The Lies We Bury

by Stacy Green

  “Whatever surrounds you is impossible to fully read,” Sen Michel says. “But it fears for you. It wants you to trust the man you’re running from.”

  The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. After I came home from the hospital, I accepted the Voodoo faith and Gran’s teachings without question. On my worst days, when my temper’s out of control and I start wishing I’d died on that road, Voodoo calms me down. The Loa don’t care about my face or my missing teeth, and they forgive me when I lose my shit. I don’t care if the spirits really exist or if the spells work. I believe in the religion because it’s all I have—real evidence of the magic doesn’t matter.

  Maybe the shadow Sen Michel’s seeing is just my own energy, or it’s really a Loa watching over me—or he’s being a melodramatic actor. I wouldn’t be the first person to accuse him.

  But how does Sen Michel know about Cage?

  “Everything is changing for you,” Sen Michel says. “You must decide what path to follow. Trust the people who are trying to help.” He stops and yanks the white scarf off his head. “I can’t blaspheme Voodoo like this. Myra Bonin called me ten minutes ago. She said you’d probably show up here and that I should convince you to trust her and the cop she’s working with.”

  12

  Cage ducked his head and followed Bonin into the small store on Dumaine Street. Located on the bottom floor of an ancient brick townhouse and away from the main tourist traps, The Conjure Shop had only a discreet wooden sign above its entrance.

  “You’re sure she’ll be here?”

  “I found handwritten rituals in her room from the High Priest who runs this shop,” Bonin said. “He works at night, and there’s a good chance she’ll show up, especially since Miss Alexandrine is MIA. I don’t think she has anywhere else to go.”

  Tables loaded with candles, statues of saints and Voodoo dolls took up much of the small store. Various herbs and oils lined the back wall, along with baskets of multi-colored baggies tied with thick string.

  “What’s a gris gris bag?”

  “Like a mojo bag,” Bonin said. “Blessed by the priest for whatever you need it to do. And it’s pronounced gree-gree.”

  Cage picked up one of the little bags. It felt like a hacky sack. “This one is for money and good luck. Does that mean I’ll win the lottery if I carry it around?”

  “Can I help you?” The woman at the counter looked unimpressed with his question.

  Bonin held up her badge. “We’re looking for a girl who—”

  “With the weird face? She’s in the back with Sen Michel.”

  The metallic purple curtains behind the front counter snapped open, and Annabeth marched out. The rage in her eyes reminded Cage of his mother during the end stage of Alzheimer’s. Her anger erupted out of nowhere, her punches somehow landing like a prize fighter’s despite her weak body.

  “You bitch.”

  Cage stepped around Bonin and caught Annabeth in mid-lunge. She screamed and twisted, beating him with her fists.

  “Let her go,” a tall black man dressed in flimsy white linen came through the curtains. “You’ll only make it worse. She needs space and calm.”

  “She’ll need a lot more than that if she attacks a cop.” Cage locked the fighting girl against him, her hands pinned to his chest, her body heat burning rage and sweat. She tossed her head back and glared up at him.

  “So much for being able to trust you. I bet it was your idea to have him trick me and make me think the spirits wanted me to trust you.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  She stomped on his foot. “Liar.”

  “Cage didn’t know anything about my calling Sen Michel,” Bonin said. “I told him I’d found stuff from Michel in your room.”

  “I’m sorry, Myra,” Michel said. “I couldn’t do it.”

  “Damn, Michel. I told you it was important.”

  “Bitch,” Annabeth said. “What do you think Miss Alexandrine’s going to do when she finds out about this? She’ll fix you good.” She struggled against Cage. “Let me go, asshole.”

  “Not until you calm down.”

  “I’ll say you attacked me.”

  “In a room full of witnesses to claim otherwise,” Bonin said.

  Annabeth slammed her head against his collarbone. “I trusted you.”

  “Is that why you set a spell on me?” Cage gritted his teeth. That would leave a mark.

  “Set a spell on you? You sound like a dumbass when you say it that way. And you don’t believe, so what difference does it make?”

  “You’re right.” His arms ached from struggling with her, and he was fed up with her distrust. He put her first, risking his job. “I think it’s all a bunch of made-up crap to make New Orleans mysterious for the tourists, and you’re the one who looks like a dumbass when you carve my name into a candle.”

  She spit on him.

  “Enough.” Bonin yanked a pair of handcuffs off her belt. “That’s a second assault charge.”

  Annabeth’s face turned milk-white. She stared at the cuffs, gasping for air. “No one’s handcuffing me.” She looked back up at him. “Please, please don’t put those things on me.”

  Her angry tone had evaporated to childish, uncontrollable fear. She trembled against him, tears in her eyes.

  He kept one arm locked around her while he wiped the saliva off his neck. “Your kidnapper handcuffed you.”

  She stilled. “I don’t remember. Just please, don’t.”

  “I think you do,” Bonin said. “You’ve remembered for quite a while, but you stuck with Charlotte Gaudet to make sure you inherited her house. It’s worth a lot of money.”

  Charlotte’s will confirmed that she knew Annabeth wasn’t her biological granddaughter, but she loved her, listing ‘the woman living with her as Lyric for the past seven years’ as her only living family member and sole heir. Alexandrine Dupree was named executor, with the specific instructions not to reveal the truth to the girl unless her safety depended on it.

  Annabeth’s head whipped back and forth. “Miss Alexandrine’s supposed to take care of her will.”

  “I think you’re lying. Maybe you didn’t know at first, but you found out the truth at some point. Charlotte was dying. You didn’t know your real identity, so why not stick around?”

  The priest seemed to come out of a shocked trance. “Myra, she wanted me to look into the crystal ball and essentially tell her who she was. If you saw the look on her face when she realized that I knew the truth, you’d understand.”

  “She’s a good actress,” Bonin said. “She fooled us with her meek act all the way here just so she could take off, even though I did her a favor and got her assault charge dropped.”

  “That’s not true.” Annabeth looked up at him, her chin digging into his chest. “You believe me, don’t you?”

  His muscles ached from struggling with her. “I told you my job was at stake. You promised not to take off. Why should I trust you now?”

  “Because I need you to.” Her voice wavered with panic.

  “You found out about Charlotte’s lie and decided she owed you,” Bonin said. “I bet you conned her into the protection ritual too. The ultimate punishment—her soul bound to you instead of joining her ancestors.”

  “Fuck you.” Annabeth’s scream seemed to amplify her body strength. She slammed her head into his chest and then planted her knee into his groin.

  He dropped his arms and staggered back until he hip-checked the table of Voodoo dolls, knocking a doll onto the floor. Its painted open mouth mirrored Cage’s shock.

  Sen Michel and Bonin had Annabeth pinned to the floor, one handcuff already on her wrist.

  “Don’t cuff her.” Cage barely mustered the words.

  Bonin jammed her knee into Annabeth’s back and yanked her other arm behind her, snapping the cuffs tight.

  “She didn’t give me a choice.”

  13

  Bitch Bonin said I could get sedated at the h
ospital or come back to the cell. The hell if I’m going to the hospital again. I tried to apologize to Cage, to explain how I had my anger issues under control for a while, but now it’s like someone’s lit me up from the inside.

  He put an icepack on his nuts and told me he didn’t want to hear it.

  Bonin did this. If she hadn’t asked Sen Michel to lie to me, I would have been cool when they showed up. I might have even told them about the images that keep exploding in my head.

  I’ll find a way to get her back for what she said about Gran’s spirit. I would never do that, even if I had known the truth.

  My hands reach for the ring. Cage took if off the chain, but he said I could keep the ring if that meant I’d stay calm and get some rest. “Maybe your head will be right tomorrow.”

  Right. My head’s never going to be right.

  I sense her immediately. It’s her perfume—always jasmine. She walks so softly I don’t see her until she arrives at my holding cell. She’s wearing her pretty white sundress, which makes her dark skin shine.

  “Where have you been?”

  Miss Alexandrine sighs and looks down at me with her dark, knowing eyes. “I’m sorry. I was speaking at the Preservation Society. You knew that, remember? That’s why I told you to come by last night.”

  “But I didn’t show up. And I called you at 3:00 a.m.”

  “Child, I have other commitments, and you got yourself into this mess. And old man Hastie at the front desk said last night’s charges were dropped. You went and got yourself arrested again?”

  I’m too tired to do anything but squeeze my face between the bars and whine. “I lost my temper. I tried to apologize.”

  Gran used to say that Alexandrine’s eyes were the source of her power. They scare the hell out of me, especially when she’s glaring at me like she is now. “You kicked a man in his privates. What did you think would happen?”

  “I didn’t. I was too busy thinking about how everyone lied to me. Gran, Sen Michel. And you, right? You lied just like the rest of them, you old bat.”

  Her expression flashes to hurt, and that makes me want to bawl.

  “I’m sorry. I just want to go home.”

  Miss Alexandrine clears her throat. “You’re supposed to go before the judge in the morning before bail is set.”

  I drop my forehead against the bars.

  “Lucky for you, old man Hastie and I go way back.”

  14

  The Maison Duprey sat on the north end of the Quarter, nearer to Rampart Street than Bourbon. Bonin’s sister had Cage’s room ready, and he was so drained he barely raised an eyebrow when the front desk clerk warned him about the ghosts known to harass tourists.

  He still hurt like hell. After calling Dani, more ice, food and sleep were his only concerns. To hell with Annabeth for tonight.

  His suite was on the top floor, and as soon as he cranked the air conditioning, he took a quick shower and then fell into the double bed, ice pack in place. He found his phone and called his wife.

  Four rings, and her voicemail picked up. Even sick, the baby woke up at the crack of dawn, and Dani was usually asleep by now.

  “Hey Dee-Dee. I’m sorry I haven’t called back. Things have been crazy here. Anyway, I’m sorry about earlier. Give Emma a kiss for me, and call when you can. I love you.”

  He tossed the phone aside and let his eyes close, but his mind refused to quit.

  Blue pickup. Skinny white guy. Gross, slicked-back hair. I’m telling the truth! Please, just let me go. I won’t do it again, I promise.

  He flicked on the television. The weather channel meteorologist warned of record-breaking heat and the possibility of strong storms.

  A violent thunderstorm and a small tornado had blown through Roselea the same day Annabeth and Mickie disappeared. They’d gone to the lake for their picnic, thinking the storm would hold off until evening. It struck much sooner, the F1 tornado touching down less than a mile from the lake. Six crucial hours passed before anyone realized the girls were missing. Initially, the scattered contents of their picnic basket along with the girls’ toppled bikes suggested they might have been victims of the storm. But the tornado had missed the lake, and the area around the lake showed signs of struggle. All water searches came up empty. If the storm had taken the girls, their bodies would have shown up somewhere. Just like Katrina, the storm had provided the perfect diversion.

  The rapid knock on his door nearly made him fall off the bed. He winced as he shuffled to the door and squinted through the peephole. He didn’t see anyone, but the persistent knock came again. He locked the security latch and cracked the door a couple of inches. No one was there. The hall appeared empty, but a kid giggled from her hiding spot.

  “I’m a cop. Don’t bother me again.” Cage slammed the door.

  The little girl pounded on the door again, giggling hysterically. Cage would ground Emma for a week if she ever pulled a stunt like this.

  He jumped off the bed and yanked open the door. The girl had already vanished.

  “Kid, I’m going to call the manager if you don’t knock it off.”

  “Who are you talking to?” Bonin came down the hall carrying something that smelled heavenly. “Nice abs.”

  He crossed his arms over his bare chest. “Just got out of the shower. Did you see the little girl running around? She keeps knocking and taking off.”

  “That’s just Izora. She likes to play.” Bonin looked him up and down.

  “One of her parents works here? They need to teach her some manners.”

  “No, no, no.” Bonin’s shoulders shook with her laughter. “Izora’s one of the ghosts that haunts the hotel. She’s just a little girl, and she’s lonely. Most of the other ghosts are older.”

  Cage stared at her. “A ghost was ding dong ditching me?”

  “I thought you were used to ghosts, living in an old plantation house.”

  He held the door open for her. “How do you know this ghost’s name? Did she tell you?”

  “Cute,” Bonin said. “When the hotel opened in the ’70s, the spirits started bugging the guests, probably because they were pissed about the months of construction—the hotel used to be five different townhouses. Anyway, the owner brought in a medium, and she said the little girl bugging the guests up here was named Izora, and she died in one of the yellow fever epidemics. No one’s been able to find an actual record of her, but the name and story stuck.”

  Cage tore open the pack of white T-shirts and slipped one over his head. “She better let me sleep tonight.”

  “Here,” Bonin handed him the bag. “Best Po-Boys in the city.”

  Cage was so hungry a dirt sandwich would have tasted wonderful. “I think this guy uses severe weather or some kind of chaotic event as a distraction. He does his scouting, and then he waits for something to happen or even causes it. By the time police start searching, he’s long gone. Maybe we can use that to find other victims.”

  “That’s a pretty big net, but worth a try,” Bonin said. “We’ve got the weather and his preference for café au lait.”

  “Bi-racial women,” Cage clarified.

  “In New Orleans, we say café au lait. Usually Creole, but not always. Before the United States bought Louisiana, that skin color was held in high regard. Chased after, even. Still is, to some extent.”

  Bonin leaned back in the chair, stretching her long legs. “How are your nuts?”

  “Sore.”

  “I know a great healing spell.” Bonin grinned. “Family legend says it came over with the slaves.”

  “No thanks.” He wadded up the sandwich wrapper and tossed it in the trash. “Spirits and ghosts, I get. But the whole magic thing—I can’t get my head around that.”

  “Eventually enough strange things will happen that you’ll start to understand the real heart of New Orleans. I’m sorry I had to cuff her. But she gets super strength when she’s like that.”

  “I know. She reminded me of my mom, toward the end of her
Alzheimer’s.” Cage’s throat knotted. Most days, he felt relief his mother wasn’t suffering anymore. But every once in a while, an acute sadness sucked the energy out of him. “She had these violent outbursts and had to be sedated.”

  “Annabeth is scary. Either she’s an exceptional actress or extremely dangerous.”

  “It’s not her, it’s her TBI.” Images of his poor mother, out of her mind and attacking anyone who tried to help her, cascaded over him. He didn’t want to remember her that way. “I know you think she’s faking.”

  “Honestly, I don’t know what to think of her anymore. I’m just hoping she’ll tell us everything tomorrow. Because she’s definitely holding something back. By the way, I booked her in as Lyric Gaudet and skipped the fingerprints for now. We’ve kept a lid on the match so far, but it’s not going to last for long. My boss will know before noon tomorrow.” Bonin dug into her bag and tossed a gris gris bag at him.

  He caught it and smiled. “Money and massive success?”

  “It’s not from the store. I made it myself. For clarity and good luck. You’re going to need it when you explain this shitstorm to Agent Rogers at the LBI. Pick you up at 8:00 a.m.”

  She started to shut the door and then poked her head back inside. “Hold the bag in your right hand and ask for clarity and good luck. Explain why you need it. Keep it with you—always on your right side. That’s the power side for men.”

  Cage waited until the door shut and then picked up the bag.

  Never hurt to try.

  15

  Cage let Bonin drive while he sat in the passenger seat and fumed. “How did this happen?”

  “Miss Alexandrine’s got a big reputation,” Bonin said. “And she knows just about everybody. Probably performed rituals for them. She convinced the desk sergeant to let her go ahead and post bail.”

  “Without talking to the judge?”

  “She knows the judge too.”

  Cage dragged his hand over his stubble. He hadn’t had time to shave this morning. “If she doesn’t let us see Annabeth, I’ll arrest her.”