by Debra Kristi
Chapter Fourteen
Michael stumbles back against the dresser and wipes his brow. He stares at our mom like he’s never seen her before.
The protections of the house have completely undone my magick. And mom now kicks and convulses and screams at the top of her lungs.
“This isn’t going to go over well with your neighbors,” I say. “Plus, someone might actually call the cops.”
“She won’t be bothering anyone but us.” Grandma moves into the room and grins at my mom. “Scream all you want. No one will hear you. I made sure of it.”
Mom lunges forward and hisses. Grandma laughs.
Miri slips into the room and moves to Michael’s side. Wraps her arm around his.
“And to think, you may be to blame for all the issues I thought I was having with Edith.” Grandma shakes her head. “I told her you were no good for her, but she wouldn’t listen. But then, you already had your deformed claws in her by then, didn’t you?”
Bastian wanders into the room and freezes. Hisses and growls.
“Miri, could you take him out of here?” Grandma asks.
“Of course.” She steps forward and picks up the cat. He continues to hiss as he is escorted out.
“Come on.” Grandma turns around and gestures for Michael and me to exit.
“Where are you going?” Mom screams. “Come back here and untie me. Set me free.”
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Michael asks, glancing back at Mom.
“Keep going,” Grandma urges. She ushers us all into the hallway and closes the door. All Mom-related noises cease. “I spelled the room before you arrived,” she explains. “Anticipating her resistance and fight to be loud.”
“Good thinking.” Michael leans against the railing and heaves a heavy breath.
“What do we do now?” I ask.
“Tonight, we leave her alone. Let the house work on her, wear her down.” Grandma leans into her cane.
“You mean him?” I interject. “Caleb?”
“Yes.” Grandma tilts her head. “Caleb and any other attachments she might have clinging to her.”
“I don’t like the sound of that.” Miri steps out of Grandma’s room. Closing the door behind her. “I had to lock Bastian in your room for now.” She points over her shoulder. “He means serious business and really wants to get back in that room.”
Miri’s comment seems to pause Grandma with thought. A second later, she shakes herself into the now. “Miri, why don’t you show Belle the new sleeping arrangement? Michael, you come with me, and tell me everything you cast last night in regard to your mother.”
“That’s it?” I say.
“For now. Get some sleep. You’re going to need it,” Grandma says, ushering Michael toward the stairs.
“I have a funeral in the morning,” I blurt.
“Then you had best sleep fast,” she responds.
Right.
With Miri’s help, I pull my bike free from the trunk of Michael’s car and stash it in the back courtyard. Retrieving my duffle bag from the front entry, I carry it up to the third level where Miri’s made her room out of Michael’s old hangout. We’re to share a bed and that’s fine by me. At least the bed is bigger than the thin singles we used to sleep on years ago.
As exhausted as I am, my body refuses to give in to rest. I resort to magicking a dose of Chamomile into my system, and within minutes, I’m out. I wake in an almost refreshed state Saturday morning.
I’m alone in the bed. Miri is already up. Somewhere. I find her in the bathroom, succumbing to a bout of morning sickness. I opt to use the other bathroom, a level lower, to get ready. I slip into my black dress. It’s one of the few dresses I own. And I pull my hair into a curly bun with a ribbon.
Grandma is waiting in the kitchen for me, a cup of tea in hand. She offers it to me. “It’s peppermint,” she says. “Should help with the nerves on this stressful day.”
“Thanks.” I take a sip and welcome the slip of warm liquid down my throat. “It’s not like there isn’t enough stress right here at home.” Grandma nods. Sips from her own tea. “Your spell is amazing, by the way. I haven’t heard a peep out of Mom.” I glance up at the ceiling. Mom is in the room directly above us.
“Your mother is fine,” Grandma says. “You needn’t worry.”
“How do you know?” I ask and swallow another sip.
“For one, I just checked on her. And two…” She twists and points across the kitchen.
I blink and lean forward. Sitting on the counter is a baby monitor with an image of Mom in the room overhead. She’s sitting with her back against the headboard, slowly kicking her feet at nothing. I jerk back. “That’s pretty smart, Grandma.”
“I can be a pretty smart lady from time to time. Or so I’ve been told.” She takes another sip, in an attempt to hide her smile, I think. “What time is the funeral?”
“Eight.” I jolt. Realize I don’t know which cemetery I need to be at. Mom interrupted the call before I got that information. “Only I don’t know where. Excuse me,” I say and grab the phone off the kitchen wall. Dial Luna’s number.
Her mother answers. Luna isn’t able to come to the phone at the moment, but she tells me the family will be heading over to the cemetery together. Eight o’clock at Saint Louis number two, before it is open to the public.
“Luna will be happy to have a friend present,” she says and ends the call.
“Will you be out late?” Grandma asks. Her brows arch, and I sense there is some hidden question within the question I am failing to perceive.
“I don’t know. Luna is pretty torn up, and I want to console her if I can,” I say.
“This is the girl with the bokor problem, is it not?” Grandma’s gaze narrows tight on me.
“She was.” I settle my return gaze on her. “But the bokor collected his debt in the form of her father’s life.”
“Oh, dear.” Grandma presses her palm to her chest.
“What’s that supposed to mean? What do you know that I don’t?” I take a step closer.
Grandma turns from me, sets her tea on the counter, and takes a deep breath before returning her gaze to mine. “Remember when I told you a deal with a bokor meant he would own your mind and body?”
I nod that I remember. I remember everything about our conversation that day.
“Well.” She presses her lips together. “That agreement extends even into death. Those indentured to the bokor continue to work long after the soul should be at rest.”
“Are you saying their souls are unable to move on? Is Luna’s dad trapped in limbo or something?”
“Something.” She turns and heads for the other room. I follow. “Oh, dear. This isn’t good. Not good at all. I wish you would stay clear of that family. It will bring you no good.”
“Seriously, Grandma?” I grab her shoulder and turn her to face me. “How can you say such things when you know Luna is my friend, and she’s trapped in this situation by no cause of her own?”
“The bokor is no good, Belle. No good at all.”
“Maybe so, but if he has Mr. Flores’ soul trapped, then I need to help set it free.”
My eyes flicker to the clock. Crud. I need to go, or I’ll be late. Saint Louis number two is farther than I was thinking I’d need to travel. I spin and head for the courtyard, and my bike. “Don’t think for an instant that this conversation is finished. We shall resume right where we are leaving off when I return.”
“Anything you say,” Grandma calls at my back.
I storm into the courtyard, roll my bike to the front yard, and start pedaling across town. Out of the garden district to Canal Street. I then take that all the way to the freeway, where the cemetery runs parallel. Everything is wet, but thankfully, today witnesses an escape from the rain.
Since the cemetery is broken into three parts and spans three entire blocks, I need to make my way to the far opposite side where Luna’s family plans to enter.
The e
ntire ride, I can’t stop rolling Grandma’s words around in my head. Those indentured to the bokor continue to work long after the soul should be at rest.
I lock my bike to the utility post nearest the entrance and jog to catch up with Luna. An escort, a priest, and six men carrying the casket lead Luna and her family to the place where her dad’s body is meant to forever lie inside the maze of the dead. Luna’s mom walks a step behind the escort and priest. She carries a large bouquet of roses, and their aroma sweeps through the following party with each tiny, visiting breeze.
A total of fourteen people, counting Luna, follow in a procession between the large and small cement homes of the deceased. Yesterday’s rain has left the air heavy and humid. And at the early hour, the scent of damp earth and cement is prevalent. It conjures memories of the day Miri exploded one of the cemetery tombs, sending cement chunks flying at me and Mom. That was the day after the fire.
None of those memories, the fire, Caleb, an exploding tomb, are things I wish to entertain at present.
Come on peppermint tea, do your thing. Calm my crazy.
Luna walks at the back of her little group with her head down. I fall into step beside her and grab her hand. She jumps in a spin toward me, her hand flying to her lips. Her family members glance back at us and then return their attention to their forward motion.
We walk the path worn in the grass, making sure to step around mud puddles.
“Last night,” she says with a gasp. “I was so worried. What happened?” She grabs my arms, holding my attention. I tilt my head, inferring we should keep up with the funeral party. She agrees, keeps walking, but steals many glances my direction.
She clings to my hand, pulls me tight against her side.
“I didn’t think you’d make it. Seriously, what happened last night?” she whispers.
“An unbelievable tale that I will share with you later, I promise. Right now, it’s about you and your family.” I squeeze her hand.
Her lips push into a pucker of a frown. It’s a sign of frustration, but I know she’s happy to see me, nonetheless, because her cheeks have warmed, and her frown occasionally lifts.
We slow to a stop at the tall row of vaults lining the back wall… right in front of one open vault. It is clearly awaiting the arrival of Mr. Flores. In front of the vault, stands a temporary platform on which they set the coffin. The family gathers around and the pallbearers step to the side and wait. All, aside from one who joins the family. Luna’s uncle, I assume.
The priest delivers a lovely eulogy, and when he’s finished, the escort invites the members of the family to participate. Mrs. Flores steps forward and shares a few lovely memories. The share is contagious because his family all choose to say a few words. First, Mr. Flores’ brother, then his father and mother. Luna declines to speak and chooses to stand just far enough back that she could disappear if she so desired.
When everyone has spoken their desired shares, the escort steps forward and lifts the lid of the casket. “Anyone wish to whisper a final goodbye to our loved one?”
My heart jumps against my ribcage, and I suck back a breath. Luna glances at her dad within the box and turns away. Her mother does the same. But her grandmother, her father’s mother, falls to her knees beside the coffin and breaks into sobs.
I find myself overcome with a morbid sense of curiosity, grandma’s words still holding strong in my thoughts. They continue to work long after the soul should be at rest. I inch forward, stare into the casket. Stare straight at Mr. Flores’ face. Never before have I gazed upon a dead man, but I don’t feel like this is the way a dead man should look. There’s more color in his skin than I would have expected.
“Hold on,” I say to Luna and maneuver through the members of her family, moving closer to the open coffin.
My stare is intense and unwavering. Something in my vision flickers. Did his eye just twitch, or was there a fly on his face? I step to the front of the group and slide in beside Luna’s sobbing grandma. I lean closer to the opening and the body of Luna’s father.
The lid crashes to a close before me. I jolt back and lock eyes with the beady-eyed escort. His glare is tight on me. And for those forever-fleeting moments that our glares are connected, I get the feeling he is trying to prevent me from knowing some truth regarding Luna’s dad.
The escort steps back and gestures to the pallbearers. Stepping forward, they each take their position along the sides of the casket and lift. Move to slide the coffin within the open vault.
“Wait.” I reach forward in a stop-now motion.
Everyone pauses and stares at me. Luna rushes to my side. “What are you doing?”
“He’s not dead,” I say. “I don’t think he’s dead.”
The old priest shakes his head and turns away. The escort stares at me, his brows raised, and the pallbearers begin to lift the casket once more.
“Please. Don’t.” I push my hand out signaling them to stop. “Don’t you want to make sure I’m wrong? Open the coffin and check him. Just check him.”
“What are you doing?” Luna’s mom says. “You come here, to the burial of my husband, and make a scene? Why? Why would you do that?” Her gaze snaps to Luna. “Why would you do that to Luna?”
“I’m doing this because I care about Luna, and I don’t want her to make a larger-than-death mistake,” I say, voice raised.
Luna’s arms drop to her side, and she stares at me. Doesn’t move.
“Please,” I beg. “Just check him. Make sure he’s really, truly dead before you encase him in brick.”
“We need you to go,” the escort says with a harsh voice.
“Not until you make sure. That’s all I’m asking.” My gaze shifts from Luna, who appears lost in thought, to her mom.
“Go,” her mom says.
With Mrs. Flores’ decisive word, two men step away from the casket and grab me, drag me away. The entire funeral party stares at me causing my cheeks to flush with heat. Before I lose sight of the group, even Luna looks my way. The men drag me down row after row until they deposit me outside of the cemetery.
“You will not care for the consequences, should you try to return to the funeral party,” the taller guy says.
“I would advise against it,” says the other. “Go home, little witch.”
They turn and walk back into the cemetery.
I am not going home. I won’t abandon Luna. I bite my nails and pace in front of the cemetery entrance.
Grandma’s words return to my thoughts once more. They continue to work long after the soul should be at rest. What if Luna’s father is forbidden to rest because of his contract with the bokor? What if I can do something to prevent that, but don’t?
What could I possibly do?
“Hey you.”
I spin around to find a young version of Cruella de Vil, if Cruella were to swap her white hair for red. Black hair dripping down one side of her face, and red down the other, the girl is a walking symbol of darkness and blood. So very New Orleans dark side.
She adjusts the hood of her black pullover and steps forward. Something about the girl is off, and I can’t pinpoint what it is. Her skin, her eyes, her sunken cheekbones… she doesn’t give off a healthy vibe.
“Haven’t seen your type around as much these past few years.” She glances over me.
“My kind?” My head angles, jerks back.
“You know exactly what I mean, blood witch.” She takes another step forward, and I take a step back.
“Relax,” she blurts. “I have no intention of hurting you. You belong to another.” Her hand is in constant motion, her fingers flicking and flicking at the empty air.
“What are you talking about? I belong to no one.” I punch my fists into my hips.
“Hmmm.” She raises her chin and narrows her eyes. Glances to the cemetery entrance. “Kick you out, did they?”
“What business is it of yours?” I shift. Lean into my hip and cross my arms.
“I was merely
making an observation.” Her arms unfold at her side in presentation. “This is the hour of the voodoo priest. The hour in which the bokor also operates. Interfering in their business is dangerous and could get you killed. I highly advise against that. You don’t want to die at the hands of the bokor.”
“Because he’ll then own my mind and body, and I will never again rest?” My hard exterior softens, and I lean into the question.
She snorts. “Someone has been boning up on their bokor knowledge.” A smug smile curls across her lips.
“Or listening to their grandmother,” I counter.
Her brows lift. “How is your family these days? It has been too long since I chatted with that sister of yours.”
“You know Miri?” My back straightens and shoulders drop.
She laughs, a wicked, bone-chilling hackle. “We had such fun a few years back. You should ask her about it. Remind her of the candle.”
“What?” My upper lip curls back, and my stomach knots.
The too-thin, red- and black-haired girl laughs again. A deep, from-her-belly cackle. “You don’t need the candle,” she says. “You know you’re a witch. In fact…” She sways, swinging her finger like she’s conducting an unheard choir. “You know many things. I understand you currently have a direct line to Caleb.”
I jerk and my mouth pops open. How could she possibly know this? Only the immediate members of my family are aware of the current state with my mom. My family and Caleb. My gaze narrows on her.
“Could you give him a message? His boss would be greatly appreciative.” She folds her hands together and presses them down the front of her, accentuating her wafer figure.
“Me? Talk to Caleb?” I press my hand to my chest and feign ignorance.
She ignores my attempt. “Tell him the master requires more.”
“More?” I blurt.
“More batteries,” she says matter-of-factly.
“Tell him to make a run to the market.” I firmly cross my arms and steady my position.
