Moonlight Mile

by Catherine Hapka

  Nina knew that wasn’t true. Yes, Freckles was a terrific, well-trained horse. Maybe he was even smart and experienced enough to listen to the announcer during the flat class and change gaits as commanded. But even Freckles couldn’t read a course map and then steer his way through the jumps in the right order!

  She didn’t bother to point that out, though. Jordan wouldn’t pay any attention anyway.

  “So listen,” Nina said instead. “I found out something interesting yesterday from Kim. It’s about Serena.”

  “Really? I thought Kim was way too practical to believe in Serena,” Jordan said.

  Nina laughed. “What do you mean? She has no choice to believe in her—everyone agrees Serena was a real person.”

  “Okay, you know what I mean.” Jordan smiled. “She doesn’t believe in the haunting stuff and all the rest.”

  Nina didn’t respond to that. “Anyway, now I guess I can prove she was real in case anybody has any doubts,” she said. “Because Kim says Serena’s buried in St. Louis Cemetery.”

  Jordan glanced over, looking surprised. “You mean the St. Louis Cemetery?”

  “Uh-huh.” Nina nudged Breezy with one heel to steer him around a fallen tree branch on the trail. “Isn’t that cool?”

  “Yeah.” But Jordan wasn’t paying much attention anymore. She was peering ahead, her expression concerned.

  Nina looked that way too. They were approaching an open grassy area. Half a dozen little kids were shrieking and running around. Nina saw a ball fly out and across the path, with all the kids in hot pursuit.

  “Looks like a game of keep-away or something,” she commented.

  Jordan looked tense. “Do you think Freckles will spook if that ball comes too close?” she said. “Maybe we should turn around and go back the other way.”

  For a second the image of Breezy spooking at that cat and mouse flitted through Nina’s mind. But she immediately banished the thought. That had been a once-in-a-­lifetime thing—the extra excitement of the show combined with bad luck.

  “Don’t be ridic,” she told Jordan lightly. “Neither of these guys is going to bat an eye at something like that. They’re city ponies, remember?”

  “I guess you’re right.” Jordan still looked nervous, but she took a deep breath and kept her horse at Breezy’s side as the two equines walked on.

  When the girls reached the lawn, the kids were halfway across squabbling over something. None of them even glanced at the horses.

  “Good,” Jordan muttered. “Let’s get through here before they come back this way.”

  “Chill out,” Nina said with a laugh. “They could bounce that ball off Freckie’s head and he still wouldn’t—”

  Before she could finish, one of the kids let out a shout. There was the sound of a foot connecting solidly with rubber, and a moment later the ball came flying toward them.

  Nina tensed, waiting for Breezy to spook as he’d done at the show. But all her pony did was glance at the ball as he ambled on.

  Whew! Nina relaxed, smiling at her own reaction. See? I was right—it was just the crazy show atmosphere making Breezy edgy before. Now he’s back to being his normal, perfect self.

  She leaned forward to give him a pat. Meanwhile one of the little kids was racing over to retrieve the ball, chased by one of his friends.

  “I’ll get it!” the first kid yelled.

  “No, me!” the second cried, spurting past the first and kicking it before his friend got there.

  “Hey, careful!” Jordan exclaimed as the ball rolled toward the horses.

  It bounced off Freckles’s leg; he jumped but then stayed still. Then the ball rolled under Breezy’s right forefoot just as he was taking a step.

  “Watch it, Breeze-man,” Nina exclaimed as her pony stumbled.

  Breezy tried to catch himself, but the ball shot out and hit his other foreleg, causing him to stumble again—and this time land heavily on his knees. Nina was tossed forward onto his withers, where she scrabbled to hold on to his mane and neck. But it was no use—as her pony struggled to regain his feet, she felt herself slipping sideways. . . .

  “Oof!” she grunted as she hit the ground, landing on her hip and one arm.

  “Nina!” Jordan yelped. “Oh my gosh, are you okay? Nina?”

  “I’m fine,” Nina gasped, the wind knocked out of her by the fall. She rolled aside as Breezy finally managed to scramble back to his feet. He stood there, breathing hard and looking confused.

  The little kids had already grabbed their ball and run away without a backward glance. Nina glared after them as she climbed to her feet and grabbed Breezy’s dangling reins.

  “Are you hurt?” Jordan sounded almost hysterical. “Should I call nine-one-one?”

  Nina glanced over, realizing that her friend had her cell phone in her hand with one shaky finger hovering over the keypad. “No!” she said. “I’m totally fine. I didn’t even hit my head.” She touched her riding helmet, then brushed some dirt off her pants. “It’s no big deal.”

  It wasn’t—at least that was what Nina was trying to tell herself. She was fine, and so was Breezy. And it wasn’t as if she’d never fallen off before. When she’d first learned to ride, she used to joke she spent more time on the ground than in the saddle. That was a slight exaggeration, of course—thanks to her years of dance training, Nina had excellent balance. But those years of dance had also taught her to be physically fearless when trying new things, and she’d come off often enough to get over any fear of falling she might have had.

  But this was different. Breezy never stumbles, she thought uneasily. Isn’t it kind of strange that he did—just when I was thinking how perfect he was? Just when I was convincing myself that the whole Serena thing was a figment of my imagination?

  “Do you want me to call the stable?” Jordan still had her phone in her hand. “Or should I get off and hold him while you catch your breath?”

  “No, I’m good.” Nina checked her girth, then walked Breezy a few steps to make sure he really was okay. He seemed fine, so she swung back into the saddle. She forced a smile as she glanced over at Jordan. “I’ll just tell Great-Aunt Serena not to let it happen again,” she quipped.

  Jordan gasped. “Do you think Serena had something to do with this?” She didn’t give Nina a chance to respond. “Of course she did! Duh, I totally should’ve realized it myself. Oh, Nina—this is getting really scary now! What are you going to do?”

  “Do?” Nina gave Breezy a nudge to start him walking. “I’m going to finish this trail ride, that’s what I’m going to do.”

  “No, I’m serious!” Jordan urged her horse forward to catch up. “You have to do something about this Serena situation before it gets even worse. I mean, you could be in danger, you know?”

  Nina rolled her eyes, trying not to shiver at her friend’s words. “What am I supposed to do? Call someone in to do an exorcism?”

  “Maybe,” Jordan replied seriously. “Or maybe you need to look into this whole voodoo thing, you know? Maybe there’s someone who could help you, like, banish Serena’s evil spirit or something.”

  Nina rolled her eyes again. “Please.”

  “No, listen, this could seriously work.” Jordan stared at her. “If voodoo is what’s giving Serena the power to hurt you, maybe you need to fight fire with fire!”

  “Let’s not get crazy here,” Nina said firmly. “I’m not hurt, okay? And I’m pretty sure the whole Serena thing is all in my head.”

  Jordan cocked her head. “Pretty sure?”

  “Totally sure,” Nina corrected. “Anyway, like I was saying, I just found out she’s buried in St. Louis Cemetery. I think I’ll go there and see her grave—maybe talk to her a little, apologize for using her life for a silly costume.” She smiled. “Put my mind at ease. Psychology, not voodoo, you know?”

  Jordan looke
d unconvinced. “I guess it’s worth a try. Do you want me to come with?”

  “Sure, that would be great,” Nina said. “I might not believe in ghosts, but it’s still kind of creepy being in a cemetery all alone.”

  “Not that you’re likely to be alone at St. Louis,” Jordan pointed out. “You’ll probably be fighting hordes of tourists to get to Serena’s grave.”

  Nina laughed. “True. Come on, let’s get these guys back to the barn, and we’ll head up there right away.”

  Twenty minutes later, Breezy and Freckles were back in their stalls eating hay and the two girls were heading for the exit. On the way, they passed one of the grooms. He called out a greeting.

  “Where are you two off to?” he asked with a grin. “Looks like you’re in a hurry.”

  “St. Louis Cemetery,” Nina replied. “We, uh, want to check it out. Um, school project?”

  The groom glanced at his watch. “Hope it’s not due tomorrow,” he said. “Because St. Louis closes at three, and it’s past four thirty now.”

  “What?” Nina traded a glance with Jordan. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. My brother used to be a tour guide there.”

  “Oh.” Nina’s shoulders slumped. “Okay, thanks. You just saved us a trip.”

  As the groom hurried off, Jordan stared at Nina. “The voodoo shops stay open late,” she said. “And I know one we could try—it’s a real one, not one of the junky tourist traps. We could go over there right now.”

  “That’s okay,” Nina said with a smile. “We’ll just hit up the cemetery right after school tomorrow.”

  “See anything?” Jordan asked.

  Nina was peering at yet another half-illegible slab of stone. “Not yet,” she said, straightening up. “I can’t really read this one, but the date of birth definitely doesn’t match.”

  She looked around. It was Friday afternoon, and she and Jordan were deep in St. Louis Cemetery, surrounded by a maze of crypts and mausoleums. In New Orleans the water table was very high, which meant most burials were aboveground. St. Louis Cemetery looked more like a miniature city of marble and stone than a regular burial ground.

  The two girls had come straight there from their respective schools, but that didn’t leave them much time to search for Serena’s name. It was almost three o’clock, and most of the tourist groups that had been there when the girls arrived had already disappeared.

  “I should’ve asked Dad if he knew exactly where Serena’s grave is,” Nina muttered as she hurried to the next crypt in line, a modest stone square discolored by moss. “Searching this place could take all night.”

  Jordan heard her and glanced over. “Don’t even think about it,” she said. “I am so not staying here after dark!”

  “I know, I was only kidding,” Nina assured her. She sighed and glanced around again. “I just wish we knew where to look.”

  She noticed a man walking down the path nearby. He’d passed them earlier at the head of a large group of tourists.

  “Hey, excuse me,” Nina called out, hurrying toward him. “Are you a tour guide?”

  The man peered at her over the tops of his spectacles. “Yes, I am,” he said. “But I’ve just finished the last tour of the day. The cemetery is closing momentarily.”

  “I know.” Nina shot him her most winning smile. “I just have a quick question, if that’s okay?”

  The man shrugged. “Sure, shoot.”

  “Someone told me I have a relative buried here,” Nina said. “Her name was Serena Peralt, and she lived around the time of the Civil War. Do you happen to know where her grave is?”

  “Serena Peralt?” The tour guide rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Can’t say I recall seeing that name here. Are you sure it’s this St. Louis Cemetery? There are two others.”

  “Yes, thanks, I know.” Nina bit her lip. “I’m pretty sure it’s this one. Are you positive you haven’t seen that name?”

  “Sorry,” the man replied. “I’ve been giving tours of this place for ten years, and I know just about every name in here by now. That one doesn’t ring a bell.”

  “Okay, thanks anyway.” Nina watched the man hurry off toward the exit.

  Jordan joined her. “So now what?”

  “I don’t know.” Nina sighed. “Kim was positive that Serena was in this St. Louis Cemetery. But she said she hadn’t seen the grave herself—maybe she’s wrong and it’s one of the others after all. I can ask my dad if he knows.”

  “Okay,” Jordan said. “But listen, in the meantime we’re pretty close to that voodoo shop I was telling you about yesterday. Want to check it out? You know . . . just in case?”

  “Just in case what?” Nina said. “Just in case I actually start believing in voodoo?”

  “Come on,” Jordan wheedled. “If you don’t believe in it, then what can it hurt? We can just talk to the owner of the shop—see what she thinks. My neighbor says she’s the real deal. Not just someone trying to make a buck off the tourists, but a genuine voodoo priestess, you know?”

  Nina couldn’t help being intrigued by the thought of meeting a real voodoo priestess—even if she didn’t actually believe in voodoo. Besides, Jordan had been super supportive of her problems, and Nina felt bad for continuing to poo-poo her help.

  “What the heck,” she said with a smile. “Like you said, it’s worth a try. Lead the way to the voodoo shop.”

  A few minutes later they were pushing open the rattling front door of a tiny storefront a couple of blocks outside the French Quarter. The street was dusty and all but abandoned, populated with narrow, shabby shotgun houses and a liquor store and a convenience shop on the corner.

  “Nice neighborhood,” Nina said with a snort. “I can’t believe the tourists don’t come here.”

  “If they knew about this place, they would,” Jordan said. “I told you, the woman who owns it is the real thing.”

  Nina didn’t respond as she followed Jordan into the shop, which smelled of herbs and mildew. The place was just as narrow as every other building on the block, but the ceilings were high, and the packed shelves lining both walls gave the shop a claustrophobic feel. Nina glanced at the nearest shelf and saw books, candles, voodoo dolls, jars of herbs, and various other items she couldn’t identify.

  The woman behind the counter glanced up when the girls entered. She was tall and very thin, with high cheekbones, wide-set eyes, and dark skin. Her angular frame was wrapped in a multicolored shawl with a long fringe.

  “Welcome,” she said in a deep, sonorous voice with a faint West Indian lilt. “I am Madame Marceline, the proprietor of this shop. How may I assist you young ladies this fine day?”

  Nina opened her mouth, ready to tell the woman they were just browsing. But Jordan stepped forward. “Actually,” she said before Nina could speak, “we’re looking for information about voodoo, because my friend here thinks her ancestor might be haunting her. . . .”

  She went on to tell the woman all about Serena. After a while Nina shrugged and joined in, curious to hear what Madame Marceline might say about the old family legend. If nothing else, it would make a fun story to tell at that night’s family dinner.

  When they finished, Madame Marceline nodded slowly, looking thoughtful. “Fascinating,” she said, staring at Nina. “It’s always enlightening to meet someone with such deep roots in this city. Such deep, interesting roots. So you think this Serena is fixated on you and causing your recent problems, hmm?”

  “Well . . .” Nina hesitated, not wanting to lie and say she believed—especially if Madame Marceline herself truly believed in ghosts and voodoo and all the rest. It seemed disrespectful somehow.

  Luckily, the woman didn’t wait for a response before continuing. “As I see it, you have two options,” she said. “You could of course use evil voodoo to forcibly banish Serena’s spirit back to the netherworld. However, sinc
e she is your ancestor, you might not wish to use a dark spell on her, in which case you can try to mollify her spirit using the properties of good voodoo.”

  Nina didn’t believe in either kind of voodoo, but she could tell the woman was waiting for a response. “Good voodoo would be better, I guess,” she told her.

  “Yes, I thought you might feel that way.” Madame Marceline stepped over to one of the shelves behind the counter and grabbed something. “In any case, this voodoo doll should take care of it either way. I’ll also include a pamphlet with clear instructions for both options, all right? That way, if the good voodoo doesn’t work . . .” She let the comment trail off with a rather ominous grimace.

  “Um, thanks.” Nina accepted the doll and pamphlet, realizing she couldn’t back out now. She shot Jordan an annoyed look when Madame Marceline turned away to ring up the sale. This was definitely not how she’d planned to spend that week’s allowance.

  Soon she was stepping out of the shop with a small paper bag containing her new voodoo doll and everything she needed to use it. She took a deep breath of the city air, which smelled downright refreshing after the thick atmosphere of the voodoo shop.

  “There,” Jordan said as the door swung shut behind them. “Now at least you have something to try, right?”

  “Don’t be a goof,” Nina said. “I was just being polite back there. I’m not actually going to try to use voodoo to, like, banish Serena’s spirit or whatever.”

  Jordan looked disappointed. “Are you sure? Madame Marceline made it sound like it would definitely work.”

  “Yeah—if the ghost of Serena was real. Which she isn’t.” Still, Nina couldn’t help a slight shiver as she glanced over her shoulder at the voodoo shop.

  None of this is for real, she told herself. Is it?

  CHAPTER

  10

  AFTER TAKING THE STREETCAR BACK to their neighborhood, Nina and Jordan walked together as far as Coliseum Street, where they usually parted ways to head to their separate homes several blocks apart. When they reached the corner, Jordan glanced at the bag in Nina’s hand.