Love, Lattes and Angel (Mutants)

by Sandra Cox

  We walk for perhaps forty minutes, getting further and further from the lights of town. The sidewalk narrows. The buildings become dingier. But even with the obvious poverty the land is rich with color. The moonlight illumes crimson flowers, bright as fresh blood, blooming in profusion, the scent of their perfume heavy in the air.

  The street ends and we stop a few yards away from a small hut set off the road. It’s completely dark. No lights are on.

  “Is that it?” I keep my voice low.

  “Yes.”

  We approach on silent feet. “Tell me again what we’re after.”

  “Skin, hair, nail clippings, anything that’s part of the houngan.”

  My muscles tighten and I roll my shoulders to loosen them. The idea is distasteful, but if it puts a check on Jon-Jo, so be it. We get to the door and she begins to chant, softly.

  I glance at her and raise an eyebrow.

  “To add to our invisibility should he return or be there.”

  I nod and point at the nearest window. We peer in and see nothing. We go all around the house. It’s the same thing at each window.

  Finally, we try the door. It opens easily, too easily. You’d have to be awfully damn sure of yourself not to even lock your door. Then again, this is the tropics.

  We step inside. The dark is heavy and a belly-clutching scent hangs in the air, incense and…blood. I swallow hard and follow Molita to a small bathroom. She shuts the door, roots through a small trash can, and finds what she’s looking for. Among the paper, empty toilet rolls, and dirt are nail clippings and hair. She pulls out a small bag and places them in it. “Now we can go.” Her voice is low.

  I’m starting to feel uncomfortable about the whole thing. I’d prefer a good clean—or dirty—fight. But I have no doubt that Molita is more familiar with the rules of island warfare than I am. Though I don’t doubt Jon-Jo could beat me to a pulp with his fists, I don’t think that would be the first weapon he’d choose. He’d emasculate me anyway he could then beat me bloody.

  When I turn out the light and step into the hall, I discover why it was so easy to get in, why the door was unlocked.

  Chapter 17

  Joel

  Freaking hell. Who leaves a pet boa on the loose?

  His black forked tongue flicking, the snake slithers forward and, before I can leap away, wraps itself around my legs. From the speed of its movements and the way it’s already squeezing me, I’m guessing it hasn’t fed. I yank out my oversized switchblade and stab.

  The hiss ices my blood. I thrust higher up, trying to get its head. The scaly-looking skin isn’t as easy to get through as one would think. And the snake is so thick the knife barely makes a dent. The coils around me tighten quickly, entwining around my thighs, circling my waist and moving up to my chest.

  I fight fear-induced paralysis. The serpent’s smooth leathery casing makes my nerves jump and my skin crawl. It’s the stuff of nightmares. Not an ounce of spit is left in my bone-dry mouth.

  I’m having trouble breathing and my legs are numb. My stomach is slowly being crushed, my organs squished. The pain is agonizing. Desperation makes me careless as I fight to overcome the paralysis. The next time I stab, I miss the snake and slice my arm. Shit. My hand slick with blood, I try again, stabbing in slow motion. I will not become fodder for a serpent.

  Molita rushes forward and begins to pull at its heavy tail.

  “Get back,” I gasp. “Run. Get out of the house.” She ignores me and keeps pulling. While she pulls, she chants.

  The snake raises its head. Our gaze locks and immobility builds. I swear the houngan’s dark evil gaze is holding me through the eyes of the snake. The voluntary movement in my hand is impaired and my grip on the knife relaxes. My body is caving inward, muscles pushed against bone.

  “Now! Go for its throat. Don’t drop the knife, Joel!” The words come from a long way off. Everything is darkening, my peripheral vision turning gray.

  “Now, Joel. Now.” Her chanting becomes fierce.

  My hand has a will of its own and raises the knife. As that giant mouth opens and the serpent’s breath whispers on my face, I plunge the sharp edge just below its jaw. Blood spurting, the boa hangs on the blade, writhing. An eternity later, it stills. The snake’s weight pulls it off the knife, jerking my arm as it falls and lays motionless on the floor.

  Rasping noises echo through the quiet and I realize it’s me trying to breathe, my lungs starved for air. Molita grabs my arm and shakes it. Her lips are moving but I can’t figure out what she’s saying over the buzzing in my ears.

  She gets closer and is still shaking my arm. This time sound penetrates. “Are you all right?”

  Dazed, I nod. I think so. I hope my ribs haven’t pierced my lungs.

  “Come on, let’s go.”

  On shaky legs, I step over the snake to follow her. My foot touches the serpent’s body causing a slight rippling movement. Crap, it’s still alive! My lethargy disappears and I sprint for the door, yelling as I zip past her. “Come on!”

  When the road widens and street lamps begin to twinkle in the distance, I realize what I’m doing. “Molita?” No response.

  What the hell? Shame spurts scalding heat through me. I took off without Molita. I turn and trot back. I’ve covered a good quarter mile when I see her. She’s not running, but she’s certainly not dawdling.

  “I am so sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I don’t ever leave people behind. I felt that snake move and it was like I was shot out of a cannon.”

  Moonlight silhouettes her face. There’s a huge grin on it. “You sure can run, white boy.”

  I give a shaky laugh. “Yeah, I guess.”

  “You might want to put that away and clean your hands and arms in the grass before you’re hauled into the precinct.”

  I glance down. I’ve been running with a bloody knife. Blood is streaming down my arm and dripping off my fingers, splattering onto the ground like crimson raindrops.

  I clean the knife on my pants—they’re pretty much toast—then pull up sharp blades of grass, clean off my arm as best I can, and put the rest on the wound to clot it.

  “It may be still alive. I felt it move.” Just thinking of that almost imperceptible wriggle makes my skin crawl.

  “You felt death’s thrall. That snake is dead. And we need to get off the island.” Molita speaks in low tones. “When Jon-Jo finds his pet, hell is going to erupt.”

  The adrenaline that’s carried me deserts me as quickly as it came. I’m light-headed and my arm is starting to throb. “Damn it, I stabbed myself in the same arm the shark bit into.” I start walking again, but am barely keeping up with Molita.

  “You had a shark bite?”

  “Yeah, a while back. And before that I got knifed in that arm, but at least it wasn’t self-inflicted. What a moron.”

  She shakes her head. “You seem so peaceable, a warrior, but peaceable.”

  “Yeah, that’s me, a peaceable warrior.”

  “Does Tyler have stab wounds and shark bites?”

  The wind, so warm before, now feels chilly on my damp skin. I have to concentrate on what she’s saying. “As far as I know, he’s managed to escape knives and sharks, but I don’t know him that well. I may be wrong about that. Maybe he’s got a couple of bullet scars.”

  She nods. “Yes, maybe so.”

  “I was only joking, but I do know he’s brave and doesn’t run from a fight.”

  “Not everyone would be willing to say that about their rival.”

  A fist clenches around my heart. “He’s not my rival.”

  “I don’t believe that’s true.”

  “Can we drop it?”

  “Of course.”

  We’ve reached the dock. I fumble awkwardly with the knot. Molita reaches for it. “I’ll take care of it. Get in the boat.” She looks around as she speaks.

  “You really are unnerved aren’t you?” Knowing that makes me dis
tinctly uneasy.

  Her breath whizzes out. “What about dark, powerful magic don’t you understand?”

  “All of it.”

  “Well the tarantula and rabid bat are child’s play for Jon-Jo. I really need to get back and get that doll made. And you need your arm seen to.”

  The boat rocks lightly when we get in. She nudges me away from the steering wheel with her hip. “Sit.”

  “Can you drive this thing?”

  She looks down her beautiful, aristocratic nose at me. “I was born on the islands. There’s nothing on water that I can’t drive.”

  “Have at it.” I collapse into the seat, the trunk of my neck dropping against the head rest. “So you think Jon-Jo is going to link us with the demise of his pet.” My body sags deeper into the cushions and I try to ignore my throbbing arm.

  “No one else on the island would be foolish or brave enough to kill Simba.”

  “Well, if he hadn’t been doing his level best to turn me into an hors d’ oeuvre, I wouldn’t have touched him with the proverbial pole.”

  “I understand that. You understand that. But I assure you Jon-Jo won’t.” She angles the boat to the left. It jumps and comes down over a large wave.

  “Do you know anyone in the islands who sells guns?”

  “No. And it won’t be necessary. I can take care of it.”

  Personally, I don’t have that much confidence in a doll, even if it is of the voodoo variety. But if Tyler’s thrown in the mix, I think we can take Jon-Jo. “Okay.”

  “You don’t believe. But you will.”

  What is this? Everyone’s a mind reader these days? I say nothing.

  The trip passes quickly and silently. We pull the boat in near the campfire. As the motor cuts, I hear laughter. The party must still be going strong. My chest loosens. I’m glad. Our little group seldom has anything to laugh about.

  Angel is the first to spot me and comes running across the sand, her little feet spurting up the tiny white granules. Or maybe she caught a thought. Regardless, she’s moving toward me as fast as she can. The other’s follow more slowly.

  “Good. Dylan is still here.”

  “Oh yay.”

  “He can see to your arm.”

  I sigh but say nothing. I try to blank my mind, but there’s apparently a residual snake image because Angel has her arms around my hips hugging me tightly. “Oh, Daddy. You killed the snake.” I hug her with my one good arm. The other has started to bleed again.

  By now, the others have caught up.

  “What happened?”

  “Oh my God.”

  Amy and Piper both converge on me at once, touching me, trying to ascertain if I’m all right.

  “He killed Jon-Jo’s pet boa,” Molita says clearly.

  “We killed,” I correct.

  “You did what?” Piper all but shrieks.

  I try to explain but the babble is rising. I give up.

  Dylan moves forward. “What happened to your arm?” He lifts it and I grimace.

  “I missed the snake and stabbed myself.”

  “And a fine job you did, too. I’ll get you patched up. I’ve got my bag with me.”

  “You brought your medic bag to a cookout? Worried about food poisoning?”

  He laughs. “You’d be surprised how handy it is to have with me. Now let’s get you inside. The bag’s at Mina’s.”

  “You really killed that monster snake of Jon-Jo’s?” He leads me down the beach.

  “Yeah, with Molita’s help.” Just thinking about it makes me slightly nauseous. “He left it loose in the house.”

  “So you paid him a visit when he wasn’t home.”

  “My idea,” Molita puts in.

  “I didn’t doubt it for a moment.”

  I hear a cluck and see Clara strutting toward us. It lightens my mood and causes the muscles in my lips to twitch. A thought stops me. Mr. Dunn who is directly behind me, bumps in to me. “Will Clara be safe?”

  “Take a look,” Mina suggests.

  I glance at Clara walking with that jerky stride so unique to chickens. A tiny gris-gris bag swings from her neck.

  Smiles erupt all around me.

  “Safe as houses,” I say diplomatically and decide to keep a very close eye on her. It isn’t that I don’t believe in the spirits. It just never hurts to have back up.

  “How’s the arm feeling?” Dylan asks.

  “Fine,” I lie. It’s aching like a mother.

  “You’re not feeling lightheaded.”

  “Not at all,” I lie again.

  “He’s feeling lightheaded and it hurts like a mother,” Angel pipes up.

  “Language, Angel,” Piper says, throwing me a worried look.

  We’ve reached Molita’s and troop into the kitchen.

  Someone pulls out a high-backed wooden chair and I drop into it. The sounds of running water make a soft backdrop as Dylan scrubs his hands.

  Tyler looks at me with reluctant admiration. “I can’t believe you killed that bad a—” He swallows down the word. “Snake. Awesome.” He leans in with a fist and we bump knuckles.

  “That took a lot of guts, kid,” Mr. Dunn adds.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Dylan opens his bag and begins cleaning my arm. “You’re lucky you didn’t sever anything. This sucker’s deep. It’s not too wide, but it’s going to require a couple of stitches.” I wince at the stinging antiseptic.

  “Do you need any help?” Amy’s hovering.

  Dylan gives her a warm smile. “Thanks, but I got it.” He continues cleaning. “Unfortunately, I don’t have any painkiller in my bag.”

  I shrug. “It’s only a couple of stitches.”

  “Big macho male,” my sister teases.

  “I can take care of that.” Mina moves from Mr. Dunn’s side to the cabinet. She opens jars, adds powder to a glass then mixes it with water and hands it to me. “Drink.”

  The liquid is dark and murky, and reminds me of sludge. “No thanks.”

  “If you can take on a giant boa constrictor and face being sewn up without a painkiller, you can handle this. Drink.”

  “Well, when you put it like that.” I slug it back. My stomach erupts into gurgles then settles. I swear my blood stream heats. After a moment, the throbbing in my arm crescendos then disappears. I glance down. My skin being sewn together with a needle and thread causes me to look hastily away.

  “Thank you.” Whatever is in that foul drink, it’s working like a charm. I’m energized and have a nice buzz going.

  “You are welcome.”

  Molita approaches her aunt. “I have to make the doll. Once Jon-Jo discovers the snake, he will be headed here.”

  Still buzzed, I interrupt. “Tyler and I can take him.”

  “Count me in.” Dylan’s face is sober, but then he hasn’t just drunk swamp juice. He finishes stitching and clips the ends of the threads.

  “Between your way and our way, we will keep everyone safe. Now I must go. It won’t take long to make the doll now that I have the necessary pieces.

  “What did you get?” Mina asks.

  “Fingernail clippings and hair.”

  She nods her approval.

  Like a wraith, Molita moves through the kitchen and to the back of the house.

  I stand. “Thanks for stitching me up. I’m heading back to the cottage.”

  The rest of our party stand as well.

  “Mina, want to come with us?” Mr. Dunn asks.

  “Of course. I’ll just tell Molita we’re leaving.”

  “Maybe I should stay with her.” Tyler’s hands are shoved in his pockets. “If you think that hulking mountain will really connect us to the pet boa being hacked up, I don’t think it’s a good idea for anyone to be alone.”

  Mina looks at him for a moment. “My niece can take care of herself, but you must follow your heart.”

  Tyler’s face crunches in confusion.
He responds diplomatically. “Well, let’s just say I think it’s the right thing to do.”

  I can’t help it. I snort. Saint Tyler, always doing the right thing for everyone.

  He shifts in my direction. “What’s wrong with you?”

  I throw up my hand. “Nothing, bro.” Just a little jealousy, but I’m not about to say that out loud.

  “I’m not your bro.”

  For a moment, everything stills and everyone in the room fades away. The antagonism, I’ve tried so hard to bury bursts to the forefront like unexpected lightning and I fist my hands, longing to bury them in his face.

  His eyes flash and he takes a step forward. The bitterness isn’t only on my side. We’re like two rutting stags wanting a piece of each other.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Angel. On her face is such profound sadness that testosterone shrivels and wanes. My chest and legs tingle. This is no way to act in front of my daughter.

  “All right,” I say quietly, unknotting my fists.

  He follows my gaze and mutters, “Sorry.”

  “Yeah, me too.” I head for the door and the rest of them, with the exception of Tyler, follow.

  “Rather be in a roomful of cats in heat than two young men bent on having a go at each other,” Mr. Dunn mutters, shaking his head.

  “You’re wrong, Mr. Dunn.” My body is heavy, the beast back in its cage. “I have no desire to have a go at Tyler.”

  We walk quickly to the cottage.

  Angel slips her hand in mine, her bright eyes filled with concern.

  I squeeze her fingers. “It’s okay, doll baby.”

  As we enter, I turn to Mina. “When will he come?”

  “It will of course depend on when he returns home and finds his consort.”

  “His consort?”

  “The snake. They work their evil together. But it won’t be before midnight. After midnight is the time for evil. That is when he will show up. And he’ll come to do you bodily harm.”

  “We’ll be ready,” I say.

  “If it’s all right with you, I’d prefer staying here tonight. And when Molita finishes, she should stay here too. He won’t wait until he’s cooled down and thought it out. He will come tonight.”