Mojo Queen (3 page)

I laughed.

* * * *

My home was on the northwest outskirts of town, away from the city proper. It was an old farm house, set off by itself, with woods as my nearest neighbors. I liked it that way, my half-hidden single-story clapboard with a wide front porch hosting a glider and several planters, and a heavy front door I always had to lean into to open. The big living room looked overcrowded from all the bookshelves. There was a spacious kitchen and a separate utility room that opened out into a screened-in back porch. A bedroom and bathroom, nothing special there. Mine was the smaller of the two bedrooms. What would be a master bedroom in anyone else’s house was the home office and library in mine. The library and the kitchen were where I spent most of my time, and that was no different tonight. I put the tea kettle on the stove and measured out some loose-leaf chai into a tea ball. While I waited for the water to boil, I changed my clothes and made my way into the library, switching on the floor lamp near the door.

A desk, cheap shelves sagging with books, several framed album covers on one wall. RL Burnside, Johnny Cash, Gram Parsons and a few others. There was quite a bit of stuff in the back room of my office that I used in my work, but I had more at home;a lot of books and spares of things. I took inventory to see if anything needed cleaning or replacing. Everything was fine. The whistle of the tea kettle broke through the haze that had crept into my brain and I got up to make my chai. I felt disjointed, nervous, the kind of free-floating anxiety I was all too familiar with. A few sips of tea helped a little.

Back to the library.

I cleared the desk, leaving just my tea and a three-inch pillar candle with a nice vanilla scent I liked on a metal dish. I turned off the floor lamp, let my eyes adjust, then walked back to the desk, sat and removed my glasses. For several minutes that’s all I did, sit with my eyes closed, breathing in and out slowly, grounding myself, almost meditative. No thoughts, just my even, steady breathing and the feeling of energy building in me--a nice, calm, controlled raising of energy. I opened my eyes and stared at the candle. I focused on the wick, black and curled. I focused that slow spiral of energy I felt inside me, imagined the candle lit and burning, the flame dancing. Then the energy seemed to flare out, just a little, right at the candle wick, sending it bursting to life.

A neat party trick, but not one I performed in front of others. No one knew I could do this.

A pleasant rushing buzz ate up the anxiety I’d been feeling. I drank the chai and watched the candle burn, memories of my old teacher drifting into my thoughts.

I met Rozella in a graveyard after midnight. I was fifteen and I’d snuck out of the house to practice. With some surreptitious research I had diagnosed myself as some flavor of psychic rather than crazy. I kept my mouth shut most of the time to make it easier for my parents to pretend I was normal. I’d figured out if I worked at it, I could keep the colors at bay and even use my glasses to help. The best way to practice without interference was to sneak out at night and visit the graveyards.

For whatever reason, the ghosts and leftover energy signatures didn’t frighten me. Not that I had developed enough vocabulary about these things to call what I saw “energy signatures.” I had a sense of what I was seeing, but not the words to talk about it. That worked out okay, since I didn’t have anyone to talk to about it. Wrapped in the dark night and a too-large sweater, I walked through the cemeteries alone without fear. What ghosts I encountered never bothered me in those places. It’s usually homes where they get rowdy, places they spent a lot of time when they were living. Ghosts in a cemetery are much like people milling around a bus station or an airport. They’re just passing through. So I watched them, kept a respectful distance and practiced not being able to see them.

I was sitting on the ground reading a paperback by flashlight when someone passed through the cemetery gates. I remember it was a romance novel I’d picked up on the sly. Not one of those silly ones about some secretary getting pregnant by the boss then he marries her at the end, and you don’t even get to read the only fun part. No, this was a juicy one and the couple was doing all kinds of things I’d never heard of, and let me tell you I was taking notes. One day I’d find a good-looking boy to do all these things with, and he’d be glad of my attention to detail.

The squeak of the metal gate tore me out of the book. I switched off the flashlight and hunkered down. Every once in a while I’d come across some distraught person visiting a grave at night, or a drug deal. Once I’d fled a cemetery because a gang of drunk teenagers--all football players, so they probably thought they could get away with anything--vandalized some graves just for the hell of it. I hated that but I didn’t know what to do about it. If I turned them in I was busted myself for sneaking out, and I had no faith in the idea of an anonymous tip in such a small town. If this was something like that, or somebody meeting their dealer, I would leave very quietly.

A small elderly black woman made her way through the graves. She had something in one hand and seemed to know where she was going. I figured she might be visiting someone and my curiosity was piqued. There was certainly no kind of official segregation anymore but most white people went to white churches and black people went to black churches. Consequently there were only a few integrated cemeteries and the one I’d come to tonight wasn’t one of them. Who might this lady be visiting?

I stayed hidden but kept an eye on her. She wore an old-fashioned housedress and those boxy shoes nurses and old ladies wear. I slipped my glasses down and took a peek at her colors. There was some dark gold around her and that same shade of indigo blue I saw around myself when I looked in the mirror. That had me really intrigued.

She found the grave that was her destination and stopped in front of the headstone. Then she flung what she held at it, the sound of breaking crockery splitting the night. She promptly turned on her heel and walked away, not looking back.

Well, what the hell? I had no idea and I stayed in my hiding spot. I couldn’t have been more shocked if she’d strolled over and talked to me, which is exactly what she did.

“I’ve seen you around town once or twice.” Her voice was cultured and precise while still having a Southern accent. “You’re a Mathis, aren’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am.” I heard my own voice shake. If my parents found out I was sneaking out like this, and hanging out in cemeteries no less, it would bring on a whole new round of appointments with shrinks and maybe even the preacher. Thinking about that made me shudder. Our preacher gave me the creeps.

The woman looked at me as if searching for something. What, I couldn’t guess. It felt rude to still be crouched on the ground so I stood, hands clasped behind my back. I had no idea what to say to her, so I waited for her to speak.

“What’s my aura look like?” A hint of a smile played at her lips.

My mouth fell open.

“I can’t see them, you see, and I always did wonder.” The lady had sharp eyes and a kind face, and I felt myself begin to trust her just a little bit. She didn’t seem interested in getting me in trouble, for one thing.

“Some of it’s like mine, ma’am.”

She nodded as if this sounded completely normal to her. “My name’s Rozella. You come see me sometime. I think you and I would have a lot to talk about.” She chuckled as she turned to leave. “Oh yes I think we’ll have all kinds of things to talk about.”

Confused, I said, “I don’t know where you live.”

She grinned, waving a hand. “You set your mind to it, you can find me.” She walked off and once she was to the gate she turned to say, “I’ll be waiting.”

It took me a few weeks to work up the nerve and to figure out how to do it, but I did. I found her house by using my auric vision to see the traces of magical energy. From the moment I stepped into her home and her world, I never looked back.

The next few days I kept busy with various pursuits, like clearing the tree in the backyard that went down during a nasty thunderstorm.I was glad it hadn’t been big enough to overhang the roof. A few eager buttercups struggled out of the hard ground by the side of the house, but as February turned to March the cold refused to give way. A possible haunting uptown turned out to be faulty wiring making the lights flicker. I gave them the business card of an electrician friend. Late one afternoon I sat in the office, head bobbing in time with the Dead Can Dance coming from next door, slumped at the desk and reading Daniel’s blog. Called
Blood Shots--A Blog of Vampire Mixology
, he usually wrote about his crazy drink concoctions and overall beverage fetish, but sometimes he mentioned his ghost-hunting adventures with me. He passed it off as fiction but I wondered if there were other vampires out there who read it, and what they thought.

A knock at the door brought me out into the front room. Two young guys, who looked like college students and as nervous as hell, stood just inside the doorway. Wondering if this was the right time of year for torturing frat pledges, I greeted them politely.

The taller one, so blond he was almost tow-headed, spoke with reluctance. “Uh, is Mr. Mathis in?” He pointed vaguely at the sign that read
Mathis Paranormal Investigations.

“I’m Mathis.” I offered my hand. “Roxanne. Why don’t y’all sit down? Would you like some coffee?”

They made grateful noises as they shook my hand then collapsed on the loveseat while I started the coffee. These kids looked rough--rumpled clothes, dark luggage under their eyes. I kept my glasses on, wanting to hear what they had to say before I took a peek.

Tall tow-head’s name was Seth. The shorter stocky one with light brown curls and a pinched face was Gabe. They did not offer last names. Seth did the talking but he did not want to get to the point. “So. Uh.”

Oh great. “I want you to know that you don’t have to worry about confidentiality here,” I said in my most reassuring voice. “This agency is about helping people. Whatever problem you think you have, I can check it out. If it’s turns out to be something other than paranormal, I’ll see if I can help you find someone who can help you.” Like an electrician. “If it
is
paranormal, I’ll do everything I can to help you. I’ve been doing this for a while now. I’ve seen a lot.”

They exchanged wary glances. Seth asked, “What kind of things have you seen?”

I get this a lot, too; incredulity, reluctance and, most of all, embarrassment. I try my best to let people know they’re not alone in their strange experiences, that they’ll find no judgment in this office. “Well, I’ve dealt with ghosts. A lot of hauntings. I’ve got a pretty good track record of being able to convince an unfriendly ghost to go on its way.”

“Do you have experience with exorcism?”

My eyebrows went up before I could stop them. “Are you talking about banishing a ghost?”

“No.” He shook his head. “I’m talking about a demon.”

Gabe started shifting around in his seat. I took a long drink of coffee, trying to formulate a reply. “Why don’t you tell me a little more about what’s going on?”

Oh boy, did Seth not want to do that. Emotions rippled across his face, mostly doubt with a heavy dollop of fear. “We think that our friend is possessed by a demon.”

“Why do you think that?”

Gabe let loose with a bark of hysterical laughter. Seth glared him into silence then turned back to me. Keeping his gaze at a point on the wall just left of my forehead, he said, “We were just messing around with some stuff. We didn’t take it seriously. I mean, who would?” He met my eyes for a moment, looking for some kind of reassurance, maybe. Then he went back to staring at the wall. “But something
happened
.” A mixture of terror and awe weighed heavy in his voice, his face.

“What happened?” I prompted.

He stayed silent for a long moment, his hands clenching and unclenching, eyes traveling from the wall to the floor and anywhere else but me. “Our friend…she’s possessed by a demon.” He was on the verge of tears now. “Can you help her?”

His evasiveness was telling, and what it was telling me was not good. “You guys are college students, right?” I asked. Seth nodded. “Schizophrenic symptoms can develop in your early twenties,” I told him gently. “Have you thought about taking your friend to a doctor for a mental health evaluation?” I’ve seen this a few times too. Mental illness was probably a common cause of behaviors attributed to demonic possession in the past, and even today there are still a few fringe fundamentalists that were quicker to tie someone down and pray over them than take them to a doctor. Not many, though.

Seth shook his head violently. “No, no, no, it’s not like that. She…” He covered his face with his hands. When he spoke again, his voice sounded choked, strangled. “We didn’t know that it would be like this. We didn’t know…we thought…”

“You didn’t think what? What happened?”

He reached across and grabbed my hands, his face twisted with fear, eyes pleading. “Can you please help her?
Please help us. Please
.”

Seth was tall and gangly but strong enough to pull me out of my chair and onto my knees on the floor in front of him. With effort I got my hands back and stood. He covered his head with his arms while sobs wracked his body. Gabe sat stone-faced. At least, that’s what I thought until I saw twin tears slide down his face.
What the hell did these kids get into
? I put a hand on Seth’s shoulder, trying to offer whatever comfort I could.

Gabe spoke after a long, uncomfortable silence. “Do you think you can help?” he asked quietly.

“I’ll do whatever I can.” I stepped away and stood in the doorway to the private office. I took off my glasses, wiping the lenses on my shirttail. I looked the two kids over while I did this, my eyes unfocused. A roil of dark hazy grayish black covered their auras in a suffocating blanket.

These two kids--their auras were a cloud of absolute terror.

* * * *

They drove ahead of me and I followed in my car. A fortyminute drive from my office and every other minute of it, I wondered if I should have waited for nightfall, to have Daniel as backup. Ghosts, spirits, poltergeists--hell, even brownies once, but demons? I’d witnessed an exorcism once, by Rozella, but she had kept me far back from the action and I had been happy to stay out of the way. If this was real I would probably need help, but Seth and Gabe did not want to wait.