Blue Bottle Tree

by Beaird Glover

  “This candle’s almost burned out. Come on.” I picked up the blue candle and led us out, down the hill, and to the nearest crossroads. Marie had told me what to do. I tossed the wax East to West in the intersection.

  Seven skipped up by my side. His sluggishness had evaporated and in its place was an excitable boy. “Why did you do that?”

  “To bring him spiritual rest.”

  “I don’t want him to have spiritual rest. Don’t you know what he did to me?”

  “Yes, Seven. I know. And it was awful. But if you or Marie put another curse on him, or kill him, or make him a zombie, it just keeps the cycle alive. We have to end it. If you don’t take the high road, which one will you take?”

  “I don’t care about the high road. I want to hurt him for what he did.”

  “You’re too focused on revenge. You know what this is all about?” I was surprised at myself, lecturing. “It’s about revenge. Hate. And hate is Victor’s way. Isn’t that right? Why were you so afraid of toads? Toads!”

  “I had a dream, or …it was a nightmare. It was about that time, me and Mad Dog…”

  “Yes, I know. And you feel guilty.”

  “So?”

  “You shouldn’t have done that to the toad. It was a dumb experiment. But you learned from your mistake. That means you stop doing cruel shit. Like whatever you and Marie are cooking up for Victor on Saint John’s Eve.” His brow came down again. “Come on, Seven. Maybe it’s not too late.”

  “Oh, Penny Longstocking. I can’t believe you’re such a cornball.”

  “No, it’s true. It’s time you put on the brakes. I want you to forgive Victor Radcliffe, and then maybe you can forgive yourself.”

  “And find the peace within?” His sarcasm had definitely revived.

  “Something like that.”

  “Yeah, but it’s not so easy to just forgive and forget when somebody murders you and turns you into their zombie slave.”

  “You weren’t one hundred percent dead. Don’t stir up dried cow shit.”

  “Did my grandmother teach you that?”

  “Among other things. Voodoo’s great, but it’s not just curses and bad stuff. It’s also real protection from dangerous things, and people working together doing good. You know that. It’s the way rural communities in Haiti have survived for all these years.” He shook his head like I could not possibly know anything about Haiti or Voodoo. “National Geographic, obviously.”

  “I’m worried about my mom. I think she’s getting worse.”

  “Has she seen a doctor?” We had walked almost back to my house. I was a little disappointed to see my dad’s car there. I had been thinking I might sneak Seven up to my room.

  “About the curse? No. Why would she do that?”

  “Maybe there’s another explanation. Like my anemia, and Lyme disease. I thought those were curses.” He paused as I opened the door, like there was something else he wanted to say. He could have wrapped his arms around me, but he turned instead.

  He did take Louisa to the doctor and a full battery of tests were done. A week later she was diagnosed with Huntington’s disease. It was a crippling condition, a breakdown of nerve cells that presented with psychotic features—extended periods of depression, manic episodes and movement disorders. It was genetic, and it explained the family curse. Her doctor prescribed antidepressants and her spirits improved. She didn’t get possessed again. It was an astonishing remission, a case study the doctors had never seen. First a boy with a hoof, then a dead one returned from the grave, and now this. Bellin took on the reputation as a place where miracles and medical oddities thrived. The townspeople shook their heads, and whatever was really going on, they felt it safer not to know. Marie said they parted the way for her when she walked in town, and that no uninvited guest ever ventured down Jack Rabbit Lane again.

  30 That Time…When I Was Dead

  Saint John’s Eve came around and we were in Marie’s yard, a bonfire burning in front of the blue bottle tree. “Do you think Victor will be here?”

  “Water always runs to the river,” Marie said. She was under the willow, taking one bottle down after another, waving them in the air and lining them in a row.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Setting souls free. The loa will take them home tonight.” She swirled a bottle like there was fine wine in it. “Poof!” she said, and her fingers popped open. Gold bracelets jingled on her arms.

  Louisa chatted with another nurse from the hospital. She had been offered her job back and now she was catching up on gossip and people she used to know. She looked happier than I had ever seen her.

  The summer sun melted orange in the distance and a few minutes later the blue horizon crushed into night. Lightning bugs flashed like tiny strobes in chaos. A black limousine pulled up with Mad Dog driving, wearing a chauffeur’s hat. He opened the door for Velvet and helped her out. She had squeezed herself into an obscene sequined evening dress with the neck line plunging so far she would probably be falling out of it all night.

  Not really knowing how it worked, Mad Dog then offered his hand to Victor, who whacked it away with his hoof. Victor was dressed in his Baron Samedi tuxedo with long coat and tails. Out of the car, he fitted his top hat on and twirled a white-tipped cane. Mad Dog shut the door and trailed the gorgeous couple from a distance. More cars followed in, processions arriving in twos and threes, many with Louisiana plates and dozens of partygoers pouring out.

  Marie had donned a necklace of snake vertebrae and feathers, and dazzling gold hoop earrings. Even more bracelets jangled up and down her arms. Her hair was wrapped up in a cloth tignon and she danced in circles, chanting. “Bring the pot!” she yelled and a cauldron was hung over the bonfire. Water was poured to boil. If they were about to throw live snakes and animals in there, I was definitely leaving.

  Victor and Velvet mingled easily, and it seemed understood that they were guests of honor. My own suspicions were that this would not end well for Victor. I gathered that the others were all descendants of the other children of Marie Laveau, and only Victor was unaware of what was going to happen to the goat without horns.

  Presently a group of drummers appeared with various-sized percussion instruments and they played. Women on the outskirts swayed their hips and shoulders without thinking, barely moving their feet at all. They closed their eyes and the rhythms amplified through them.

  It seemed so easy, that I could close my eyes and let go too. Stop thinking why and who might be watching or ashamed if I did it wrong. The other women didn’t care who was watching. They did not seem conscious of themselves at all. Their bodies flowed like waves, rising and falling, arms to hands to fingers expressing what the rhythms meant. It was perpetual motion, not personal or reasoned. Like energy and not the act. Marie held court and everyone followed her lead.

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, was just going to let it all go, and then I felt someone behind me. Seven tapped my shoulder. I said, “I wondered what happened to you.”

  “I’ve been around.” He eyed Victor, Velvet, and Mad Dog, suspicious of them and they were glancing our way, too.

  “What do you think is going to happen?”

  He shrugged his shoulders.

  “Marie looks gorgeous.” He had taken my hand, a pretty bold move for Seven, and he led me to a quiet area, away from the prying eyes of the threesome.

  We stopped and he seemed anxious. “What? What’s going on, Seven?”

  “I just wanted to tell you something.” His eyes cut and he put his hands on his hips, behind his back, couldn’t find a place for them.

  I stepped up to him. “Is it a secret?” I whispered, and kept my lips close to his ear, let a breath linger there. I could have wrapped myself around him and stuck my tongue down his throat. Which is exactly what I wanted to do, but this was his moment. There was something he needed to say.

  “You know that time …when I was dead?”

  “Yes, Seven. How could I forg
et? I actually went to your funeral. And cried.”

  “You missed me?”

  “Well, of course I did. You’re a weirdo. But you’re my weirdo.”

  “Oh, Penny Longstocking. I didn’t know you cared.”

  Smug little freak show. Was he never going to get it? “Do I?”

  “Yes.” His eyes pierced mine and I held back a gasp. “When I was …dead, I was losing a little more and a little more all the time. Every minute or every hour, whatever it was, there was just less. Less of me. Less thinking, more space. The emptiness was getting bigger, it was darker, and there was nothing in the way. But I remembered that time when we were kissing and it snowed. You had told me about frostbite, and then…”

  “I remember. You were keeping me warm. It was nice, Seven. I remember.”

  “Well, I just wanted you to know. I was thinking about that, and it helped me stay alive.”

  He pulled me off my feet in a bear hug like there was no tomorrow, and held me like that. I was enveloped by him and we kissed. He felt so good and I wondered why I had been waiting so long to do this. I pressed my whole body closer to him, ran my fingers through his hair.

  A moment later I came back down to earth and the drumbeat was louder. I opened my eyes and our lips parted. Velvet, Victor, and Mad Dog were standing around us in a semicircle, enjoying the show. “He’s not dead yet, is he?” Victor said.

  “He’s almost acting like a man,” Velvet joined him.

  “He’s trying to be a, trying to…”

  Victor swatted him. “Shut up, Mad Dog.”

  From across the yard, Marie was glowing in the light of the bonfire, and she beckoned to me. I squeezed Seven’s hand and he squeezed back, smiling. Marie seemed to want me near her and he motioned that I should go.

  The dancers were more intense now. They swayed and shimmied to the ground, came up with hands twirling in the air. They took burning sticks from the pit and chomped embers, blew out showers of sparks. Flames licked around the cauldron, burning brighter. They danced and I danced. With abandon. I freed myself of inhibitions that had kept me separated from the world, and I became greater. I was not shackled to my past. I was not required to know the future. I was a comet ripping the night sky. I was the ray of light that traveled thousands of years to live a second. Electricity coursed through my veins. I was more than myself. I was alive and pulsing with everything. The drums got louder, savage and magnificent, beautiful. The beat surged higher and we danced faster. The chanting got louder. Everyone pressed together, intertwining with each other and embracing whoever was there, all embracing at once. The drumbeat climbed even more and we were all synchronized, moving as one in a wild and brilliant ecstasy.

  I needed Seven. He had to be there with me. He had to be part of this. I scanned the crowd and to the back of the yard where I had left him. They were doing it again. Velvet was teasing him with her lips puckered like she wanted a kiss too. Mad Dog had snuck around behind him, buckled his knees into Seven’s. Seven fell and Victor swung his hoof, knocking him for a spin. Then the drumming reached its peak and stopped. There was silence and from a great distance I heard the call of a bird. It echoed like we were in a canyon, like we were waiting for it. Whippoorwill. Whippoorwill. I understood then. It was giving its blessing, giving a command. Marie LaVey shouted, “Papa Legba, open the gate!”

  Memory fails but I was mounted, to say the least. Afterward, I tasted blood in my mouth. I was exhausted and exhilarated, spitting shards of hoof from my teeth. The ground was littered with the torn clothes of Baron Samedi and Velvet’s dress. Seven stood beside me, wiped a splatter of red mud from his face. He looked more satisfied than I had ever seen him. There were orange coals under the cauldron and it was empty. Misty dawn reached across the sky and Marie was nowhere to be seen. The ones who were still there grew silent, expecting something from me. I said, “Papa Legba, close the gate.”

  SNEAK PEAK at BOOK TWO: GRAPEVINE BOULEVARD

  1. Same As It Ever Was

  “Turn up, bad Penny.” He snorted. “Like my favorite parts of you do.”

  What an asshole. Hoof did not know where I was, but he knew I was close. Behind one tree or another, he scanned the forest while I only peeped. I thought he would feel my eyes if I focused on him. He would know without seeing. He would sneak around and pounce if I did not maintain a still and meditative silence, my mind apart from his. I could see the prison cell he had built of latticework and steel, all salvaged from the dump.

  “Come out, Penny Langston! You can’t hide anything from me!” He was seething.

  That he described my body parts with such familiarity made me shudder. He had drugged me a few weeks ago and I passed out. I don’t think anything happened, but that I had come here at all was a mistake. I should have known it was a trap.

  They described how terrified he was when I attacked him. I do not remember it, I do not remember it at all. They said I was possessed. They said I tore into his hoof like an animal. Ripping flesh from bone like a demon from another world.

  It happened the night of Midsummer’s Eve, and he believed he had won, he believed his hoof would be transformed into the normal hand of a normal young man that night. He was the triumphant bokor, an evil priest who had transcended his place among mortals, who had become a Voodoo king. He almost lost the hoof. That much was true, but as such a medical marvel, the surgeons were familiar with him, as was his own personal vet, so they reduced the broken bones, sewed tendons back together. He now wore a white plaster cast that reached up to his shoulder. He was on the mend and set to be good as new.

  The event itself left him with a sour taste. For me. I cannot say I blame him entirely, but some consideration should be given to the fact that it was not me. Sweet Penny Langston, redheaded jelly bean, too delicate for basketball, too tall for most boys. That Penny Langston was the real me. Not the maniac who almost killed the guy with a hoof for a hand.

  And I don’t know how it happened. They tell me it did. There was blood in my mouth. And shards like horn. He was long gone by then. Apparently, I showed mercy, or Seven had torn me off him. At any rate, Hoof was not the kind of guy to let stuff like that slide. He was the kind of guy to get you back twice as bad.

  Now it was a week later, and I had accepted a vague invitation to meet my estranged boyfriend Seven at the city dump. And here we were, Hoof and me. No Seven. Hoof had lured me out of the relative comfort of home and was stalking me. From one tree to the next. Even without seeing him, I could feel his beady eyes. Where once I saw sparkling, now I only saw sparks. Fire and rage and cruelty, meanness from the deep. Pretty blue eyes had turned colder than black ice.

  That he could kill me would be nothing. He had the capacity to do far worse. He taunted, sniffing the air. “Come out, Penny. It’s just me. No police. I’ve made sure of that. Wood chipper, I told them. Got the hoof mangled in a wood chipper, I said. Imagine that! This matter will be settled between only us.”

  As if I didn’t know. If the police were after me, I was not exactly hiding. My father, the prominent lawyer now running for mayor, had put up a billboard of our family at the edge of town. Just across from Jack Rabbit Lane, which seemed fitting. It was a real glamour shot, towering above Marie LaVey’s mailbox. She was the only person in Bellin who had any real power, even if most people did not know it. The billboard was of our whole family—happy and wholesome. My sister Ava and I wore ribbons in our hair. It read Welcome to Bellin, Nice People Live Here. And Hoof, otherwise known as Victor Radcliffe, would not just be embarrassed, he would be humiliated beyond measure if everyone knew I had almost chewed off his unusual limb.

  Few twenty-year-old men can file their nails to points and paint them black, and not look effeminate. Victor was one of them. He looked scary. He frequently painted his face white like a skull, with a jawbone, with teeth from ear to ear. Not just for Halloween, it was something he did just any old day. He made frequent visits to the graveyard for graveyard dirt, and he mixed up toxic potions i
n his dungeon, in his basement room. No doubt he had a concoction with him now to render me senseless.

  Trust me, Mad Dog had said. And I believed him. Maybe I was doing it for Ava. She had a crush on Mad Dog—wanted some quality time with her beloved. It was her birthday, July second, and she was turning ten years old. A big day in a girl’s life. And true to her zodiac cancer sign, her heart was full of love. Unfortunately, it was love for a sixteen-year-old idiot everyone called Mad Dog. He was willing to babysit from time to time and I don’t think he took her too seriously. But she wanted him there, and wanted me gone. Ava had arranged a nice tea for the occasion, and my mother even provided cupcakes.

  Mad Dog had directed me to the dump. He said Seven would be waiting. He said Seven wanted to see me. It sounded reasonable enough. It sounded plausible. I had not seen Seven since Midsummer’s Eve, and I missed him. It had only been a week, but he should have reached out. He should have called. But nothing. He was preoccupied with wilderness survival, his hobby/weird obsession of the moment. He spent days and even nights alone in the woods, not talking to anyone. Trying to make it on his own resourcefulness—meditating, looking within. And then Mad Dog said he wanted to meet me. At the dump.

  Here I was, and no Seven. One Victor. Typical. Mad Dog probably did not even know he was lying.

  Victor crept toward me. He knew. Quite possibly the extra spray of Beguile perfume was giving me away. Victor had a vial in his hand. He shook it and held it between his eye and the setting sun. It was greenish and he skewered the cork with his dagger of a fingernail. A wisp of smoke curled out. He was smug and tromping toward me. He corked the vial again and shook it roughly. I glanced from between the branches as he reared back his arm.