King of the Mutants (8 page)

We followed him to his Boogaloo Bar and sat down in a noisy corner. The patrons in the bar were rowdy and drunk. Six burly guys that wore black leather motorcycle vests embroidered with “The Devil’s Spawn” on the back sat next to us, crushing empty beer cans on their heads. Billy Bob said hello to them, sat down, and ordered three bowls of Jambalaya from a walkie-talkie. He added an extra order of sausage for Snaggletooth.

A chain-link fence surrounded the stage on the far side of the room. On it, one guy sang, another strummed a washboard, and the last played a piano accordion. They had mad skills. My exhaustion kept me from jumping onto the stage to jam with them. Their beats kind of had some hip-hop and reggae influences, as far as I could tell. And the crowd on the dance floor, well, they went crazy—singing, dancing, yelling, and generally having a good ol’ time.

I found myself wondering what purpose the fence served. My answer came when a full beer can smashed into it, then another. Yet, the band played on with huge grins. I wish I’d had that kind of protection performing at Grumbling’s. I managed to muster a smile, despite just being taken for a ride.

While we waited for our food to arrive, Billy Bob grilled us with questions. “Where you boys really heading off to this time of night?”

Freddie began, “We’re on our way to New—”

I kicked the motor mouth in the shin. I didn’t want Billy Bob to know any more of our business. “We’re in New Orleans because I need to find some woman named Sarah,” I said curtly.

“You’re going to need a whole lot more than a first name. Maybe ol’ Billy Bob can help you out? I know a lot of people ’round these parts. Got a last name?”

I racked my brain. What was it? My tail tingled with remembrance. “Feena.”

“Sarah Feena? Don’t think I know anybody called that.”

My expression didn’t hide my disappointment. Billy Bob’s face puckered in concentration, mouthing the name over and over again.

I instantly perked up when he said, “Now Serafine, the first name, is fairly common among the Creoles. The most famous one is this Hoodoo queen who lives deep in the Bayou with the gators. Heard all sorts of tales about her, and if’n it’s trouble you looking for, well, you’re going to find it with that one.” He leaned forward, a maniacal sparkle twinkling in his eye. “Heard she put the gris-gris, a wicked curse, on some kid. Heard the kid’s mother caused Serafine problems. Now the kid’s so ugly, you’d have to tie pork chops to his ears so even a dog would play with him.”

“Yeah, but doesn’t she see the future?” I asked.

“You shouldn’t be messing around with crazy stuff like that. Why on earth would you do that for?”

I didn’t respond because even I didn’t know the answer. All I knew was that every bone in my tail told me I needed to find her. Thankfully, our food arrived, distracting Billy Bob for the time being.

Snaggletooth popped his head out of the bag and begged for the sweet sausage. Billy Bob hand-fed him while patting him on the head, which I guess was nice. I pretty much dove head first into the Jambalaya, and it was so good, I licked my bowl. Freddie chugged a glass of water like his mouth had been set on fire. The tips of his ears burned red. Clearly, he couldn’t handle spicy food.

After we ate, at a quarter to four in the morning, Billy Bob showed us to our room. The neon sign flashed right outside our window. I could hear zaps of electricity. Blinds hung on the windows, but they didn’t work. And everything smelled moldy—including the bedding.

Freddie got the top bunk, I took the bottom, and Snaggletooth curled up at my feet, snoring away. Considering the fact our shoddy mattresses were sinking lower and lower like quicksand, Freddie got the better end of the deal.

Although our less than stellar accommodations were stifling and humid, and the noise from the bar was loud, the second our heads hit the cement-hard pillows, we fell stone cold out.

Tomorrow was a big day.

We had things to do, places to go, and people to see—starting with Serafine.

HOW TO EAT A LIVE CHICKEN

If I never had to see Billy Bob or his rip-off-of-a-boarding-house ever again, that would have been fine by me. Freddie and I loaded up Cherry Pie, ready to set off on our quest to find this mysterious woman known only to me by her name. Serafine. For that, my tail tingled in a good way. But excitement was replaced with annoyance. Just as Freddie put the key in the ignition, Billy Bob barreled up to us.

“Nice to have made your ac-quain-tance, kids,” said Billy Bob. He stood in front of Cherry Pie like a bouncer at the toughest of biker bars. “Before you boys take off, that’ll be
twenty
bucks for having your bike cleaned. Virgil, why he spit-shined it all night.”

I knew I wouldn’t win by arguing no matter how hard I tried. “Fine,” I said, “but I need you to point us in the right direction to find this Serafine.”

“Don’t know where that crazy lives, but I know someone who will.” He sucked on his big, bucked teeth. “Best bet is to visit Adelaide Bacchus’ House of Voodoo and Hoodoo on St. Charles Avenue. Head just that way.” Billy Bob pointed haphazardly down the road. “She’ll know where to find your Hoodoo queen.”

I held out the twenty and Billy Bob’s grimy hand snatched it away. Freddie sneered at him and started up the engine. We rumbled off toward the heart of New Orleans’ famed Garden District, with Billy Bob’s voice trailing behind us. “Y’all come back now, you hear.”

Unless you paid me a gazillion dollars, that wasn’t going to happen.

On this leg of our adventure, Freddie handled Cherry Pie like an old pro. Thankfully, the humidity eased up and there was a nice breeze in the air. Camera-wielding tourists on a streetcar pointed at us, smiling at Snaggletooth as we passed it. He looked so cute wagging his tail, the wind whipping through his ears. I tousled his mangy head, sat back in the sidecar, and enjoyed the ride.

Now as I mentioned earlier, circus folk are extremely superstitious, so I held my breath as we sped by the infamous Lafayette Cemetery and its massive above ground mausoleums. Rumor had it vampires haunted the place.

Finally, we ended up on St. Charles Avenue. The tree-lined streets and the beautiful antebellum homes were a stark contrast to Billy Bob’s neighborhood. Huge wrought iron balconies decorated most of the mansions, some with impressive Greek pillars. I wondered how we were going to find this woman, Adelaide, but as it turns out, it wasn’t difficult. A trolley’s clatter diverted my attention to the left. When it passed, there it stood—Adelaide’s House of Voodoo and Hoodoo.

Out of place and really run down, a smaller than small, ramshackle mess of a hut was squished in between two of the large mansions. On a rickety front porch, underneath the scribbled sign advertising “Ten-Dollar Voodoo Tarot Readings,” a heavy-set, old Cajun woman rocked in a chair. She smiled and waved at us like she knew we were coming.

Freddie pulled the chopper over, I motioned to Snaggletooth to stay put, and with hesitation we walked toward the old woman. She wore a multi-colored batik head-wrap with a matching dress and sat up straight and proud. Dark sunglasses hid most of her face, so it was hard to tell, but I guessed her age to be around eighty.

“No, sweet child,” she said with a deep laugh. “I’m well past a hundred years old. I ain’t no spring chicken anymore.”

Holy Caped Crusaders! The woman could read my mind. I stuttered, “How’d you do that? How’d you know what I was thinking?”

“Child, I’m just beating you to the punch with your questions. See now, everybody that meets me the first time, well, they tries a guessing my age.” She raised an eyebrow. “Now, how can an old woman such as myself help you boys? You here for a Voodoo Tarot reading? Hmm?”

Tempting.

“No, some guy told us you may be able to help locate the Hoodoo Queen, um, Serafine,” I said.

“I knew you weren’t here for a reading. I was just messing with you to see what you’d say.” She laughed softly to herself. “I’ve been conjuring and voodooing since I learned to crawl. The parents said I had a special gift. Special abilities I don’t even understand sometimes. I can’t tell you the hows or the whys of what needs to be done in the future. I only see life for what it is in the present. I know you need Serafine’s vision.”

“Yes,” I said. “And we need a lot of luck.”

“That’s not all ya’ll be needing,” she drawled and straightened out her dress. “Now Serafine live deep in the Bayou among the gators like you. I can tell you where to find her and how to get to her home on the bayou and all that, but that’s not the only reason you been sent here. Lord knows, it ain’t for no mumbo jumbo. You be needing some fake teeth and I have a pair for you,” Adelaide said, her tone assertive. “You cannot be running around that New York City with that smile of yours. Bad ’nuff you got yourself a tail and them eyes glowin’ redder than a possessed chili pepper.”

Freddie looked just as stunned as I was. His big trout mouth twitched like a spaz.

“Ms. Adelaide,” I stuttered. “How do you know where we’re going?”

Adelaide shrugged her shoulders and tapped her head twice. “Not much goes on around in the world I don’t know about, son. I saw everything in my visions. Thing is, I’ve got your best interests in mind. I also know Ms. Serafine is expecting you. You and she like two peas cozied up in a pod.”

“Is Serafine part alligator, too?” asked Freddie.

“No, child, Serafine ain’t no alligator, but they are her guides. She got strong ties with Orunmila.”

“Who? Who?” Freddie and I asked in unison. We sounded like a couple of barn owls.

“Orunmila is the Santeria God of wisdom, owner of divination. He gives insight to find solutions to all problems. He has a deep connection with the gators, just as Serafine does.”

“A God with a connection to alligators?” My eyes widened with anticipation. “Why is she connected with him? What makes Serafine so special?”

“You’ll soon see what she like,” Adelaide chuckled curiously. She put her hand on Freddie’s shoulder. “Now follow me into my lil’ old shop. We needs to get Maverick here sorted out, Freddie. Your brother from another mother has some important things that need a doing.”

My heart thumped five hundred beats a second.

We hadn’t told this woman our names.

Adelaide got up off her rocker, opened up the front door, paused, then went inside. I’d never been inside a house of Voodoo, or Hoodoo, and didn’t know quite what to expect, but for some reason or another, I was pumped. Freddie and I crossed over the threshold of the doorway, careful to avoid stepping into a pile of ground-up red dust scattered just before the doorway. I didn’t have to ask its purpose.

“I use the red brick powder to protect myself from enemies and to draw customers to my business,” said Adelaide. “Mind your step.”

Inside the shop, hundreds and hundreds of labeled jars packed the room. Some of them were filled to the brim with the strangest things I’d ever seen—fish eyes, bat wings, raccoon’s private parts, alligator teeth, and other freakish things. You name it—if it was bizarre—it could probably be found on Adelaide’s shelves. Chicken bones, skulls, and other twisted animal carcasses adorned the walls. Strange candles shaped into things like black cats lit the room. My nose twitched from all the smells. I’d catch a whiff of strawberry. Then it would be replaced with something earthy like grass or clover or rosemary.

“Now something tells me Serafine has something special planned for you. See, I taught that fine woman everything about conjuring I know and now she has surpassed me.” Adelaide took off her sunglasses. “She be fine at all the root work, but she has something I don’t have. She has the third eye.”

Speaking of eyes, Freddie’s bulged out of his head. He pointed toward Adelaide’s, which were a strange bluish color, and all clouded up like someone had spilt milk in them. Without a doubt, she was blind.

“Don’t you be pointing no fingers at me, Freddie,” scolded Adelaide. “I may not be able to see like you or Maverick here, but trust me, boy, I have vision.”

Freddie’s jaw dropped wide.

Just as he was about to question her, a bunch of chickens came running into the room from out of nowhere. A strange, unfamiliar urge came over me.

I couldn’t control myself.

Like a starved lion hunting on the African plains, I pounced on one of the chickens and bit into its neck with my razor sharp teeth, ripping it apart like I hadn’t eaten in days. I shook my head violently from side to side. Blood sprayed everywhere–all over Freddie, all over the store.

“Maverick! What the…” screamed Freddie.

Alarm raced through my veins. What was I doing? I dropped what was left of the now dead chicken from my mouth, spitting its guts onto the floor. Feathers floated around my head like red tinged snowflakes on a battlefield.

“Don’t mind him,” said Adelaide. “Just his instincts kicking in.”

“What? Like a murderer?”

I couldn’t speak.

“Maverick here is part alligator,” said Adelaide. “Twas his animal, carnivorous nature rearing its head. Surprised this hasn’t happened before.”

Freddie glared at me with distrust. “I wouldn’t be here with him if it did.”

“I’m really s-s-sorry. I don’t know what happened,” I said with a shudder. Considering how much his hair reminded me of a chicken, I started to fear I might try to attack Freddie. More than a little embarrassed, and totally flipped out, I whispered, “I’ll clean it up.”

“Now don’t you worry your head, Maverick.” Adelaide felt her way behind a counter. “Things gets loads messier when we’re making up our potions. My followers will clean it all up. Just take a seat and let me feel that mug of yours.”

Like my body had a mind of its own, dumbfounded, I climbed onto a stool in front of her. Freddie backed away into a corner, eyeing me with fear. I tried to smile at him, my lips quivering, but he turned away. My heart sunk. Great, I thought, I’ve ruined things with the only friend I had on this planet.

What was wrong with me?

Adelaide reached across the small counter and placed warm hands on my face. She pushed her fingers into my blood-tinged mouth and softly prodded my teeth, muttering things like, “Mmmm-hmmm,” “Well I’ll be,” and “Lordy, Lordy, Lordy.”