The Tangled Bridge (8 page)

Patrice said nothing. Devil's magic, still a sin whether at God's house or her own.

Tatie Bernadette turned and hefted herself back up the stairs, through the doors, rejoining the congregation in its celebration of the baptismal sacrament. The doors banged shut once again.

Patrice turned her back on all of them and cast her eyes to the sun, a searing white tunnel through the clouds. She let it burn her vision to tears.

Gil touched her arm. “That outburst of yours. Seemed more like something Marie-Rose woulda done.”

She closed her eyes, sealing them wet. “You're stronger than you look, dragging me out like that.”

“Well, back a my neck is bleeding and yours is, too.”

Her eyes flew open. She removed her glove and put her kerchief to the wound. It came away red.

Gil said, “Don't know what kind of scratch wouldn't just scab over. You think it's got something to do with Marie-Rose?”

“Or Mother's return.”

“Or maybe both.”

She pressed the handkerchief back in place. “We'd best get back home, fast.”

 

nine

NEW ORLEANS, NOW

IN ETHAN'S FLASHLIGHT BEAM
, Madeleine could see a huge, glimmering disk of an eye—all black except for a golden ring on the outside. A hoot owl, was all. It stood perched atop the backrest of a battered couch. Ethan centered the light on it and Madeleine could see that a second owl stood there, too.

The first owl burst into flight. Madeleine reached for Ethan's shoulder as the creature disappeared through the broken window frame, and then the second owl followed with a screech. Feathers and dust bloomed like fireworks, sparkling in the intersecting beams of flashlight and sun splash. A crisscross of light.

Madeleine called into the darkness. “Homeless Outreach. Anyone here?”

Ethan followed the path of her voice with a sweep of beam. Not likely anyone was here—those owls wouldn't have tolerated human roommates. At least none that were alive. Given the recent murders, keeping an eye out for victims was an unspoken part of the search, too.

Mercifully, most of the windows were out. Odors of mold and pee were strong enough as it was but they'd have been worse if the glass had been in place. Instead, a healing cross-breeze washed in from the southern opening and out the eastern. Were it not for the great black thunderhead that had risen from the south, the apartment would be filled with daylight.

“No one here,” she said, turning away.

“Hang on, let's just be sure.

She sighed through her nose.

Ethan limped forward into the living room and passed his beam over all four corners, then continued toward the back. Her eyes having adjusted, she could see well enough without the beam. Beyond, the kitchen seemed to have been stripped. Still useful enough for a hobo, though. A person could put together a serviceable meal of scraps without the benefit of running water or electricity. She'd managed it as a girl before she'd even learned her fractions.

Upholstery stuffing lined the divot where the owls had been nesting on the couch. No chairs or other furniture. Plenty of trash.

She stepped to the southern window. Couldn't see the others. The buildings across the way were glaring in brilliant sunlight, but the sky behind them was dark. The Huey P. Long Bridge split the horizon with black storm clouds above and bright white buildings below. The apartments across the street weren't blighted like this one. She saw children's toys and a broken patio chair over there. Active residents. The aluminum siding reflected the late afternoon sun enough to make her squint, with the thunderhead forming a velvet curtain above the bridge. Lightning fluttered from the direction of Pontchartrain.

With a start, she realized that Severin was here.

She could feel her presence from somewhere behind. Madeleine resisted the urge to turn. Instead she kept gazing at the bridge but focused her thoughts on the river devil behind her:
Severin, what are you doing here? It's not time yet.

“Much much to see,” she replied in her whispered child's voice, and then added, “Much for play.”

Madeleine stiffened, and risked a look.
What do you mean, much for play?

The little girl was but a faint sepia glow, a negative shadow, resting atop one of the doorless kitchen cabinets. She was grinning down at Ethan as he made his check of each corner. Of course he didn't know Severin was there. All his careful searching and he had no idea a river devil watched him. Madeleine wasn't about to let him in on it, either, in case doing so encouraged Severin to settle in.

Severin, listen to me. Did Zenon have anything to do with the murders?

“We can have a look to see.”

Madeleine shook her head, eyeing Ethan for a moment, and then turned back to the window.
It's not time yet. Come back when it's time.

She knew Severin was put out by the dismissal, but her presence faded away. Madeleine closed her eyes and tried not to think of Chloe's prediction. How the bargain with Severin wouldn't last. The fresh, ionized wind rolled over her and into the room.

She turned to face Ethan. “We should move on. One more to go.”

He'd searched the kitchen and bath and was now shining the beam into the bedroom. “Just want to make a thorough check. Don't want anyone jumping out at us.”

“We're doing all this for
their
safety, not ours,” she said, but even in the dim light she could see his expression grow tense and she added, “You know what I mean. Of course our safety's important, too.”

Too late. He flashed the light on her face.

When he spoke, his voice was angry. “I have a hard enough time as it is thinking about you constantly putting yourself at risk like this. When you talk that way it doesn't help things.”

She spread her hands. “Rare situation. Besides…”

She let the argument fall off. No good bringing it up.

But Ethan had already picked up on her train of thought. “Pigeon games.”

The wind poured over her neck and tangled hair into her face. She brushed it away.

He said, “You're playing with matches, Maddy.”

“It puts me in a unique position, you have to admit. I'll never be a victim of attack because if anyone were to come after me, I can use pigeonry.”

“No. It's not infallible. You haven't fully mastered it yet. And even if you had it's useless against a stray bullet.”

She strode back to the front door and folded her arms, trying not to be tense. Frustration would only lure Severin back.

One more apartment to check. She just wanted to get it over with, get back to the group below and get them safely to St. Jo's.

He limped toward her. “Or a surprise attack. Your pigeon games don't work if you don't see the guy coming.”

No use trying to keep still another moment. She turned into the corridor.

*   *   *

THAT CLEANSING FLOW OF
breeze vanished. No light in the corridor, either. Having adjusted to the dimness in the apartment didn't help much when the hall was black as pitch. It didn't slow her. She turned right toward the last apartment and ran her knuckle along the wall for guidance, should she encounter something horrid in the dark—a tuft of mold, a roach—touching it with her knuckle was less odious than with her fingertips. Her free hand groped for her bag, where her own flashlight had been languishing unused. Ethan was the type to switch his on long before it was absolutely necessary.

She charged forward, knowing Ethan's flashlight would illuminate the final door soon enough, or maybe she'd just find the damn thing first by sheer blind groping.

Too late, she realized the narrow hall was not empty. Someone grabbed her arm.

Madeleine's mind lurched to high alert.

Don't panic!

Because to panic would agitate the river devil.…

Whoever grabbed her was male. He threw her backward against the wall, and she felt something hard crack across her mouth.

Her lips lit with immediate sparks of pain. She sank to her knees.

Thwack!

A second blow, this time landing somewhere above, a stiff object colliding into the wall where her head would have been if she hadn't slid to the floor. She let fly a half-scream before swallowing it back again, forcing herself to be silent.

“Madeleine!” Ethan's voice from the apartment where she'd just been.

She hooked her mind onto the attacker and clamped. Squeezed out all panic or fury. The corridor was tilting, Ethan's flashlight now swinging as he stormed into it. She realized she was listing sideways. But she was on that attacker in her mind. On him, in him, wired to him. She funneled the force of her own concentration into that brain. Dragged him down. Down.
Set that weapon down! Get down! Down!

And he was. Ethan's beam was shining on them, blinding her momentarily, and then she saw the guy on his knees a few feet away. Papers and empty cups littered the floor, and an oblong piece of wood was resting directly in front of him. Something he'd just laid there. An instant response to pigeonry.

Ethan tore forward. Madeleine did her best to rise to her knees, shaky as she was, and lifted her hands. “It's alright, Ethan. He's disarmed.”

The flashlight swung to the guy on the floor and then up to her face. She shielded her eyes. Her lips were throbbing with increased blood flow, but they likely wouldn't be showing any bruising just yet. Not on the outside. Inside her mouth she was tasting blood. She hoped Ethan couldn't tell she'd been hit.

“Maddy, you alright?”

“Fine. Just fine.” And then she added, “We just startled each other.”

The flashlight beam swung mercifully away and back to the man on his knees. No, not a man. A boy. A teenager. His face was half-covered with a handkerchief, bandito-style, cinched into his afro.

From somewhere in the direction of Lake Pontchartrain, the first tremor of thunder rolled inland.

She leaned over and put her hands on her knees, trying to keep the tears from running. No emotion; just a physical reaction to the pain. “What's your name, son?”

“Ain't your son.”

She could have made him answer but she didn't. His voice unsettled her. Deeper than it should have been—like an ogre's voice—and on the boy it seemed otherworldly.

Just a boy. This was just a boy.

She heard something snap from behind Ethan. He swung around and shone the beam down the corridor, and Madeleine caught her breath.

There were several other boys standing there, the nearest one with a steel rod raised over Ethan.

Down! Down! On your knees! Drop it!

The nearest boy dropped, and he released the metal rod. It made a chiming peal as it landed. The other boys looked confused. One had a knife. All wore bandanas over their faces.

“Jesus,” Ethan said.

He stepped in front of Madeleine, arms spread.

Madeleine thought:

Down!

The boy with the knife dropped. Her mind contracted on him, making him put the blade on the floor. He obeyed. It seemed as if these boys had materialized from nowhere and everywhere, from between the very studs under the torn drywall. She bridled in her fear.

Street kids. They must have overheard Ethan and Madeleine searching that last apartment and hidden in the corridor to wait.

She fumbled in her bag for the flashlight as she used pigeonry to drop the rest of them, one by one. But as each boy went down, the previous one rose up again. Impossible to train her mind on all of them at the same time. She snapped on her flashlight.

The first boy, the one who'd struck her, was back on his feet. He'd been the one who'd positioned himself directly in Madeleine's path. Setting himself apart from the others right from the start. He was probably their leader.

She turned the light toward her own face. “My name is Doctor LeBlanc. Will you please tell me your name?”

Her lips stung as she spoke. Ethan was shining his beam over the others. They seemed watchful.

The boy replied in his incongruously deep voice, “Oyster.”

He'd given this information on his own—she hadn't used pigeonry. A good sign.

She said, “Oyster, we need to get outside. All of us.”

She angled the light so that it illuminated him without blinding him. The look in his eyes confirmed that it was right to address him as though he spoke for the rest. He seemed to contemplate her statement as the others watched.

Another roll of thunder.

From behind her, the boy who'd had the knife spoke: “We ain't goin nowhere w'you, lady.”

Madeleine looked toward his voice but couldn't see much beyond Ethan. “It's not safe in—”

“Take your big ugly cripple and get out!” The boy's voice was going shrill, and Madeleine realized these kids were as frightened as she was.

“Shut your mouth, Mako.” Oyster's drawn, lethargic voice again.

Madeleine said, “There'll be a shuttle down under the bridge. It'll take you to St. Jo's where they'll feed you and give you a bed and a shower.”

She held back the real reason for evacuating them: that some unseen entity was on the prowl among them, causing one person to turn on the next with no provocation.

“What you say your name is?” Oyster asked.

“I'm Dr. LeBlanc. This is Dr. Manderleigh.”

“Doc LB,” Oyster said.

Madeleine nodded. “Yes, a lot of people at the shelter call me that. Have we met?”

Oyster was silent. Ethan remained silent as well, though his body language spoke volumes.

Madeleine asked Oyster, “Are there any others?”

He turned his face slowly toward the last door in the hall. The only one she and Ethan hadn't checked yet. Something about Oyster's movement unnerved her; the sluggish way he turned his head, leading with his chin, his forehead angled back. A walking corpse sort of manner. Madeleine felt Ethan touch her elbow. She could tell he didn't like it either.