Spell For Sophia (4 page)

"Sophia?
Grand-mère?
Are you in there?"

Merciful Mary!
I sprang to my feet. The knife and scissors clattered to the floor. "Breaux?"

"Sophia? Are you okay? Open up!"

Giddy with relief I bolted to the front, retracted the deadbolt, and flung open the door. Breaux's expression flitted from worry and frustration to surprise when I squeezed around the sizeable box he held in front of him, hugged his shoulders, and kissed his cheek.

"Well, howdy. I'm happy to see you, too. Mind if I take this inside?" Without waiting for a reply, he hauled the heavy-looking box into the sitting room and placed it on the throw rug by the bookcase. As soon as his arms were free, he pulled me into a quick embrace. "What happened? You look awful. Where is
Grand-mère?"

My lips parted. A rush of words stormed my brain and fought each other to reach my mouth. Before any could escape, a tremor shuddered through me, swamping me with held-back grief, fear, and abandonment. I let out an unearthly howl as every muscle supporting my body crumpled.

Chapter Four

Breaux guided me to the sofa and sat beside me in stoic silence while I stuttered and wept through my tale. When I finished, he pressed his palms to his eyes, then rubbed his face before squeezing my hand. His warmth blossomed through me, unfolding like a flower.

"This all happened last night?"

I nodded.

"No wonder you look done in."

I sniffed. "You, too."

Breaux released my hand and stood. "Take a shower. I'll pay my respects to
Grand-mère.
Then we'll eat the gumbo
Maman
sent along—"

"You were at Miss Wanda's? Mam'zelle said you were away at college."

Breaux shook his head. "It's winter break. But I have to be back to UCLA by January fifth."

I did the math in my head. Two weeks. Less, if you counted travel time. "I wish you could have stayed in Louisiana and gone to Southeastern or Tulane or Loyola."

"I'll return for graduate school. You know I went with the best scholarship package. Besides, you're from California. You might go back." He clasped my wrists and pulled me to my feet. "Go shower. You'll feel better after you eat, get cleaned up, and sleep."

"Didn't we have this conversation the first time we met?"

He slanted his head and studied me. "No, I had that conversation with a skinny runaway with wary eyes and a defiant mouth."

"So basically, nothing has changed."

His gaze flitted over me. "You're taller." His appraisal dropped to my chest, then bounced back to my eyes. "Parts of you are…less skinny."

We stood nearly toe to toe, so close his body heat and musky scent seeped into me. "Well, it has been two-and-a-half years."

"A lot of water has drifted under the footbridge." He glanced toward Mam'zelle's bedroom. His shoulders, broader than when I had last seen him, slumped. I stroked his arm. His muscle flexed beneath his bomber jacket and ribbed shirtsleeve. Breaux rubbed the back of his neck. "We'll figure our next move tomorrow after we've gotten some sleep."

"Okay." I hid my yawn behind my hand. "Breaux?"

"Yes?"

"Thanks for heeding Mam'zelle's call. I'm so glad you're here."

"I'm not here because of
Grand-mère."

"Yes you are. She told me she sent you a telepathic message. One you wouldn't be able to refuse."

Breaux shook his head. "I didn't receive it. I'm here because of
your
message."

"Mine?" Our gazes locked and my core somersaulted. "What message did I send you?"

"'Hurry up. I need you.'"

I gaped. The room, which had seemed too cold, now felt overly warm. "You came for me?"
He must have traveled on Oya-Yansa's winds to get here so quickly.

"Of course. I thought you were in trouble."

"I was… I am."

"Then it's a good thing I'm here." His eyes held mine.

My heart fluttered.
Claro que sí
. "Indeed." I tried to fathom the meaning in his dark eyes. My gaze swept upward to his ebony curls, then dropped to his broad nose and lush lips. His five-o'clock shadow added maturity to his face, reminding me again I was the fifteen-year-old now, not him.

"Maman
sent along some thrift store clothes she thought you'd like. They're in the box along with some new books and the gumbo, which needs to be refrigerated." He pointed toward the bathroom. "I'm going to duck in there before you hog it."

"I don't hog bathrooms!"

"Sure you don't." His eyes twinkled. Before he pivoted and strode off, I glimpsed his patented show-no-teeth, life-is-secretly-amusing smile.

My stare followed him. Grief and fatigue had robbed his stride of its usual bounce. But his athletic grace, full of strength without menace, remained. Some smart girl at UCLA was bound to notice it. Once she discovered his endearing mixture of brains, compassion, easygoing jests, athleticism, and focused ambition, she'd know he was The One. Then whatever chance I might have hoped for would vanish.

Good thing Breaux didn't turn around or he would have seen on my face the moment I realized I was in love with him. And then a heartbeat later, when I remembered Mam'zelle's message, he would have detected my heart crashing to my feet.
Tell him not to squander his good luck and brains.
She had meant don't squander them on
me.
She didn't want her grandson — prospective lawyer, politician, and advocate for Louisiana's disenfranchised — to fall in love with the runaway daughter of meth heads. Breaux had a bright future ahead of him. Mam'zelle didn't want it tarnished by my bad mojo. Which meant I had to run as far from Breaux as I could and never look back.

****

"I will
not
drop you off at the nearest town," Breaux insisted the next morning. We stood in the small sitting room where I had slept on the sofa and he had snored into a pillow on the floor. Neither of us had felt comfortable disturbing Mam'zelle's bed. "You're coming home with me.
Maman
will want to hear about
Grand-mère."

I knew what he was thinking —
you owe her.
I crossed my arms over my chest. "You can tell her."

The vein above his left eyebrow throbbed. I could tell he was clenching his teeth. He always clenched them when he was angry. I jutted my chin so he wouldn't know how much I wanted to go with him. Finally he said in a low voice, "I never figured you for a coward."

"Excuse me?" My tone sharpened.

He widened his stance and crossed his arms over his chest. We had dressed in jeans, long-sleeved knit tops, and hoodies. "You're afraid
Maman
won't believe you."

I averted my gaze and ran my hand down the fuzzy scarlet scarf Ainslie had given me one Christmas. He was right; that worry had been in the back of my mind. But mainly it would shatter my soul to be surrounded by Miss Wanda's motherly kindness. Worse, to be under the same roof as Breaux knowing Mam'zelle would disapprove. No point further scarring my heart or angering a deceased
mambo
queen. I still had a little pride and a large desire for self-preservation.

Breaux's voice softened. "Don't run away. Tell
Maman
about
Grand-mère
. She'll want to hear about the soul path. I won't be able to do it justice."

A boulder of resolve tumbled from my shoulders. I searched for an excuse. "Your mother is a foster parent. I'm underage. Won't she be obligated to report me to the authorities?"

"She hasn't so far. Besides, they could help you get home."

I blinked back tears. "You don't get it. I have no home. I can't go near anyone I care about." I lifted my backpack off the floor and glanced at the front door. "I need to find a safe hideout—"

He stepped closer and reached for my backpack. His fingers brushed mine, sending tingles up my arm. "Tell me why you need to hide."

"I can't. You'll hate me."

"Did you kill someone?"

I shook my head.

Breaux placed the backpack on the floor beside us and took my hand. Palm to palm, our fingers laced together. A thrill shivered my stomach. "Rob a bank?" he asked.

"No."

"Harm an animal?"

I glared at him. "Of course not."

He wrapped his free arm around my waist as though we were slow dancing. "Buy more than fifteen items at the grocery express line?"

I laughed. "Maybe."

His eyebrows arched. He waited. I knew him. He could wait until the next hurricane hit.

Kick it.
"My bio-parents manufacture and deal methamphetamine. They were going to sell me.
Sell me
to their boss to appease him after one of their meth cooks came up short." Shame scorched my cheeks. I stepped out of Breaux's embrace, released his hand, and scratched the skin graft on my throat.

Breaux exhaled a long breath. "No wonder you ran away."

I gripped my elbows. "They know where I lived and which school I attended. I can't go back."

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Soph, they could be in jail by now. Or dead."

"Maybe. Or maybe they're on the next boat headed up the bayou."

As soon as the words left my mouth, the channel beneath the hut churned. Water slapped the underside of the floorboards and seeped through the cracks.

Thump.
Something large hit the pier beneath the tiny kitchen, rattling the dishes and candleholder in the chipped sink.
Thump. Thump.
The supports beneath the sitting room vibrated from the blows. Jam jars and pictures of Saint Peter and Saint Roch toppled. The walls creaked. The floorboards beneath my feet buckled and water splashed my tennis shoes.

Breaux grabbed my wrist and pulled me to his side.
Thump. Crack. Thump.
Mam'zelle's nightstand jumped across the floor, pitching the perfume bottle and spirit doll onto the rug. A painted chicken foot dropped from its hook and hit the floor. The front door banged open and half-tore from its hinges. "What the—?" Breaux slid his arm around my waist, anchoring us together.

"The alligators!" I yelled above the din. I caught my backpack before it fell through a widening crack. "Mam'zelle warned—"

Breaux didn't wait for more. In a quick, athletic move he slung my backpack over his shoulder and hauled me outside.

Chapter Five

We paused on the narrow porch and gaped at the action in the water. Behind us the hut tweaked and groaned. Ahead, blue-gray alligators frenzied beneath the hut, the footbridge, and the pier where Breaux had tied his rental boat. One gator twisted its thick neck and fixed glowing orange eyes on us.

They're supernatural or bewitched.
I swallowed hard to dislodge the fear lumped in my throat. "Now what?"

"We run for it."

"Are you crazy?" My gaze swept our only escape — the footbridge. At least four ten-foot gators, two bleeding from open wounds, skirmished beneath it. Their surging, twisting bodies knocked water onto the wooden slats. A fifth alligator emitted a warning, lion-like roar. Fear clawed my spine. One slip and the gators would get us. If we got past them, then the ones closest to the shore could easily lunge, clamp hold of our legs, and drag us to our deaths.

The hut buckled and splintered behind us.
Kick it.
I squeezed Breaux's hand and inhaled deeply. We leapt from the front porch onto the narrow wooden bridge. Breaux took the lead, pulling me along, forcing me to focus ahead instead of looking down. Muscle memory kicked in. My legs pumped as though I were back playing soccer in my yellow jersey and donated cleats. Our footfalls thudded against the wet boards, spraying water. We fled past the two closest gators. Breaux moved too quickly for me to watch my footing. Instead, I laser-beamed on him and the island beyond.

Breaux was about a yard from land when a monumental
thump-thump-crack
sounded behind me. Breaux's grip tightened on my hand. The bridge torqued beneath my feet. Planks splintered behind me. Wooden shards broke off and arrowed into the swamp with a series of
plops
.

"Hurry!" Breaux was two feet from the island, crushing my bones with his death grip. In the green water to my right, a twelve-foot Big Daddy gator opened its snaggle-toothed maw and snapped it shut. The boards beneath my tennis shoes tipped on end, throwing me off balance. My right foot slipped off the edge.

Time slowed. A scream froze in my throat. My free arm windmilled to counter the gravitational pull. Beyond Breaux, Mam'zelle appeared, shimmering on the edge of the shore. An aura of white light surrounded her. She beckoned to us with one hand, her gaze locked on the alligators. Her lips moved and her body swayed as though she were casting a spell. A blue-gray gator surged to the surface and knocked the Big Daddy away from me. Breaux yanked my arm.

Time accelerated. For a fast second I was in Breaux's arms, his heart racing against mine. I ducked around lice-infested Spanish moss hanging from a cypress tree and leaped. My sneakers touched down on the slippery earth. Breaux propelled me inland. When he paused and glanced back, I followed his gaze to the pier. The boat he had rented slowly sank beneath the weight of a Loch Ness Monster-sized alligator. Breaux's shoulders hunched and his chin dipped.

Remorse festered in my stomach.
That will cost him big time, and it's my fault. He's here because of me.
"I'm so sorry!"

"It's not your fault."

"Yeah, right." The words came out in a breathless gasp. Breaux took off again, setting a punishing pace, pushing aside the needle-pointed palmetto fronds crowding the path. My lungs seared. It took all my breath to keep up with him.
Man, I used to run up and down the soccer field and barely get winded.

Breaux pushed aside a large palmetto and held it until I passed. "Where is
Grand-mère's
boat?"

"She had me move it to the other side of the island." We were now a decent distance from the hut, but I glanced back to be sure no bewitched beasts had followed us. No sign of the alligators. My lungs deflated.