Voodoo (4 page)

“How did you end up there?” Stephen asked after a moment of silence.

“I woke up alone in the street,” Hannah said, studying the mug in her hands. “I didn't know where you were, I didn't even know if you were here too. For all I knew. . .” Hannah shook her head. “I was scared.”

“I never would have left you alone here,” Stephen said.

“I didn't know what was going on,” Hannah said. Her dark eyes met Stephen's, each matching the other’s intensity. “I spent three days sleeping on the streets. I started singing down on the boardwalk. It earned me enough to eat, but that was all. A man saw me sing and brought me to Lost Angels. Mr. Jones offered to take care of me . . . for a price.”

“Of course,” I said. Wasn’t there always a price?

“He said I sang well, but that he could make me sing even better. He promised I would be rich and famous. He could make it so people couldn't help but listen when I sang.” I thought about how I had felt when Hannah sang at the club, and knew Mr. Jones had not been lying. “He took my soul,” Hannah said. She said the words flatly, as if they meant nothing to her.

“Your soul?” Stephen asked in disbelief. I felt the same way. I wasn't sure I even believed in souls, let alone considered that someone could buy one.

“Yes,” Hannah answered. “In exchange for my soul he would take care of me until I made enough money for the club and earned back my soul.”

“Why would you do that?” Stephen asked.

“Because it was my best option,” Hannah said, her voice as cold as stone. The lost little girl from the club was nowhere to be seen now. “I didn't want to live my life on the streets and I had no idea where you were. Working at Lost Angels made me a star.”

“But you didn't like it,” I said, remembering the way she had looked when she sang.

Hannah looked down at her mug again. “No,” she admitted. “Mr. Jones is terrible. No one who works there has any compassion, and I felt empty without my soul. I could feel that it was gone. I tried running away a few times, but Mr. Jones always found me and hauled me back.”

“Not this time,” Stephen said. “I'm here for you.”

“I know,” Hannah said. “I just don't think it will matter. Even if you can keep him away from me, he still has my soul. I’m still empty.” She yawned widely. I had no idea what time it was, and I was so pumped up on adrenaline and fear I didn't know if I would ever sleep again.

“Get some sleep,” Stephen said to Hannah. “We'll figure this out in the morning.”

“Okay.” Hannah nodded. I stood and took her mug. I watched from the counter as Hannah lay down, and Stephen covered her with a blanket. They muttered something too soft for me to hear and he brushed her hair back from her brow.

I sat at the small table with my mug of cooling tea while Stephen stayed with his sister. I could hear the murmur of their voices, but focused on my own thoughts so as not to overhear them. I was glad we had found Hannah, but the idea of staying cooped up in the small apartment while my sister was out there somewhere was going to drive me insane.

I couldn't imagine that Claire and Clea were the same person. My sister would never do anything as horrible as scarring the faces of those men. We didn't always get along, and sometimes she seemed evil, but just normal sister evil, nothing that bad. Even as I thought that, I couldn't keep my mind from wandering over some of the mean things Claire had done. Boys she had talked to just because she knew I liked them, and clothes of mine she had ruined just to be spiteful.

No, nothing she had done made her evil. I had done just as many mean things to her over the years. If I wasn't evil, she wasn't. Still, fear for what she may have become nagged at the back of my mind. I was glad for the distraction when Stephen walked over to set his mug in the sink.

“She's asleep,” Stephen said softly. “Passed out hard I think. I wonder when the last time she got a good night's sleep was. Lost Angels is open twenty-four hours a day and God knows how many times a day they had her singing.”

“Poor kid,” I said. “She doesn’t seem thirteen. I mean, she looks younger than that, but hearing her talk about losing her soul, she seemed older.”

“She used to be just like any other kid. She was annoyingly happy and oblivious a lot of the time,” Stephen said. He smiled softly, remembering.

“Sounds good to me. I miss feeling that way. It seems like as soon as I got to high school everything got so complicated.”

“Yeah.” Stephen smiled. “I was glad to graduate.”

“When was that?”

Stephen opened his mouth the answer, and then frowned. “I, I don't know,” Stephen admitted. “I thought I knew, but I don't. It's like if I don't focus on it I remember being in school, but once I think about it I lose it.”

“This is all so weird.” I stood up to lean against the sink beside Stephen. “Does this place ever feel like a dream to you?”

“Sometimes,” Stephen said softly. “Only it's more like a nightmare. I don't remember a time when I wasn't worrying about Hannah. Even now I don't feel like she is safe.”

“I hear you. At least Hannah isn't some evil crime boss.”

“Maybe it will turn out Clea isn't your sister,” Stephen said. I nodded, studying the dirt covered windows at the other end of the room.

“Yeah, but what do I do then?” I asked. Stephen didn't have an answer.

5.

We stood silently a moment before Stephen turned and pulled me into his arms again. They were strong around me. When my arms wrapped around his back I could feel the muscles tight under his shirt. I gave in to the moment and let my head rest on his chest, listening to the slow thud of his heart. I heard the pace of his heart double as he pulled me tighter against him.

My own heart beat an unsteady rhythm when he gently kissed my head. I wanted to look up, but I was scared. At that moment everything seemed perfect. I was afraid if I looked up the spell would break. When Stephen leaned back I couldn't help but look up at him. He tucked a loose strand of blond hair behind my ear, his fingers barely brushing my skin.

My eyes met his and I was ready when he kissed me. First only our lips pressed together, perfectly soft and warm against each other. His hands pressed into my back, pulling me closer to him and I gasped, then our tongues were slipping over one another sending signals that scorched through every nerve in my body.

I had to pull away. I stepped back from him, watching him warily as I took deep breaths. He was leaning against the counter like it was the only thing holding him up. I knew how he felt. If it weren't for one hand resting firmly on the table top behind me I might have fallen to my knees.

“Are you,” Stephen stuttered. He paused, wiping a hand over his mouth. “I, I mean, wow.”

“Yeah,” I said, nodding. My nerves still felt like they were on fire, but the feeling was fading. “That was . . . that was something.”

“Something good?” Stephen asked, raising an eyebrow at me.

“I really don't know,” I admitted. “It felt like a little too much; more than any kiss should be.”

“I've wanted to do that since I helped you up.” Stephen stepped forward and simultaneously I fought the urge to press against him and run away. “There's something about you, it just keeps pulling me closer.”

“I know, I've been feeling it too,” I said, and took a step toward him without thinking about it. My hand felt for the back of the one chair and I gripped it tightly. “But it's scaring the hell out of me.” The words came out in one breathless gasp.

“Okay,” Stephen said. His eyes slipped from my eyes to my lips and back. “We don't have to do that again.”

“I want to,” I said, too quickly. “I just don't know if we should. I need to focus on finding Claire, and you need to help Hannah. When we kissed, I wanted to forget it all. I felt like I was slipping away from here.”

“Yeah. I felt that too.” He took a half step back and I wanted to reach out and pull him against me.

“So we don't kiss again,” I said, even though I wanted to kiss him again right that moment.
“No more kissing.” Stephen ran a hand over his hair again; a gesture I was fast realizing meant he was nervous. “At least not until we figure everything out.”

“Okay,” I said. I moved closer until I was standing pressed against him again, his back to the counter. My hands gripped the counter behind him. I refused to let them move around him. “No more kissing.”

“No more,” Stephen muttered, even as he leaned toward me again. His arms snaked around my waist, and my arms looped around his neck, our lips moving like magnets to each other. Before they touched, the front door came crashing in.

We jumped apart. Stephen ran for his sister and I followed two steps behind. We stood together, hands clasped, in front of Hannah. She woke up and huddled against the wall in the silence that followed the sound of the door hitting the floor.

A tall, paunchy man wearing a pin stripe suit and matching hat stepped through the doorway. He had small dark eyes framed by crow’s feet, and bushy gray eyebrows that matched his hair. A scar split the left side of his upper lip giving him a permanent sneer. He wasn't a good looking man, but next to the two guys who stepped in behind him he was a ten.

The guy to his left had a sweaty red face under his hat, with a wide, flat nose, and ears big enough to pick up radio signals. His dark suit seemed a size too small for his massive frame. In his hands he gripped a large gun; the knuckles on both his hands were covered in pink keloid scars.

The other guy was just as big, but looked more muscular than the first guy. His face was a map of pockmarks and red pimples. He wore no hat, and his blond hair hung greasy around his face. The dark suit he wore fit him well, but looked like it had seen far better days by the way it was fraying along the seams.

“Hello my friends. I hope we aren't interrupting, but you see you have my favorite girl right there. Perhaps she’s told you about me?” the man in the pin stripe suit asked. His voice was like artificial sweetener masking a bitter taste. “Quinton Jones? But I suppose she would just call me Mr. Jones. I do prefer a bit of respect from my girls. Hannah, come with me.” He stepped forward and Hannah tried to go to him.

Stephen put out a hand, stopping his sister. “She's my sister, and she isn't going anywhere with you.”
“I think my friends here can change your mind,” Mr. Jones said. At his signal, the other two raised their weapons.

“Whoa.” I held up my hands. “No need for that. I am sure we can work something out.”

“Hannah, come to me.”

Hannah climbed off the bed at Mr. Jones’ command, ducking under her brother’s outstretched hand. He grabbed for her, barely catching her arm and pulling her back.

“She wants to come to me,” Mr. Jones said. “I suggest you let her go.” His thin facade of patience was cracking.
“She doesn't want to go to you,” Stephen said. “You’re making her come to you because you own her soul.”
“Hannah, you weren't supposed to tell anyone about that,” Mr. Jones said. “Deals made behind closed doors are meant to be kept in confidence.”

“He's my brother.” Her voice sounded defeated. She held tightly to Stephen's arm. “I want to go with him.”

“When you have paid off your soul you will be allowed to, until then you belong to me. That is the deal you agreed to.” Mr. Jones motioned to the two men.

The fatter one charged in and grabbed Hannah by the arm, yanking her out of Stephen's grip. Stephen took her other arm, trying to pull her back. I stepped forward to help, but a hand clamped down painfully on my shoulder before I could reach Hannah. Holding me tightly, the pockmarked guy reached past me, and twisted his hand into the back of Stephen's shirt. He tugged hard. Stephen lost his grip on Hannah and fell to the floor.

We watched helplessly as the fat man delivered Hannah to Mr. Jones. He put his hand possessively on her shoulder. Stephen began to struggle, trying to get out of the muscle man's grip. If the steel fingers digging into my shoulder were any indication, it would be a losing battle. Mr. Jones was turning, leading Hannah out of the room when I had an idea.

“Wait,” I said. Mr. Jones stopped, and looked at me. “What if we made another deal?” I hurried on before he could lose interest. “You like gambling right? I'll play you for her soul.”

“Play me?” He smiled like a shark that had just smelled fresh blood. “What shall we play?”

“Poker,” I said. I knew how to play poker. My dad played it passionately and had taught both Claire and I to play. I didn't know if I could play better than Mr. Jones. “If I win, Hannah gets her soul back.”

“And if I win?” Mr. Jones asked. Stephen was looking at me like I had lost my mind.

“Then you get my soul, and hers.” I bit my lip, hoping I wasn’t making a mistake.

“Alyssa, no.” Stephen struggled against the muscle man again. “Don't do this.” I glanced at him and the look of pain on his face forced me to look away. I needed to be strong if I was going to do this.

I waited while Mr. Jones mulled my offer over in his mind. I kept my teeth clenched shut, willing my body not to shake as he thought it over. I knew I had to appear stone cold to this man in order for him to take me seriously. I could feel Stephen's eyes on me, but I didn't dare glance his way again.

Finally, Mr. Jones nodded. “Done.” I held in a sigh of relief.