Spell For Sophia (19 page)

I clawed through the tightly wedged clothing and magical necessities.
Where are the binding cords?

The streetcar resumed its loud, creaky trek. Nervous Guy balanced on the outside edge of his seat and planted his black-booted feet in the aisle close to Breaux.

"Hey, man."

Breaux's shoulders slumped. "Yo."

Nervous Guy jerked his chin up and pointed it at me. I lowered my gaze and unzipped the small front compartment on the backpack.

"Your girlfriend looks like she knows magic."

"My girlfriend is magic."

A warm blush stormed across my cheeks. Had I been elevated to girlfriend, or was Breaux just playing along to keep the guy calm? I glanced over my shoulder. An oak branch missed our window by a hair's width, startling me. We creaked past it.
Come on, Bayou. We could use some backup here.

Snap-unsnap-snap-unsnap-snap. "You two better leave."

Breaux stiffened and stilled. His head moved slightly as though he were checking the exit. "Why?"

Nervous Guy wrapped his hand around the heavy brass padlock. "The Overseer doesn't like her. He distrusts her." He tilted his head back. Twin blue-green veins in his neck pulsed against his skin. "She knows about silver knives. So she needs to leave."

The hair on my nape rose like hackles on a panther. I dug behind a laminated card depicting Mother Mary. My pulse accelerated when my fingers encountered scratchy twine.
The binding cords!
I extracted them, then shoved everything but the poppet and twine back inside the pack and zipped it shut.

"Thank you for the warning." Breaux twisted and glanced over his shoulder. I pushed aside the backpack so he could see the poppet and small bundle of twine.

I need his name.
There wasn't time to prepare the poppet. I didn't have any of Nervous Guy's DNA or dust from his footprints. But if I had his name, I could invoke the Hermetic Law of Similarity.

Breaux must have read my mind. He rubbed the back of his neck then wheeled back to Nervous Guy. "I didn't catch your name."

The antiquated streetcar slowed and several people rose from their seats, adding to the general noise. Maybe Nervous Guy answered. If he did, I didn't hear him. But I did sense several looks drifting our way, so I shoved the poppet and restraints into my hoodie pocket.

Breaux swiveled in the seat and grabbed the backpack. "We're getting off.
Now.
Stay in front of me. I'll protect your back."

"Okay." I glanced out the window. With a surge of relief I spotted the dripping ghost and a silver ethereal girl at her side. The shiny girl floated to the front of the streetcar and studied each passenger before moving to the next. I could just make out dreadlocks and a long silver cord stretching from her belly button to the clouds.

"Sophia!" Bayou motioned in quick, frantic gestures. "Get out! Get out!"

"Crap!" I splayed my hand across my ribs and scrambled to my feet.

Breaux shouldered the backpack and stepped into the aisle. He backed up, making room for me to squeeze in. I popped into the gap, so close to Nervous Guy I could smell the fabric softener on his clothes. His lower lip trembled as he fumbled beneath the flap of his leather man-purse.

Unsnap.

Desperate energy assaulted me. Fear jumped along my nerves. Tourists and university students blocked the aisle. I fought back the urge to shove my way to the front, climb over the mahogany seats if necessary, and dart out the open red-trimmed glass door. Stuck, I uttered another protection spell and cast it to include Breaux.

Outside the streetcar, the silvery translucent girl made her way toward me. She called out to Bayou, but her words didn't penetrate the noisy streetcar. It seemed everyone had risen to leave, but no one was in a hurry — no one but Breaux and me.

A flash of movement in my peripheral vision caught my eye. Unable to move forward, I pivoted and glanced back. Nervous Guy eased a table knife out of his man-purse.

"Don't do it," Breaux warned.

Nervous Guy rose. His black leather clutch thudded to the floor. "She has to take it, man. Quick, before the Overseer comes back."

"There is no Overseer," Breaux said.

Nervous Guy's pleading eyes met mine. "You saw him, didn't you?"

My memory triggered.
Never show affinity for a departing spirit lest it slips into you slick as melted butter on shrimp. It'll seep right into one your vortexes.
My gaze dropped to the padlock blocking Nervous Guy's throat chakra. Despite its horrible energy, I detected no parasitic spirits. I scanned lower. Heart chakra — closed.

"What's the holdup?" a passenger in the aisle behind Breaux demanded.

"Soph?"

Solar plexus chakra— Cold dread swept over me like crypt dust. A fist-sized mass the mottled color of tarnished silver had tethered itself to the vortex at the upper part of his abdomen.

"Don't let the Overseer…" The knife tumbled from Nervous Guy's hand and clattered onto the aisle between our feet. He clutched the padlock at his throat.

Bayou rushed to my side and screamed, "Get the knife! Hurry!"

I couldn't see Mam'zelle, but I heard her voice fuse with the ghost's. Maybe a whole line of deceased Martine women shouted at me. I dipped and retrieved the silver knife and the man-purse. Then I straightened up and stared into the cold, heartless eyes of the Overseer.

Chapter Twenty

Ainslie

Excitement and panic short-circuited my brain.
Calm down. You'll never remember how to get to Tulane if you panic.
I closed my eyes and tuned out the accelerated drumming signaling from across the Void.
Work backward. What do you remember about Tulane?

I remembered the flush of excitement when I'd boarded an old-fashioned green streetcar with its curved wooden seats. We had made the trip when I was ten. Houses. I remembered
oohing
over the antebellum homes I had spied out the streetcar window. A massive brick-colored, old-world style building flashed into my mind. It was too big for a house. A statue of Jesus stood out front.
I remember —Loyola University.

We had exited the streetcar at the entrance to a sizeable park. A large European-style building drifted into my mind, followed by a wall with Tulane University spelled out in gold letters.
It's in the Garden District.
The Mississippi River flowed past one end of the huge park and Tulane loomed at the opposite end.

I whirled about and faced the river, visible across the railroad tracks and beyond the high levee punctuated with metal benches. The drums rushed back into my consciousness, faster and more insistent than ever. If I didn't reunite with Yemaya soon, I'd have to brave the Void alone. The thought sent waves of panic shuddering through me.

Following the river wouldn't be the most direct route, I reasoned, but it was the surest. I glanced up and down the Mississippi. Which way? What if it were Bayou's "River of Time?" Would one way send me forward in time, and the other way backward?

A few tourists wandered up the ramp from the Café Du Monde. Two thirty-something women stopped by the cannon. One pulled out a slick visitors' guide and opened it to a foldout map. While the two discussed where to head next, I ignored the frantic drums reverberating through me and peered over the women's shoulders. The breeze caught the map, twisting and fluttering it just as I located Jackson Square and the Moon Walk.

The woman clutching the visitors' guide fumbled with the map. Two lifetimes seemed to pass before she straightened it and held it steady long enough for me to find the Garden District. I could see following the river would take me far out of my way. I dove in closer and memorized the route to the streetcar station. If I followed the trolley tracks, they'd lead me straight to Tulane. I decided to go for it.

The easiest course would be to edge the French Quarter. I could glide left on Decatur, past Jackson Square, then right on Canal Street. What if time rippled again and the public executions reappeared? I couldn't risk a panic attack. If I went straight on Saint Ann Street instead of left on Decatur and kept my head down, I could skirt Jackson Square and then turn left behind the Saint Louis Cathedral. Safer, I decided.

Straight. Then left on Royal Street, right on Canal, left on Saint Charles
.
Straight,
I mentally repeated,
then left, right, left, then follow the streetcar tracks.
I flew low enough to read the street signs. As I sped down Saint Ann Street, I averted my gaze from Jackson Square on my left. Instead, my focus jumped from a mime with gold-painted skin to painters setting up easels to tarot readers casting crushed velvet cloths over card tables. A grim-faced man wailed on a saxophone.

With relief I made the left onto Royal Street behind the Saint Louis Cathedral. As I approached the backside of the large church, the color bled from the cityscape, filling my astral body with dread. A giant surge of warp energy barreled down the street. Before I could escape, it slammed me in midair, knocking me backward. My astral body crackled and buzzed, floundered and flipped. Heat engulfed me. I glanced off buildings and trees until finally halting in midair above the street. I hovered, shaken and disoriented. Night had overtaken day.
Is it twilight or dawn? The present or past?

A shot cracked the silence and reverberated off the closely wedged buildings. I rocketed onto a shadowy balcony across the street from the cathedral and crouched behind a large potted plant. The gunfire hadn't
popped
like a modern gun. It sounded messier, reminding me of the historical dramas Mom and I used to watch.

I inched out and peered down onto the empty street. Seeing no one, I glided over the wrought-iron railing to survey the dark alley. A puff of smoke, pale gray against the night sky, led me to the patch of sky above a church courtyard. I spotted two Creole men garbed in nineteenth-century clothing. Each wore a sword strapped to his waist and aimed a long, old-fashioned pistol at his opponent.

A duel!
I recoiled as sparks flew from the pistol muzzles. One bullet hit its mark. I screamed as the man who had been shot dropped his pistol and crumpled to the ground. Horror filled me as blood stained his white shirt and seeped onto his unbuttoned vest. A bystander shouted in French. As I hovered, paralyzed by shock, the duel repeated like a movie clip playing in an unending loop. I gathered my wits and fled.

Dawn broke, casting a soft glow. The street now teemed with ghosts. Two Creole women dressed in wide-tiered gowns swished past. A monk hurried to the church. A yellow fever victim slumped against the side of a building and vomited what looked like coffee grounds. I swallowed hard and gave him a wide berth, flying while I stared.

Too late I sensed another presence and swiveled my head. I came eye to yellow eye with a trio of yellow fever victims. Blood streamed from their eyes, noses, and mouths. Unable to stop, I passed through them.
Heebie-jeebies! Heebie-jeebies!
The hysteria I had staved off in the Void unleashed. Shrieking, I batted at my face, certain their blood, their germs, their death clung to my auric field.

I'm going to die. I'm going to die.
I needed to shower in antiseptic gel. My stomach and kidneys hurt. I started to think
I want to go home,
but stopped myself before the universe heard me and answered my request.

I flew upward to escape the plague victims and came face to dead-eyed face with flood or hurricane casualties caught in the branches of a tree. Drums pounded in my ears, warning me to bail and go home.

"Yemaya? Bayou?" Their names came out as shrill shrieks.

Sophia
, I reminded myself.
Tulane
. I dipped down to street level again and dodged a mule-drawn wagon carrying wounded soldiers.
Just get to the next cross street.

As I approached what I hoped was Canal Street, time shuddered, somersaulting me forward. I tumbled and tumbled, my astral hand clutched around the pendulum. When the wave finally stopped, New Orleans had returned to bright daylight and full color. To my relief, cars rushed past me and modern high-rise hotels stood out among the glass-fronted tourist traps. Streetcar tracks bisected the wide, multi-lane street. I wished I had a sense of smell in my astral body so I could breathe in the car pollution.

For a moment I gaped, waiting for the buzzing up and down my astral body to stop. Rapid percussion screamed at me from across the Void. Fearing further delay, I gathered what energy I had left and sped off to find Sophia.

Chapter Twenty-One

Sophia

I hefted the table knife. I didn't have to run my thumb over it and locate the engraver's stamp. I could tell by its old-fashioned handle design and the way it balanced in my palm; it was the real deal.
Silver.
I tore my gaze from the Overseer and checked Nervous Guy's solar plexus.
Crap.
The parasitic soul had escaped into the vortex, into Nervous Guy. My stare plummeted down to Nervous Guy's root chakra. There, tethered by the thinnest of silver cords, I spotted the quivering remnant of his true soul.

"Are all y'all getting off at this stop or not?" the driver called back to us. "I have people waiting."

The Overseer rose as though he planned to invade the aisle. Breaux closed the gap between us and cut him off.

"Hey," the guy behind Breaux protested. I wasn't sure if his anger was directed at Breaux or the Overseer.

The driver stood and crossed her arms over her chest. "Y'all leave. This is the end of the line for all y'all."

"Yes, ma'am, we're going," Breaux called out. "My apologies for the delay." He shielded me from the Overseer as I tucked the leather clutch into my hoodie pocket, careful to not dislodge the twine and poppet. Then, knife clutched low at my side, I sheathed the magical weapon as I did a one-eighty. A quick tug on the hem of my hoodie concealed the sheath. The crowd packing the aisle had disembarked. Set, I strode forward.