Spell For Sophia (16 page)

"What about the spell book?"

Yemaya compressed her lips. "We leave it open so the information continues to resonate with us as we journey."

The pages riffled, this time emitting a cacophony of sounds — crickets, birds, and small splashes. The second floor heater shut off and the temperature dropped.

Yemaya threw the spell book a stern look. "We haven't forgotten Bayou. One step at a time."

The noises stopped. Yemaya resumed. "One last thing…"

"Uh-oh."

"Sometimes journeying through the Void opens up other talents, like the ability to hear spirits—"

"Clairaudience."

Yemaya nodded. "Or clairvoyance."

"The ability to see ghosts and activities beyond normal vision." I said. "That would be interesting if we end up in New Orleans."

Yemaya shuddered. "You have no idea. Imagine centuries of violence, catastrophes, slavery, war, plagues—"

"Are you
trying
to scare me out of this?"

"No." Yemaya shifted on the daybed. "Just prepare you. It can be quite a shock. Oh, and you might lose your sense of smell. But it will return."

"I appreciate the warning." I blew a long breath out between my lips. "Let's do this."

"Okay. Picture yourself entering Spiral Journeys."

I closed my eyes and envisioned opening the glass door. The breeze stirred the wolf-and-moon wind chime over the cash register.

"Breathe deeply in and out. Calm your thoughts. Slow your heartbeat."

The sound of our breathing filled the room. My shoulders sagged and my body grew heavy. As Yemaya's words brought me deeper and deeper under, my chin dipped toward my chest. I inhaled the bright gardenia scent from Aunt Terra's handcrafted love votives and the exotic sandalwood incense burning on the store's Buddha altar. My bedroom and the milky white daybed slipped from my consciousness. My awareness split between the warm swath where our knees touched and Yemaya's hushed monotone. The cushions rustled when she leaned over and started the CD player. My mind barely registered the movement.

A whistle — not quite human, not quite raptor, and backed by a shaman's rattle — filled my ears, beckoning the spirits and totem animals. "We welcome the spirits who will guide us on this journey," Yemaya said over the CD. "And we ask for their protection as we search for Sophia Perez-Hidalgo and Shiloh Breaux Martine."

I sensed the dragon lifting its head in a distant realm and lumbering to its feet.

Yemaya guided me through loosening my auric field. Then she said, "You stand inside Spiral Journeys. Look up at the mural and allow yourself to take flight."

The mural painted above the bookcases along the back wall of the store came into focus. Treeless, rust-colored mountain peaks jabbed a cobalt sky. My stomach lurched. A familiar lightheadedness wobbled through me. At my back, dragon energy stirred.

The grimoire pages riffled, creating a breeze. In my mind's eye, I saw a current of air lift Yemaya's drawing and carry it like an errant ash over the edge of the table. The Evil Away powder splattered like bits of dried blood onto the snow-white area rug. Dread coursed through my veins.
I must warn Yemaya.
But the meditation had brought me too far under. Before I could gather my wits enough to swim back to consciousness, drumming, deep and insistent, replaced the whistle and rattle. I sensed massive wings in the air above and behind me. My muscles tensed. Spiral Journeys dissolved.

The mural expanded into a three-dimensional landscape and tipped toward me. The CD's drumming merged with the drums reverberating in my chest. Before the dragon's talons could prick my shoulders, I envisioned my leather bomber jacket. Its weight and warmth engulfed me. The dragon's claws clamped down on my shoulder. A slight prick, then the dragon swept me into the sky. My stomach whooshed. The drums wormed inside my head, urging me on, changing my DNA.

Go. Go. Go.

My shoulder blades tingled. My legs grew weightless, my vision sharper. Erratic energy buzzed between my shoulders. Cool air skimmed my body, ruffling my hair and rippling the slouch top I wore over my skinny jeans. Ahead, a bright white light shimmered between the rust-colored peaks. The drumming faded away, replaced by the
thwap, thwap, thwap
of the dragon's wings. The portal of light drew closer. The steady pressure of the dragon's talons against my shoulders increased.

My pulse accelerated. The dragon swung me backward. Tension built in my stomach. Claws bit into my jacket as the creature rocked me forward and released me. For several heartbeats I fell through nothingness, blinded by the brilliant light. Then massive wings unfurled between my shoulders. My stomach dive-bombed
.
I sucked in a cold breath. With two strokes I flew into the light.

A disturbance wave warped through me, exiting my body with a distorted
blurp.
Infinite darkness closed around me.
The Void.
Panic infiltrated every cell in my body. "Dragon?" I twisted, searching for a horizon line, something to distinguish up from down, ahead from behind. No stars. No sound. No hint of Yemaya. The silent darkness pressed against me as though I were an intruder it must destroy. My wings dissolved. I remained suspended in nothingness, too light. Defenseless. "Yemaya, are you here?"

Mute blackness answered.

Claustrophobia thickened my throat, constricting my airway. I swung about, disoriented.
Where's the portal?
I'm going to die. I'm going to die.

No light. No portal. Panic obliterated whatever instructions Yemaya had given me. The Void had swallowed the portal or dragged it into a black hole, leaving behind vast darkness.
I've lost the way back.

By reflex, my right hand reached for my left. I intended to dig my nails into my flesh to short-circuit my panic. When I felt nothing, I glanced down. My etheric hands shined like translucent silver starlight. Thor's crystal glowed in my palm. Relief flooded me. I raised the pendulum like a lantern.
Find Sophia.

The crystal-studded chain swung outward and to the left. The rose quartz point brightened, providing a small pool of comforting pink light. My pulse slowed. My anxiety retreated. My throat opened wide enough for me to gulp the frosty air.

"I'm here." Yemaya's voice sounded inside my head. Tears of relief brimmed my eyes as I spotted a dot of white light off to my left.

"I see your light."

"Good. Concentrate on Sophia and follow the tug."

"Tug?" It was disconcerting to see Yemaya's pendulum point but not her body.

I conjured up the memory of the last time I had seen Sophia. We had joked over lunch in the school cafeteria. It seemed like yesterday, yet a lifetime ago. I pictured her dark brown eyes and thick black lashes. She had braided a section of her long, wavy hair and secured it with a rubber band. The narrow braid fell over her left ear. She had pulled it across the skin graft on her throat when she finished eating.

My belly button tingled. The sensation grew stronger, as though an invisible cord was being pulled from me by a power drill set on reverse. The rose quartz at the end of my pendulum changed direction and pointed straight ahead. The almost imperceptible outline of a dark tunnel appeared. Before I could make sense of it, a sharp tug catapulted me forward and I flew, screaming silently into the blackness.

Chapter Seventeen

Sophia

"I need to sit, eat, and think," Breaux declared. So we descended the outdoor ramp and entered the nearby Café Du Monde. "Weird," Breaux said. "No line."

I trailed him as he threaded through the breakfast crowd seated at small, round tables in the cavernous open-air room. Ceiling fans hung motionless above us. Breaux passed an empty table before settling on one next to a pair of senior citizens who were rising to leave. Before the busboy could clear their table, Breaux snatched the newspaper the couple had left behind.

"It's just the sports section," Breaux said, scanning it. "But, look. The date is the same. Ten years into—"

"You ready to order?"

We both jumped. I wrapped my arm around my ribs. "We don't have menus," I said.

The white-hatted server rotated the napkin dispenser, exposing the brief menu affixed to the side. Breaux ordered coffee, water, and beignets for both of us. The server left without a word. The nearby scent of chicory coffee and deep-fried pastries smothered in powdered sugar grumbled my stomach. I tried to remember when I had eaten last.

"This has to be one of Papa Legba's tricks, don't you think?" Breaux asked.

"But we saw Mam'zelle's spirit."

"Why would
she
do this?"

I flattened one hand across the top of the tightly stuffed napkin dispenser and plucked several napkins with my other hand. "Maybe she's mad because I forgot to give you her message." I unfolded the top napkin and pleated it. "With everything happening so quickly, I forgot. Sorry."

He stole a napkin from my stack and dipped half of it into his water. "What message?"

"Here you are." The server returned with our pastries and drinks, collected Breaux's money, and then slipped back into the crowd.

I hid behind my bone-colored coffee cup.

Breaux scrubbed the blood from his hand.
"Grand-mère's
message
?"
he prompted, then bit into a beignet.

I lowered my cup. "Don't squander your good luck and brains
.
"

Breaux choked, then coughed, spraying powdered sugar. His eyes bulged. He covered his mouth with a fresh napkin to stem the next cough. I pushed his water toward him.

"Thanks," he said after a couple of cautious swigs. He placed the glass on the table between us. His eyebrows pinched together. "Are you serious?"

"Yes, sir." I slouched against the green plastic seat back and affected a casual stance. Well, as casual as I could manage while sore and trussed up. I settled for knocking drifts of powdered sugar off my beignet, then taking an alligator-size bite.

"When did
Grand-mère
give you this message?" he pressed.

I swallowed the deep-fried dough and swiped my sugary lips with a napkin. "Before she died."

"With any other girl, I'd say duh. But with you, a postmortem conversation would seem entirely believable."

"Thanks. I think."
There. I delivered the message. And he didn't flee.
I glanced over the waist-high wrought-iron fence corralling the diners and sipped the bitter coffee. The hot liquid seared a path down my throat. My insides warmed and the tension constricting my stomach loosened.

Breaux shifted in his chair and glanced toward the sidewalk where a street artist was setting up his easel and paints. He stiffened and leaned toward the low fence. "Soph, look!"

A corpulent man and his two daughters circled the empty table beside us, blocking my view. Breaux stood. "We have to go."

"But I haven't finished my—"

"It's
Grand-mère."
Breaux rose and dropped tip money — way too much — onto the table and then sidestepped toward me. I gulped my second beignet and washed it down with water while Breaux helped me stand. I brushed the sugar from my fingers before he cupped his hand under my elbow and escorted me to the nearest exit. A rogue wind scooted the newspaper off the table and carried it through the bars of the wrought-iron fence.

"This way." Breaux pressed his fingers to the bloody bandana as if the quick walk had made his head throb. A fresh stain of bright red blood bloomed across the white cloth.

"We should get you to a hospital," I said as we crossed Decatur and headed for the mule-drawn carriages. "You just left a thirty-two percent tip."

"Is that girl-speak for I need my head examined?"

"You
do
have a head injury."

"It will have to wait." He lowered his voice and bent closer to my ear. "A hospital would require me to divulge my name and birth date. Mine matches their congressman's. I'd wreck the time-space continuum." His hand tightened on my elbow. "There! By the pedicabs, do you see her?"

I followed his gaze to the row of yellow bike taxis. Mam'zelle's luminous form hovered beside the lead driver. Spotting us, the pedicabber raised his chin in acknowledgement. "Good morning. Do y'all need a ride?"

Mam'zelle's spirit brightened. Her essence leaned toward one end of the street and then vanished.

"Yes." Breaux steered me toward the wheeled contraption.

"Great," the driver said. "Do y'all want a city tour, or to go somewhere in particular?"

Breaux glanced at me. "We're not sure."

"We're on a scavenger hunt of sorts," I said. "Okay if we direct you as we go?"

The driver shrugged. "Sure, as long as y'all agree to pay the fare. We charge by the block." He pointed to the rate chart painted on the back of the cab.

Breaux angled away from the driver and pulled out his money clip. He thumbed through the thin collection of bills. Guilt swamped me. Each time Breaux paid for something, I felt like another stone was stacked on my wall of indebtedness.
I should be paying my own way. He needs his money for college.

It better be a short ride.

"Deal. Ten block maximum." Breaux climbed in beside me. "Head toward Canal Street," he told the driver.

The pedicabber, a college-aged Caucasian dressed in black board shorts and a yellow tee shirt bearing the taxi company's logo, glanced over his shoulder. "You got it."

My gaze darted to each side street we passed. I didn't care how far we'd been flung into the future; I still worried the drug lord had followed us. I felt too exposed in the open-air cab, unable to scrunch down because of the scarf binding my ribs. Ainslie had once told me President John F. Kennedy had died because the back brace he wore prevented him from ducking when his motorcade was fired upon. After what had happened back at the bayou… I shuddered.

Breaux tapped my knee, then angled his thumb toward the luminous apparition hovering at the corner beside a green metal traffic light. He kept the gesture low and small, avoiding the driver's attention.