Mona Livelong

by Valjeanne Jeffers

Curtis frowned. “What about me, Harold, Junebug? We all have supernatural abilities. Won’t that trigger his wards?”

  “You and Richard weren’t born with them, and Junebug is a spirit, so you won’t be detected. Get in, get Isis, and get out.”

  “What are you gonna do?” Mona asked.

  “Once you rescue her, I’m going to kill McIntyre.”

  Curtis shook his head. “This doesn’t sound right. Why can’t you kill him now? Why do you need us?”

  “I needed to know what the rest of his plans were— plans that already been set in motion. There are names and dates locked in his office. I can’t get in there while he’s alive.”

  “That still doesn’t answer my question,” Curtis insisted. “Why can’t you kill him now? Why wait till tonight?”

  William stared into Curtis’ eyes. “Because I’m not strong enough,” he said quietly. “Once you rescue Isis, McIntyre will know. He’ll be angry and he’ll drop his guard. He’ll come after you, leaving the house. That’s when I’ll strike.”

  “But if I don’t survive, you must carry on the fight without me. Are you with me?”

  There was a weighted silence.

  “Yes.”

  “Wi.”

  “Until tonight then.” The Guardian got out and walked up the street, disappearing from sight.

  It wasn’t until William was gone, that they realized he hadn’t mentioned Harold’s name once.

  Or the doorway.

  _____

  When they got back to The Sojourner, Harold was waiting in the lobby. He jumped to his feet when he saw them, his face flushed and anxious. “Can we talk?”

  “Wi, let’s go to the room.”

  _______

  “I think Joanne might be working with WMU.”

  Curtis raised his brows. “Are you for real?”

  Beside him, Mona’s face twisted in shock. “Joanne? Uh-uh!”

  “I don’t know what to do,” Harold sank down in a chair, looking miserable. “I can’t work this case. Not now.”

  “I can’t believe it,” Mona said almost to herself. We’ve been to their house, eaten at their table!

  “She told me I shouldn’t be working with you. She said a bunch of other stuff too.” Harold shared the conversation he’d had with Joanne. “Those bastards might’ve been in my house, around my son.”

  Curtis eyed him grimly. “That’s fucked up man. I don’t know what to say, except be careful. WMU is dangerous. And they do kill white folks.” He felt sorry for his old friend. But a cold calculating part of him wasn’t even surprised. Joanne’s treachery was a reckoning. I told you. You white folks don’t get it. She chose the winning side. Or so she thinks.

  Harold blushed deep red, right down to his collar. “I already talked to the Chief. I’m taking some time off.” He got to his feet, avoiding their eyes. “I—I gotta fix this. Stay away from the house until I send you a post.”

  After he’d left, Curtis turned to Mona. “Mezami, ain’t that some shit?”

  ——

  Joanne doesn’t know what she’s gotten into.

  Harold remembered he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. He stopped at a vendor’s cart, bought a sandwich, ate half of it, and threw the rest of it on the passenger seat. He drove to The Airship.

  He went inside, sat at the bar, and ordered a beer. As Harold sat mulling over his drink, five white men walked into the pub. Three sat at a table behind him, the others sat at the bar. A burly white man on Harold’s right made eye contact with the bartender, and he passed them bottles.

  Harold finished his drink, got up, and walked down the hallway to the lavatory. The men got up and followed him.

  As he reached the lavatory door, the burly man smashed him over the head with a bottle. “N***** lover!”

  Harold staggered, the etchings beneath his shirt gleaming gold. He spun and punched the man hard—driving him against the wall. The others closed in on him.

  Harold pulled his musket from his belt. He took a punch to his head, and another to his stomach. He knocked one opponent out with his weapon and was smashed in the head again. This time he went down. Cursing, one of the men kicked him in the midsection. Harold cried out as red-hot pain engulfed him. He grabbed the man’s leg, pulled it toward him and pushed—toppling him … the last two attacked and a third got to his feet and joined in, kicking him along the length of his body.

  I’m gonna die here ...

  One man was pulled away. Through the fog that was now his vision, Harold saw someone throw an attacker down the length of the hallway, smashing him into the wall at the end. A flurry of punches exploded above him. A figure was blurring from one man to the other— moving so fast Harold could barely follow him. The bartender ran down the hall and was met with an uppercut that knocked him cold.

  In minutes it was over, and they lay sprawled about the hall. A dark elderly man smudged into view. The stranger stood over him. He extended his hand and helped him to his feet. Then he retrieved Harold’s musket, handed it to him and waited while the detective re-holstered it.

  “Thank you. You saved my life.” How the hell did he move that fast? Harold surveyed the damage. “If you don’t mind, could you hang around to give a statement. You witnessed this shit show.”

  William gazed at him with dark eyes. “Don’t worry, Detective Polanski. I have no intentions of leaving.”

  Harold’s jaw dropped. “You—! You were at Ashe’s last night! Are you following me? Did you set this up?!”

  “I believe I just saved your life,” William replied calmly. “Why don’t you get cleaned up? Then we can talk.”

  Harold stared at him a moment longer, then walked into the lavatory. He relieved himself and spat blood in the toilet. He was surprised there was no blood in his urine. Or for that matter that he was even alive. He left the stall and washed his bruised face, then used the towel to clean the glass from his hair. There was another bruise in the top of his head that was sore to the touch, but the blood had already begun to clot. Mona’s spell had helped him survive the beating— was helping him even now to heal.

  His head was spinning. Joanne did this. I don’t think she set me up to be murdered, but she’s involved with WMU. It can’t be a coincidence. But who was the elderly man that had saved his life. He’s old enough to be my father! How’d he take those assholes out?

  When he left the lavatory, his rescuer was waiting beside the door. “I’m glad we finally got a chance to meet, Harold. Though I wish it was under different circumstances. I’m William, by the way, your Guardian.”

  “My Guardian? My Guardian what? Angel?”

  William smiled humorlessly. “You could say that. Are you strong enough to drive?”

  Harold frowned. “Am I—?”

  “If you’re not, I’ll drive you. You and your family need to take a train out of the city. Your friends will need you alive for the battle that’s to come.”

  “Wait a got-damned minute!” Harold bristled. “I don’t care who—!”

  “Listen to me!” William cut him off. “There is a price on your head!” At this Harold’s eyes widened. “This is the second time I’ve saved your life. But there may not be a third. You must trust me if you want to survive.”

  The fight drained out of Harold. “Alright, I’m listening.”

  “Your wife has joined White Men United’s ranks There is a high ranking WMU official who wants Joanne for himself. If you stay, he will take your family as his own and murder you. Leave on the first train. Send Curtis a post when you’re settled. He’ll let you know when it’s safe to come back.”

  Harold nodded toward his prone attackers. “What about them?”

  William smiled humorously. “They’re still alive. Unfortunately. But, trust me, they won’t be pressing any charges.” He extended his hand. Harold shook it, his head still spinning. “Until we meet again, Detective.” William turned on his heel and left. Harold stood for a moment staring after him.

  He got moving.
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  _______

  His bruised face and bloody clothing were all it had taken to convince Joanne to board a train and head to Quincy, and his mother’s house, with him. She was racked with guilt— knowing that she’d played a part in her husband almost being murdered. She kept glancing around the depot, fearfully searching every face, looking for assassins.

  Harold moved closer and whispered in her ear, “Until we stop White Men United, none of us are safe.” There. That would give her something to think about on the train ride.

  ______

  Chapter 27: Coup d’é·tat

  On the northern edge of town, the four stood on the cobblestones across the street from Joe McIntyre’s two-story mansion. Mona could feel the sorcerer’s wards, like tiny insects, crawling along the length of her body. She bit her lip and resisted the urge to back away, to turn and flee from this street.

  “Reveal,” she whispered. Mona lifted her arms, fingers spread.

  The sorcerer’s magic smudged into view, a catacomb of multicolored strands covering the house and the lawn. The strands separated and began to crawl about the grounds. William had told the truth. Until McIntyre was dead there was no way she could even set foot on his lawn.

  “Be careful,” she said.

  Curtis nodded. The three men crept across the street. They lifted the downstairs windows and climbed inside. The house was totally dark, except for the light shining from the upstairs to his right. He spied a hulking figure in the archway leading to the stairs and sprang forward—locking him in a sleeper hold, one arm wrapped about his neck, and the other over his head. Curtis pulled the guard to him and strangled him. He laid the body down and crept forward.

  Across the hall, Junebug possessed the first guard. He’d left Reynaldo sleeping at the inn. He preferred his own ghostly form when working with Mona. A physical body would only slow him down.

  Richard stabbed the second guard. Junebug took the knife from him and pulled it across the guard’s throat, while he was still inside him, then fled the dying man’s body. “Y’all get the little girl,” Junebug whispered. “I’ll watch for McIntyre.”

  Curtis and Richard climbed the stairs, while Junebug stood at the stairwell leading to the third level. At the top of the stairs, was a long, carpeted hallway with doors on either side. Oil lamps affixed to the left and right walls gave off light.

  Outside the mansion, in the shadows, a silent figure looked on.

  ——

  In the lowest level of the house, in the sub- basement, DA Joe McIntyre stood stripped to the waist: his eyes closed, chanting, his body oiled and covered with daemonic symbols.

  Soon now, so soon. Her blood will flow in my veins.

  McIntyre opened his eyes in the darkness. He could sense the two men creeping up the stairs, and a third standing on the ground level.

  But he isn’t a man. He’s a spirit. He smiled in the darkness. I been hunting them, and they walk right into my hands! No doubt they thought because they’re human I wouldn’t feel them. McIntyre chuckled. There is one more, a sorceress ... Where is she?

  McIntyre walked over to the door and pulled a drop cord. A clanging reverberated throughout the house and across the grounds. In the hallway, doors were flung open and seven guards rushed out to surround Curtis, Richard and Isis.

  ——

  Mona heard the clanging. Her eyes, accustomed to the darkness, spied seven men, running from opposite sides of the house. He knows we’re here! She whispered, “Leve epi detwia!” and raised her hands — palms facing outward—lifting two men from the ground and slamming them into the house. Blood trickled from her nose. Sorcery performed without preparation came with a price—

  ——

  “There you are!” McIntyre closed his hands into fists and spoke the mantra. Cords wrapped themselves about Mona, holding her prisoner. Chuckling again, he left the basement and climbed the stairs.

  Outside, the five remaining guards whirled on their heels, searching the darkness for her. Unable to spot her, they ran inside the house. McIntyre met the guards on the first floor. “This situation is contained!” he barked. “Return to your posts!”

  ——

  Richard clapped his hands together. Nothing happened.

  “That shit don’t work here, boy!” a rail thin guard sneered. “This house won’t stand for it!” He turned to Isis, “Go back to your room.”

  The little girl glared up at him. “No!”

  Suddenly he jerked, turned, and shot the guard beside him.

  “What the hell?”a guard sputtered.

  The thin guard, now possessed by Junebug, shot a second one. Seizing on the confusion, Richard and Curtis rushed the guards.

  They froze.

  The DA stepped onto the second floor. He walked over to Richard, held in stasis by his spell. McIntyre eyed him contemptuously, “So this is the darkie who thought he could take me down?” he said in his heavy southern drawl. “I been hunting you, boy.” He turned to Curtis. “And you’re the newcomer. I could have killed you months ago, but I wanted to know where your power came from.” His lips spread in a cold smile. “And you’re gonna tell me, oh yes ... Now where is the ghost?” His eyes searched the guards. “Show yourself!” The thin guard’s chest glowed blood red. Joe raised his hand and pressed it against the guard’s chest. As Junebug tried to flee, a gossamer net appeared—snaring him. “Gotcha!” Joe whispered a mantra releasing everyone. The guards’ leveled their weapons at the prisoners.

  McIntyre turned and waved his hands over the bodies of the slain guards, still whispering. The corpses disappeared. His men looked on, admiration and fear in their eyes. “William!” The DA called. There was no answer. He frowned. “Carl, take Isis back to her room.”

  “No!” Isis shouted. Her bottom lip trembled. Tears ran down her cheeks. “I wanna go home!”

  “Isis,” McIntyre said softly, “We talked about this. If you ever wanna see your family again, you must follow my orders.”

  “You ’bout a lowdown motherfucker!” Richard spat.

  A guard punched him the face. “Watch your mouth, boy! That’s DA McIntyre you talking to!”

  Isis glared up at McIntyre. But she followed Carl, a heavyset guard with blond hair to the room. Carl walked back out. “You want me to search the house for William?”

  “No, secure the prisoners in the interrogation room. I have to finish the ceremony.” Joe wagged the hand that held Junebug captive. “I’ll take care of this one myself.”

  “You keeping them alive, boss?”

  McIntyre’s face creased in annoyance. “How am I gonna question them if they’re dead?”

  “I ain’t telling you shit!” Curtis said. A guard punched him in the stomach, and he doubled over while Richard looked on, both men’s eyes burning with hatred.

  Joe chuckled. “Oh yes you will, boy. Might not be much of you left afterwards, but you’ll talk.”

  “I wanna work them over,” Carl said petulantly. “They killed my men.”

  “Have your fun, but leave them alive and awake,” Joe smiled humorlessly. “You can help me question the witch later.”

  His men followed him downstairs. While they secured Richard and Curtis, he opened the door beside them and aimed his palm in the corner. The net holding Junebug detached from his hand and affixed itself to the wall.