Jamie stifled a scream as his eyes became glowing pits in a crumbling face.
"Mon Dieu." Widow Paris was taken aback. "You're out of time."
"What can I do?" Desperation showed in Jean's deteriorating features.
"Nothing," said Widow Paris, "We'll bring you back again when the influences are strong enough."
"You don't understand," he shouted, "Back in that darkness I would certainly go insane!"
"Wait," Marie said. "Maman, could we bind him here?"
"Oui, but we'd need a charm or amulet."
"Start the ritual, Maman." Marie held up the charm she'd rescued from the flood. "It was too hard to finish. I wasn't about to lose it."
"Excellent! Well done, mon enfant, well done." Widow Paris looked back at Jean Laffite. "Jean, we can do this, but there is bad with the good. Your spirit will be bound to this place and this day. With your remains so distant, it will be difficult to summon you at another time or place."
He shrugged. C'est la vie, or more accurately, that is death. Get on with it. Jean's voice was again a drowned burble.
Working with expert haste, the women finished the ritual just as Jean Laffite's ghost faded. Jamie looked alarmed.
"Did it work?"
"Oui, le petit," said Widow Paris. "Now, this tired old woman needs to go home."
"Of course, grandmaman." Jamie spun around. "Can you two go without me? I can still make it to the masquerade."
"We'll be fine," laughed Marie. "Go, have fun."
"Maybe you shouldn't be walking by yourself," said Widow Paris.
"No worry," Jamie said as she danced away. "I still have your amulet to protect me, grandmaman." She paused at the door. "I'm just so happy that this curse will be gone. I wonder how soon Fat Tuesday comes again on Leap Day?" She swept into the night.
Marie looked at her mother, hand to her mouth and horror in her eyes.
"Merde," cursed Widow Paris, "what have I done?"
The bitter laughter of a voodoo goddess echoed in the darkness around them.
"Non!" The tired, angry old woman shook her fist at the dark ceiling. "Non! The Voodoo Queen of New Orleans shall fix this, no matter how long it takes. This I swear."
"Maman?" Marie took her mother's arm. "Let's go home." Supporting each other, the two women walked into history.
February 29, 2028, 5:11 pm - 330 Loyola Ave, New Orleans, Holiday Inn Downtown-Superdome.
Midday New Orleans looked just like any other big city from ten stories up, but Mardi Gras lurked under the Louisiana sunshine. Tonight was Fat Tuesday, the last night of Mardi Gras, and also Leap Day, a dual event that occurred only once every one hundred and fifty-two years. Penny Alvarez had a ghostly appointment on this unique night. Penny clenched Bobby's dog tags until it hurt. Finally she turned away from the window and faced the ghost of Marie Lavaeu again.
"The only way, Grandma Marie? Possession?" She snorted. "And I can hardly believe I just asked that. But that's not even the craziest thing so far, is it? Curses and voodoo and pirates. . ." Penny's voice trailed off.
"But believe you must, girl," said Marie Laveau. She signed and shrugged. "It's not the only way, just the best way." Marie adjusted her silk shawl distractedly. "Should we fail to settle this another way, in a few months Mademoiselle Charlotte will take your newborn son for her own. In petty vengeance, she might even kill you to end Jean Laffite's line."
"You know I don't care about that pirate," said Penny. She took a deep breath "It's all about Bobby. I won't let anything happen to Bobby's son." She squeezed the dog tags again.
Marie nodded. "As it should be, cher Penny. Leave the rest to me. I've waited a long time to fix this."
"When do we do this possession thing?" Her voice was strong again.
"Whenever you are ready, I shall guide you through the ritual."
Penny turned back to the window. She recalled scorching autumn heat of the Dallas runway almost two years ago, the smell of burning jet fuel from airplanes waiting to take Bobby's unit to it's deployment. His voice still came to her, promising her--"Don't worry, mamacita, I'll be coming home. Nothing can stop me from coming back to my girl."
The Army chaplain had told Penny that Sgt. Roberto Alvarez was in shock and probably felt no pain, but Penny knew better. He'd gritted his teeth so hard his gold crown had cracked, she'd seen that at the funeral. Nothing stopped Bobby.
A news program had told her the rest. There had been an ambush. Sgt. Alvarez held off the attackers until his men had escaped, until he was hit. Bobby knew the tribal insurgents dismembered corpses and hid the pieces; bleeding, dying, he'd crawled away from the attack and hidden in the African bush. Nothing could stop her Bobby.
Well, nothing would stop her from having his son, not Bobby being dead, not some crazy voodoo curse. Nothing. The Army had paid for the sperm bank in case Bobby got gene-damaged in the war. Even Bobby's final words, recorded from his field radio and dramatically broadcast with the program, helped Penny. The network paid for those six words, "just make sure I get home," paid enough to cover the costs of the in vitro procedure.
She was scared, but that wouldn't stop her, either.
"I'm ready," Penny said, drew the curtains and turned from the window.
No comments:
Post a Comment