“Sorry about that,” a voice said from the gloom.
“Don’t be sorry, just get your boys together,” Sherrie said. “Elijah? You take Nick and Majora and any two others you like and secure the house. Anybody in there, you just keep right on going all
the way around until you hook up with Omar, but if it’s empty, you get in and hold it. Deny this bitch her fallback position, you understand?”
“Yes, Aunt Sherrie,” a man with a voice like a landslide said.
“All right, then. The rest of y’all come with me. That means you too, Miss Thing,” Sherrie said, looking at me. “We’re the ones going to bell the cat, and I am not doing that job by myself. Omar, I’m going to give you five minutes to get in position. If we have to fall back, Carrefour’s going to get drawn out, and you be ready to come in behind it. Now all you remember we’re trying not to kill the preacher or the horse. Preacher, you just hold him down or shoot him in the knee. Whatever. The horse . . . well, do what you can.”
“Um,” I said, blinking.
“Two tours in Afghanistan, one in Iraq,” Sherrie said. “I do not fuck around.”
I had the almost genetic impulse to say sir, yes sir, but I sat on it. Mfume stepped forward.
“I will take the rider,” he said. “Don’t kill her unless I have fallen.”
Sherrie cocked her head, then shrugged.
“You heard the man. Be careful with Carrefour until it kills this one. Then do what you have to do. Now let’s go.”
Half the cultists seemed to dissolve into the gray, moonlit mist, the others waiting to follow Sherrie’s
lead. She smiled at me with wide, white, tombstone teeth.
“This is your party,” she said. “You go on ahead, we’ll follow you.”
Meaning, I understood, that if anyone was going to get shot from a distance, it was going to be me. I took a deep breath, then let it out slowly and nodded. Chogyi Jake and Aubrey came to my side, and then Mfume joined them. Five minutes, she’d said. They lasted forever and no time at all. Sherrie looked from her wristwatch to the drive, pointed at me, pointed at it. My throat was thick with fear and my blood felt like it was vibrating in its vessels.
I walked down the side of the path, the knee-high grass muffling my footsteps more than the gravel would have. The safe house slowly came into view, its windows glowing in the fog. No one confronted us but the Virgin Mary, looking more like a tombstone than ever. The shed was still hidden by the angle of our approach.
Aubrey trotted up to walk at my side, Chogyi Jake and Mfume followed close. Aubrey took my hand.
“I’ve got to stop getting us into situations like this,” I said softly. “I’m seriously going to get someone killed.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “You really are.”
TWENTY-THREE
We made our way around the corner of the house. The white cargo van squatted at the back door, its windows black. I had the sense that it was watching us, though there was no one in it. The fog-wet grass soaked my shoes and the cuffs of my pants as I walked, cold and clammy and grasping. My shirt and hair were getting damp, and Aubrey’s hand in mine was the only warmth I felt.
The thick air also muffled sound so that even the handful of crickets seemed to be singing from miles away. The prison that we’d made from our shed was a looming darkness punctuated by intense points of
brilliant white light—the line around the doorway, the slats of the tin vent. I squeezed Aubrey’s hand one last time and let it go. Hunching close to the ground, I moved forward until the dark, mist-soaked wood was almost close enough to touch. The voices got louder as I approached like someone turning up the volume knob. Ex, his voice hoarse, in a shouted litany. The higher, weeping voice of Sabine.
The world felt thin, changed, unstable as driving on ice. Whatever rituals Ex was doing to cast Legba out of Sabine’s body had brought the Pleroma or Next Door or whatever we called it close enough to feel, and it made my skin crawl.
Someone came up on my left. Mfume, and then a moment later, Chogyi Jake and Aunt Sherrie. This was it. The big moment. We would gather all the cultists together, kick in the door and hope for the best. I steeled myself, but my hands were tapping busily at my knees, like my body was trying to get my attention. I had Chogyi Jake and Aubrey, Mfume and Aunt Sherrie, and at least a dozen of Legba’s congregation. I was pretty sure, if it came to it, we could rush in and take them by force. A few cultists would probably die. Maybe Ex. Probably Karen.
So I had to try the other way first. I motioned Aubrey and Chogyi Jake to stop, then I waved Mfume and Aunt Sherrie closer.
“Get everyone around the shed,” I whispered. “Not in line of sight, but close by, okay?”
“What the hell are you doing?” Sherrie said.
“I’m going in,” I said. “I’ll get the others out if I can. Just stay clear until I give the high sign.”
Sherrie didn’t seem to like the idea, but she nodded.
“Your funeral,” she said, and I stepped up to the shed door and knocked.
“Ex! Karen! It’s Jayné! We need to talk!”
I waited for a hail of gunfire, but all I got was a stream of invective from inside the shed. I heard men and women scattering in the thick, wet darkness and held myself steady. When the door swung open, the light was blinding.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Karen said, and for the first time I recognized the deepness and power in her voice as a rider. Carrefour was speaking through her, and the mask was beginning to slip.
“I need to talk to Ex,” I said.
“Jayné?” he said from within. He’d stopped his chanting, but Sabine’s keening cry didn’t falter.
“Hey,” I said. “Sorry for the shitty timing. But . . . I tried calling your cell phone.”
“I lost it,” he said.
Yeah, I just bet you did, I thought.
My eyes were adjusting. Karen was more than a movement within the brightness, and Ex had come to her side. The shed was lit by four halogen work lamps, hissing and hot as a furnace, and the gloom
around us seemed deeper by contrast. Ex looked exhausted. His skin had a gray undertone, and his hair hung in his eyes, limp and greasy. His clothes looked like he’d slept in them. He held a crucifix in one hand and a book bound in black leather in the other.
Karen, on the other hand, almost glowed. Her eyes were bright as a fever, her hair pulled back into a ponytail, with only one stray lock to soften her face. She was wearing what looked like military surplus gear—thick canvas pants and jacket over a ribbed white T-shirt. There was something inhuman in the way she held herself. Carrefour was so close to winning that it could taste the victory, only here I was interrupting the party. Once the young Legba was plucked out of Sabine’s body, Carrefour could turn on us all, but until then it had to keep the masquerade going.
I smiled as if I meant it and walked up like I assumed they’d let me pass. Karen almost held her ground, then with a growl like a dog ready to bite, she took a step back, and I went in.
The shed had seemed bigger when it was empty, but it was still a wide, high space. The halogen lamps burned in three corners, fed by bright-orange extension cords. A matte black shotgun lay against the wall like a presentiment of doom. The dirt floor was covered now with symbols in paint and earth like Amelie Glapion’s cornmeal veves. The designs seemed to move in my peripheral vision, and they
filled me with a deep unease. In the center of the floor, a black iron ring stuck out of the newly poured concrete. Sabine was chained to it, bright steel links going to manacles at her wrists and a tight leather collar at the throat.
Her clothes, ripped and bloody, were the ones she’d worn at the ceremony, the ones I had seen her in only hours before. They were almost unrecognizable. Her eyes were puffy and closed, and she rocked back and forth on the ground, whispering to herself. Louvri le pót. Legba. Legba. Louvri. Please, please, Legba louvri le pót. I wanted to sweep over to her, to wrap my arms around her and comfort her and tell her it was going to be all right, even though I thought it probably wasn’t.
How had I ever believed this was a good idea?
“What’s going on,” Karen said. “Why are you here?”
“We got back this morning. I needed to see Ex,” I said.