

  “Leave,” Molita commands. “Leave this island. You can’t win on it. This is mine and everything on it is protected from you.” She moves away from the door. Tyler stays by her side, though his glance sweeps the room and lingers on me, his face filled with concern and near panic.

  Jon-Jo points his finger at Joel. “You can’t stay on this island forever. When you step foot off of it, I’ll be waiting. You aren’t human. I know it. I sense it. I will find a way of dealing with you. One way or another, you will pay for the death of Simba.”

  He stumbles toward the door and stops in front of Molita. “You’ve made a big mistake, little one. I’m a bad enemy.” Then he’s through it and gone like smoke in the night.

  The pinched nerves in my back and neck relax a fraction before my attention once more focuses on Joel. The grayness of his skin and the sheen of perspiration on his forehead ratchet the tension right back up. I race to him, my arms outstretched. He arches back against the wall.

  “Any other time, I’d be loving the gesture, but for now I’d better pass.”

  “Oh, sorry.”

  “Are you all right, bro?” Amy kneels beside Dylan, while throwing anxious looks at her brother.

  “Fine, Amy.” He speaks through his teeth while cradling his arm. It’s not the best lie he’s ever told.

  Mina studies Joel then goes to the cabinet, takes out powders and herbs, pours them into a tall glass and adds water.

  “Dylan, are you all right?” Amy gives the medic a shake, her gaze still on her brother.

  He groans and rubs his head. “What happened?”

  She smiles at him. Amy’s smiles can light up a room. “You took on Jon-Jo, and got a flying lesson for your trouble.”

  When Amy’s lips curve up, Dylan looks like he’s just been tasered with a double dose of electricity.

  “My hero.”

  His shoulders straighten.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah fine.” He rubs the back of his head and grimaces.

  “Let me see that.” Amy parts his springy red hair. “Gonna have a goose egg. Anything I can get for it?”

  “I’ll put an ice pack on it later. How’s Joel?” He straightens and pulls himself up.

  Amy holds out a hand to steady him. “He needs some assistance.” Her eyes swim and her voice goes husky. “At the very least, he has a broken finger and I don’t know what that monster did to his shoulder.”

  “Well let’s find out, shall we?”

  Mina hands Joel a familiar-looking dark drink. “Let’s give him this first.”

  Joel looks up and gives a stiff smile. His eyes squint shut, and he grimaces, then opens them and breathes deep. “Giving me zombie swamp juice again, Mina?”

  She laughs. “In a manner of speaking. Can you manage?”<
br />
  “Of course.” He holds up a hand that is trembling. I take the glass and squat down. “Here, let me help you.”

  He sips at it and makes a face. “I’ll drink the rest later.”

  “Don’t be such a baby. Anyone that can take on boas and evil houngans can drink a little zombie juice.”

  He laughs then winces and once again clutches his arm. I hold the glass and he drinks it down. Moments later his pupils contract to the size of pinheads and his muscles loosen. The hand holding his arm flops to his lap. “I forgot just how potent your brew is, Mina.”

  Molita—still clasping the voodoo doll—and Tyler rush to Joel.

  They kneel down beside him. Joel looks at Molita and smiles, a real smile that lights those sea-changing eyes of his. “Thank you. He seriously planned on taking me apart piece by piece. You saved me.”

  She reaches out and smooths back his hair. “You’re very brave. A true warrior.”

  Calling him a warrior knots my stomach and has acid eking out of it. Is Joel the warrior foretold for Molita instead of Tyler?

  Joel gives a careless flick to his gris-gris bag. “I thought this was supposed to protect me.”

  “He didn’t work any spells on you; he went after you with his bare hands.”

  Joel studies his broken pinky and scowls. “He did that.”

  Dylan walks out of the room and returns moments later carrying his worn black bag. “Let’s have a look at you.”

  Angel slides from her great-grandpa’s arms, and twists through the cluster around Joel to take his good hand and hold it. He leans back against the wall and squeezes it. “I feel fine, Angel baby.”

  “I know.”

  “Of course you do.”

  Dylan examines Joel’s finger, then his shoulder. “One broken finger and one dislocated shoulder, I must have missed a hell of a show. At least you didn’t open your stitches.”

  “I’d say you should see the other guy, but I didn’t lay a finger on him.” He glances at Molita and smiles. Again, my belly starts a nasty churn. “She, on the other hand, kicked his ass. Way to go, kid.”

  Kid. Would he be calling her kid if he’s interested in her? With Joel, it’s hard to tell.