by Stacy Green
“That’s not why I fainted.” Alexandrine grabbed Bonin’s hand. “Li rete, Li rete.”
Bonin fired off a question in Creole. Alexandrine nodded. “Li rete.”
Cage only understood a single word of the conversation, but the older woman’s adamant tone let him get the gist of it.
“You’re wrong,” he said. “You have to be.”
46
I find Joe in his favorite spot, an alley near a liquor store on St. Louis Street. He reeks of piss and booze, and his clothes are dirtier than they were the other day. I squat next to him; no way in hell am I sitting down. The streets around here are like a giant petri dish.
“What’re you doing?” Joe looks at me with glassy eyes.
I hold up ten bucks. “I need your help.”
Joe and I wait until it’s good and dark. St. Louis No. 1 is closed and locked, but I don’t have anywhere else to go. I’m safer in here than on the streets. And Cage will eventually figure out where to find me.
“Conti Street side’s the best option.” Joe points to the ratty housing development across the street from the cemetery. “Ain’t no one hanging around here this time of night.”
Unless they’re up to no good, like us.
The wall’s not too high, but I need help getting over it. Joe glances around and motions me over. I step into his cupped hands, and he gives me a good boost. My fingers bleed as I fumble and hoist myself over the wall and onto the top of one of the old oven vaults. Brick crumbles from the crypts as I shimmy to the ground, and I feel like a destructive piece of shit.
“Sorry,” I whisper.
“You okay?” Joe calls from the other side of the wall.
“Yeah. Go on back to your spot.”
“You sure you don’t want me to stay here and make sure no one else is sneaking around?”
He’ll just piss Cage off and if my kidnapper really is lurking, he’ll kill Joe. “No. Go get something to eat.”
Clouds shroud the half-moon, and despite the light pollution surrounding it, St. Louis No. 1 is blacker than the lodestone in Miss Alexandrine’s altars. Using my cell as a light isn’t an option. Turning it on means GPS tracking, and Cage is probably already on that.
I just need to get my bearings. I’ve been here dozens of times.
Relax.
The wall vaults are on the southwest corner, toward the front. I just need to follow this path to the main alley by the front. The way is easy from there.
Blood pounds through my ears as I tiptoe past the tombs. The city may surround St. Louis No. 1, but the old cemetery makes me feel miles away from the chaos. Gran used to say the dead live in the waters of time, influencing all existence, that our living reality merges with the dead as their spirits anticipate the call for guidance.
The wall oven vaults that make up St. Louis No. 1’s perimeter wall don’t allow an ounce of breeze, and the air is so thick it’s like wading through three-hundred years’ worth of spirits. The silence is even worse.
My nerves ease when I turn left onto the center alley and head toward the Sanité tomb. I need to sit down and plan, figure out what to do. And wait for Cage to find me.
My heart snags in my throat. Sweat drips down my neck.
Who is that?
I duck behind one of the taller vaults. The figure stands silently in front of the iron fence surrounding the Sanité tomb. It’s so freaking dark I can only tell it’s human-shaped.
What if it’s a ghost?
What if it’s Sanité coming to kick my ass for impersonating his family?
I touch the mourning ring hanging from my neck. Charlotte’s here. She’ll make Sanité understand.
I tiptoe closer, ready to dive behind another vault.
The clouds drift enough for moonlight to slip through.
My insides feel like they’ve come loose and are rattling around. My brain is ready to explode.
I force my dry lips to move. “Lyric?”
47
“Li Rete,” Miss Alexandrine repeated for the third time. Cage had helped her to a chair in her front room. “She lives.”
“Honey, I think you’re just confused.”
Alexandrine shot Cage a glare so reminiscent of his paddle-carrying grandmother he shrank back.
“I’m not some confused, old woman,” Alexandrine said. “I was making my offerings when someone knocked at the back door. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up because the gate was locked. Spirit was agitated. Warning me to be careful.”
She did have a direct line of sight from her altar to the back door, but white, filmy curtains covered the small window. “How did you see her from here?”
“I went to the door and saw her through the curtain. It was like being hit with a stun gun. My mind worked but my body was frozen. She left. The girl always was impatient.”
“You came back to the altar to pray about it?” Bonin asked. “And fainted?”
Alexandrine nodded and then smiled warily at Cage. “You don’t believe me, but I know what I saw.”
“I don’t want to believe you,” Cage said. “Because it changes the entire case.”
She stared at him until he felt like she’d crawled inside his mind. “Spirit says you misunderstand.”
“What the hell does spirit know?” Cage’s temper flared. “And who is this spirit? Do you mean God? Or your guardian angel spirit? Or some other Voodoo entity?”
“Spirit is the force within us all, the energy that connects us to the Loa,” Alexandrine said. “It’s our own essence that has a much deeper understanding of life than our conscious mind.”
“Like a fortune teller? A psychic? Or some other supernatural crap?”
“Your mind is too narrow and too tired,” Alexandrine said. “All religion is supernatural. God isn’t of this earth, no matter your faith. Let go of your fears and accept your deeper instincts, and only then will you be able to see. And remember, Ezili Dantò sought your help for me, and you listened. She will repay your kindness.”
“Enough of this Voodoo spirit bullshit. Where is our daughter?” Sam and Krista had been hovering quietly by the back door, but now Sam stood in the hallway in front of the altar. “Are you hiding her?”
Alexandrine stared at Cage. “You’re supposed to be taking care of her.”
“I’ll find her.”
“You and that Gaudet woman filled her head with this Voodoo nonsense,” Sam said, “and now she’s wandering around at night, thinking some stupid ring will protect her.”
“I don’t like her wandering at night any more than you do. If I knew where she was, I’d tell you.”
“Back off,” Cage said. “She’s been good to Annabeth.”
“Filled her head with crazy, you mean.” Sam snatched a mini bottle of rum from the altar. “Alcohol? Cigarettes? Are these more offerings? You call this a religion?”
“You’re out of line,” Bonin said. “Why don’t you step outside and let us finish here?”
“Because she knows where our daughter is, and she’s going to tell us.” He glared at the priestess with intense hatred.
Cage blocked the path to Alexandrine. “Put her things back and get out.”
He saw the fight in Sam’s eyes; the man desperately wanted to take his anger out on anyone but himself. Cage no longer gave a damn about the consequences. “Leave right now, or I will arrest you.”
“On what grounds?”
“Drunk and disorderly sounds like a good one. How much did you drink on the drive over here?”
“What’s your deal, anyway?” Sam sneered. “I never saw a cop take such a personal interest in a victim. You got a thing for my daughter? Married man, looking for some vulnerable brown sugar on the side?”
“The only thing I’m afraid of is pushing Annabeth so hard she breaks down.” The hell if Sam George was going to start a bullshit rumor that would hurt Dani. “And it is personal because it’s partially my fault she was kidnapped.”
Sam’s meaty hands fisted, an
d Cage braced for the hit.
Bonin grabbed his arm. “Don’t be an idiot. Listen to him.”
Too bad. Tossing Sam into a cell would be worth taking the punch. “Two days before they disappeared, I pulled her and Mickie over. They’d been smoking pot. I let them go in exchange for information about their dealer. If I’d hauled her in, maybe she would have been grounded and safe. And if I’d caught her dealer—who was probably her kidnapper—this would have stopped then. So yeah, it’s personal.”
He waited for Sam to swing at him and threaten him with legal action. But he sagged against the wall, all his bluster evaporating. “I caught her coming home that night. Smelled the weed on her. She promised me she’d never do it again, she knew how important track was for getting a scholarship.” He turned around to look at his wife. “I didn’t punish her. Didn’t tell you, either. I thought I was the cool dad. If I had—”
“Stop blaming yourself,” Krista said. “Both of you. I’m tired of trying to make everyone else feel better. This is about Annabeth.” She shoved past them and knelt in front of Alexandrine.
“Thank you for your kindness toward her. Do you have any idea where she might have gone? It’s late and so dark—does she have a safe place? Friends who would let her sleep on their couch?”
“She still has the key to Charlotte’s house in the Quarter. I would look there first,” Alexandrine said. “As far as special places she runs to when she’s upset … I just can’t think of any.” Her dark eyes locked onto Cage.
He had no idea how Annabeth could get into a locked cemetery at night, but he didn’t doubt she would find a way.
Cage could be at the cemetery in five minutes. But he needed to get rid of Sam first.
48
Her skin is a bit darker than mine, her silky, jet black hair shimmers around her face. A jagged scar runs diagonally through her lips. She’s majestic and terrifying.
“Are you a ghost?”
She smiles, and she’s even more beautiful than the pictures. “No, Annabeth. I’m real. And so are you. All these years, I thought you were dead.”
My knees knock together, and I’m afraid I might piss my pants. Then the alarm sounds in my head.
I’m not falling for it.
“You’re the bait. Just like you were with Sheila. He’s here, isn’t he?”
She flinches. “I’m here alone.”
“Then where is he?”
“I don’t know, but he’s probably coming after you. Maybe both of us.” She edges forward.
I step back. “He wanted you the most.”
She’s looking past me, her expression haunted. “He dumped me a long time ago, long after I was broken.” She’s only a foot away from me now, close enough to attack. But I can’t move. I just stare into her eyes like I’ve been put into a trance.
Has she put a spell on me? Charlotte taught her the ways—Lyric must remember some of them.
My brain is so screwed up I don’t know if I’m nuts or just dumb, let alone what’s real and what isn’t.
I know damn well I should turn and run, but I reach out and touch her cheek instead. Panic wells from my gut—what am I doing?
She smiles and takes my hand in both of hers. They’re calloused and delicate at the same time. And cold. “He said you were dead. I saw your body.”
She’s still holding my hand, and it feels nice. Maybe she’s not here to hurt me. “When he discovered you were gone,” her voice drops to a whisper, her hands trembling, “he whipped me until I begged to die. I still have the scars on my back. I passed out, and when I came to the next day, there you were, lying dead. Your face was beaten to hell, but the body looked like yours. He’d stripped you naked. I’d never seen you that way, but I just assumed … and I was in so much pain. He buried you with Mickie, and we took off.”
Her grip tightens, her hands getting warm. “I prayed he would kill me. But I didn’t get that lucky. I paid for my decision for a very long time.”
I finally pull my hand away. She’s come back to exact her revenge. She’s probably not sane after what she’s lived through. And I’m living a peachy-keen life compared to hers.
“I don’t resent you,” she says softly. “I made the choice to let you go. God, you’re alive.” She touches my uneven face. “Different, but the same.”
I should jerk away, but I edge closer. “He just let you go?”
“He wanted to own me, and he did. I was used up and broken and couldn’t even gain a new girl’s trust. I lost all my value.” Her eyes narrowed, her chin setting, the scar through her lips pure white. “He thinks I’m worthless, but he’s wrong. You and I are going to find him and end this once and for all.”
49
I keep my phone in my hand and some distance between us, but I’m not going anywhere.
“What’s his name?”
“He goes by a lot of names. Different names in different states.”
“What’s his real name?”
She looks up at the moon, her face twisting in anger. “I lured Sheila Dietz for him. Poor little Johnny was collateral damage. But he didn’t kill him quickly. He kept him for days, close enough he could hear Sheila scream when he raped her.”
My stomach churns. “How many times did he rape me?”
“We lived in a camper—an RV, I guess. It was thirty feet long or so. One side was his ‘play area,’ as he called it. When I wasn’t fishing for him, he kept me chained up in there.” She looks at me with sad eyes. “He brought you into the camper several times.”
I try not to think about the things Sheila told us. “He sent you for other girls. Why didn’t you run?”
“He was always close by back then, with his gun. He was a good shot. And what was I supposed to go back to?”
“Charlotte! She was looking for you.”
Lyric shakes her head. “New Orleans was underwater. He showed me the pictures from the first few days after levees broke, the people stuck on the bridges and in the Superdome. I kept asking about the French Quarter, but he wouldn’t answer. And then he took away the television and the radio. I went for months before I knew anything else, and by then I was so destroyed it didn’t seem to matter.”
I still don’t get it. How could she stop fighting? I would never stop fighting.
You don’t remember. Maybe that’s the only reason you can still fight.
“He only gave me freedom to leave when he knew I wouldn’t,” she says. “By that time, I’d been with him for almost four years. He’d destroyed my body and my soul. Those girls in the graves are my victims too. And he made me believe I’d be punished, same as him.” She lowers her head. “I was dirty and worthless, with nowhere to go.”
“Charlotte never stopped looking for you,” I say. “Katrina ruined everything. The police shit a lot of things up. Your missing persons report got lost. But she never stopped looking. She tracked you down to Sean Andrews. Remember him?”
A smile flickers across her face. “Big Sean from the Lower Nine. He made it through Katrina?”
I nod. “I met him, and he thought for a second I was you. Then he saw my saggy-ass face and realized I was too ugly.”
She brushes the tear off my cheek. “You’re not ugly. You’re a survivor, and you’re beautiful. I saw it in you. You were so strong. I knew you were our best chance.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “I swear to God I didn’t know who I was after the car hit me. I guess I kept telling people your name and Gran’s phone number. That’s why they called her.”
“Those were the last things I said to you before I shoved you out of the barn’s back door,” she says. “We do resemble each other, because that’s what he likes. He specifically searches for girls who meet his perfect criteria.”
“You.”
“Light-skinned black girls, silky hair. Young teens, past puberty, but far from grown. I was fifteen. He would have taken me years earlier, but he never had the chance. I think that’s why he kept me so long.” She turns back
to the monument. “Gran’s name isn’t on here yet. You’re working on that, right?”
My throat tightens, my hand reflexively grabbing the ring hanging around my neck. “Sure.”
“You’re alone now. Except for your parents, who you don’t remember.”
“I have Miss Alexandrine,” I say defensively. “I’m not that pathetic.”
“The Voodoo Queen of St. Ann Street. I stopped by to see her, but she didn’t answer the door. Probably with a client. She still peddling that nonsense?”
“You don’t believe?”
“In magic? Or some sort of God?” She scowls. “Not anymore. I used to steal her and Gran’s gris gris bags and use them for pot. Miss Alexandrine threatened to curse me forever when she found out.”
“But I saw you the other day.” I reach into my back pocket and show her the ripped Tarot card. “I found this in your things from Gran’s room, and when I touched it, you came to me in a vision. You said to look for the purple flowers.”
Something’s been nagging at me this whole time, and now I know what it is. My vision wasn’t young Lyric from her picture. It was this one, older and angry. Lyric stares at the card. She looks pissed and sad. I stick my hand out for her to take it—it’s hers. She cuts me off with a flash of her hand.
“I don’t need that. There are no such things as visions or Loa or Bondye the Supreme or a Christian God. There’s only life and death and nothing in between.”
I want to cry, but I won’t be able to change her mind. “Who is he?”
“I haven’t seen him in a long time,” she said. “We were at a truck stop when he told me he was done with me.” She chokes out a bitter laugh. “Can you imagine? The only human you’ve had any real contact with for more than a decade sends you away?”
“No.” Something else bugged me. “Mickie was white. Why did he take her?”
“She was a witness.” She closes her eyes. “‘You never waste a live pussy.’ He lived by that motto.”
