by Rainy Kaye
As we made our way to the outskirts of town, the trees became taller, thinner, and more densely packed. We pulled into a paved area with a long squat house nearly blocking the view.
Thibaut shoved open his door and stepped out, yanking the keys from the ignition. He stormed toward the building.
“This is going to end badly, isn’t it?” I muttered to Randall as we piled out of the truck.
On the other side of the house, a grassy knoll opened into the standing water of the bayou, flanked on either side with cypress sentinels. Patches of green spread out along the water with artistic expertise. For a moment, I wanted to reach toward it, as if my fingertips would find a picture instead.
The tranquility here was unlike any other.
“Bet it’s over there,” Thibaut said, his voice carrying like a boom.
So much for enjoying the moment.
I looked to where he pointed at a structure to the side, a few yards from the house. The weathered wood was painted white, and the double front doors were latched with a thick chain and a padlock.
I strolled toward the structure and stopped in front of it, hands on my hips. “A shed? What’s in it?”
“A boat,” Thibaut said, stepping around me. He reached for the doors and shook them hard enough they rattled. “That chain ain’t coming off. Do your magic.”
And so it began: the reason he had brought me along. I was supposed to keep this trip unhindered.
He had picked poorly today.
I couldn’t exactly tell him that. If he realized how worthless my magic was already, he would dump me and Randall as gator bait without telling us how to find the Dark Bazaar.
“It doesn’t work like that,” I said, trying to sound confident and not at all like I was beginning to panic. How many more tricks would he expect me to perform, only to find out that my repertoire involved warming up coffee and leaving magical breadcrumbs to find my way home?
He scowled, and I could see across his face the war to demand a better answer, and the rationalization that he perhaps didn’t know as much about magic as he thought he did.
“Well, we need in there,” he said at last.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Randall roaming about the knoll and peeking over the edge. He stooped down and reached into the water, beyond what I could see. A moment later, he stood up with a large rock in hand, water dribbling off from it.
My eyes widened. I glanced at Thibaut and then gave Randall a pointed, questioning look.
The last time we had been in less-than-ideal circumstances, Randall had resorted to bashing heads in with rocks. I wasn’t a fan of Thibaut—my face was still throbbing a little from my literal run-in with the wall at his assistance—but I wasn’t ready to commit murder.
Randall seemed to catch my concern, because he rolled his eyes. A little grin slid onto his face, and he couldn’t seem to get rid of it.
“We might be able to beat the handles out,” he said. “The chain and padlock will fall off if we can.”
I turned to him, squinting. “Where, exactly, are you getting all these ideas?”
He shrugged. “Television, mainly.”
I stared up at him, unblinking; he stared down at me, grinning.
Finally, I let out an exasperated sigh and took the rock from him. I held it in both hands as I closed the space to the shed, and then pulled back the rock. I slammed it down on the handles, turning it at the last moment to avoid smashing my fingers. The rock barely tapped against the lock.
I repositioned the rock and tried again with a more solid swing. I caught the handle—and my thumb—but it didn’t do much toward opening the doors. Wincing, I hefted up the rock one more time and slammed it down. The handles jiggled with barely any enthusiasm.
“Okay, this isn’t working,” I said.
Thibaut disappeared behind the shed, and I leaned forward to drop the rock on the ground. I dusted my hands together, opening my mouth to speak.
Across the opposite side of the knoll, an ugly thick head appeared, followed by an equally prehistoric body. My throat tightened and my tongue felt stuck to the roof of my mouth as I watched an alligator stroll past, headed toward the water.
He had to be longer than fifteen feet and weigh significantly more than the three of us combined.
How big did they grow alligators in this city?
He followed the slope of the knoll, waddling into the water until he was submerged except for the top of his head, and then glided away.
I focused back on Randall, who seemed as dumbfounded as I felt.
“So, as I was saying…” I began, keenly aware relics from the Cretaceous period could appear again at any moment.
Thibaut rounded from behind the shed. He held up a fish net.
“Found something that might help,” he said. “Put the rock in it and swing it around.”
The idea sounded ridiculous, but at least it didn’t involve using my magic. I took the net from him, crouched next to the rock, and rolled it in.
“Want me to try?” Randall asked, stepping closer.
I stood, cinching the net with the rock at the bottom.
“Nah. I can bean myself just fine.” I fluttered my hand at him. “Step back.”
When I was certain everyone was out of range, I swung the net, the rock landing on target. The handle jiggled, and a little hope lifted in me. This might work, after all. At least my fingers were out of the way. Bracing one leg, I pulled the net back farther and struck again. The rock connected with the handles, the chain and padlock clattering, but everything still held.
Twisting around, I put some weight behind the blow. The rock rose upwards, straining against the net, and slammed into the wall, next to the door. It left a puncture mark.
I dropped the makeshift weapon at my side and reached out to touch the mark. The wood of the shed didn’t seem like it would hold up to high winds…or someone with a rock in a net.
An idea started to form, and I stood staring at the shed, probably looking like I had spaced out as I contemplated my options.
I could try to break out the side of the shed, but making a hole the size of a boat would take a long time. Knocking out the entire door would be tricky. That left me with only one other possibility, as far as I could tell: make a hole in the door and remove the locks entirely.
I lifted the net and began swinging wildly at the door, near the handles, pausing only long enough to wipe my arm across my forehead to keep sweat out of my eyes. Somewhere nearby, bugs clicked and birds chirped, and I fell into my zone, swinging and not thinking. After the last few days, it was cathartic.
Clattering snapped me back to the moment. One handle, dented and scuffed now, had fallen free and hung by the chain and padlock to the other handle. I let the net at my side slide from hand to the ground and closed the small space to the door. A few solid tugs, and the doors swung loose on their hinges, the handle thudding to the ground. I strode into the shed, Randall and Thibaut right behind.
Just past the threshold, I stopped, blinking at the dust in my eyes.
In front of us rested a small boat on a trailer with two seats in front, and two more elevated behind it. The back held a giant fan inside a cage.
“Ha, knew it,” Thibaut said, stepping around me to head to the boat. “Come on, let’s get this sucker out of here.”
Randall and I said nothing as we joined him, and together, the three of us maneuvered the boat toward the exit. The trailer rolled along, and the top of the fan cage just barely cleared the doorway.
Once the boat was on the knoll, I stepped back and massaged my upper arm. Pain pulsed through it, and I knew I was going to feel all this exertion in the morning.
Granted, if we lived until morning.
I tried to envision how I was going to find a talisman among all the trees, water, and alligators. Especially that last one.
“Well, fuck,” Thibaut said.
I turned to find him up on the boat, pawing around.
�
�No keys.” He stood straight and fixed his gaze at me. “They’re probably in the house.”
It took a moment before realization dawned.
Right. I was his gofer. He had the expectation I could wizard my way through problems, and I, so far, had not entirely corrected his misconception.
I needed to fake it long enough to find Fiona.
I stalked toward the house. If anyone was home, they would probably have heard us by now with me clobbering a hole in their shed and all. Besides, it didn’t really matter. There could be people in the house; there were gators in the swamp and we were about to dive into that, too.
Six of one.
The house had a simple pediment and columns holding it up and not much else. It was like someone had started to mimic Greek Revival and then lost interest part way.
I crossed the porch to the door and turned the knob. It wasn’t locked. That could mean many things, and I doubted any of them were beneficial to me.
Perhaps I should have brought a rock.
I eased open the door, leaning inside slowly. The doorway opened into a foyer, done up in pale green and white, that barely had the right to call itself such. To the immediate left was a formal sitting room. Straight ahead rested what might be a closet or a small bathroom, and beyond that, a darkened living room.
Letting go of the door, I crept into the house, barely breathing as I listened for sounds of people, especially ones carrying a shotgun.
Randall joined me as I stepped into the sitting room. The lights were off, but the heavy drapes were pulled back, letting in light from the bayou. I could imagine, on a normal day, the view would be lovely enough to forget, momentarily, about the alligators that occasionally wandered through the yard.
“Where would someone keep the keys to their boat?” I asked in a whisper.
“Probably on their keychain,” Randall said, heading back into the foyer. He wandered toward the living room.
I followed him, noting the strange lack of smell in the house. No cheap air freshener. No lingering aroma of the last meal cooked. Nothing.
In the living room, Randall hurried ahead, opening drawers on end tables and cabinets under the TV and poking around the mantle. I went to the built-in bookcase in the far wall and rummaged around the small trinket jars and carved boxes arranged on it among fake plants and leather-bound books.
From farther in the house, the refrigerator door opened and then fell shut.
I looked up, wide-eyed, at Randall. He stared back at me with expectation, like he thought I could get us out of here with a snap of my fingers.
Scowling, I looked between the two doorways: one that would take me back to the foyer, and the other that led toward the sounds in the kitchen. Thibaut was not going to be happy if I returned without the keys to the boat.
I crept toward the far doorway and ducked down to peer into the kitchen. A man stood with his back to me, pouring a drink from a two liter of soda, a breakfast bar between us. A woman hung back a few feet, arms crossed.
“I already told her we’d be there,” she said, glaring at him.
The man screwed the lid back on the bottle. “Well, you’re just going to have to tell her you were wrong.”
The woman bristled. “I’m not wrong, because we are going.”
“I’m not going to keep having this argument,” he said, placing the bottle back in the fridge. He turned to face her. “Every time you know I don’t want to go to something, you just commit us to going with asking me first. I’m getting sick of it.”
Something in the corner of my eye caught my attention. From our left, coming in through a closed window, a translucent gold ribbon—like the one from the restaurant—slithered through the air, as if it rode on a gentle breeze. It grew outward, reaching for the doorway where Randall and I crouched.
Clamping my jaw, I duck-walked backwards, pushing into Randall, urging him away from the ribbon. It glided through the room and slithered past the doorway, remaining high in the air.
I lowered to hands and knees and padded forward to peek around the corner.
The ribbon quivered with happiness as it lowered behind the man in the kitchen.
I held my breath, torn between knowing what would happen if it touched him and not wanting to risk being mutated myself.
The woman stopped mid-argument, staring past him as the streamer undulated toward him. It jutted through his back and out his chest.
He stiffened, like he was going to fall over, but swayed on his feet.
The end of the streamer lazily floated toward the woman.
She took a step backwards.
The ribbon shot forward, stabbing her through the heart.
Both she and the man rippled, changing until they were wearing face masks and outfits with plumes of purple and gold. The ribbon yanked free and floated toward the ceiling before winding its way out through the kitchen window.
The couple spun on their heels, facing right at me and Randall.
I floundered trying to get to my feet. Randall and I bolted across the living room as the man cleared the breakfast bar, propping himself up with his arm. The woman bounded right behind him like she was part leopard.
The man slammed into my back. He spun me around and shoved me. The small of my back caught into the edge of an accent table. Plants and a lamp clattered to the floor. I tripped to the side, and my head hit the wall just under a window.
I reached up to the drapes, clawing my way to my feet.
Randall hefted up a heavy candlestick and swung as the woman leapt at him. He caught her in the face. She stumbled backwards.
My gaze jumped around the room, looking for a weapon of my own. The man lunged at me. I yanked up the lamp from the floor and threw it at him as I scrambled away.
Quick thoughts poked between the panic and the desperate search for defense. These had to have been the homeowners. That meant they probably owned the boat, too.
It was a long shot, but I had nothing else right now. I turned and charged at the man as he came at me. He reared back. I tackled him to the ground, and my skin crawled as his mask stayed fixed to his face.
He grabbed my head with his mutant claws. I resisted the urge to pull away and instead felt down his baggy jester pajamas for pockets. My fingers grazed a lump on his hip. I grabbed it around the fabric, finding the sharp edges of keys. As he applied pressure like he thought he could crush my skull, I sucked in a breath and dipped my hand down to his pocket. He bucked his hips, shifting under me. I shoved my hand into his pocket and hooked my finger through a metal loop. With a heavy tug, the keys came free.
He swung me off him, slamming me into the floor, my head still firmly in his grasp. The world flashed red and black for a moment. His palms sank against my temples as he brought his leg over to straddle my waist.
I slammed my knee upwards, into his leg, and then twisted around. His hold slipped. I snaked my hand up between his arms then shoved hard, prying him off me. His hand swung back off my head. I rolled from under him and pushed upright, snatching the keys from the floor.
The woman had Randall pinned to the wall. He clenched her mask, restraining her head back as she snapped at him.
I held up the keys and then darted for the door. He hunkered down and rammed his palm into her stomach. She stumbled backwards. He darted around her and joined right behind me. My soles slipped on the tile as I flailed toward the exit. At the door, I slammed it open and bounded down the porch.
Thibaut looked up from where he was seated on the boat. As I made my way up the grassy knoll, I hurled the keys at him. He caught them midair. I flung myself up and over the side of the boat, and Randall followed. He took the passenger seat next to Thibaut. I scrambled up into the row behind them. Thibaut flipped through the keys on the keyring.
“Please tell me it’s on there,” I said.
The dynamic duo from the house burst out the front door.
Thibaut narrowed his eyes at them, lips turned down.
The jester
s charged at us, like animated dolls that would eat our souls if they caught us.
Maybe they would.
Thibaut selected a key and jammed it down in the boat panel. With a twist of his wrist, the fan behind me roared to life.
He shoved a lever next to the driver seat, and the boat scooted along the grass. It picked up speed, aimed at the bayou.
The female jester launched into her predatory jump and caught the side of the boat. I swung down and kicked at her face, the boat half dragging her along. She dropped to the ground in a roll.
The boat spun around, and I grabbed the edge of the seat. My stomach floated up to my throat and then fell back into place. I swallowed down the bitter taste in my mouth.
The boat sailed over the edge of the grass and skidded along the top of the water.
Holding my breath, I twisted in my seat and peered around the fan at the back of the boat to get a glimpse of the jesters. They were nowhere to be seen.
That did nothing to comfort me.
I turned to face the back of Thibaut’s head. “That magical banner thing is bizarre.”
“Keeps happening.” He shrugged. “Started in French Quarter a few days ago. Soon, it’ll have the whole town.”
I wanted to argue that Joseph Stone was going to fix this mess, but I kept my mouth shut. The less he knew, the better. I didn’t want him figuring out anything about me before I was ready.
I turned my attention to the bayou and finding the talisman.
6
I would have never guessed being propelled by a fan through a swamp would be so far outside my comfort zone, but here I was, having life experiences I did not want.
The bayou itself was an unexpected kind of gorgeous with still waters that reflected the long graceful tree trunks and amplified the greenery. In every direction, it felt as if we were inside a picture, and the heady sensation intensified the deeper we glided into the bayou.
I would have been at ease, except for the fact I had seen a fifteen-foot-long alligator disappear in these waters and he, somehow, wasn’t even the worst of the issues. We had barely escaped some crazed jester demons, and I couldn’t discredit that just hours ago, Thibaut had rammed my face into a wall and threatened to fillet Randall. We weren’t pals.
