Mystic Jive: Hand of Fate - Book Four (3 page)

“I got bit by a spider. The poison left a mark on my skin. The doctor says it’ll fade eventually.” I knew different, though. The poison trapped beneath my skin was part of me now, like the crescent moon scar or Morta’s shears.

“Did it hurt?” asked a girl in the third row.

“Yeah, it did.”

“My brother got bit by a spider and it didn’t turn his foot black.”

“This was a pretty big frikkin’ spider.”

The class started to throw out more questions, but the principal put an end to it, saying “Thank you, Officer Blackman.”

I stepped off the stage to scattered applause and took my seat in the front row below the stage. The entire student body was between me and the exit—there was no way to sneak out before the program was over.

Next up was Honey Briscoe, the owner of Honey Bee’s Bakery. She’d brought two dozen boxes of fresh donuts to pass around. Honey had the kids literally eating out of the palm of her hand. A willowy, stunner of woman, she was about ten years older than me. I always thought she could have been a dancer, or even a model, but she married Nate Briscoe as soon as they graduated high school. Warm brown skin, doe eyes, and broad cheekbones gave hints of her mixed African and Senequois heritage.

She started the bakery seven years ago, after her husband, Nate Senior, was killed in the line of duty. The shop had been a hit from day one—in part, because every cop and sheriff’s deputy working east of Rochester bought their donuts at Honey Bee’s.

She had two boys: eighth-grade Nate Junior, who had pretended he didn’t know me, and nine-year old Ray, who everyone called Arby. My brother Lance and his wife used to live just up the street from the Briscoes. My niece Mina and Arby played together when they were toddlers, until Lance’s marriage broke up and Violet moved out, taking Mina with her.

Honey explained how she used a lot of math in her recipes and to calculate how much to charge for a donut. She even showed the kids how to twist dough to make pretzels. And when she smiled, the whole room smiled right back at her. By the time she was done, the kids gave her a standing ovation.

Personally, I think they were just on a sugar high from all the donuts. I made a mental note to bring food if I were ever called to do a career day presentation again. Pretty hard to top chocolate donuts, but I bet a pizza would do the trick. Not much chance of topping that.

I was wrong.

Tony Perez, one of the pro soccer players from the Rochester Rhinos, juggled a soccer ball with his feet the whole time he spoke. He was laid-back and charming, with a grin that lit up the room. At the end of his speech he handed out little hacky sack soccer balls with the team logo on it for all the kids. Sheesh, they liked him even better than Honey.

The kids were all kicking around their new soccer sacks, and couldn’t wait to leave. I thanked my lucky stars that the final presenter never showed up. I’d fallen off the sugar wagon big-time. The three donuts I’d eaten were making me sleepy and restless at the same time.

Without warning, the gym door slammed opened, and Lydia Fewkes rushed in. She dumped one of two large cloth bags she was carrying onto the empty seat next to me, and then stepped up onto the stage. She apologized to everyone for being late, but the natives were already restless.

Eighth graders are a really tough crowd.

I didn’t know her, but I knew who she was. She and her brother, John owned a fancy flower shop, located across the street from Dave’s Killer Burgers. It was one of those snooty places, with trendy European antiques, dried herbs, and a tea shop in the back. The flowers were an afterthought, I think. Very popular with tourists. I’d never been inside their shop—I don’t buy antiques, flowers, herbs, or tea. Not my kind of place. But their seasonal display windows were lavishly decorated, and this month’s fall theme was lit with tiny white lights, brightly-colored leaves, pumpkins, and fairy gardens.

“I’m Liddy,” she said, by way of introduction. “My brother and I own of Lotus Floral & Apothecary, but I think several of you might recognize me as the puppet lady. My Saturday morning puppet shows in the display window of our shop have gotten quite popular.”

A scatter of enthusiastic clapping confirmed her story.

“When Mr. Williams asked me to come here today, I think he imagined I would speak to you as a small business owner, but instead, I am going to speak to you about the life of an artist.”

She certainly looked the part. Jeweled flower barrettes sparkled like blood rubies in her long, wavy brown hair. She wore a knee length, turquoise, red, and grey gypsy skirt that looked as if it had been stitched together from antique scarves. Suede cowboy boots with silver conches along the side, and an open knit sweater worn over a lacy camisole completed her funky-cool look.

Must be nice to wear whatever she wanted to work. I glanced down at my navy uniform and square-toed boots, and took solace in my job security. Well, except for this year, when the budget had forced cutbacks. I couldn’t afford cool clothes like that, even if I wanted to--
which I didn’t.
Although those boots were pretty bad ass.

Sweet, rather than pretty, Liddy made the most of what she had with make-up, using it to accentuate her expressive eyes. She said she’d been a stage actress in England, and I could certainly believe it. Anyone could see she had star quality.

She talked about theatre, costuming, acting, and her lifelong fascination with hand-carved wooden dolls and puppetry. She was animated and lively. I couldn’t help but envy her.

From her oversized cloth bag, Liddy brought out one of the marionettes she’d made. It was an elephant—complete with saggy knees and waggly ears. While she spoke about her life as an artist, the elephant seemed to come alive under her hands. It interrupted her with questions—its long trunk pulling on her skirt or reaching for her long hair. Pretty cute.

Okay, maybe even adorable.

Then, as if noticing the audience for the first time, the elephant winked at the kids and started doing a little hip-hop dance step until Liddy stopped talking. She asked the kids if they wanted to see more, and by this time those fickle little eighth graders were putty in her hands. Liddy and the little elephant did a rap song and jive routine about finding your passion and staying in school—just the right level for the kids. The rap beat was irresistible and the words were really clever. Every kid in the gym was on their feet, entranced by the dancing marionette—even the principal was nodding along to the beat.

I admit it--I couldn’t stop my feet from stepping to the music, either. Rhys and I had started taking a dance class—Dancing for Lovers—and I had a whole new appreciation for all kinds of music.

I must’ve jostled the chair next to me, because Liddy’s other bag, which she’d dumped next to me, fell to the floor, spewing scraps of brightly colored cloth, spools of thread, and dozens of clear packets of dried herbs out onto the linoleum. I leaned down to pick up the mess.

I gathered up the spilled fabric to shove it back in the bag. There was another wooden puppet inside. The lovely painted face of a dark-haired boy stared up at me. Its charming painted features were cracked and nearly worn off with age. He was dressed in some sort of a carnival costume. So beautiful. Probably worth a lot of money. Its hair had gotten mussed in the fall.

I smoothed the dark locks away from the doll’s face, marveling at the seemingly real hair. The crescent scar on the palm of my hand began to itch.

Help me, Morta! Help me!

I dropped the doll and bag both like a hot potato, strewing pins, thread spools, and glass beads across the floor. I looked round, but the kids were too busy rappin’ to the beat of the elephant stomping it up on stage. The voice was only in my mind.

I shoved the spillage back into the bag. My hand hovered over the wood puppet for a moment, and then picked it up again.

I call upon the Hand of Fate to—.

The door in my mind linking me to Morta was thrown open. The crescent scar on the palm of my hand burned like fire. I dropped the doll and kicked it into the open sack.

Was it alive? No, of course not. It was just a doll. Too many chocolate donuts, that’s all.

I glanced up and saw Liddy Fewkes staring daggers at me from the stage. The audience was still clapping to the beat, even as Liddy ended the performance and shoved the elephant marionette into her bag. The kids shouted and cheered as she stepped away from the podium, but she kept her eyes on me.

“Let’s give Miss Fewkes and all our guests a big round of applause,” said Principal Williams.

Liddy gave a final wave and stepped off the stage, a wooden smile glued on her face.

I’d managed to shove most of the rest of the junk back into the sack before Liddy got to me.

“I’ll take
that
.” She snatched the bag from me and muscled her way through the crowd.

Jeeze Laweeze, lady
. No need to be so huffy about it. I don’t think I could have stopped her, even if I tried. Every kid in the gym was on their feet now, eager to scarf up the last of the free donuts.

Long after Liddy Fewkes left the building, the voice in my head kept screaming.

CHAPTER 3

SATURDAY MORNING, I begged off practice with Master Foo to spend time with Blix and the new Speak and Read tablet Rhys had given me. Rhys and Henri were both crazy about their Qhua Bei workouts. However, my lessons with Master Foo, the martial arts instructor usually, usually left me feeling inadequate.

I sat at the kitchen table; the colorful plastic tablet and my cell phone positioned in front of me. Blix perched on my left wrist, his ears perked, his expression intense. He kept looking from me to the tablet and back again.

I showed him how to turn it on, and when the screen came up, there was a picture of an apple. It had a big pink capital “A” next to it, and the word, “apple” spelled out underneath. I tapped the picture, and a simulated voice said, “A is for Apple. Say apple.”

Blix looked up at me and gave a muted squeak.

“This will teach you how to talk, Blix.” I pointed to my phone. “It’s just like my cell phone, but this one is for you.”

I showed him how to use the different buttons for different lessons—for both the alphabet and counting. The program gave him two chances to say the word correctly before moving onto the next letter.

He tapped the tablet tentatively with a long claw. Blix’s back feet were padded claws like a cat’s. His front feet were shaped a bit like monkey hands, tipped with long sharp talons—a combination both dexterous and deadly.

In less than five minutes, he was already up to P is for Pony. Smart little djemon. He didn’t any help to figure it out. I told him he was a good boy and he actually chirruped a little, but his eyes never left the tablet. When I left, Blix was still tap-tap-tapping away on the key pad. I admit, seeing him take to it so fast made me feel pretty good. He’d be speaking in no time. Rhys and Henri would be so impressed.

Time for breakfast.

Killer Dave’s had been closed for months, so I walked down to Honey Bee’s for coffee and a chocolate croissant. Nate Junior was working the counter by himself this morning. I stepped up and placed my order.

“Sorry, Miss Blackman, we’re all out of chocolate croissants this morning.”

Just my luck. I perused the display shelves. Now that I‘d fallen off the sugar wagon, I needed chocolate with my coffee. Cinnamon rolls and maple bars just weren’t going to cut it.

Honey swooshed out from the back with a fresh tray of her special muffins topped with a dollop of cream-cheese icing. They’re more like a cupcake for grownups. Still warm from the oven, they smelled like banana-walnut heaven.

“Morning, Mattie,” Honey said. “You’re too late for the croissants. How about a dozen chocolate donuts? I know Henri likes those too.”

After the Career Daze incident, I’d decided to go cold turkey on the chocolate donuts. “A muffin will be fine.”

“That’s it?” She gave me a little pout. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m trying to cut back. And a coffee. For here.” I pointed to the empty table nearest the kitchen.

I paid Nate and took my coffee and muffin over to the table. Honey took the other seat with a muffin for herself.

“You don’t mind if I join you, do you? These are my absolute favorites. I only make them once a week. Otherwise I’d be big as a house.”

 “I don’t believe it for a minute,” I grinned and poked my finger in the swirl of icing on the top of my muffin.
Nummy.
“You could be a model.”

“Well, aren’t you sweet?” She bit into the crunchy muffin top, getting a smear of icing on her upper lip, which she wiped away discreetly with her napkin.

I followed suit and immediately understood why the muffins were her favorites. The cake was tender and moist and at the same time crunchy with walnut chunks. Ooh, and that icing—maybe chocolate was a little overrated.

“You were a hit with the kids on Career Day,” I said.

She laughed. “Any kid with a donut in his hand is a happy kid. I could have stood up there and recited the Gettysburg Address and they would’ve been happy to hear it.”

“At least they listened. Next time I’ll bring swag.”

“Liddy Fewkes didn’t brink swag.”

Something in Honey’s expression caught me. I took a sip of coffee. “No. The kids sure liked her, though,” I said.

A moment stretched between us. Honey pushed her muffin away, half-eaten. “Well.”

I got the feeling that she had a lot more to say. “How well do you know her?”

She took a deep breath and shrugged, not looking at me. “I’m too busy to get out much. She’s really got a knack for those puppets, though. I never liked puppets when I was a kid. I always thought they were creepy.” She shivered. “But Arby is mad for them. I can’t keep him away from those Saturday shows of hers.”

I stared at her. It felt as if she was saying something I was supposed to understand. I thought about the puppet in the bag. Had she seen something? Had she heard the puppet speak to me? Impossible.