by Debra Kristi
“I want to feel that now,” I blurt.
“Some things cannot be rushed. Rest for now. We can talk all you want later, when you are feeling better.” She leads me to the stairs, clearly intending to usher me back to the bedroom.
“It sounds pretty noisy up there.” I tug toward the front room, away from the racket of men working, splitting the house into two. “Can I just crash in there?” I point to the sofa situated in front of the fireplace.
“You may crash anywhere you’d like in this house.”
“Thanks.” I meander over to the sofa and drop onto it like dead weight, curl in on my side, and close my eyes.
It’s Monday and I’m sick. I’m also across the Mississippi River from my coven meeting. I won’t see them today, and unless I gather the strength to call James, they won’t know why.
The phone rings. Grandma answers and murmurs several things I half hear. I twist and lean over the back of the sofa, peer through the adjoining room to where Grandma stands beside the phone.
“Calm down, Edith,” she says. “Belle is on the mend. She should be able to return this evening, after a solid day of rest.” Grandma falls silent. Listens. Nods.
I can’t decide if I am happy or sad about being forced to stay here for the day. After all, all my stuff is in Algiers with Mom. On the other hand, it’s a tiny break from Mom’s magickal-induced mood swings.
I slouch into the sofa.
Magick. It was magick that brought me here—not the small house in Algiers—when I wished to be home. Do I still consider Grandma’s house my home?
I breathe deep into my core and allow a hint of a smile to curl my lips.
Yes, I think I do. I really, really do.
My body succumbs to sleep with ease.
From a deep and heavy void, I am jostled awake. My eyes blink, blink the fuzz away, and I focus on Miri hovering over me. She’s retracting her hand from my shoulder. Bastian sits in the chair beside the fireplace, watching me.
“I’m off to school,” she says. “But I spoke to Phillip, and, assuming Grandma gives the okay, he’ll pick you up and drive you home when he gets off work. That will be somewhere in the four to five o’clock hour.”
I nod and close my eyes. A second later, they bolt back open, and I grab for Miri’s hand. Miss. But it’s enough to catch her attention. She turns and gazes down at me.
“I wanted to talk to you about Luna,” I say.
“Well… call me.” She flips her hand up to her ear in the universal telephone signal. “When you’re not so groggy, and we can talk all you want.” She grants me an all-solved smile and heads for the door.
I pass out and sleep like I’m in some sort of induced coma. Sleep until my grandma nudges my return into the conscious world.
“Phillip called,” she said. “He’s on his way over. How are you feeling? Are you feeling well enough for a ride home?”
I push myself upright. Nothing sways, gurgles, or rolls. In actuality, I feel pretty good. I stretch and crack my neck. “Yeah. I think I am. Thanks.”
“Okay, then.” She steps back so that I may stand, which I do. Leaving the blanket to fall into an unorganized puddle.
“Where’s Miri?” I ask.
“On Mondays, she starts late and goes long,” Grandma replies. “I washed and folded your clothes. Left them for you on the table. I noticed you had a few opened bags of spices in your jacket pocket. I secured them with ties. I’ll get a bag for you to carry everything.” She turns and heads toward the kitchen. “Can I get you anything?” She calls over her shoulder.
My stomach growls in response.
Food, in moderation, sounds good. Wow. Grandma’s magickal cure really worked wonders. I follow her to the kitchen and pop a piece of bread into the toaster. Finish a full glass of water while I wait.
Grandma puts my cleaned clothing into a brown shopping bag and together we wait for Phillip in silence.
“The bokor,” Grandma starts to say.
“I know, Grandma. I promise you I’ll be safe, and smart.” I lean against the kitchen counter and stare out the window on the other side of the dining room. Jerk at the sound of the side gate slamming shut.
Circling the table to get a better view out the window, I spy Phillip’s truck parked along the curb. Phillip appears from the back courtyard with my bike and drops it into the truck bed. Turns and waves at me. I wave back. Say my goodbyes to Grandma and Bastian, grab my bag of stuff, and head outside to meet him.
Within minutes, we are on the road, heading to Algiers by way of U.S. Highway 90.
“How’s the whole firefighter thing working out for you?” I ask.
“It’s going pretty good. I really like the guys, and I am learning a lot.” Phillip drives with one hand on the wheel and the other resting along the door. “I’m glad, now, that I took the time to get my AA in fire science. It’s really given me the edge over the guys coming in with their GEDs or straight from high school.”
“Yeah?” I stare at the traffic moving ahead of us. I remember when Phillip decided to commit to the two-year degree. Originally, he had planned on applying for the position after completing his senior year. But after considering the lifespan of such a job, he decided an associate degree would help him move up the chain of command when fighting fires was no longer viable for him.
“Yeah,” he quips. “So, this wedding thing is coming up in a little over a month,” he continues.
“I’ve heard rumors to that effect.” I, too, rest my arm against the window and smile.
“I was hoping you might help me with something?” He glances at me, then back to the road.
“Hit me,” I say, telling him to ask away.
“As much as I would like to gift Miri a diamond necklace or diamond earrings as my groom’s gift, it really isn’t in my current budget. The wedding is leaving us both a little strapped for cash.” He moves his left hand to the steering wheel and rakes his right hand through his hair.
“Plus, you need to save for the baby,” I add.
His head snaps to me. “She told you?”
I deliver a smirky half laugh. “I guessed. We’re sisters. She can’t keep secrets from me.”
“Is that so?” He returns his attention to the surrounding traffic.
“Yep.” I nod, once sharp. “Anyway, you were saying?”
“Yeah, so, anyway,” he says. “Like I said, I can’t afford much, so I was wondering if you thought it would be corny if I wrote her a series of special notes to be opened leading up to our big hour?”
I mull over his gift choice for a moment and don’t respond right away. One cannot run out to a store and pick up a ready-made memo. Notes require thought and time, and the end product is one filled with sentiment, worthy of revisiting many times over the ages.
“Too lame?” he asks, clearly allowing his insecurity to get the better of him.
“Actually, I think it’s the perfect gift.” I turn to face him. The tension eases from his face, and the tiniest of smiles pulls at the edge of his lips. “Maybe even include one for the baby.”
His small smile widens. “Great idea, Belle. Thanks.”
“Anytime, bro.” I lightly sock him in the arm. He chuckles. “I think I’m going to like having you in the family.”
“Right back atcha.”
“Oh…” My finger jumps to an added point. “And include a chocolate fudge cupcake with one of the notes. Just not a day-of note.”
“Noted,” he puns.
Once we’re across the Mississippi River, we take the first exit, and Phillip starts maneuvering the streets until he pulls up in front of the little house I share with Mom.
“Thanks for the ride.” I open the door and jump out. Move to retrieve my bike, but Phillip is quick and beats me to the action.
He lifts my bike out of the truck bed and sets it on the ground. Wheels it around to the sidewalk. “Where do you want it?”
“Just inside the backyard.” He wheels the bike down the side of the house and pushe
s it inside the gated yard. “Thanks, again,” I say, holding the gate for him. “See ya around.”
“Definitely.” He returns to his truck. Letting the gate self-close, I circle around to the front door.
Mom is waiting for me and, at the sound of my entry, jumps from her seat on the sofa. The television is airing some crime show. She pushes the off button on the remote.
“What happened?” She throws her arms around me. “Ruth said you were sick.”
It’s so odd hearing Grandma called by her name that it takes me a moment to realize who my mom is talking about. “Food poisoning,” I say, even if Grandma told me it was something more. Mom doesn’t need to know that.
“Well, I’m glad you are feeling better.” She releases me and steps back. “Your friends called, while you were out.”
“Which ones?” I set my bag of clothing on the coffee table and move past Mom, heading for the kitchen, and the phone.
“All of them, I think,” she replies.
I pause. Spin back toward her. My eyes tensing with the need for clarity.
“I wrote their names down on the pad beside the phone.” She gestures toward the kitchen.
Guessing that’s the best answer I am going to get from her, I make my way to the kitchen and the pad of paper sitting on the counter. Scan the names written.
Luna, James, Jeanna, and Chuks. Who the heck is Chuks?
Chapter Nine
I don’t know any Chuks, so why would one be calling the house looking for me?
“Mom!” With the pad of paper in hand, I spin toward the front room and head for my mom, and—hopefully—answers.
Mom is leaning over the brown bag I brought back from Grandma’s, riffling through my clean clothes. She stands straight at my approach. In her hand, a tiny bag of spice. She releases it, letting it fall back into the bag. “What is it?”
“Who is Chuks and what did he want?” I wave the pad in my hand.
“Chuks?” She shakes her head, clear confusion warping her face. “I don’t recall any Chuks. Why do you ask?”
“Because you wrote his name down right here.” I present the notepad to her. She accepts and glances over the names.
“I don’t…” She blinks. “Oh. I think he might have said something about being an acquaintance of John and Luna. Who’s John, again?”
“James’s brother,” I blurt. My mind is racing. Someone who knows both John and Luna. Who could that possibly be, and why are they reaching out to me?
John and Luna. John and Luna. I think, think, think.
I suck back a deep, to my toes, breath.
The bokor! The bokor called my house.
Merciful soul eater!
“Did he say what he wanted?” I ask.
“If he had, I would have written it down.” She hands me back the notepad. There is no note written beside his name. Great. So, what message am I supposed to take from the fact he called? Is it a warning? Or something else?
I need to call Luna and make sure she’s alright. After that, I need to talk to James.
I return to the kitchen and lift the phone from the wall cradle. Pause. Stare deeper at the notepad. I think I see…
I flip the page. There, written on the second piece in the notepad is a note.
Little witches should keep their activities maintained within their own territory. Don’t jump the fence. Safety is never guaranteed, especially when playing outside of the lines.
A warning and a threat. Clearly from Chuks. Why didn’t I flip through the pad earlier? And why didn’t my mom remember taking the message?
What if the bokor has Luna? My breath snags, and my heart double thumps. What would I do? What could I do?
I dial Luna’s number. Her mom answers after the third ring. She calls for Luna, and the mere act somewhat calms my nerves. Luna is home. Luna is safe.
“I’m putting these back in your room.” Mom stands in the kitchen doorway, holding my clothing brought back from Grandma’s. “What is with the bags of spices?”
Later, I mouth and wave her off, silently approving her actions. She disappears down the hall.
“Belle.” Luna’s voice pulls my attention back to the phone. “How are you? I was so worried. You were so sick.”
“I’m good now. You’re the one I’m worried about.” I pace back and forth across the kitchen. I don’t tell her the men following us slipped me some sort of poison. She’s already stressed enough. But had the second cup of cocoa been tainted as mine had been? What if Luna had taken a sip? “Any further sightings of those guys who were following you?”
“No, but my father is at an all-time low last night, and I managed to get some information out of him,” she says. “It isn’t good.”
“Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out,” I counter.
“Maybe,” she continues. “But my dad apparently accepted some sort of favor from the local bokor, money or something, and now it’s past pay-up time. Only, he can’t because he doesn’t have the money.”
My grip on the receiver tightens. “And now the bokor is trying to use you to motivate your dad, isn’t he? Threatening you or something?”
“Not threatening, so much.” Her voice drops close to a whimper.
I stop in my tracks. Turn toward the phone hanging on the wall, as if I could see Luna through the connecting line. “Stinking bat dung! You know what the bokor wants from you, don’t you?”
“I do. He approached me last night, at my home.”
Falling witches! My eyes are wide and my voice, gone. Strangled in my chest. My body is rooting into place, waiting… waiting for Luna to drop the exploding toad.
She sighs, and in the simple sound I hear, sense her frustrations and fears. This thing with her father and the bokor has her scared. Probably more frightened than she has ever been. This world of magick and its dark side is new to her.
“He told me there is power in beauty. Even in his business. And with my beauty in his ranks, great things could be accomplished,” she says.
“What is that supposed to mean?” I blurt.
“He wants me to work for him.”
“Work for him how?” My voice spikes.
“I don’t know exactly, but my father showed up and refused the offer. Told C, that’s what my dad called him, that he couldn’t have my soul too.” Her breath hitches. “So, does that mean the bokor owns my dad’s soul? Like a pact with the devil?”
“I don’t know. My experience in the Quarter and with that type of magick is limited, but I promise you, we’ll figure it out. I won’t abandon you.” I recall her mention of a love spell and pray that isn’t what is motivating my actions. After all, I’m not in love with her… am I? I just like her. She’s my newest friend. Someone in clear need of help. And I never leave a friend in their time of need.
“Okay.” Her delivery lacks conviction.
I glance over at the calendar. “Thursday is the full moon,” I say. “The energies will be at their strongest then, making it the best time for more serious spell work. Do you think you could come over? We could meet up with James and Jeanna, perform a protection spell on you.”
“Yeah. I should be able to do that. What should I do in the meantime?” She lowers her voice for the delivery of her question, leading me to believe someone is in the room with her.
“Keep your head down and avoid the bokor and his men at all cost,” I say. “Also, keep me updated on any changes in the situation.”
“I will,” she promises.
I still need to call Jeanna and James so our continued conversation is short. Five minutes at the most and then we are saying our goodbyes.
With a push and a release of the switch hook, the phone is free for my next call. I dial Jeanna, knowing I’m more likely to be on the phone longer with James. I quickly update her on Luna’s situation and tell her I missed our meeting because I’d been poisoned by the bokor’s men.
She listens with unwavering intent. Gasping at all the appropriate mentions.
<
br /> “Thankfully my grandma cured me with a strong dose of magick,” I say. “Otherwise, who knows what would have happened. I might have died.”
“That’s horrible,” she exclaims.
“We need to do something to stop him.”
“But what? What do we do?” she asks.
“Did your mom reach out to Mrs. Flores, Luna’s mom?” I bite my lip in anticipation of Jeanna’s response.
“My mom is being difficult. She says we don’t have a solid reason to contact and pry into the business of someone we don’t know.” Jeanna huffs.
Under normal circumstances, I would agree with her, but this is a serious matter. How do we make Jeanna’s mom see that? “What do you suggest?”
“I don’t know,” she replies. “I’ve tried to explain the situation, but I’m kind of at a loss.”
“Okay.” I scratch my head. Rack my brain. “We’ll figure it out.” I feel like I’ve been saying that phrase a lot lately. I pray we really do figure it out, or… I don’t know. I don’t think I want to know what that “or” entails.
I twist my finger through the long curling phone cord. Pull the line straight. Direct my focus toward things currently within my control.
“Luna will be joining us for this Thursday’s full moon. Let’s pull together the strongest protection spell we can locate,” I say.
“What about your mom?” Jeanna asks.
“Oh, we’re still casting something to help her.” My free hand curls into a tight fist. “I just need another day with the books to figure out what that will be.”
“James and I will get on the protection spell so that you can dedicate your search for your mom’s needs,” she says.
“Are you sure?” I ask, and lean against the wall, twisting the phone cord around my finger, once more. “Isn’t there a spell you’d like to focus on for yourself this month?”
“I’m in pretty good shape,” she says. “I’ll be in better shape when my friends are good.”
“Thanks, Jeanna.” My chest warms. “Hey, can I ask you something?”
“Of course.” Her response suggests that my question is absurd.
“Do you think a love spell could bounce back with a creep follower factor?”
