Hoodwink

by Rhonda Roberts

  Earl and his date just walked around us and straight towards the entry to the maze.

  ‘Easy does it, Earl,’ Carole called out after him. ‘Remember last time the priestess had to go in and haul you out!’

  Earl didn’t turn, just shot Carole a rude hand signal over his shoulder and kept walking.

  Honeycutt arrived and slid an arm around my shoulders. I gave him a cynical look. I had to be his excuse for getting some distance from Selznick.

  ‘David, if you just did some exercise once in a while,’ said Carole, ‘you wouldn’t have this problem. Why don’t you sit down for a while?’

  Selznick ignored Carole’s concern to say, ‘Forget that! I made it this far … I’m going to make it through the friggin’ maze this time if it kills me!’

  He stumbled off, eyeing different women as he went, checking for potential partners.

  ‘But, David, what about that film you mentioned …?’ Dada took off after him.

  ‘Queen Victoria is definitely not the partner David’s looking for,’ said Carole as she watched Selznick try to shake Dada off.

  Then she eyed Honeycutt and me. ‘Don’t let me stop you two from taking a stroll through the Shrine. I’ll wait here if you want to try the maze.’

  Honeycutt studied the tall hedge. ‘What’s in there?’ he said, suspicious.

  ‘I’ll let Kay tell you.’ Carole grinned.

  Honeycutt used the arm around my shoulders to march me towards the maze entrance. ‘Cherie, I think we need a little private time to finish our talk about the Blight Doll … I know you’re holding out on me.’

  ‘What could I possibly be hiding, Honeycutt?’ I complained. ‘And why?’

  Marshal Honeycutt cared more about me lying than the case! I wanted to smack him.

  ‘Now don’t give me that, Kannon. I saw your face. You were lying about the Blight Doll … You know why they were standing next to you in the cemetery. Now what haven’t you told me?’

  Damn. I was going to have to find a way to distract him.

  ‘Remember, Honeycutt, we’re on this mission to keep an eye on Earl Curtis, not each other! So don’t …’

  ‘Oh, don’t give me that crap, Dupree!’

  We reached the priestess standing at the entryway to the maze.

  ‘Has a dark-haired man dressed as a Spanish grandee just entered the maze?’ I asked.

  The priestess nodded. ‘Yes, my dear. Do you want to go in?’

  ‘So what’s the story about this maze?’ said Honeycutt, hands on his hips, all business.

  ‘You each enter by a different door,’ said the priestess, perplexed by his brusque attitude. ‘And if you are fortunate enough to meet in the centre then you can walk through to the Garden of Earthly Delights.’

  ‘Earthly Delights?’ Honeycutt snorted. ‘That should be a good place to talk over why you lied to me.’ The last five words were shouted.

  I ignored him and said to the alarmed priestess, ‘Just show us where to go in, please.’

  ‘The men go in that blue gate and the women go in the red one.’

  As Honeycutt headed for the blue gate, he said over his shoulder, ‘If you can’t find me in this maze, Dupree, I’m going to fail you just because I feel like it.’

  He slammed the blue gate shut behind him.

  The priestess was worried. ‘Are you sure you want to go in there, my dear?’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about him, he’s just a great big pussycat once you get to know him.’

  She wasn’t convinced.

  But then, neither was I.

  As I entered the red gate a heavy scent overwhelmed me. It wasn’t unpleasant, just … very relaxing.

  But I didn’t feel drowsy at all.

  The scent was super-fresh jasmine with a hint of something spicy … something hot.

  I rolled one of the brilliant green leaves between my fingers and immediately the scent rose up even stronger. My fingers tingled, then my arm, then my whole body.

  My senses cleared.

  Everything was brighter, smelt sweeter and sounded wonderful. I felt like I could hear every single bee happily humming around the gardens.

  This wasn’t like any hedge I’d ever come across …

  A brilliantly coloured butterfly wafted up out of the hedge, circled me for a moment, then flew off down the lush green corridor. I followed it, fascinated with its turquoise and yellow wings.

  I turned a corner or two or three … and came out into a hedged square with an old stone bench in the centre of it. The ground was green with tiny yellow and white flowers. I knelt for a closer look. It could be a chamomile lawn … but it was so very soft and silky to the touch.

  Like living silk.

  ‘Kannon.’

  I looked up. Honeycutt stood in the entrance opposite me. His face was softer, younger. ‘Did you find Earl?’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘I didn’t see anyone else …’ I was finding it hard to form complete sentences.

  But I didn’t care.

  Honeycutt frowned a little. ‘That’s strange.’

  ‘Earl must’ve made it through to the next garden,’ I said.

  The carpet of yellow and white flowers led off to the right.

  We followed it.

  The silky carpet led us out of the maze and into a luxuriant forest of colossal pink and white lotuses. They rose, serpent-like, out of the aquamarine water on either side of the floral path, to tower over us.

  Somewhere overhead a night bird sang. The music was piercingly sweet.

  We were in another world, a primeval paradise … and completely alone.

  Ten slow paces further on and the lotus forest parted to reveal a verdant knoll.

  With just enough room for two.

  I knelt to touch the bright green grass and immediately the fresh spicy scent of the hedge rolled up to me.

  I inhaled and my heart opened in bliss.

  Honeycutt stood over me, his fingers caressing my hair.

  I rose.

  Honeycutt shook his head once as though trying to clear it. ‘Darlin’, why did you lie about the doll at the cemetery?’ he said softly. ‘What haven’t you told me, love?’

  I tried to think of a smart reply … a way out of telling him about the slashed tyres and the menacing figure scratched into my Ford. If he knew that Blight Doll was after me as well as Earl, then he’d send me back and I’d fail Troy as profoundly as everyone else always had.

  I couldn’t face that poor kid without an answer. I couldn’t watch Troy drink himself to death while he waited for Susan to fade away.

  But all I could do was drink in the beauty of the lotus garden …

  And Honeycutt, an archangel with a tiger’s gaze.

  Then I realised he was gazing back at me … in the same mesmerised way.

  We both moved closer.

  ‘You have to tell me, darlin’. I can’t look after you properly if you don’t tell me the truth.’ He ran a fingertip down my cheek and cupped it with one firm hand.

  I gasped.

  His touch was exquisite; creamy fire slipping over my super-sensitive skin.

  I wanted to rub his hand all over my body …

  That impulse scared me back to earth!

  Back to what I had to do.

  ‘Why are you so certain I was lying, Honeycutt?’

  ‘Because your eyes flickered when you told me I was being paranoid, darlin’. That’s one of your standard tells.’

  ‘Damn,’ I breathed softly. ‘What are yours?’

  Honeycutt leant in so his full lips were inches from mine. ‘Don’t change the subject, darlin’.’ He kissed me lightly, just his velvet mouth moving over mine.

  He groaned and went deeper.

  I took the offensive and draped my body down his, from breast to knee. Ah, that felt too good …

  He sucked in a deep breath. ‘Tell me, darlin’, please.’

  I was going to have to play dirty. ‘You’re wrong, Daniel. I wasn’t lying,’ I lied
. ‘I have no idea why that stupid doll was in the cemetery.’

  I moved in again for a deep, steamy kiss. Our wet satin tongues curled and slipped together.

  I drew back an inch. ‘But I want to know why you’re so protective of me, Daniel.’

  I drew back another inch so I could watch the expression in his jade-green eyes. ‘Is this all really about Kyle … do you blame yourself for your brother’s death?’

  Honeycutt’s eyes flickered, then smouldered into rage.

  Carole was sitting at the front of the shrine with Dada chirping in her ear like a manic cicada.

  ‘Oh, just shove it, Alphonse. No, I will not ask one of the priestesses to —’ She saw us and leapt to her feet. ‘Thank you, Jesus! Finally! Let’s get going!’

  ‘Where is everyone?’ said Honeycutt. He was fuming.

  Neither one of us had come out of the Garden of Earthly Delights satisfied.

  I wouldn’t answer his questions and he wouldn’t give up.

  ‘David’s knee gave out and he had to be taken to the Guild hospital by stretcher,’ said Carole. ‘Earl stomped off in a huff just before you arrived because he had to be rescued from the maze yet again.’ She looked around. ‘I don’t know where his date is.’

  ‘Which way did Earl go?’ I asked.

  ‘Up that way.’ She pointed to the last two peaks. Carole shot a glance at Honeycutt then back at me. We didn’t look like satisfied customers so she didn’t ask.

  The three of us set off, Dada hanging at our heels.

  The Church of Christ without Chains was a huge round African hut with mud brick walls and a thatched roof. At that point the crowd ahead of us pretty much split into two. The white section continued on to the last peak while the African-Americans siphoned off into the church. An almost visible wave of rich bass and soprano voices rolled out of the church door, raised in a traditional Christian hymn.

  A magnificent cross, made of a living tree with a carved wooden plank lashed to it, stood outside as the traditional symbol of Christianity. But the wooden risen Christ standing on the ground in front of the cross was definitely not traditional. For this time anyway.

  His arms were open in joyful welcome and he was shining ebony.

  Dada flounced over to the sculpture for closer scrutiny.

  ‘Daniel, you asked me about your Confederate uniform,’ said Carole, stopping to take in a deep breath. ‘Well it’s to do with the ex-slave who built this church, Magnita Bell … When she escaped north she ended up at Merlin Jones’ New York mission. She was a guide in the Underground Railway for a while but had to stop because her face became too well known. Then she came out here with Merlin.’

  ‘She went back to the South to help the Railway? She must’ve had guts,’ said Honeycutt.

  ‘Magnita did more than that … when the Union army began forming coloured regiments, she cut her hair and joined one.’

  A white-haired African-American woman climbed the steps behind us. She was old but unbowed and wore an eye patch over her right eye.

  ‘That’s her now,’ whispered Carole.

  Bell started at the sight of Honeycutt, hurt confusion clouding her face.

  Carole stepped into Magnita’s path. ‘It’s my fault, ma’am. My friend didn’t choose his costume and he doesn’t know what it means.’

  Magnita studied Honeycutt. ‘Did you know I served in the 6th US Coloured Artillery, son?’

  Honeycutt’s face fell. ‘Ma’am, please accept my apologies, I’m so very sorry.’ He said gently, ‘Were you at Fort Case?’

  ‘Yes, I survived that battle,’ said Magnita, with a mix of reluctance and pride.

  ‘What’s the significance of Daniel’s uniform?’ I asked Carole softly.

  ‘It was worn by the Confederate cavalry that attacked Fort Case,’ she whispered back.

  ‘But why on earth would the bellboy give him that bloody costume then? Is it a sick joke?’

  Magnita heard my angry question. ‘No. That was Jubal Pierce’s uniform.’

  Bumstead had mentioned Pierce in his speech. ‘Wasn’t he the second president of the Guild?’ I asked, perplexed.

  Carole nodded. ‘That’s why I told you the uniform was appropriate.’

  ‘Jubal was at Fort Case. That’s where we met. He stopped one of his men from killing me. I’d already been bayoneted.’ Magnita touched her eye patch.

  ‘Did he know you were a woman?’ I asked.

  ‘No, not at first. But when he did he put me on his horse and deserted. We both knew what would happen to me at the end of the battle. But he couldn’t take me back to the Union line either; an injured black woman was fair game on both sides. That was when we both decided the war had ended — I told him about Merlin Jones and we came west.’

  ‘But …’ I wasn’t sure what to ask first.

  ‘Why did a Rebel save me? The horror of the Fort Case massacre exhausted Jubal’s desire to ever harm another being.’ She paused. ‘And then there was his vision …’

  Dada wandered back to listen.

  ‘Jubal said that in the middle of the massacre a great light split the sky in half. On one side were the faces of all the men he’d killed since the war began. They looked down at him and beckoned. Then he knew he was going to die very soon. The other side of the sky was where Jubal was bound when he died. It wasn’t a hell of flame and torture but Eternity in a cold steel cell in an empty universe. Jubal fell to his knees, just like the Union soldiers being slaughtered around him, and begged for a second chance. He made a pact with the dead and then stumbled over me.’

  ‘What was the pact?’ insisted Dada with prurient glee.

  Magnita Bell ignored him to study Honeycutt. ‘You seem like a good man, my son … so I must warn you that it’s considered very bad luck to wear Jubal’s old uniform at the Festival of the Shades.’

  She nodded to herself. ‘Tonight, in this place … take care, my son. Like Jubal, you could summon up a lesson from God that you may not be ready for.’

  38

  THE TEMPLE OF LOST

  SOULS

  The Temple of Lost Souls perched on the very peak of Mount Warning, the highest mountain in MacVille Park. It surveyed Los Angeles, the city of fallen angels, most of whom seemed to be working at the temple tonight. It was a wide, flat building, plain and unassuming, made of concrete and steel.

  Actually, it reminded me of a benevolent prison, but that judgement could have been coloured by my impression of the priests that worked there.

  They all wore short brown tunics over their normal clothes, but the priests attending to the unusually subdued visitors more closely resembled escaped convicts than normal religious workers. They ranged from the big and burly to the short and sinewy, but all showed scars, prison tattoos and the barbed wire lines of harsh experience on their features.

  Stanley, the man I’d spoken to in Dead Horse Canyon, must’ve come from this temple.

  There was a long queue in front of the grotto in the temple forecourt. People were lined up back to the road and there were more visitors here than at either of the other temples.

  ‘Why is Jubal Pierce’s temple the main one in MacVille Park?’ asked Honeycutt, sceptically studying the queue of patient devotees.

  ‘Because of the nature of the pact he made,’ replied Carole. ‘When Jubal was saved from Hell he promised to spend the rest of his life saving all lost souls, living and dead, from the same fate.’

  ‘Saving the living I can understand,’ I said. ‘But just supposing that Hell did exist … how do you get the dead out of there?’

  Dada leant in. ‘Yes, how do you, Carole? And be precise.’

  Carole gave Queenie a face full of loathing, then ignored him. ‘The vision told Jubal the key to Hell. What it is and how it works. See that long line of people waiting in front of the grotto?’

  Dada, his hide as thick as the walls of a bank vault, crowded in even closer. ‘Yes, yes, what are they getting? Some kind of talisman?’

  �
�The free service the temple renders tonight is why they are considered so important. The tourists are asking for help for their loved ones, either the ones who are already in Hell or are on their way there.’ Carole considered the queue. ‘Though half of them are probably asking how to ensure they themselves never go to Hell. What do humans really fear more than what will happen to us after we die?’

  ‘I want to ask too.’ Dada grabbed Carole’s arm and tugged. ‘Come on.’

  ‘We’ll check inside the temple while you’re busy,’ said Honeycutt.

  Carole grimaced but allowed Dada to drag her towards the grotto.

  Honeycutt gave me a cautious assessment. The encounter with Magnita Bell had brought his fuming down to a quiet simmer. ‘Earl’s nowhere in sight; we’d better find Simon Renfrow.’

  I nodded, equally cautious.

  Using his brother’s death to distract Honeycutt had been just plain cruel. But it had worked.

  Now he hated me.

  Inside the temple doors was a wide room full of life-sized statues on high pedestals. One was of a stern angel with long golden hair, blue eyes and pristine white folded wings.

  His icy blue eyes and sternly self-righteous visage reminded me of Charles Gibson.

  At the bottom of the statue, ‘Archangel Gabriel — Emancipator to those lost through Despair’ was written in gold letters. The next statue was of the Roman god Mercury — ‘Emancipator to those lost through Deception’. Further along, I recognised a statue of the Egyptian god, falcon-headed Horus; he was holding an ankh. Underneath it said ‘Horus — Emancipator to those lost through Revenge’.

  A priest was lighting incense in front of the next statue. It was of a woman, a multi-armed Hindu deity I couldn’t put a name to.

  ‘Do you know where I could find Simon Renfrow?’ I asked.

  The priest was concerned. ‘Do you need to see him, my dear?’

  ‘Er, yes … it’s an emergency.’

  ‘Of course, my dear. Is it for yourself, dearie, or another?’ He looked questioningly at Honeycutt.

  ‘Myself.’

  From his compassionate expression I was certain my answer meant a great deal more than just about giving me directions.