Karma

by Nadine Nightingale

  The sound of rustling paper resonates through the phone. “Some detective… Damn, what was his name again?” More rustling. “Titcher. Detective Titcher dismissed the complaint. He claimed due to Hedwig’s unstable mental health, she couldn’t be taken seriously.”

  “You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me,” I yelp, pushing the gas pedal a little harder. “There’s no way Hedwig had mental health issues.”

  “She’s right,” Alex says. “We met the woman. She was pretty sane.” The wheels in Alex’s head turn, and after a short period of silence, he faces me. “Didn’t you say Walter and Titcher were friends?”

  Eyes on the street signs in front of me, I nod. “Yeah. That’s what Detective Good-looking said.”

  “Sure as hell sounds like you two stumbled over a corrupt cop,” Carter grumbles more seriously than ever. “Maybe you should wait for backup, guys.”

  Backup? I haven’t even thought about backup.

  “This is bigger than just one rotten cop, Carter. If Amanda is right, there’s a whole organization behind them,” Alex explains. “As soon as I find the kids and Jesse, I’ll inform the LA field office. But until then, we’ll do this on our own. We don’t know who else is in on this.”

  “Just be careful, man. Can’t lose you just yet. You’ll be gone soon enough.”

  “Gone soon enough? What the hell is he talkin’ about? Where are you goin’?” I ask, confused.

  My gaze darts through Alex, and he instantly puts his guard up. “No idea what he’s talking about.”

  “Oh no, you didn’t—”

  “Carter,” Alex snaps. “Shut the fuck up, man.”

  “But—”

  “Gotta go.”

  “Alex, you have to—”

  He hangs up on Carter.

  “Wanna tell me what this is all about?” I wish I sounded less worried and more pissed, but something in Carter’s voice rang all my alarm bells.

  “I’m going to quit the job,” he says, as if it isn’t a big thing he’s about to give up the one thing that defines his life.

  “What? Why?”

  “Need a change.” The brightest pink ever surrounds him, but before I get a chance to tell him what a rotten liar he is, he points to the idyllic house at the end of the street. “That’s it. Paradise Point.”

  An uneasy feeling settles over me as I pull into the tree-lined driveway. I’m not sure if that’s because of what Alex is keeping from me, or the fact that we’re about to face off with a bunch of crazies.

  Killing the engine, I lean in. “I know we’ve had our issues, Alex, but I still care about you. So if you need—”

  “Care ’bout me?” He laughs. “I’m curious, Manda. Did you also care ’bout me when you kept the crucial information that you’re a freaking witch from me?” He tenses. “Know what? It doesn’t matter, ’cause I don’t have any problems. Let’s just go back to the real issue, all right?”

  No problems? Right. I bet that’s the reason why his pulse jackknifes against his neck, and his leg is trembling. Whatever. He made it clear he doesn’t want my help. Swallowing the anger boiling inside me, I clear my throat. “You’re a jerk, Alex, but I agree. We should focus on Jesse and the kids. What’s the plan?”

  He looks through the windshield to the crescent blood moon that lingers above us like the harbinger of all things evil. “No plan. I’m going in, and that’s that.”

  I stare at him. “You mean we go in.”

  “No,” he says. “You don’t have to do this.”

  “What are you sayin’, Alex?”

  “Jesse is my brother. My responsibility. You’ve paid your dues, Manda. We’re even.”

  I’ve never walked away from my magical responsibilities, and the second I had an encounter with Scarlet’s spirit, this became more than just a Rescue Jesse Mission. “You’re delusional if you think I’ll let you walk into this alone.”

  His eyes go wide and, I swear, for a spilt second he considers the Invasion of the Body Snatchers theory. “Manda, you said it yourself. Going against a bocor is suicide. Plus, we don’t even know if the cure works.”

  I can read people like open books, but Alex is a mystery I’ll never solve. One second he acts as if I’m the source of all evil, and the next he tries to keep me safe? His mood swings give me a fucking headache. “I can take care of myself, thank you very much. Now, if we’re done here, I’d like to kick some ass.”

  He blows out a frustrated breath. “I forgot how fucking stubborn you are.”

  I grab the physostigmine from my bag and draw it into the syringe. “Perks of being a Capricorn.”

  “This better work,” he grumbles.

  I yank the door open and smile. “No risk, no fun. Remember?”

  Millions of stars are sprinkled across the sky, and the scent of water and grass fills my lungs. It’s quiet and beautiful out here, but I’ve learned the hard way it ain’t all gold that glitters. The knot in my belly confirms this night is a fiasco in the making.

  “You coming or what?” Alex whispers, Beretta in one hand, doorknob in the other.

  I reach into my pocket, checking my belladonna root powder supply. If things go south, it might be our only shot at subduing Jesse. “All right.” I wipe sweaty hands on my jeans. “Let’s get this party started.”

  Stalking toward him, I say a little prayer, hoping the blood moon isn’t meant for us, but for the bastard of a bocor.

  Alex yanks the door open. Holding his gun cop-style, he blocks my path. “Stay here. I’m going to take a look around.”

  I’m ready to remind him I’m not one of the chicks in need of a savior, but Alex goes inside before I get a chance to open my mouth. In some bizarre Alex way, he means well, but no way in hell am I going to wait here like a chicken while he’s having all the fun.

  The scent of rotten meat tingles in my nose as I step over the threshold. It’s a nasty, sour smell. I have to hold my breath to endure that shit. Stumbling through the gloomy house, I find myself in the center of a small living room. No doubt in my mind this is the place of my vision. Murder. Rape. Incest. These walls have seen it all.

  Walking toward a small oak table, I scan the room. Old magazines, a moth-eaten daisy print sofa, decaying wooden floorboards—the place is a freaking mess. Judging by the thick layers of dust that cover everything, I’d say this house hasn’t seen a broom in ages.

  “What the hell?” I jump at the sound of Alex’s deep voice. Spinning around, I find him in the doorframe with his Beretta pointed at me. “I almost shot you, Amanda. Couldn’t you, for once in your life, do what you’re told?”

  “Sorry, dude. There are only three people I take orders from: me, me, and,” I grin, “oh yeah, me.”

  “You’re—”

  “Awesome?” I wave my hand in the air. “I know, but we’re not here to celebrate my awesomeness. Did you find anything?”

  He shoves the gun into his waistband. “Other than a few rats, the house is empty. Are you sure this is the place? No offense, but there’s not even a basement as far as I can tell.”

  There’s a vase with red roses on the dining room table, and a burning pain rushes through my ankh tattoo. “They’re here,” I whisper, stalking toward the flowers. “I feel it in my bones.”

  Alex’s aura turns insecure gray: he disagrees. “I’ve searched the whole house, Manda. Seems like no one has been here for a while,” he says, pointing to the moldy yellow wallpaper.

  He has a point, but sometimes you need to take a closer look. What the hell am I missing? “How about some spiritual assistance,” I snap at the ceiling.

  “Manda, I want to find them, too, but they’re not here.” Alex grasps my hand. “C’mon, let’s get outta here.”

  The burning pain of the tattoo shoots up my arm. “Please, Alex, you’ve got to trust me. I know they’re here. Look at the roses. They’re fresh.”

  Asking him to trust me probably wasn’t the smartest move, but despite his doubts, his aura changes into a soft I-want-to-bel
ieve-you blue.

  Tracing along a drawer, Alex coughs. “Damn, this place is a shithole. Dust everywhere.”

  Dust. That’s it. The magazines, the sofa, the table, everything is covered with thick layers of dust. Everything but the floor next to the filthy rug.

  “What are you doing’?” Alex asks, perplexed as I get on my knees and pull the rug away.

  “Don’t just stand there,” I snap. “Give me a hand.”

  He grabs the other side of the fabric and lifts. “Damn,” he says, glaring at the trap door in the floor.

  Knocking the dust off my hands, I get up. “Now do you believe me?”

  He pulls the door open and reaches for his gun. “I have to admit, having you around has its perks.” Throwing the flashlight my way, he meets my gaze. “Ready?”

  I grin. “After you, Buffy.”

  He tries hard to look annoyed, but a smile tugs at his lips. “Careful,” he warns, walking down the gritty steps. “The wood is rotten.”

  I switch the flashlight on and follow him down the rabbit hole. One hand on the cold, wet brick wall, I take each step with care, trying hard not to fall to my untimely death. Jeez, why the fuck don’t I own shoes without heels?

  Just when I’ve decided to buy a pair of Chucks, I stumble over a loose board and pitch forward. “Damn.” Alex catches me seconds before I learn how to fly without wings.

  It’s so dark down here, even with the flashlight, I can’t see a thing. I feel my heart beating in my neck when Alex stops me. “Wait.” Finger on the trigger, he scans the narrow hallway. “Do you hear that?”

  “Hear what?” I whisper.

  “Sounds like sobbing.”

  He’s right.

  He continues down the corridor, then stops dead in his tracks. “What the—”

  “What is it?” I ask.

  No answer.

  “Alex?” I push past him and freeze like a deer in the headlights.

  Dog kennels. Tiny fingers. Iron bars. Brown hair. Blonde hair. Black hair. Jesus freaking Christ. The bitter scent of fear crawls up my nose, clouding my brain like an opaque mist. In a trance-like state, I step closer.

  Soft whimpers penetrate the musty air. Heavy breathing vibrates in my ears. “Please don’t.” The broken voice of a little girl hits me like a fucking uppercut. “Not again,” she cries, terrified.

  Rushing to the first kennel in the line of many, I gawk at the child. She’s barely ten. Cowering in the corner of her prison, she weeps silently. I’m not sure how I’m still able to speak, but I wrap my fingers around the iron bars and say, “Sweetheart, look at me.”

  Her nails dig into the ripped fabric of her oversized shirt. “No, no, no.” Head resting on her knees, she rocks back and forth. “Please don’t hurt me again.”

  I stare at her, a piece of my soul breaking each time she begs for mercy. “Baby girl, you gotta look at me. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m here to help.”

  Her head slowly moves. Blue eyes gaze at me. Half dead, half alive. “They’re coming back,” she whispers when she realizes I’m not one of them. “Please help us.”

  “I will,” I assure her, fiddling with the lock on the kennel door. “Alex, how about a little help?” Jeez, what is wrong with him? “Damn, Alex.” I look up. “Help me!”

  Unable to move, he glares at me. No, wait. He’s looking behind me.

  “Alex, what the—”

  The little girl’s eyes go wide with fear as strong arms wrap around me, lifting me from the ground. I try to kick the bastard who holds me in a death grip, but I’m being crushed by a freaking ball python.

  “L-let her go, Jesse,” Alex stammers, hands shaking, gun pointed in my direction.

  Gun plus trembling generally equals accidently pulling the trigger. Struggling to free myself, I reach for the belladonna root in my pocket, but Jesse pulls me tighter against him, suffocating me.

  “Jesse, c’mon, man. Let her go,” Alex pleads with him, but reasoning with a brainless zombie is pointless.

  Gathering the last resources of strength, I push back into his chest. “Let. Me. Go,” I yell, stomping on his instep

  Completely unaffected, Jesse tightens his grip. Hell, I can hear my ribs cracking as a sharp pain slices through me. I think I’ll need to see a doctor. If I survive, that is.

  “This ain’t you, bro’. You don’t want to hurt her. She’s your friend.” Determination and worry sharpens Alex’s voice.

  “This isn’t,” I can hardly finish the sentence, “your brother.”

  Alex looks from me to Jesse. “What the hell am I supposed to do?”

  “C…Cu…C…” I can’t form a coherent sentence. I pant for breath, but it’s useless. Kinda weird how we never appreciate things until we lose them.

  “Manda,” Alex screams, his index finger pressed against the trigger of his Beretta.

  Our eyes lock. Fear swirls around him like a freaking tornado, and his eyes are darker than ever. “Manda, I—” His lips move, but the pounding in my ears drowns out every other sound.

  My heartbeat slows.

  I’m going to die again.

  Damn, must be a new freaking record.

  Chapter 23

  A high-pitched sound vibrates through the corridor, and Jesse loosens his grip. I plummet to the ground like a bagful of old clothes. Agonizing pain shoots through every bone in my body as I hit the hard floor. The flesh on my kneecaps tears from the impact, spilling fresh blood on the cold cement.

  “Amanda!” I barely hear Alex through the ringing in my ears. Gasping for air, I look up, vision blurred, head swimming from lack of oxygen. After blinking several times, Alex’s worried face finally takes shape.

  His warm hand wraps around my arm. “You okay?” He pulls me away from Jesse, hovering above me.

  Cracked ribs, bleeding knees, and aching bones. “Peachy.”

  The barrel of his Beretta pointed at his obedient zombie brother, Alex’s alluring eyes plead with me. “You gotta get up, Manda.”

  I look over my shoulder. Jesse is motionless. Red spots blight his once flawless skin. His pupils are dilated, and the white in his eyes resembles the colors of hell.

  Pressing my right hand against my ribcage, I try to get on my feet, but fail miserably.

  “Fuck,” Alex cusses, never taking his eyes off Jesse. “Get on your feet, Amanda.”

  What the hell does it look like I’m trying to do? Under zombie-boy’s scrutiny, I reach for Alex’s shoulder and lift myself up. My ankh tattoo burns like crazy, but what really freaks me out is I feel the bocor. His presence fills the place with a dark, almost demonic atmosphere.

  “He’s here,” I whisper, leaning against Alex to steady myself. “The bocor is here.”

  Like a hawk, Alex scans the room. “Where?”

  Prolonged applause echoes off the walls. A fraction of a second later, a tall lean figure steps out of a shadowy corner at the far end of the corridor. “They were right,” he says. The French accent is unmistakable. “You truly are gifted.”

  Alex shields me with his body. “Stay right there,” he yells, index finger anchored to the trigger of his Beretta.

  Disregarding Alex, Francoise or whatever the hell his name is, laughs the warning off and comes straight toward us. Creepy voodoo symbols cover his skin, but his white shirt and jeans make him look like a fucking physician. “A hunter protecting a witch, and here I thought I had seen it all.”

  Alex’s jaw hardens. “Are you deaf? I said don’t fucking move.” No doubt lingers in my mind Alex will pull that trigger, but Francoise uses Jesse as cover and the possibility of accidently shooting his brother leads to hesitation.

  Hiding behind Jesse, the bocor’s barbarous laughter floats through the eerie corridor. “Do you really think I’m afraid of your gun? Puny creature, don’t you know who I am? I am Baron Samedi. Death is my guardian.” The sound of the bastard’s voice makes kids in the kennels flinch. Their fear permeates the musty air.

  “Yeah, well, for a guy
who isn’t afraid of guns, you sure as hell know how to put someone else in the line of fire,” Alex says, pointing to his brother, who stands there like a living shield.

  “Oh please, Monsieur Remington,” the bocor says, resting a hand on Jesse’s limp shoulder. “Don’t be so melodramatic. I assure you, your brother thoroughly enjoys his new life.” The bocor’s black eyes lock with mine. “I’m curious, though. Tell me, Mademoiselle Bishop. Why would a reckless witch like you help a man like him?” He grins. “From all I’ve heard, you’re the rotten apple in a line of powerful white witches. Not exactly a role model for selflessness.”

  Playing the family card, hm? That’s pretty lame, even for psycho-voodoo-priest standards. Barely able to stand, I push past Alex and put on my best fake smile. “What can I say? I’m always up for some bocor ass kicking.”

  “I see.” He tilts his head to the side. “Well, despite your attitude problem, you should hear me out. I’m going to make you a one-time-only offer.”

  “Your head on a silver platter?” I ask, the pain from my broken ribs making me sweat.

  He throws his hands in the air and laughs. “No, chéri. I’m offering you a way out. Walk away from this, and I shall spare your life.” His gaze moves to Alex. “You wouldn’t risk your life for such a pitiful creature as him, would you?”

  “Says the guy who works for a pedophile,” I spit.

  His eyes narrow on me. “I don’t judge my clients, chéri. They pay. I serve. You of all people should know how this works. From what I’ve heard, you’re much like me.”

  “I’m nothing like you.”

  “Oh really?” he says, running his bony fingers over Jesse’s face. “That’s not what your friend here said. You see, after I turned him into my puppet, he was eager to tell me all about the witch that,” he makes quotation marks in the air, “ruined his brother.”

  Ruined. There’s that word again. Why does everyone believe I fucked Alex up? I wasn’t the one who pointed a gun at his head, threatening to blow his brains out just because he was a witch-hunter.

  “They are hunters, chéri. They don’t care about you or your life. To them, you’ll always be a freak of nature, and to protect their own, they’ll kill you without hesitation.” His charcoal eyes bore into me. “Walk away and I will spare your life. You have my word.”