Karma

by Nadine Nightingale

  Poor guy looks as bad as I feel. Sometime between puking my guts out and lying half unconscious on the bathroom floor, I had managed to tell him what I saw. Goes without saying he didn’t take the news well. For the longest time, he just sat there, unresponsive and desperate. I knew he needed something to hold onto, and that’s when I came up with the idea to pay the old woman a visit. She was, after all, the one who told me to follow the girl with the raven hair.

  “If anyone knows what’s going on in this godforsaken town, it’s her,” I say, hoping my gut feeling won’t disappoint.

  “But—”

  “She knew about the girl,” I say, resting my head against the car seat. “There’s a good chance she knows more.”

  Alex’s hands are clenched around the steering wheel as if it is the only thing keeping him from falling apart. “I hope you’re right,” he groans, his aura a manifestation of fear and self-loathing.

  Me too.

  Buildings and street signs stream by in a blur. The cruel sunlight burns my eyes, forcing me to pull my sunglasses down. Between Freddy Krueger’s claws scratching my skull, and ants celebrating a triumphal procession in my head, I feel like my mind is either going to shatter or melt. I must have said it a million times, but from now on, I’m going to steer clear of booze.

  “What makes you think she’s going to help us?” Alex asks as we pull up to the small Victorian house. “For all we know, she could be in on this.”

  She could be in on whatever the hell this is. But something tells me she’s not, and if life has taught me one lesson, it’s that I can always rely on my instincts. “Just trust me on this one, all right?”

  He shifts the car into reverse, and backs into an open slot on the street. “Trust you, huh? I hear that a lot from you, lately.”

  I shift my head to the side. “We have no idea what we’re up against,” I say. “But if we want to get through this, we have to be able to rely on each other.”

  Killing the engine, he faces me. “Amanda?”

  “Hm?”

  Alex’s gaze shifts from me to the pentagram hanging around the rearview mirror. “I’m sorry.”

  Great. Now my hearing is fucked up, too. “Come again?”

  Hands still on the steering wheel, he clears his throat. “I said I was sorry.”

  So my hearing is fine, but Alex is obviously losing his freaking mind. Why else would he apologize to me for—wait a minute, what the hell is he apologizing for?

  “Sorry for what?” I ask.

  Throwing his head back, he lets out a sharp breath. “For acting like a jerk when you were just trying to help.”

  He really just said that, didn’t he? If he isn’t losing his mind, he’s definitely suicidal. “Look, if this is one of those sharing and caring moments, then—”

  “It’s not,” he assures me. “But I’m man enough to admit when I make a mistake.”

  I push my sunglasses up and sigh. “It’s okay. You made up for it when you held my hair back while I had a date with the toilet.”

  “So we’re good?”

  Our eyes lock. “Yeah, Alex. We’re good.”

  I reach for the door handle, but he stops me. “There’s one more thing,” he mutters under his breath.

  Looking over my shoulder, I roll my eyes. If he wants to hug it out, he’s got the wrong girl. “What, you need a written statement that I accept your apology?”

  Alex frowns. “I need you to know I crossed a line when I called you an alcoholic.” He averts his gaze. “I know all about your dad, and it won’t happen again. I give you my word.”

  I spin around, jaw dropping. “Wait, how do you know—”

  “Jesse told me,” he says matter-of-factly.

  Bastard! Is that the reward I get for trusting him? Maybe I should let him rot in whatever hell he’s in.

  I ignore the seizures in my stomach and straighten. “My dad did the best he could for me, Alex. I don’t blame him or my freakin’ mother for who I am.”

  “Our parents shape us, Amanda.”

  A bitter taste crawls up my throat. “Maybe so. But we make the final cut, and this”—I point to myself—“is the life I chose.” Then I yank the door open and get out.

  Taking a deep breath, I fill my lungs with fresh air. It’s a beautiful day. Birds chirp, a warm breeze blows through the lively street, and the faithful sun warms my dried out skin. Nevertheless, I can’t shake the eerie feeling this is the quiet before the storm. Maybe Alex was right, and coming here wasn’t such a great idea after all.

  Alex jogs toward me. “Ready?”

  “No guns,” I remind him.

  He pulls his shirt up, exposing his six pack. “Happy?”

  Damn, he’s in even better shape than he was.

  “Wanna frisk me?” he asks, his voice smoky.

  I so should. I mean, what if he’s hiding a knife in his boxers?

  Annoyed with my libido, I look away from his V-line. “Let’s just go.”

  As we stroll down the street, I spot the old lady in her garden, watering her plants. “Be nice,” I warn Alex when we approach the fence.

  “Why, because she’s one of your witch friends?”

  “Technically, she’s not a witch but a mambo.” I flip my hair over my shoulder and smile. “And let’s not forget she’s the key to gettin’ rid of you for good.”

  Alex sighs. “Very charming, Manda.”

  I shrug. “Charmin’ is my middle name.”

  He bites on his lower lip. “I thought stab-worthy bitch was,” he says, a smile touching his eyes.

  This is going to sound weird, but I sorta prefer the bitching to the caring and sharing. Probably makes me a masochist, but who cares?

  Approaching the fence, I clear my throat to call to her, but she’s already walking toward us. “I’ve been expecting you,” she announces with that sing-song voice of hers.

  “I hate witches,” Alex grumbles next to me.

  I ignore him and focus on the old lady. Her pink dress dances around her legs, and her skin shimmers silky coral in the morning sun. It’s weird. Everything about her reminds me of Grams: her confident posture, graceful walk, but above all the mesmerizing purple aura wrapped around her like a satiny bed sheet.

  An everlasting smile on her lips, she draws closer. “Would you like that sweet tea now?” she asks, leaning against the white picket fence.

  “If you’re still offering,” I reply.

  “I sure am,” she says. “Come on in.”

  I pass through the gate, but when Alex tries to follow, the woman blocks his path. “I know what you are, son, and you’re more than welcome to join us, but only if you put that knife in your back pocket in that fancy car of yours,” she says calmly.

  “Seriously, Alex?” I snap, pissed he lied to my face. Guess I should have frisked him after all.

  His lips form a straight line. “Just a little precaution,” he insists, shrugging.

  The old woman puts her hands on her hips. “I see where you’re coming from, son. But I assure you, no harm will come to you in my house.”

  Watching David and Goliath show off in front of me, I can’t help but laugh. The lady is at least fifty years older and ten inches shorter than Alex, yet she stands there fearless.

  Although it’s entertaining, I have to move this along or we’ll be here till next Christmas. “Alex,” I mutter annoyed.

  Murder on his face, he meets my gaze. “What?”

  “We don’t have time for this shit.”

  A million thoughts must bolt through his head, because his aura changes color like a goddamn mood ring. Eventually, though, his shoulders sink. “All right, but I’ll blame you if we get killed.”

  What doesn’t jerk-face blame me for? “I’ll take that risk,” I say, lifting my chin at the car.

  As he’s heading back to the Mustang, I give the old lady my best smile. “I’m sorry. Trust issues, remember?” I don’t normally apologize, but Alex is acting like a complete moron, and the fact
the woman resembles my grams messes with my fucking head.

  “Don’t worry, love. He’s a good guy, you know?”

  Too good, that’s the problem. “A little difficult to handle at times,” I groan.

  Patting my back, she smiles. “That’s one thing you guys have in common.”

  I don’t like the way she emphasizes “one thing,” and I’m about to ask her why she’s defending the guy who just violated her house rules, but Alex returns before I can. “Better?” he taunts her with a mischievous grin.

  “Much,” she says, pointing to the beautifully decorated porch. “I’ll get some tea. Do make yourselves comfortable.”

  The instant we step on the porch, the wind chime above the door starts swinging. The randomly created melody reminds me of a soothing lullaby.

  Alex, ever the hunter, scans the place as if it’s a war zone, apparently, expecting to see a sniper hiding behind the snappy lawn gnomes.

  I fling myself into a flower-power chair. “Relax, Alex.”

  Hands up in defense, he takes a seat in the white rocking chair next to me. “Better safe than sorry.”

  “You know what they call guys like you?”

  “Hot? Irresistible? Mind-blowing?”

  “Paranoid,” I snarl.

  Alex leans back and shakes his head. “You might want to work on those cocky retorts. They ain’t what they used to be.”

  Before I get a chance to prove him wrong, the old woman returns with sweet tea, cookies, and donuts. Putting the tray down, she pours three glasses. “I hope you like it. I made it this morning,” she says, handing Alex the first glass.

  The look on his face is rib-tickling. You don’t have to be a witch to know he wonders if the tea is spiked with poison. I know the woman sees it too, but instead of scolding him, she passes me a glass, and then takes a large sip. When she doesn’t drop dead, Alex relaxes and downs half the glass at once.

  Our host offers me a cookie. “Have one, love.”

  I shake my head. “I really appreciate your kindness, ma’am, and I hate to be the white rabbit here, but we really don’t have time for a cozy tea party.”

  “Real smooth, Manda,” Alex growls.

  Whoa! He’s acted like an asshole from the moment we walked onto her property, and when I cut to the chase, he’s bitching at me? What is it with him and his fucking mood swings?

  I part my lips to snap at him, but the woman nips the argument in the bud. “It’s all right, son.” She puts the plate down and takes a seat across from me. “I know why you’re here, and I will answer all your questions. But first I’d like to know your names if you don’t mind.”

  Fair enough. “I’m Amanda Bishop, and this,” I point to the jerk next to me, “is Alex Remington.”

  “Pleasure to meet you. I’m Hedwig.”

  Alex almost chokes on a cookie. “Like Potter’s owl?”

  She flashes him a brilliant smile. “Exactly.”

  My eyes go wide. “Wow, Alex. I never figured you for a Potterhead.”

  He shrugs. “Guess you don’t know me as well as you thought.”

  I laugh. “Are you kiddin’? I can read you like an open book, and I mean that quite literally.”

  Hedwig’s gaze drifts from Alex to me. “Yet, you haven’t seen all the pages, love.” A glimmer of gold surrounds her purple aura. “In fact, you skipped the most important ones.”

  What’s that supposed to mean? Seriously, witches and their freaking riddles—they drive me nuts.

  Alex’s fingers dig into the hand rest, and he shifts uncomfortably. “If you guys are done with your witch crap, I’d like to go back to the real problem.” He pulls Jesse’s photo out of his jacket and holds it under Hedwig’s nose. “Have you seen my brother?”

  She ogles the pic. “I’m afraid I haven’t.” Soft blue engulfs her. She’s telling the truth.

  Alex’s jaw hardens. “I knew this would be a waste of time,” he snarls, shooting daggers at me.

  Not ready to give up yet, I face her. “You said we would find what we’re looking for if I followed the girl, right?”

  Nibbling on her cookie, she nods.

  “Well, I was on a vision quest last night, and the girl took me to some kind of dungeon where,” I point to Alex, “his brother lay bleeding and unconscious on the floor while a douchebag with a French accent threw some kind of green powder in his face.”

  The moment I mention green powder, Hedwig pales. “What else did you see?” she asks, voice shaky.

  “Nothing,” I confess. “Everything went fuzzy after that.” I put the tea on the table. “Look, ma’am, I’ve seen the shield around your house, and I know enough of voodoo to figure you’re one helluva mambo. So please help us.”

  Hedwig rises from her chair and leans against the wooden railing, facing the garden. “Most of us live in peace with the world. We don’t harm anyone. But the ones born dark do horrific things.”

  Alex gets to his feet and stalks toward her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Hedwig closes her eyes and draws in a deep breath. “Your brother was turned into what we call a zonbi.”

  Hell, I feared she was going to say that.

  “A what?” Alex shouts like a lunatic.

  My pulse jackhammers against my neck. “Zonbi is the creole word for zombie,” I stammer, still hoping this is just a bad dream.

  Silence.

  Then Alex bursts out laughing. “This is a joke, right?” He walks toward me. “Amanda, tell me this is some weird witch joke,” he says, pleading with me.

  My gaze drops. I wish I could, but there’s a reason why even my kind doesn’t deal with bocors.

  Alex kneels in front of me and puts his hands on my shoulders. “Amanda.” His voice drops dangerously low. “Tell me she’s kidding.”

  Looking up, I face the terror in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Alex. I can’t.”

  Shaking his head like a maniac, he jumps up. “So what you’re saying is my little brother has transformed into Resident Evil. Is that it?”

  “No, son. Your brother does not consume human brains, nor is he undead.”

  “Oh, yeah, then what does he do? Star in an episode of The Walking Dead?” Alex hides behind his sarcasm, but his muddy blue aura tells a much darker and far more depressing story.

  Hedwig shifts from one foot to the other. “The green powder is a drug. It gives the bocor control over your brother’s mind.”

  When reality hits, Alex stumbles back to the rocking chair. “Can it be undone?”

  Hedwig’s eyes shoot to me. “I don’t know. I don’t practice with both hands.”

  Alex stares at me. “English please.”

  “She doesn’t do black magic,” I translate.

  “But,” Hedwig continues. “Every poison has a cure, and if someone can find it,” she looks me in the eye, “it’ll be you, love.”

  No pressure there. Winding a strand of hair around my finger, I frown. “Even if we find a cure, we still have no idea where he is.”

  A nervous brown aura spirals around her, and she starts fiddling with her dress. “If you find the kids, you will find his brother.” The woman might be powerful, but all the witch-juice in the world can’t conceal she’s hiding something.

  I’m about to ask her what that is, but Alex interrupts me. “And how do you suggest we do that? Find the kids, I mean.”

  “We could talk to the ones that came back. You do, after all, work for the FBI,” I remind him.

  “And risk exposing the PAU and hunters all over the States?” he barks. “Great idea, genius. You know there’s a reason we don’t work high-profile media cases.”

  Hedwig’s eyes grow distant. “There might be another way,” she says, catching our full attention. “One child was in particularly bad shape. Her parents had her committed to a mental asylum in Los Angeles.”

  “LA?” Alex and I say in unison.

  She nods. “If I remember correctly, the news said something about the Freud Hospital.”
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  Now that Alex has a lead, hope urges him to action. “All right.” He jumps to his feet. “Let’s go.”

  My eyes go wide. “To LA?”

  “No,” he snaps. “To New York.”

  Tired of his stupid comments, I frown. “Can I use your bathroom first, ma’am?”

  Hedwig points to the door. “Sure, love. First door on the right.”

  “Thanks,” I say as I head inside.

  Walking out of the bathroom, I admire the interior of the house. It’s just as cozy as the porch—flowery sofas, white drawers, wooden floor, and oh my God, are these wind chimes? On every freaking window? This is weird. Mambos practice their gifts by inviting spirits into their homes, lives, and bodies. Wind chimes do the exact opposite. They keep them out, the good ones and the bad ones.

  Voodoo mandalas are drawn on the floor by the windows. The ones I recognize are warding off evil, and the others I have never seen before. Talk about paranoia.

  Rubbing my wet hands on my jeans, I head back.

  “You have to tell her, son,” I hear Hedwig whisper and stop dead in my tracks. I take a peek and find her sitting next to Alex.

  Alex looks even more miserable than five minutes ago. “I can’t.”

  “Tell me what?” I ask casually as I join them.

  Eyes wide, Alex gets on his feet. “That I appreciate your help.” He looks at Hedwig. “There I said it. Happy?”

  Judging by the way Hedwig dodges my gaze, I’d say that’s a whole lot of bull. Damn, where’s Edward Cullen when a girl needs him?

  “We better get going.” Alex grabs my arm and hauls me down the steps, not even giving me a chance to say goodbye.

  Chapter 11

  Here I am in the city of angels and superstars, and all I can think of is Hellraiser’s freaking puzzle box. That’s pretty much what the Freud Hospital looks like. Located near LAX, the massive glass cube rises high into the azure sky, its façade reflecting a large degree of sadness and pain. Usually, I avoid places like this at any cost. Too many uncontrolled emotions always mess me up, one of the few downsides of being a witch. Some of us, including me, soak in other people’s emotions like a human vacuum, and that can be irritating to say the least. But since this is our best shot at finding Jesse, I’ll just have to grit my teeth.