by C. L. Bevill
“It doesn’t matter then, does it, Philippe?” Jane insisted. “Answer me.”
“Oui, this is a special place,” Philippe answered. He tapped the curve of the river where the forts were located. “Fort St. Phillip was built on an older fortification. It’s much older dan Fort Jackson. Dere was even a town dere. Dere was a commune dere in the seventies and eighties. Death has always knocked on its doorstep. I should have guessed, me. Kind of foolish t’inking Maman was keeping it close to her home. She wants the power; she goes where the power be.”
“So whatever I’m to do for this arcanorum thing, then it would be here,” Jane stepped forward and rapped the map, repeating Philippe’s action.
Lyle made a loud, warning, “Uh-uh,” as he stepped forward and aimed the shotgun squarely at Jane’s chest.
Philippe held up a hand to stem Lyle.
“Your mother has been using me for how long?” Jane didn’t wait for a response. “And you want to use me, as well. You don’t think I’m entitled to some answers. You pretended to be an orderly.”
Philippe interjected, “Dat weren’t hard. Dem fools leave their badges everywhere.”
“You helped me escape.”
Philip shrugged. “If Maman got you back, wouldn’t do me no good.”
“You got me in with Titus Perdue,” Jane added.
“He wasn’t supposed to turn you over to Maman,” Philip spat. “That asshole Raoul, worried about his ass. Worried about what Maman was going to do to him next. He made up a flyer with your photo on it. Handed it out to every fool about. Dat fella at the boarding house was calling the number on it the minute after he saw you. Won’t be calling no one, no more though, him.”
Jane thought of the noise she’d heard while lying in the bed. It had been Philippe taking care of the behemoth-like man who’d leered at her. God, she thought, another death on my soul.
You didn’t do it, Christien’s thought was grimly intent. It wasn’t your fault.
All of this still doesn’t answer who we are and what I did to gain Adrienne’s enmity. Jane moved to the side, looking at Philippe’s sly expression.
“So Titus got one of those posters and turned me in,” Jane said, “but only after getting a full day’s work out of me.”
“Titus’s a tight bastard, him,” Philippe agreed. He tilted his head at Jane. “You can’t figure it out, can you? Maybe you know what will happen or you got an inkling, but why it happening is eating you up, ain’t it? Can’t imagine what you’ve done?”
“I took someone from your mother,” Jane said. “Adrienne told me. She told me, but she wouldn’t say any more.”
Lyle made a noise. “Someone,” he repeated. “That’s pretty rich.”
“That’s all the loa playing tricks on Maman,” Philippe said. “You know what the loa are? They’re the spirits of the world, the ones who make it so for us. They called the Invisibles and they guide us. They come between us and the Creator. If we pray to dem, if we please dem, they give us what we desire.” His eyes narrowed. “Sometimes all you need is a little blood and sweat, and a bokor can control another soul, you know?”
“Your mother has made them angry?” Jane asked carefully. She had heard the term loa before, from Dr. Sorrell, and it had been applied to the tattoo on the back of her neck.
“Yes and no,” Philippe said. “She’s proud and they know it. Everyone knows life ain’t easy. Everyone knows no one ever made promises, but Maman wants to skip over dat. Sometimes she forgets who he’ped her. The loa was what answered her pleas, and the loa don’t like it none dat she forgot.”
“You expect to take your mother’s power,” Jane exclaimed. “You think these magical…invisibles will give you that, and what happens to me? Do you ritually sacrifice me to the spirits? That gives you your precious arcanorum?”
Philippe stared at Jane.
“I say, screw your spirits,” Jane said coldly. “I say, screw you, too.”
“Oh, Jane,” Philippe uttered with a tone of chastisement in his voice. “I don’t intend on doing anything to you. It won’t be me at all.” He motioned at her and snapped his fingers twice. His brown-eyed gaze penetrated hers. His voice was unrelenting as he said, “Jane, don’t move.”
The resulting anger welled over Jane’s body, and she meant to jump at Philippe, wrap her hands around him, and pound him into the cement pad beside the dock. But instead, it was as if Adrienne had spoken the words. She couldn’t move.
Christien bellowed in sheer rage, and Jane couldn’t even turn her head to see Lyle let go both barrels of the shotgun.
Chapter 23
Blood is not the remedy for thirst.
– African proverb
As the sound of the discharge echoed away, there was a thud as something hit the ground. Philippe finally looked away from Jane, over her shoulder at Christien. Jane couldn’t turn her head to see what had happened. Lyle had very likely blasted Christien with the shotgun. There was no moan from Christien.
Christien! Jane thought hard. Christien! Answer me!
There was no answer. There wasn’t even the whirl of emotions that Christien let go when they were weighted on extreme sides. She could feel him when he was angry or afraid, but she couldn’t sense him now. It was as if the typically comforting presence in her mind had vanished.
Her face screwed up in extreme rage. Jane willed her muscles to move and nothing happened. She begged her limbs to act. She focused on the fingertips of her hand. If one single part of her could move, then the rest would follow. However, only frustration resulted from her imploration.
“Damn,” Philippe said. “Good shot, Lyle. That boy ain’t getting up in a month of Sundays, him.”
“Another second, and he would have torn out my throat,” Lyle said from behind Jane.
Christien. Please answer me.
Philippe shook his head and glanced at Jane’s torn expression. “Don’t you fret none, Jane. I expected dis would happen. Lyle used a riot gun on Christien. Used slugs designed for a wide spread, him. Sure your man’s wounded, and he ain’t getting up soon but he’s alive.” He smiled. “And when he changes into the Roux-Ga-Roux in about two hours, surprise, surprise, ain’t gonna be no more wounds left.” He popped the fingers of his right hand wide open showing his empty palm as if he just performed a trick. “Poof. Magic. Like I said, the right spell, the right loa, a little bit of your blood and sweat. I control you. Ain’t it cool?”
His expression was arrogant and sly. “Bled in my truck, you. Never did tell me how you got that cut on your neck. Got me a little hair from the shirt you borrowed. A little sweat, too. All I needed to get ahold of you. Magic, just like I said.”
Philippe turned back to Lyle. “Let’s get the fella in the boat. We’ve got to be there before the sun done sets, or we’re apt to be a dinner course for a ticked off Roux-Ga-Roux.”
Jane was left standing there motionless. Her mind raced at a million miles per hour. Philippe was just as arrogant as his mother. He had set Jane up in a situation where he could keep an eye on her to see what she discovered. He’d arranged employment so that she would stay in the city, and he knew Christien would be drawn to her. He’d managed to control her in the same way as Adrienne. But Christien was right. Philippe would ultimately make a mistake, and Jane would take advantage of it.
Lyle cursed at Christien’s weight as he hefted it with a loud grunt. “Boy weighs as much as a whale.”
Philippe laughed again and went to help him. After a few moments, Jane watched as they passed her, holding Christien’s body between the two of them. Lyle held Christien under the armpits and Philippe was carrying his legs. Christien’s head lolled on his neck, and his eyes were shut. His body remained limp. Blood dripped from his elbows where it had run down his arms from the wounds in his chest. His t-shirt was so shredded and bloody that it was difficult to tell how bad the wounds were. She could only hope that Philippe was correct, and Lyle hadn’t killed him with the shotgun blast.
P
eremptorily, they dumped him into the back of the Harvey Dockbanger. Philippe wiped some sweat from his forehead and said, “Best to t’row a tarp over dat. We might pass someone who can see down into the boat and den we’d get a visit from the Coast Guard. You got everyt’ing ready to go down dere at Fort St. Phillip?”
“Worked all day,” Lyle said succinctly.
“Good,” Philippe said and watched Jane. He snapped his fingers twice and said, “Jane, walk to the boat. Get in the boat, sit down, and don’t move again.”
Jane lurched forward, unable to help herself. “You’re a rotten little dickhead, Philippe,” she said because he hadn’t said anything about not speaking.
Philippe guffawed. “Ain’t she a card, Lyle?”
Lyle sniggered. “A regular spitfire, her. Too bad.” He walked past her adding, “I’ll get the tarp, me.”
As Jane walked toward the boat, Philippe watched with barely concealed amusement. He said, “It’s a shame I had to go through all dis. I had to work in dat hospital pretending to be an orderly. Dem fools don’t ‘spect anyone to pretend to be an orderly. Dey ‘spect you to pretend to be a doctor or a nurse so as to get your hands on the drugs. No one cares about the mops and the brooms, dem.”
Jane slowed her steps. I have a little control. He can’t make me walk fast unless he says something. Christien?
Christien didn’t answer.
She reached the side of the Harvey Dockbanger and awkwardly used the side to climb over. As her feet touched the deck, she realized that Christien wasn’t the only one in the boat. They’d dumped him just beside another body there. She could see the black hair so dark that it reflected blue highlights in the light. The curvy but petite girl had her head lying on one arm. A large bruise discolored her golden skin above her eye. It was Flor, the one who had been dating Philippe.
Jane abruptly sat down on the deck next to the two prone forms. She stared at both of them, unable to move once again.
Philippe leaned over the side of the boat, resting his chin on his hand with his elbow propped on the edge. “I din’t mention Flor, did I? I needed to be close to you without scaring you off. So why not date cute little Flor? She’s good company when she ain’t jealous. And can you believe dis, she’s as pure as the driven snow. Just what a sorcière needs for the special rootwork. When I called her today from the library, I told her to meet me down here. My good friend, Lyle, would pick her up. Looks like she wanted to fight, her. Lyle don’t put up wit’ no nonsense.”
“What will you do with her” Jane’s voice was incredulous. “You’re going to do something to Flor because she’s…what? Innocent? You’re worse than a rotten, little dickhead, Philippe.”
Philippe wasn’t angered by her words, which made Jane somewhat anxious. “The loa demand sacrifice, Jane. Sacrifice is the important part, oui. Ain’t no one should appreciate sacrifice more than a boy like me.”
“I don’t think power will make you happy, Philippe,” Jane said as her eyes skittered toward him. She could speak and she could move her eyes, and she wasn’t going to ignore the facts. “Power corrupts. You’ve seen it with your mother. Why would it be different with you?”
“I’m better than Maman,” Philippe snapped, finally losing a bit of his bonhomie. “The loa won’t turn on me. Dey won’t play dere tricks on me like dey do on her. She be a great fool to t’ink the loa won’t rip her to little bloody pieces once she turns her back on dem.”
Jane thought about it. “The loa aren’t going to like being manipulated. I don’t need to be a devotee to understand that.”
“The loa will do what I want them to do!” Philippe bellowed and shoved his face close to Jane’s. She couldn’t move away. She could only stare at him. “Mind this, missy! You’re not’ing but a tool! And unless you want me to order you not to speak, you’d best to keep your trap shut for a bit.” One of his hands came up and stroked her cheek.
Jane would have jerked away if she could have done so.
“I like you, Jane,” Philippe said. “Be a damn shame, if I had to tell you to cut out your own tongue, you.” He pulled back and went out of her eyesight, but she could hear his footsteps going away, back toward where Lyle had gone.
Her eyes fell back on Christien. Her mind worked frantically. They had to get to Fort St. Phillip. It would take them a little amount of time. The fort was miles and miles down the Mississippi River from where they were presently located. The boat wasn’t like a race car. It wouldn’t get them there faster than an hour or so. She had time to consider what might happen.
I have the medallion in my pocket. I have business cards. I have money there. I have the little pocket knife that Marinette gave me. Once Philippe tells me to move again, I will be able to reach for the knife and the medallion. I can—
Jane didn’t know what she could do. The knife would be taken from her the moment she tried to use it. If somehow she could prevent Philippe from speaking, then he wouldn’t be able to control her.
Philippe talked about sacrifice. He meant me. He meant Flor, too. Who knows what he plans to do with Christien. He assumes that Christien will change back into the Roux-Ga-Roux and that he will be healed. Philippe will be able to do things with Christien. Does Philippe know that the medallion controlled Christien? Does Philippe know that the witch can’t manage Christien anymore? Jane answered herself. Philippe does know that the Roux-Ga-Roux can’t be controlled. He said as much. But what else could they use Christien for?
Her eyes rested on Christien. She watched and saw that his chest rose and fell. He was still breathing.
Christien? Don’t die, will you?
Jane suddenly knew the answer for one of her questions. What could they use Christien for? They wanted Jane to do something, and when Jane refused, they would threaten Christien’s life. If Jane wanted Christien to live, then she would do what they wanted.
Jane knew something very certain about Christien. She wanted him to live, and she would do anything to make certain he did.
* * *
Lyle efficiently directed the boat out into the Mississippi. He had covered Christien’s and Flor’s unconscious forms with a bluish-gray tarp, and Jane was sorry she couldn’t see Christien’s chest moving anymore. There was a pang of guilt that her eyes hadn’t checked Flor’s chest for the same. But hopefully, Philippe wanted Flor breathing for his reprehensible activities as much as he wanted Christien and Jane alive.
The Harvey Dockbanger kept to the side of the Mississippi, never getting out into the deeper channel where ships, trawlers, freighters, and other river traffic were busy. The smaller vessels kept to the sides. They passed sailing boats and fishing boats. People waved cheerfully.
“Wave, Jane,” Philippe said as he sat across from her on the built-in bench, snapping his fingers twice.
Jane waved. She used both arms as if signaling frenziedly for assistance. Philippe grimaced and added, “Jane, with one hand as if you were the queen.”
Jane dropped one arm, and the other flipped a greeting to passing boats. She might have been a beauty queen in a parade, except she wasn’t. “You’re lower than pond scum, Philippe,” she commented.
Philippe shrugged. “Well, we are what we are, oui?”
“You don’t have to be anything,” Jane said.
“I was raised a Viqc,” Philippe said sincerely. “The Viqcs are les socières. It is what dey’ve always been.”
“And the loa demand a sacrifice for the powers they will give you,” Jane finished.
“Sure,” Philippe agreed. “Power always demands a sacrifice. Ain’t power wit’out blood.”
“You could have any life you want, Philippe,” Jane insisted. Her arm was getting tired of waving. “It doesn’t have to be this one.”
Philippe considered her. “You can’t recollect your life, Jane. How you know what life be like, you?”
“I know what you’re doing is wrong,” Jane went on. “I know it won’t make you happy.”
Philippe extended his foot
and used it to flip the corner of the tarp up, revealing Christien’s face. “Him make you happy?” he asked. “He don’t know his life neither. And you both had lives before. Maman took it away on account of what you did. You t’ink Maman should go into some other business, too? Maybe sell real estate or tell tourists dey’s fortunes in Jackson Square?”
“I think it’s too late for her,” Jane said sincerely.
Philippe reached down and flipped the tarp back over Christien’s face. “I t’ink it’s time for you to stop talking for a bit.” He smiled unfeelingly. “Jane, you will not speak until we reach Fort St. Phillip.” He snapped his fingers, and her mouth immediately shut. “And you can stop waving now.”
Crap, thought Jane.
A helicopter came zipping past them and she watched it. Philippe didn’t notice it as took out his cell phone and looked at the screen. The helicopter headed downriver, keeping to the bank. It was black and didn’t have numbers on the sides. The sight of it made Jane’s heart pound harder and she wondered why.
* * *
“We’re here,” Lyle said. The Harvey Dockbanger pulled up to the canal just past where Lyle pointed. Philippe said, “Can’t see much. Like I said, Katrina done messed with the place proper.”
Jane couldn’t say anything although she tried. She supposed the rules of the game interpreted it as her not arriving at the fort yet. She moved her eyes to the left but only saw large trees and heavy vegetation. Then there was a brief glimpse of brick and mortar walls, but the growth of the brush had taken over, pushing bricks to the sides, allowing roots to explore unchecked.
Jane sighed.
“Oh, got somet’ing to say, you?” Philippe said as he glanced at her. He snapped his fingers together. “You can speak again, Jane.”
“What happened to your fingers, Philippe?” Jane said, drawn to the three missing sections. “Looks like something bad happened there.”
“Sure,” Philippe said as his lips curled into unadulterated iciness. “Maman’s got a way wit’ her people. You make a mistake once, and she talks to you. You make a mistake twice, and she talks to you harder. Den she gets serious-like.”
