“How long before it works?” I ask Michael. We move inside, make our way to our usual spot at the kitchen table. There is nothing to do now but wait for Luna to arrive.
“We should know fairly quickly if it had any effect or not,” he says.
“I hope it worked,” James chimes. “That was some seriously powerful work.” He ogles my brother.
“For sure,” Jeanna adds. “That could become intensely intoxicating.”
The addition of Michael to today’s coven work amped up our creative energy to unpredicted levels. We are all riding on a bit of a casting high.
The phone rings and my heart jumps.
“I don’t recognize the number,” James says, regarding the caller ID.
“I do.” I bolt forward and grab the phone. My heart squeezing, slamming, squeezing. “Luna?”
“He’s dead.” Her voice is rough with sobs. “My dad is dead.”
My heart is a sinking stone in a pit of agony. I told Luna we’d keep her father safe, and now a man is dead; someone I care about is hurting. It takes fistfuls of strength not to add my scream to her sobs.
“Come on.” Michael ushers me around the car.
Before hanging up the phone, I collected Luna’s physical address. Now, Michael and I are heading over to comfort her as best we can. In truth, I’m the one who will attempt to sooth. Michael is merely my ride.
With a weak wave to James and Jeanna, I slip into the passenger seat and stare at my friends huddled on the front porch. The expressions on their faces say it all; fear, fury, failure, a fixed uncertainty. The car door closes, and I jolt.
I failed. Failed Luna.
I’m so lost in my misery; it barely registers when Michael slides into the car and starts the engine. But the squeal of the wheels when we pull away from the curb scratches at my ear and pulls me back to the now with a cringe.
Wordlessly, we roll away from Algiers, onto the highway, across the river, through and past the French Quarter, to the place where Luna waits—her home in the seventh ward.
When we pull onto Luna’s street, Michael parks two houses back, like he’d done at my place. A paramedic vehicle is parked in front of the home, lights off, and a man in uniform is loading equipment into the back. The other is standing in the doorway talking to a woman I assume is Luna’s mom.
She is holding a clipboard, scribbling something. She hands the paperwork to the man, and he, in exchange, hands her what looks like a business card. He descends the steps and returns to the vehicle.
Michael hits my arm and motions for me to glance across the street. Standing in the shadows, between the houses, are two men. Due to the distance and the darkness, I can’t tell if they are the same two men that chased Luna and me the other day or not.
The sight, and the memory, cause me to shiver.
“I want to go in. See her,” I say.
Michael heaves a heavy breath. “I understand. But this situation may not be safe, so I am going to hang back and keep an eye on things out here.”
“Okay.” I open the door and step out. The paramedic vehicle pulls away from the curb and drives away. I spin back, lean into the car. “I may be a while.”
“I would expect.” His fingers tap on the steering wheel. “Don’t worry about me. Do what you need to do.”
“Thanks.” I close the car door and head up to the house.
With my arms wrapped around me tight, as if the action will hold my emotions and composure in check, I approach Luna’s house. Climb the first step.
Mrs. Flores’ attention snaps to me. Her eyes are red, and her cheeks wet. She sniffles. “Can I help you?”
“My name is Belle,” I say. “I’m here to see Luna. She called me.”
She swallows hard and nods. “Belle. Yes. Won’t you come in?” She steps aside, allowing me entrance into her home.
With a meager smile, I climb the remaining steps, my gaze dropping to the ground before me. We move inside, and she closes the door. Bolts the lock. Grabs a tissue from the collection of boxes gathered on the side sofa table set near the door. The kitchen, living room, and dining room are all open, easily flowing from one to another. Those are all updates that would have cost a ton of money, and I can’t help but wonder if that’s where Mr. Flores’ debt was accumulated.
I position myself with a clear view down the hallway. It runs through the center of the house, and a bath and bedrooms are clearly located to either side.
“Luna, you have a visitor,” Mrs. Flores says, then blows her nose.
Luna pops out of one of the doorways, a washcloth in her hand. At the sight of me, she drops the washcloth back into the room… I’m assuming the bathroom counter… and dashes toward me. Crashes into me. I throw my arms around her and hug her with all my heart and soul.
“They believe it may have been a heart attack, but nothing is yet confirmed,” she says through thick distress into the curve of my neck. “A heart attack!” She steps back, holds my hands, glances at her mom, then to me. Her face is newly damp from the washcloth, but no amount of scrubbing could wash away the pain she is currently experiencing. “I know better,” she whispers. “The bokor killed him, just as he had promised.”
“I’m so sorry, Luna. I should have been here. We should have stopped it,” I say.
“What could you have done?” She tightens her hold on me and the agony flows from the corners of her eyes. “Your magick may be stronger than mine, but it isn’t bokor strong.”
She’s probably right, but that wouldn’t stop me from trying. I reach out and wipe away her tears. Her cheeks blush, and she partially turns away, her hands flying to
