Raven Maid: Out of the Darkness

by Erik Schubach

  I blinked at the young woman, and she greeted me with just a hint of a cultured French Cajun accent, “Miss Oliver, please, come in.”

  I moved farther in, and she said in a more terse tone, “That will be all, Claire.” My guide inclined her head and backed away almost reverently to the far corner, and just stood there and opened her leather binder.

  Then the mystery woman addressed me with that stunning smile of hers. “Where are my manners, Collette Risner.” Then she moved her hand back and forth indicating the guards. “Sorry about the intimidation factor, there have been threats on my life and my security is a little over zealous.”

  I blinked in shock a few times, gathering my thoughts. This was Mrs. Risner? I had expected. Well, I'm not sure what I expected. Some grey haired old lady with old money who had nothing better to do with that money but give out scholarships and fund hospital wings in her name?

  I snapped my mouth shut and composed myself, way to make a first impression Addy. I offered my hand over the table as I inclined my head. “Mrs. Risner, Adelaide Oliver. It is a pleasure to meet you, please just call me Addy.”

  She moved slightly back, and the bodyguards moved slightly forward in tandem. She chuckled an apology. “I'm so sorry, I just have a thing about touching people. I'm getting eccentric in my young age.” Then she looked at the men. “Boys?” They moved back, staring at some point beyond me.

  I nodded as she motioned a hand to a chair and smiled. I smiled back and took it. I don't think I've ever met a rich person who didn't have some odd quirk about them. I offered, “No problem ma'am. I have some idiosyncrasies myself.”

  She chuckled and sat as I did. “Please, Colette. None of this Mrs. stuff. We could have been in the same classes together.” She held up a little mirror that was sitting on the conference room table, and she checked her hair.

  I resisted cocking an eyebrow. She carried a mirror around with her? Well, I guess if you are rich you can afford an inordinate amount of vanity.

  Then she looked up and said, “I'm only a Mrs. because I took a husband. Whom I unfortunately outlived.” She looked straight at me when she added expectantly, “Rest his soul.”

  Was I supposed to comment? Umm... I offered, “I'm sorry to hear that, my condolences.”

  She shrugged and confided as she waved it away airily, “At least he left me everything, his family was old money.” She added quickly, “Not that it is any consolation. I'd much rather he still be at my side.” She motioned a hand toward one of the many pictures hanging on the wall, of a portly white man in what looked like his late sixties wearing an expensive suit. The plaque below it read, “Jarred M. Risner.”

  I tried not to react. What did I know? Maybe she wasn't the gold digger that immediately came to mind. Maybe she had a thing for old men and really loved the man. This was turning into a really surreal meeting.

  Instead of asking about the scholarship and thanking her, I found myself asking, “You're from the bayou?”

  She smiled at that and inclined her head, pleased that I asked, “Born and raised. I came north to Seattle when I met my Jarred. Dreadfully dry air here, wouldn't you agree?”

  I had to smile at the woman and shared in confidence, “Not if you speak to the natives.”

  This amused her, and she agreed slyly, “Too true, too true.”

  Then I remembered my manners and tried not to blurt, “I wanted to thank you for the scholarship, it's a godsend, I don't know how I could have paid for medical school without it.”

  She waved it off with a dazzling smile and moved slightly closer and said in a conspiratorial tone, “Us girls of color have to stick together.”

  Oh. I absently looked at my own hand a moment. I admitted in question, “The scholarship was awarded on a minority basis? I'm only a quarter black.”

  She waved that off like I was being silly, “Blood is blood, no matter how... thin...” She said that almost accusingly, then brightened and added, “You're a woman competing in a man's field, and you're black, and from the bayou. That's enough for me. I swear you're just like your momma.”

  That totally derailed me, it was like the needle was dragged across the record. I asked, wide-eyed, “You knew my mother?” Just as heated air started flowing from the ceiling vents when the air handling system came alive to counter the early fall chill air.

  My nose crinkled a bit as I caught the slightest scent of death and decay. I was all too familiar with that smell, as some of MawMaw's Voodoo items included desiccated animal remains. A mouse must have died in the air ducts here or something.

  Colette cocked her head at the question and nodded slowly as she said in a contemplative tone, “We had a run in a time or two over the years. Before I became a resident of the Northwest.” Then she almost cutely pumped a fist exaggeratedly in the air and added with a lack of enthusiasm, “Go Seahawks.”

  I almost snorted at that, then pushed it aside and addressed her prior comment, “Really?”

  She smirked and said, “No, not really, I can't forsake our New Orleans Saints.” She winked, letting me know she knew what I was really asking. Then she prompted, “And how is Geraldine these days?” She absently looked in the mirror again and checked her hair.

  I winced and said, “She's missing. Going on seven years now.” I was just able to keep the waver out of my voice when I said that. The familiar dread settling into my gut, I've been dreading the marking of the seventh year after her disappearance, that's when the parish will pronounce mother legally dead.

  She offered an apology. “Oh, I'm sorry to hear that.” Then she brightened. “Maybe she just found herself a beau and ran off?”

  I appreciated her attempt at cheering me up. Then she changed the topic, thank the gods in the heavens. “I just wanted to meet you and see where my money is going.” She was studying me intently, then looked back to her men who still seemed oddly distracted, before looking at me again. What was she looking for?

  She looked about to say something else when I remembered something, “Oh. This is for you, Mrs... Umm Collette. A thank you for your generosity.” I pulled out the thank you letter for my acceptance of the scholarship.

  I handed it over, but she didn't take it from me. Instead, she moved her eyes to the table. Oh yeah, the touching thing. I set it down then she reached over and picked it up with a smile. She opened it and skimmed it and inclined her head. “It is my pleasure.”

  Then I asked, curiosity killing me, “So, just what exactly does the Risner Institute do? I couldn't find anything about it online.” Then I gave a sheepish, apologetic look as I admitted, “To be completely honest, I had filled out so many scholarship applications, I don’t really remember filling out your application.”

  She feigned hurt, then her plump lips formed a smile as she waved it away, checking her reflection then saying, “Well, don't look a gift horse in the mouth.” Then she looked around the room and shrugged. “We do a little of this, a little of that. I guess you could say we are into acquisitions.” She indicated the display cases then the walls.

  She stood so I did and she motioned me toward the cases, I joined her, the bodyguards standing ever so slightly between us. They walked with that same precision Claire had. I wondered if it was military training, they certainly gave off that vibe. I looked into the case, and I couldn't stop my eyebrows from raising in surprise.

  There were many artifacts I could actually name. I glanced quickly at the walls and to other display cases. I was so nervous when I came in that I hadn't noticed the items that were on display. Well, that and possibly that I had grown up with the same types of things that I didn't really notice anymore.

  I looked at the items that were used in Voodoo ceremonies and then to her as she watched my face. I asked, “You're a believer?”

  She smiled knowingly and nodded slowly, still keeping her eyes on me, “Oh, yes. Voudun has a rich and diverse culture. Some of its teachings can be... how should I put it? Vey useful to me.” Voudun? That was one of the
roots of the Voodoo belief system, Haitian.

  Then she asked, “You?”

  She seemed inordinately intent on my answer as I shrugged and shared, “Not really. I mean I know I should be, mother and gran were heavy into it, but I can't get into the core mysticism of it. Maybe because I grew up in my MawMaw's Voodoo shop, and saw it as flashy gimmicks to fleece the tourists from their cash.”

  She chuckled at that then made a sour face. “Tourists. They spread through the Quarter like vermin.”

  We shared a smug grin. Yes, I know we complain about the tourists all the time, but we also know that it is the loads of cash they spend in our historic districts that keep the city running. So it is more a tongue in cheek appreciation we have for them and their cameras.

  I liked the woman, even if she seemed a little too preoccupied with her reflection. I caught that scent of death again and looked at her and noticed the little pouch on a string just barely visible under her impeccably pressed white blouse.

  A gris-gris? Was that where the smell had been coming from? She was wearing some sort of Voodoo charm. I guess she was serious about believing, I wondered if she knew that whatever was in it, smelled so bad. Possibly she didn't care, she was obviously richer than anyone in any room she was standing in.

  Collette followed my gaze down to her bosom, then she smiled and shrugged, “As I said, I am a believer.”

  Then she stood straighter and said, “Thank you for coming Adelaide. I just wanted to see where my investment was going. You don't mind if I check in with you from time to time?”

  I almost gleeped, when I realized that Claire was at my side suddenly. Alrighty then, apparently our meet and greet was over. I said, “Any time Collette. And thank you again.” I put my hand out half way and caught myself and pulled it back, to her amused smile.

  She just inclined her head and then turned around as walked toward another door in the conference room, the two hulking men following her with those oddly synchronized and precise strides, almost as if they were on an invisible tether to her.

  I nodded to myself, feeling like a platypus out of water, wondering if this was normal for her or if I had done something to cut the meeting short. I turned to Claire as she spoke, “This way Miss Oliver.”

  I followed in her wake, out the doors and past Mr. Chocolate and Vanilla. I gave them a sheepish grin as I hustled to keep up with wind-up severe corporate assistant. I caught that scent of decay as I paced her and noted that she too had a gris-gris around her neck.

  I squinted in sympathy for the woman, wondering if they all had to put up with all the Voodoo nonsense I suffered through while growing up. But I guess if the woman paying your salary asks you to wear a pouch that smells of death around your neck, you wear it. I hoped she got paid well.

  Once I was ejected back into the smells of the outdoors and salt water, I grinned at my car beside the expensive vehicles and pulled up my cell and hit one of the only two stored numbers. A minute later I was grinning like a loon as I started my car as Shannon answered on the first ring.

  Instead of responding to her greeting I just asked, “Meet me at my place, lady? You said you were going to show me where to make groceries right.”

  I had to smile at her returning chuckle. I was slightly embarrassed about how much I was smiling with her on the phone.

  Chapter 4 – Occurrence

  She met me at my place as prescribed and waited as I changed out of my good clothes to something more comfortable. My cheeks heated when she said as I was slipping on my only long sleeved tee to combat the chill air, “God, I'd die for your skin tone lady. It's gorgeous.”

  She was doing it again. Straight-barbie was flirting with me. She had to know what she was doing. Then I wondered. She never did say she was straight now, did she? Though she had mentioned her ex, Gabe.

  Come on Adelaide, get out of your head. She's your friend.

  We stepped outside, her snubbing my car as she made a show of stepping widely around it. I said, “You're not nearly as cute as you think you are.” Then I hopped into her passenger seat, noting how meticulously clean the interior was, the extreme opposite of my car.

  She smirked as she started the Miata. “Your smile says otherwise.” Then she noted me looking around the vehicle and added smugly. “Yes, this is what the interior of a car really looks like, I know it is hard to tell since your decorating scheme is in the shades of white and yellow of fast food wrappers.”

  I grumped, “I hate you,” and gave her a toothy grin. Her lips were pressed into a thin line as she tried not to smile.

  I shivered and rubbed my arms, and she squinted at me. “Cold? I can turn on the heater.”

  I exaggerated chattering teeth and nodded, though it wasn't that chilly, it had warmed into the low seventies. I said as warm air started coming from the vents, “I'm not used to these arctic temperatures yet.”

  This got a giggle from her as she shook her head. “You're in for a nasty surprise later if you think this warm weather is arctic.”

  I stuck my tongue out at her, and she refused to acknowledge my mature and well-articulated argument by concentrating on the road and trying not to smile.

  Then she asked, “Are all people from humid subtropical places as wimpy as you?” She bit her tongue, still staring at the road.

  I muttered, “You're just lucky I've no other friend prospects yet. Otherwise, you'd be back of the line.”

  She bobbled her head then asked as she glanced over at me, “You don't have a coat do you?”

  I shook my head and admitted, “First on my list of to do's. Never needed one before except a raincoat. I should have taken the partial scholarship in Miami instead.”

  She smirked then looked quickly behind the passenger seat when we were stopped at a light and pulled out a black leather jacket and handed it to me. “Use this, so you don't freeze your delicate ass off until then.”

  I grinned at her and rolled my eyes and held it up. It would hit me about my midriff, and it was quite stylish, most likely her clubbing gear.

  She quipped, “It's your color too. I've noticed you lean toward black in your fashion sense. We'll have to try to break you of that.”

  I suppressed a smile. She was talking like she was planning on hanging around with me a lot in the foreseeable future, and I was ok with that. Putting aside the fact she was sexy as hell, she was a lot of fun and as I already said, was already calling me on my bullshit. I could see us becoming good friends.

  I informed her, “That won't be happening. I'm quite fine with my wardrobe, thank you very much. Black never goes out of style.” Before she could counter I held up the jacket. “Case in point, you had this.”

  We wound up at Pike Place Market after a short drive. I almost moaned, I wasn't a big fan of tourists in my city, and I didn't want to be one here. I mean sure, I still did want to see the sights but wasn't there something less... obvious? I felt like she was directing me to Bourbon Street here.

  I cocked an eyebrow at her in a, 'really?', gesture and she held a hand up to stop me. “Don't knock it, this is where you can, how do you put it? Make groceries. No better place in the city for fresh fish and seafood.”

  She looked at the dense crowd of people with cameras and cellphones out going through the market as we crawled through the street to a parking structure that spiraled down the hillside to the street below, which ran along the shoreline of Puget Sound. She winced a little. “Touristy, I know, but just like Times Square, there are some treasures in it if you know where to look.”

  I nodded as she found us a spot on the second sublevel. “I'll take your word for it. How long have you lived in Seattle now?”

  Shannon offered as we got out and I put her jacket on, pleased with how it fit, “Just a year, though I did go home for the summer.”

  I nodded sagely as she led me up some stairs. “So now you're a native.”

  She grumped, “You want to know where to get your crawdads or what, wench?”

  I surre
ndered myself into her care, and I tried hard not to gawk and rubberneck as she led me through the Market. We found mud dogs and more as she led me to the fish market then into some other shops adjacent to the Market on the other side of Pike Place. They even dry ice packed my purchases so they'd stay fresh.

  I was quite giddy with my selections. I only wished I had a bigger fridge than the mini in my Winnebago. What I had would only feed me three or four days. But the groceries were far fresher and better quality than what I had got the prior day.

  And to my utter shame, we even did the tourist thing a bit as we went through and oo-ed and ah-ed at the handmade items at some vendor stalls and I broke down when she showed me a sub-level with a comic book shop, and I had to grab some manga.

  That's when we saw him.

  We headed back for the stairs to get back to street level so that we could head to the car to get my groceries home. I heard a child crying in a short side corridor to the restrooms on that sub level. People were just walking past, ignoring the boy. I looked around, wondering where the hell his parents were, he couldn't have been more than five or six.

  I pulled Shannon over to the corridor as I looked around again, I was aggravated that nobody was even stopping to check on him. When we got out of the main foot traffic and into the corridor, I crouched in front of the little boy who was just sitting on the floor, his back to the wall with his arms wrapped around his legs as he just rocked and cried.

  I felt my hair rustling and it started tickling my scalp as I spoke to the child, “Hello. Are you lost? Are your parents in the restroom?”

  The boy snapped his watery eyes up to mine, and he looked shocked. There was so much fear, and loneliness in his eyes, some part of me felt the need to do something, far beyond the empathy one would feel when seeing a suffering child. My skin started prickling as I realized what was happening. I absently reached a hand up to run through my hair, and they were there, those soft downy feathers.