by S. M. Butler
He stopped breathing.
Her gaze refocused on the fly. “Everywhere I went, in crowded places, quiet ones, I saw him watching me with those crazed eyes.”
She shrank even further into the beach towel. He wanted to hold her, tuck her under his arms. Keep her safe. And then pound the guy into the ground.
“The letters and phone calls started. Threatening, demanding. He laughed when I told him to leave me alone. I can still hear the sound of it. His laughter,” her eyes flashed up to his, “haunts my dreams.”
He sat silently watching her, understanding a little more about her nightmares.
“Guards were placed outside the lab to protect me. They couldn’t stop him. He would wait around the corner, or hide near my house. He disappeared when the police were called. Vanished like an evil Loa.” Her gaze fixed to the spot where the fly had been. It had long since flown away. “He wasn’t a spirit, just a very bad man.”
He wrapped his arm around her shoulder. She flinched with his touch. “Tell me,” he said, even though he sensed the answer was going to suck his guts out through a straw.
She spoke in eerily quiet tones, “One night, I awoke knowing someone was in the house. I felt him before I saw him. I knew what he was going to do to me. His letters had been very explicit. I ran to the kitchen to call the police. He grabbed me in the hallway. The knife against my throat scared me, badly, but the knowledge that he had AIDS and was about to rape me? I knew what it was like to die from AIDS, Luke. Too well. I didn’t want to die.”
Luke’s fists were clenched and so was his jaw. “I’m gonna kill him.” He was already imaging lots of ways to do it. No one would find the body.
“I fought him. He hit me so hard I lost consciousness. I woke up in darkness. A blindfold was on my eyes, a cloth in my mouth. He’d tied my arms and legs. Then he started touching me.” She swallowed so loudly that she could have been choking down sand.
Luke was no longer able to speak. He hung on her every word, dying inside.
“I don’t know how, but I spit the cloth out of my mouth and started screaming. I screamed until my voice was gone. The neighbors arrived and could barely console me. They untied me and searched the house, the entire neighborhood. He was gone. I knew he’d be back. Again and again. Killing me with AIDS, or a knife, one way or another he would have his revenge. I have never tested positive for HIV, but I know how bad AIDs can be. I live it ever day with my patients. Because of one man, I am afraid to be alone in the dark. Sometimes, if my arms are held down, like you did in the water…”
He understood. “Dammit to hell. I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”
“There should be no reason to be sorry! That horrible man trapped me in my own house, my own body. He made me like this. Scared sick, all the time. Uncomfortable with men. I couldn’t let him get away with it. I had to take matters into my own hands.”
“You called the police?” His insides quivered with rage. He wanted to know the creep was in jail, or worse. Actually, he longed for worse.
“No. I couldn’t risk it. He threatened to hurt Grann if I called the police. I told Deolina everything, and she promised she’d take care of him.”
That, he did not expect. “Your godmother. The receptionist slash Voodoo Priestess?”
“Yes. She is very skilled in black magic. Death curses and zombies are her specialties.”
“Listen, Ysabeau, I know you believe that stuff, but I’d feel better if we tell the police about this maniac.” Or I handle him myself. “I don’t like the idea a guy like that exists—”
“He doesn’t,” she said firmly, her gaze piercing, “exist.”
“You can’t be sure.”
“I am. Luke, I don’t talk about him. To anyone. I told you so you’d understand what happened last night. And out there.” She motioned with her head toward the water. “It’s hard for me to act the right way around men. Hard to be close. But I want to be normal.”
He exhaled deeply. “It’s not your fault. You know that, right? That bastard robbed you, stole your confidence, your innocence. You are not to blame.” He shifted closer to her. Slowly. “And I don’t want you to act any certain way around me. Be yourself, Ysabeau. I love who you are—strong, brave, caring, affectionate.” He blinked at the fact he’d just dropped the L-word on her. “I care for you. Deeply.”
“You have your life in the States.” She sighed. “I have mine here. What do you expect to happen?”
He didn’t know what to expect. He was treading in new waters, hoping he didn’t drown them both. “Things are moving fast between the two of us. I get that. We can take things slow. I don’t want to push you into anything you’re not ready for. But angel, being with you feels right for me, for the first time in many years. Don’t you feel it?”
Her face was sad. “We are worlds apart in every way.”
Gently, he tipped her chin up so that she could see the truth in his eyes. “We aren’t that different.”
“What about my clinic?”
He winced. It was the moment of truth. “Unless you are able to pull off a miracle in the next four days, the clinic is dead.”
She jerked back as if he’d jabbed a needle into her. “The Guardians still want to shut me down.”
“It’s not about want, Ysabeau. It’s about need. There’s only so much seed money available to fund research projects. If the results are not promising, I can’t get other investors involved. The seed money dries up and we have to move on. That’s the way it works.”
“What if the results improve? What if my serum finally works?”
He frowned. “If that happens, investors will pour money into your clinic by the millions. You will be rich beyond your wildest and greatest dreams.”
“Then we will dream big and have faith in the serum working. It has to.”
He didn’t believe it ever would. Still, he liked her dreams better than the more realistic future—the one where he broke her heart and she ended up hating him forever.
Chapter Twelve
‡
La Saline Slum, Port-au-Prince, Haiti.
Gran’s kitchen door opened and Gochi stepped inside carrying two grocery bags full of supplies. “Afternoon, ladies.” He smiled brightly at Deolina and Gran. “Special delivery from Vuno’s Voodoo Palace.”
“Gochi!” Deolina hoisted herself up off the kitchen chair and sauntered toward him using her famous man-catching-walk. “You don’t age a bit. I am always amazed at how muscular you are. How strong—”
“Down, Deo.” Grann stepped in her path, blocking her from her target.
Deolina nearly walked up the backside of her. “Hey!”
Grann shot her the evil eye over her shoulder. “We don’t have time for nonsense. Please, Gochi, tell us what happened.”
Plopping the bags down on the kitchen counter he nodded. “The deed is done. And you were right, he doesn’t know. I touched him flesh on flesh,” he said of the handshake that took place inside Ysabeau’s car. “Poor devil doesn’t know what’s going to happen to him. Or us.”
Deolina took an apple out of the bag and started to chew. “’Course not. Americans ignore spirits. Even when death shadows that man, he pretends not to see, not to feel.”
“What are you jabbering about, Deo?” Grann asked.
Deolina covered her mouth. “Nuthin’. Not one thing.” She chewed in silence.
Grann frowned. Deolina was definitely hiding something. Mulling over what she might be missing, she took a small plastic packet out of the bag and set it beside her.
Gochi leaned over her shoulder. “Whatcha cooking, Gran?”
“A spell. Can you reach that for me, handsome?” Deolina pointed to a large black pot on the top shelf in the cabinet.
“Sure.” Gochi rose on his toes, grabbed the pot, and put it on the counter. Suddenly, his eyebrows twitched upward in alarm. “Hold on. The two of you are making a spell? Together?”
“We would be if Deolina could get to work.” Grann
dropped a pinch of dried manure into the pot. She was irritated at Deolina for keeping secrets at a time like this. Death shadows the American? What does that mean?
“I am working.” Deolina snatched the plastic bag from beside Grann and cut it open with a pair of scissors. “See? Got the graveyard dust.”
“Graveyard dust?” Gochi asked. “Who are you two putting the hex on?”
“You might want to step back.” Grann warned as Deo poured the contents into the pot.
Gochi jumped backward and ducked behind a chair. “Got that right. I don’t want any goofer spilling on me. No way. I’ve got enough troubles.”
Using her mini-food processor, Grann ground up a handful of dead scorpions. She grimaced at the sight. Ysabeau had given her this little machine for her last birthday to chop onions, not grind up bugs. She poured the brown mess into the pot and started stirring.
“Holy Saints,” Gochi cried out in alarm when he saw a live chicken wriggling around inside a burlap sack under the table. “You two thinking about using black magic?”
“More than thinkin’. We’re doin’. Got to keep that devil away from our girl.” Deolina reached into the sack and pulled the chicken out by its neck.
“Oh, man, oh man.” Gochi paced. “There’s a throbbing vibe coming off you two, so black I can’t see through it. I didn’t expect this to happen. No way. No how.”
“That Guardian needs to be on the next flight back to the States.” Deolina lifted a butcher knife. “The sooner the better.”
“Stop!” Grann held up her hand. “Don’t.”
Deolina startled. “What’s the matter? I thought you wanted to use black magic.”
She took the knife from Deolina. “He’s after the blood of my blood. Let me do it.”
“Oh no, no, no,” Gochi mumbled. “This is not what you do, Priestess of Light. Don’t go to the black side.”
“I have to, old friend. I’ll do everything in my power to save Ysabeau. Even this.” Grann sliced open her own palm and let her blood flow into the black pot.
“Lord above!” Gochi groaned.
Grann wrapped her hand in a floral print kitchen towel. “Okay Deo, do what you do.”
Deolina chopped off the chicken’s head and began her incantations.
Gochi whispered so as not to interrupt Deolina’s spell, “I’ve been following him, just as you asked. Gotten pretty close a few times. Even saved him from breaking his ass.” He clicked his tongue at the memory. “The man doesn’t even know how to get out of a tap-tap without nearly killing hisself.”
Deolina snorted.
“Keep working.” Grann circled her finger in the air, urging Deo to continue.
Deolina rolled her eyes, muttering, “Make one little mistake a lifetime ago and the woman thinks she owns me.”
“Huh?” Gochi frowned. “What’s she talking about?”
Grann shook her head. “Don’t listen to her. Tell me more about the American. What did you sense?”
“Nothing. He’s a giant ball of confusion and lust.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “He kinda likes our girl.”
Deolina groaned. “I saw that comin’.”
“What else? There has to be something we can use,” Grann said.
“Sorry, Gran. I get nowhere. Something has his vibes all blocked up,” Gochi said.
“More like someone does,” Deolina mumbled, as she cut out the chicken’s warm heart.
Grann jumped up from her chair. Suddenly, she knew what Deo had been hiding. “That’s what the cards have been saying? Holy Mother! The piece I couldn’t grasp. Deolina why didn’t you tell me? I ought to smack you into next week.”
Deolina lifted her chin. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”
Grann leaned toward her. “You know.”
Gochi grumbled. “I don’t. Someone want to tell me?”
“Keeping secrets is not right. You know how important this is!” Grann glared hard.
So hard that Deo flinched. “All right, all right. He’s got a spirit protecting him. A female. That’s all I know.”
“That’s why the cards have been confusing. The spirit has been blocking my readings,” Grann added.
Gochi whistled through his teeth. “That makes things more complicated.”
“There’s only one thing to do,” Grann said.
Deolina nodded. “Will Ysabeau agree?”
“She won’t have a choice, will she?” Grann said sadly.
Gochi scratched at his beard. “Um, you lost me again. What does Ysabeau have to do?”
“A Voodoo ceremony. We’ve got to ask the man’s spirit to help us. Ysabeau’s life depends on us,” Grann said.
“Sweet Lord,” Gochi grumbled. “I don’t care for the sound of that. What if it’s a bad one? Do you know what could happen if we open the gates and let one of them mean spirits in?”
They looked at each other. They knew. The spirit was protecting the man and there was no guarantee she wouldn’t kill Ysabeau for getting too close to him.
“But first, we do a little ceremony of our own right here. See if we can find a way to change the future,” Grann said. “Or at least know what’s coming.”
“Yeah, all right. I see nothing but darkness in your vibes. I’m just gonna head on home.” And with that, Gochi left.
Night was falling. It was time to begin.
*
Deolina was accustomed to others trembling in her presence, but tonight the Voodoo priestess felt her own old legs shaking. In a shack thick with smoke, she faced her mortal enemy—a priestess who had powers Deolina could only dream of—and prayed she’d survive.
A drummer they’d paid for the night came in quietly and set up his bongos in the corner of the room. He tried to be as inconspicuous as possible. Nobody wanted to interrupt the voduns when they did what they did best.
The drumming started up behind them pulsing a beat as strong and steady as a heart. Deolina heard the pounding in her veins as a call to war. A war she could not win. With the exception of the drummer, she and the tiny, but fierce Grann were alone. No followers this night. No distractions. They’d come together as two of the greatest priestesses in Haiti—one of dark, the other light—to fight an evil that could kill them both.
Rolling her shoulders, Deolina shook off the long-legged spiders of fear that crept up her spine and skittered through her cornrows. Flickering candlelight couldn’t bar darkness from clawing at the shack. No matter, she didn’t need light to see what was coming for them. She knew. It was the knowing that made her bones grow cold.
“Hurry, woman!” Grann yelled at her with a voice as commanding as ever.
“I’m doin’ it,” she grumbled as she quickly gathered her magic about her.
It would do no good to keep Grann waiting. She feared that dangerous nag almost as much as the horrific future she’d seen in her visions. And today—she cast an eye toward Gran—today she looked more than dangerous. Sweet Mother, Grann looks scared.
In sixty-five years, she’d never seen terror raging as a wild thing in Gran’s light brown eyes. It was like stumbling on Satan frozen on a Popsicle stick—she didn’t know whether to cheer, or run. Remembering the horrors in her vision, she ran as fast as her old legs would carry her to sprinkle cast-off-evil powder inside the windowsills and pack it in thick around the doors. She doubted it would do much good, but she was willing to try anything.
The drummer eased back to a rhythm soft as blood drops on dirt.
Grann bent her head, the gray curls on her head falling forward over her face as she genuflected before the crucifix hanging on the far wall and recited “Hail Mary’s” to the plastic Holy Virgin on the sole bookshelf. Deolina stepped up on the footstool to insure the charms and amulets were in the right places to ward off the wrong spirits.
“Can we save her?” Gran’s voice cracked, making Deolina nearly lose her balance on the stool.
A tiny squeak escaped her lips until she righted herself by placing both of her flat
bare feet on the floor. She eyed Gran. “Stop lookin’ so vexed. You’ll make me forget the spell.”
With surprisingly strong, thin fingers, Grann shook her by the shoulders. “You do foresee us stopping this thing?”
Deolina was a mostly-retired black magic Vodun of Petro. In all her years as a Voodoo priestess, she’d seen lots of terrifying things, but stopping this? A rat with its legs caught in a trap had a better chance of getting out alive. Still, she wasn’t so heartless as to give old Grann the odds. Besides, voicing evil out loud was as good as calling the thing home for supper. Deolina was not about to play housemaid to a beast who might eat her for snack. She’d never stop it, but Grann didn’t have to know just how bad it was going to be, did she?
“You and me together?” Deolina snorted. “How can we lose?”
Gran’s thin face twisted with sorrow. The High Priestess of Light knew the truth. Sometimes the truth ripped old women’s hearts to shreds. “Maybe the spirits will tell us what to do. Start the ceremony, Deo, I’ve got to know.”
Deolina dipped her fingertips into a small pewter jar. In long strokes, she spread spiritual powder on her skin until her arms were shimmering amber-gold in the candlelight. Grann bound their wrists together with a scarf as soft as goose down and the color of spilled blood. They were ready.
In words as old as time, they chanted, begging the spirits to keep the wolf at bay.
A gust of wind blew through the shack, skittering Tarot cards off the end table. Their white dresses lifted with the breeze, baring their dark legs mottled with ropey veins. The bongos grew louder, pulsing faster, faster, a frantic heart. With closed eyes, their bodies moved in perfect rhythm. Their wrinkled fingers, coated in ceremonial powder, splayed and vibrated to the violent beat. Red, white, and golden candles sputtered with the wind and stayed lit.
They panted for air while they chanted and danced, but didn’t stop, didn’t miss a beat. Their voices rose on the howling wind until they were screaming at the wolf, demanding he keep his ugly hairy self far, far away from them. Away from her.
The drumming ended as abruptly as death. Exhausted, Deolina untied the scarf with trembling hands and fell to the floor. Sweat rolled down her back while the horrifying vision still lingered in her head. Pain, screaming, death…
