by Rainy Kaye
“They meaning me,” I said. “There’s no way I can swing you over to the balcony.”
“We can try going out the designated exit,” he said.
The door would be easier, but we had no idea what was on the other side. Was anyone else in the house? Were there guards posted inside? How eager would they be to shoot us?
On the other hand, Randall was going to all but throw me out a second-floor window.
I crossed the room to the door and listened for any indication someone was just waiting for me to try to escape.
Outside the door came a soft clicking sound. The longer I listened, the more I could not identify what it was.
With a scowl, I reached for the knob but halted. The door had a deadbolt, locked from the outside. Even though I already knew it was useless, I grabbed the knob and tugged. It didn’t budge, but both the door and knob were surprisingly solid, not like a normal interior bedroom setup.
Someone had been planning to keep us here, perhaps. Or had taken other hostages in the past.
Neither situation was particularly more comforting than the other.
I tried twisting the knob back and forth and pulling harder, but the door didn’t even give a courtesy rattle in the frame.
I dropped my arm to my side. “Window it is.”
In the seconds it took to cross the room back to him, a lifetime’s worth of thoughts flashed over my brain. Was this the stupidest thing I had ever done? Was I going to die a very tragic, broken death in a few moments? Had I sufficiently rounded up on enough receipt donations at the store to secure my cozy spot in the afterlife?
Randall turned and dutifully pushed open the window, something our captors had failed to seal because they probably had not expected anyone was stupid enough to actually try this stunt.
Boy, had we fooled them.
I stopped at the window, placing my hands on the sill, and leaned forward to look down. The warm humid air patted my face.
“So how do we do this?” I asked without looking up.
“I think just start to climb out, and I’ll grab you and we’ll go from there,” he said.
I took a deep breath and pushed myself up on the sill, muttering, “That doesn’t inspire a modicum of confidence.”
Gritting my teeth against a grunt, I swung one leg over the sill, inched myself around, and swung the other leg. Randall jerked forward, grabbing my forearms. My legs dangled freely under me, and I brought my knees up so I could brace the toes of my shoes against the side of the wall. My muscles quivered as they tensed, straining to hold me into position.
“We need to get farther to the left,” he said. “All the way to the end.”
I had no energy, no air for any kind of retort. Instead, I focused on walking sideways along the side of the building, half in and half out of the window, Randall my only anchor to keep me from crashing to the ground.
His face was turning strange shades of red and plum. “Grab the sill harder.”
“Randall, I really can’t,” I said, my words tight and strained. “Just get me over to the balcony, please.”
Worry creased his expression, and I looked away, heart alternating between rapid bursts of fear and slowed resignation to death.
Randall adjusted his hold on me without letting go.
“Grab my arm,” he said.
I twisted my hand around and slid it down until I could wrap my fingers around his straining muscles.
He stared straight down at me. “Can you reach the balcony?”
“Uh…” I began. The balcony was just an arm’s length away. “Not yet.”
Clamping down on any further thoughts, I slowly lowered one leg from where I was curled up like a doodlebug against the wall. I reached out with my leg and prodded the balcony rail with my foot, but I couldn’t quite make the leap.
“Hold tight,” I said, and yanked my right hand free from him. In the same move, I kicked off from the house and lunged for the railing. My fingers gripped the banister, so I was strung out like a flag between the window and the balcony. I shook off Randall, slipping an inch before I caught myself with my other hand. I heaved myself up and over the railing, dropping to the floor on my back.
I laid facing up, unseeing, as my body slowly became less numb and all the strain, aches, and possible minor tears came to the surface. My shoulders felt like someone had tried to rip them from the socket; my calves pulsed with sickening pain; my rib cage felt bruised. Every few breaths, a random muscle twitched.
“Safiya,” Randall whispered from the window out of sight.
I lifted one arm so my hand stuck up over the railing, gave a thumbs up, and then let my arm drop. Holding my breath, I rolled onto my side and pushed to my feet. My tailbone ached, and I winced as I straightened up to take in the balcony.
A weathered teak chaise with linen colored cushions sat to one side, and the wall was lined with jib windows. Past the windows stood a darkened dining room holding an enormous beige table.
I watched for movement in the shadows, but no one seemed to be nearby. Tearing my gaze from the interior of the house, I turned to scan my surroundings. The house appeared to be a sizable rectangular structure with windows and pillars, situated on an impressively large piece of land. While outside was quiet, I couldn’t be sure we were alone. Someone below could come out a door or round the corner of the house at any time.
We needed to get out of here, but that meant reaching the ground. I had jumped off a balcony once recently, and that was more than enough for me, if given a choice.
I turned back to the jib windows. Ideally, I could sneak inside, assist Randall’s escape through the hallway, and go out the front—or back—door.
Taking a deep breath, I leaned forward and slid open the window. It made a soft sound, and I decided to take that as a sign I was on the right path.
My shoes tapped on the dark wooden floors as I ducked inside. I listened, braced and ready to run at the first sign of being discovered, but the interior remained still. How could such a huge house have no one bustling around? As far as I could see, the only light was coming through the windows.
Careful not to touch, or even breathe on, anything, I wound my way through the dining room, past the china hutch that matched the grand table and chairs, and stepped into a wide hallway. The dark wood floors carried throughout, and the walls were textured with blues and whites and the ceilings swirled with subtle green. Heavy tables sitting on either side, loaded with vases and candlesticks and picture frames boasting the same woman with dark, swept back hair and a boy of maybe twelve.
The hallway ended in an open doorway framed with columns which led into a vestibule. Dead ahead stood the front door; to the right, a sweeping staircase that should lead up to Randall…and whatever was outside our room.
I glanced over my shoulder to verify no one was sneaking up on me, and then headed for the stairs. I took them slowly, deliberately, trying to avoid making more noise than necessary, in case someone was in earshot. The stairs gave just a little with each step, and my heart jumped each time, even though the sound barely traveled past me.
As I followed the curve of the steps, I straightened to catch any signs of coming up on someone before they saw me. Everything remained clean, silent, and abandoned. At the top of the staircase, I looked to the left and then the right, trying to orientate myself so I could find Randall.
The left ended abruptly. He had to be to the right. I continued with slow steps, expecting to catch the soft clicking sound we had heard outside the room. The brass sconces on the wall seemed they should burst to life as I made my way past them, but they remained unlit.
The hallway intersected with another, and I veered toward the opening. With my back against the wall, I dared to peer around the corner and check each way, but the hallways were deserted.
The clicking—and movement above me—caught my attention. My heart slammed into my chest as I jerked to look at the ceiling: a single fan, clearly not part of the original build of t
he house, lazily spun with a soft sound.
I let out my breath and lowered my gaze to the closed doors, trying to determine which one led to our room. Knocking on them seemed like a bad idea. The least sound I made, the better.
My attention snapped onto a large bronze doorknob and deadbolt. The others were brass and much daintier and lacked any kind of extra locks. That had to be our room.
I hurried over to it and pressed my ear to listen inside. If Randall was still in there, he had gone church mouse quiet. I tried the knob, but it didn’t budge. I had no experience picking locks, and my magic had proved useless with that.
Earlier, I had managed to conjure a wall, though. A little shudder wove around my spine.
Gripping the knob harder, I closed my eyes, sucked up energy from the earth, and slammed it into the lock. An electric shock zapped my palm. I snapped my hand away, shaking it, and glared at the knob.
If only I had Joseph Stone’s ability to blow things up with a thought. Instead, I would have to figure things out the mundane way, but even those options were limited. I could head to the dining room in hopes of finding the kitchen and steal a butter knife to try to spring the lock. It seemed unlikely, but it gave me time to feel busy and clever while I worked on coming up with a better idea.
Or maybe I should be looking for wherever they stored ladders and Randall could just climb out the window.
I turned around. My heart dropped to the ground, and my knees nearly followed.
Directly ahead, staring at me, stood the man from the alley.
I turned and bolted down the hallway, away from him. I didn’t know where I was going, but there had to be another way downstairs—I hoped.
As I ran, the padding of his feet followed behind. The sound was clear, direct, not at all like my erratic fumbling. My heart seemed to be trying to race ahead of me. As I careened down hallways, I bumped into tables, knocked over a porcelain ginger jar, and sent a dried flower arrangement across the floor.
The hallway split into two. I started to turn left. Something rammed me from behind, slamming me face first into the wall in front of me. My nose burned and my eyes watered. I jabbed my elbow backwards as the full weight of his body pinned me in place.
He wrapped his fingers in my hair, yanking my head backwards. He lowered his lips to my ears, his warm breath puffing on my skin as he spoke.
“Make one attempt to resist, and I will slit your boyfriend’s throat,” he said in a low, calm voice.
I froze in place, my mind charging through thoughts. What did this man want? And why would he be willing to hurt Randall for it?
Forgoing correcting the complexities of my relationship with the man in the room down the hallway, I dabbed the tip of my tongue to my lower lip and nodded tightly, barely able to move. My chest tried to heave in breaths, but there wasn’t any space between me and the man.
“Good girl,” he cooed.
Before I could respond, he stepped back, wrenching my neck farther. I backed up toward him to release the tension. My scalp burned as he guided me, fist in my hair, down the hallway, away from Randall. I scurried to keep up with him.
We came to a pale wooden door, and he threw it open. He yanked me into the room and shoved me toward the bed, releasing his hold on me. I stumbled forward, breaking my fall against the mattress. My knee slammed into the side rail, and a twinge stuck in my joint.
I pushed off and spun around to face him. “What do you want?”
“I saw you,” he said, standing his full height. He stormed toward me, not bothering to shut the door behind him, as if he knew I would not escape; that I somehow could not leave without his permission. “You’re a witch.”
I blinked at him. “Only before I’ve had my coffee.”
He came to a halt in front of me, staring down into my face.
I tried to make eye contact with him, to not cave under his challenge, but I glanced away despite myself.
Grimacing, I said, “What does it matter?”
“I need your help,” he said.
I twitched but looked up at him. Something about what he said put me at ease, probably more than it should have. Even though I had no desire to bail out the jerkwad who had attacked me and Randall, it was a request I could understand. It made some kind of vague sense, where everything else in my life at this time did not.
“Five dollars for love spells. Ten to give your enemies inconvenient itches,” I muttered.
He narrowed his eyes.
I let out a heavy huff, somehow emboldened. “What is it you think I can do for you?”
“A talisman I’ve been looking for has been spotted in a bayou nearby,” he said. “Y’all going to help me retrieve it.”
I bristled at his assumption, but the notion of a talisman was more interesting. I hadn’t heard of anything like that before—not a real one, anyway.
With every passing day, I felt more a stranger in what I had thought was my own world.
My knee still ached, so I leaned back against the bed. “What’s this talisman for?”
“Why don’t you keep your questions to yourself, bitch,” he said.
I pursed my lips, eyeing him. “You know, if you’re expecting me to help, that lame-ass attitude isn’t going to get you far.”
“If you don’t, I’ll fillet your man like a gator,” he said with a sneer.
“You’ve never even hit anything with a slingshot in your life.” I rolled my eyes to emphasize my disdain for him and his threats. “There’s no need for all that. I think we can make a deal.”
Either I had called his bluff correctly, or he found the idea of a compromise less exhausting.
He raised his chin at me. “What you got?”
“I’m looking for my friend. Someone kidnapped her and brought her to New Orleans, and I suspect it’s a group with a particularly ugly set of magic.” I gripped the edge of the bed. “You know how to find a talisman.”
He scowled. “I don’t know where your friend is, and I don’t really care.”
I didn’t want to lose the progress I had made so far with him—where we were talking without discussing causing bodily harm to Randall—so I added, “I’m not expecting you to find my friend. You’re clearly knowledgeable about local magical things, though, so perhaps you can point me in a direction to look for her.”
“Everything you need to know is at the Dark Bazaar.” He hesitated but seemed to realize he was going to get further, faster, if he worked with me. “You get my talisman from the bayou, and I’ll take you there. Someone is bound to have heard something.”
It wasn’t the best deal in the history of deals, but it was better than five minutes ago. At least this idiot had mellowed with the threats, and before long, we would have a new clue about where to find Fiona.
First, we just had to survive whatever was waiting for us in the bayou.
4
I followed the man back to the door to the room where he had held Randall and me hostage. As soon as he opened it, Randall lunged at him.
“Wait,” I said.
Randall grabbed the doorframe and skidded to a stop right before plowing into both of us.
“Saf?” A strange mixture of confusion and hurt—like I had somehow betrayed him—tangoed on his face. “Are you okay?”
I nodded, neck tight. “Yeah, it’s fine. We made a deal.”
Randall looked between me and the man, and then back at me. “Come again?”
“It’s this whole thing. He needs me to help him get a talisman, we need him to tell us where to ask around about Fiona, so on and so forth.” I waved my hand dismissively, and then asked the man, “What time do you want to head out in the morning?”
“Now.”
I started. “Um, wouldn’t it be better to—”
“No time,” he said, tapping his wrist where a watch would go, if he had been wearing one. “We’ve already wasted enough of it on introductions.”
He spun on his heels and headed toward the stairs.
/> I glanced at Randall, and then trotted after the man.
“We haven’t even had an introduction, unless slamming my face into a wall counts as one around here.” I followed him down the stairs, and Randall strode after us. “What is your name?”
“Thibaut,” he said as he reached the bottom floor. He flung open a small closet by the stairs, yanked out a jacket, and shrugged it on. “We have to get there before the sun sets, or things will be quite a bit more interesting.”
Before I could ask what all that was supposed to mean, he slammed the closet door shut and beelined for the front door. Randall and I hurried after him, our expressions revealing identical questions:
What had we gotten ourselves into?
5
We crammed into Thibaut’s truck, me in the small back row and Randall up front in the passenger seat. The truck bounced along until we reached the main road.
The not-Mardi-Gras-parade had not reached this part of town yet, but small groups of costumed party demons wandered in and out of the streets, with no apparent destination. Thibaut kept a steady speed but deftly maneuvered around them.
I stared out the window, scanning the distance. It seemed any moment that demonic carnival would round the corner and roll toward us. I wasn’t sure what to make of it yet, and the spillover was unsettling enough.
“What do you know about what’s happening to the city?” I asked from the backseat.
Thibaut shrugged. “Was a matter of time, ya know, in this city, before something got turned loose. Not sure what’s going on and don’t really care. I gotta stay focused on getting the talisman before it’s too late.”
I decided not to clue him in that the mage was one of the most powerful beings on earth and had only by chance wound up in The Big Easy. Things were about to get quite a bit difficult.
Joseph would be here soon to handle that. All I needed to do was keep moving toward finding Fiona.
That meant schlepping around in a swamp for some yet-to-be-clarified artifact and trying not to upset our companion along the way. I didn’t want him to change his mind about his end of the deal.
