Voodoo (5 page)

“No,” Stephen said. “I'll play you, Hannah is my sister. You can take my soul if I lose.”

“If you were anywhere near as interesting as this girl I would consider it,” Mr. Jones said. He walked in careful steps to circle me. The muscle man let go of my shoulder, stepping back and allowing his boss access to me. “Alyssa here intrigues me.” I could smell tobacco and wine on his breath. “She smells different than the rest of you.” He leaned forward and took a long sniff.

“Leave her alone,” Stephen said, though it did no good.

“You smell of this place, but also not of it,” Mr. Jones said. He took my chin in his hand and forced me to face him. “Why is that?”

“I don't know,” I said. “I must be special.” Mr. Jones' face cracked into a smile, pulling at his scar. He let out a throaty laugh.

“Yes, special indeed. Hannah, come with me. You two make sure these two keep up,” Mr. Jones said as he left the apartment.

The muscle man tugged Stephen out the door. I didn't need any prodding from the fat man to follow.

6.

We wound past the usual gambling tables, where games were still in full swing. If anyone noticed our odd group, they didn't as much as flinch. We were ushered through a small wooden door beside the bar and up a dark staircase. The stairs let us out in a lushly carpeted hallway, lined by three doors on either side.

“Our private rooms,” Mr. Jones explained, though none of us asked. “This is where we take the games when the stakes get high.” He opened the closest door and motioned us inside.

Once inside, Muscles and the fat man stood against the door, giving us the slightest bit of freedom. Stephen drew Hannah close. He was still looking at me like I was crazy. One green, felt-lined table sat in the middle of the room, surrounded by leather padded chairs. Abstract paintings hung on the walls, not in the usual bright colors, but in muddy shades of brown, and dull gray. Mr. Jones rang a small bell that hung on the wall beside the one window in the room.

“They'll bring our cards now.” He sat at the table. “Please, have a seat.” It wasn't really an offer, more of a threat. When I sat down across from Mr. Jones he smiled again. “You are so charming, my girl.”
“Thanks. That means a lot coming from you.” I sneered.

“We'll do something about that sarcastic tongue of yours once you are mine,” Mr. Jones mused, leaning back and studying me.

There was a knock on the door. Muscles and the fat man moved aside to allow entrance. A short man in a butler's uniform rolled in a cart with ten small wooden boxes on it. He began transferring each box to the table. A different intricate symbol of swirls and dots was carved on each box.

“What's this?” I asked.

“We are playing this straight,” Mr. Jones answered. “Each box contains a hand of cards. We each choose a box, highest hand wins.”

“That wasn't what I meant by poker,” I said. My hands had gone clammy; there was no chance of using strategy if we were playing poker that way.

“You should have been clearer about your choice of games.” Again he gave me that shark grin.

“Sir,” the butler said as he placed the last box on the table. “Clea is in the building.” My ears perked up at that, worries about the game forgotten for the moment.

Mr. Jones' smile dropped. “What is she doing here?”

“She insists she is looking for her sister, but she would like to converse with you.”

“I bet,” Mr. Jones said. “I heard her Tigers had already caught the sister.”

“They didn't,” I said. Mr. Jones looked up at me in surprise. “I'm the sister.”

“This gets more and more interesting.” Mr. Jones leaned back in his chair, fingers templed under his chin. “Perhaps you are unaware, but you are very valuable at this time. Would you care to sweeten the pot?”

“How so?” My heart hammered, wondering what new twist he was going to throw at me.

“If I win, I get Hannah's soul, but instead of keeping your soul, it goes to Clea.”

“Why would you want that?”

“Because she will pay a steep price for it.” He said it so simply that I had no doubt it was the truth.

“Don't do it,” Stephen said. “It isn't worth it, Alyssa.”

“And if I win?” I asked, ignoring Stephen.

“Whatever you want,” Mr. Jones answered, waving a hand. “You won't win.” He smiled like a piranha smelling blood.

“The three of us walk out of here free, with our souls intact,” I said. “But before that, you give me information on Clea. I want to know where I can find her. Free of charge,” I added.

“Her private home?” Mr. Jones asked. “Fine. Hopefully you will kill her, that way even if I lose I still win something.”

“I'm not going to kill my sister,” I insisted, appalled by the idea.

“Why not?” Mr. Jones asked. “She plans to kill you.”

I swallowed hard. He was lying, Claire wouldn't kill me. Clea might though. I had to remember I wasn't dealing with the Claire I knew.

Mr. Jones swept a hand over the boxes. “You draw first,” he offered.

I looked over the boxes. None of the symbols seemed to give a clue to what was inside. I hoped that Mr. Jones didn't already know which box was the winner, though I had to admit to myself that he probably did. At least if he knew, I had a chance of choosing it first. I peered at the boxes, hoping to get a feeling from one of them, something to tell me which I should pick.

Nothing was jumping out at me. I closed my eyes and put my hand over the boxes. I swept my hand over them, then back. I started moving over them slowly; I had felt something I was sure of it. I stopped when my hand began to feel warm. I opened my eyes and leaned forward to look at the box more closely. Up close, the swirls on the box looked like a twisting mass of snakes. My hand tingled as it drew closer to the box. I grabbed it and pulled it back to me.

Mr. Jones' face gave no sign that I had chosen a good or bad box of cards. As he chose his box, I sat with my hands on the one I’d picked, tingling in anticipation. He drew a box back to himself, and opened the lid. He smiled at the sight of the top card.

“I'll play first, if you don't mind,” he said. I nodded my agreement and he started to lay out cards.

King, king, king, jack, jack. A full house, a very good full house. I swallowed hard.

“Better luck next time,” Mr. Jones said as I was opening my box. The top card didn't give me any reason to think he was wrong. I began to lay out my cards.

Two, three, four, five, six, all diamonds. Behind me, Stephen started to laugh. Adrenaline pumped through me and it took a moment for it to sink in that I had drawn the higher hand. When I looked up at Mr. Jones he was scowling.

“Nicely done,” Mr. Jones said grudgingly. He nodded to the butler, and the man left the room. “You really may be Clea's sister after all. She is the only one who has ever beaten me in this game.”

“Our father played,” I said, holding back a smile.

“How sweet,” Mr. Jones scowled.

The butler returned to the room. He carried in a smooth black briefcase, and handed it to Mr. Jones. Mr. Jones stood up, and placed the briefcase on the poker table. I stood up, backing up in case something bad was in the case. Stephen took my hand.

Mr. Jones spun the locks on the briefcase until the numbers lined up. The locks snapped open, and he lifted the lid. Hannah gasped, breathing in sharply enough to bend her at the waist. Stephen let go of my hand to support her.

“Are you alright?” Stephen asked.

“Fine,” Hannah said, gasping. She stood, smiling widely. “Better than ever, it was my soul. I can feel it inside me again.” She pressed both hands to her chest. “I feel alive again.” She grinned widely. Elation filled me, and then Hannah started to flicker. She faded in and out of sight like a picture on a television with poor reception.

“Hannah, what's happening?” Stephen asked. “What did you do to her?” he asked, glaring at Mr. Jones. He tried to hold onto his sister, but each time she faded and his fingers slipped through nothing.

“Stephen, it's fine,” Hannah assured him. She tried to put her hand on his arm, but it passed right through him. “This is how it's meant to be. I'll see you soon.” Just like that, she faded to nothing.

Stephen lunged at Mr. Jones, taking him by his lapels before either of the guards could react. He shoved the older man back against the wall. Muscles moved to intervene, but Mr. Jones lifted a hand to calm him.

“What did you do to her?” Stephen asked, shaking Mr. Jones.

“You really have no idea what is going on, do you?” Mr. Jones asked. His eyes moved to meet mine. “Neither of you have any idea. It's so sweet how that happens.” He broke out of Stephen's grasp, showing surprising strength for a man his age. “Your sister is fine.”

“Where did she go?” I asked. I moved to Stephen's side, taking his hand.

“Back,” Mr. Jones said simply. “It will all become clear to you.” He snapped his finger at the butler. The man hurried over and handed Mr. Jones a slip of paper. “In the meantime, here is Clea's home address. Use it wisely, and get out of my sight before I change my mind.” I grabbed Stephen by the arm, meaning to pull him out the door. “Oh, and one more thing,” Mr. Jones said. “I’d pay close attention to her amulet if I were you. They say it is the key to her destruction. Now go.”

I pulled on Stephen's arm until he followed me out of the room. We ran down the dark stairs and back out into the club. I yanked Stephen to a stop when I saw a redheaded woman just slipping through the backstage doors. It could have been anyone, but when she turned to smile at the guard I could see the wide white scar over her eyebrow. It was in the same place as the one I had given her, but as Stephen had said, not so small.

“Let's go,” Stephen said. He tugged at my arm, taking charge again. “We have her address, better to surprise her than try to catch up with her in the alley.”

I nodded, still reeling from the look of that scar. I had done that to her. I wondered how many other scars she had because of me.

No one stopped us from leaving and soon we were back on the sidewalk outside the club, cold night air slapping us in the face. I shivered and Stephen put an arm around me. He began to lead me into the night. I followed blindly, thinking of nothing but Clea. We made our way through the city, heading for his boat again, both of us too lost in our own thoughts for conversation.

7.

Stephen insisted we rest for a few hours when we got back to the boat. At that point I was too tired to argue. At dawn, after a few hours of sleep, we headed for the address Mr. Jones had provided. It was in a beautiful neighborhood where all the houses stood behind locked gates and had been built back when people still thought houses should all look different. There were plenty with wide pillars out front, or turrets, but each house had its own style that set it apart from the others even if it was in a fairly minor way.

The address led us to a locked iron gate. In the soft morning light I could see a square mansion. Porches lined the three visible sides of the house, both first floor and second. I rattled the gate, but it wasn't budging. My head throbbed from lack of sleep and I leaned it against the cool metal bars. I wondered why I had thought we would just be able to walk right up to the house with no problems.

“You lookin' for Miss Clea?” asked a small voice from behind us.

We turned to see a boy, about ten years old, pants to his knees, and a vest buttoned over a white shirt. He wore a pageboy hat, his blond hair sticking out like straw from under it. He grinned up at us from a dirty face.

“Yes,” I answered. “Have you seen her?”
“Used to work for her,” he said proudly. “'Til she let me go a week ago. Lady said I wasn't good enough for her, said I didn't have the stones for her business.” His face had fallen a bit by the end of his sentence, no longer proud.

“That's probably a good thing,” Stephen said. “You don't want to be a part of that stuff, kid.”

“Alex,” the kid said. “I got a name, you don't gotta call me kid.”

“Alex,” I said. “Any way we can get in there?”

“Got any coin?” Alex asked, grinning slyly.

“There's a piece of silver in it for you,” Stephen offered.

“Alright.” Alex nodded without hesitation.

He climbed the iron fence like a squirrel. In less than a minute he had made it to the other side. He ran off to the side. We watched through the fence as he searched through the stones in a big flower pot. Sun glinted off something metal in his hand. He returned, grinning, to the fence and unlocked it. It swung open easily and we stepped through.

“Thanks,” Stephen said. He handed Alex the coin.

Alex followed us up the drive to the house. It loomed in front of us; now that we were closer I wasn't sure what we were going to do. Knocking on the door didn't seem like such a good plan, but I wanted to see Clea face-to-face. Stephen held me back before we stepped out of the tree-shaded drive.

“We should stay in the bushes, and move around the house,” Stephen said. “We don't want Clea to see us.”

“She isn't home,” Alex said. We both looked at him. “What? You think I’dda let you in here for a piece of silver if she was home? My life is worth more than that.”

“Where is she then?” I asked.