King Me Page 14

  “I have to pee,” I groan.

  “You look like that and all you have to say is you have to pee?”

  “Yes,” I say, forcing myself out of bed and into the bathroom.

  I close the door with a soft click and lean against it. My pulse comes quick when I replay last night. This is getting more and more dangerous, yet I feel compelled to keep pushing, keep digging. The mystery surrounding this group has given me a mission, a purpose, maybe a way to right all my wrongs. I catch a glimpse of the mirror and gasp. There, in my best red lipstick, are heavy words intersecting my reflection. I believe in Bondye, who manifests his spirit in me.

  My fist bangs against the glass and I’m lucky it doesn’t break. Anger propels me to erase their words from my space, to claim it as my own again. I scrub at the letters with my bare hands, making the mirror into one big smear of red. My hands are stained and the sight of it brings terrible flashbacks. I scrape at my skin and the mess on my fingers, but it won’t come off. My vision blurs as tears fill my eyes now. All I see is red as panic seizes me.

  King bursts through the door, finding me on the floor of the tiny bathroom, scrubbing my hands while sobbing. He kneels down so that we’re on the same level and wipes the tears from my face. I hold my breath and swallow down the hysteria that threatens to spill out again.

  King cups my face in his large palms and I lean into it. It is everything I need.

  “Let’s get you cleaned up,” he says, his voice softer and kinder than I deserve.

  Standing behind me, King wraps his arms around me and guides my red hands under running water. My body instinctually leans into him as he adds soap and gently scrubs away the red lipstick. Pink foam and bubbles fall into the sink and swirl around the drain. When every bit is gone, King pulls the towel from its bar and dries them for me.

  He turns me in his arms and pulls me in for one of his signature hugs. It seems to put all my crumbling pieces back together.

  “You okay now?” he asks. I drop my chin to my chest. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

  After emptying my bladder, I finally catch my own reflection in a clean mirror space. The toothbrush in my hand freezes as I take in the long scratches down the left side of my face, and the bruises forming around my neck. I finish brushing my teeth and clean my face the best I can.

  I find King, right where I left him, on my bed. He leans over, elbows perched on his open knees, his fingers tented together. He looks up at me and everything hits me at once—shame and embarrassment, regret and fear. Tears fill my eyes quickly and I wipe them away, drying my hands on my shirt.

  “I’m so sorry I said that to you, King.” My voice is honest, but shaky. I can’t seem to find my strength without him. “I don’t think you’re a fool. I don’t think any of you are fools.”

  He nods and looks across the room. “What did the mirror say?” he asks.

  “Bondye’s prayer.”

  King scrubs at his face before running his hands through his hair. “Perfect.”

  “What are you doing here?” I ask. “And how did you get in?” I spin to find the chair still in place against the door handle.

  “Your fire escape. You should probably lock that window,” he says with no emotion.

  Not wanting to join him on the bed and stir up those kind of memories, I sit on the sofa and curl my legs beneath myself, pressing my palms to my throbbing temples. King follows and sits on the opposite end.

  “I don’t think the window matters when the bad guys have a fucking key. They were here last night. Attacked me in the alley, took my keys and came in the apartment. By the time I woke up, they were long gone.”

  His eyes widen. “Why didn’t you call me?”

  “I didn’t think you’d answer after what I’d said,” I admit. My head snaps up, searching for my phone. Scanning the room I don’t find my bag or my laptop either. “Oh shit!”

  “What’s wrong?”

  I search my pockets, everywhere in the apartment. “They took it. My laptop, my phone, all my research—it’s gone.” My stomach flips and I wrap my arms around myself to try to stay calm. A wave of nausea rushes through me and my vision blurs. Breaths come quick now as rage fills my chest. “I can’t start over!” I shout, tears filling my eyes.

  King grabs my shoulders and gives me a gentle shake. It’s enough to grab my attention and bring my focus back on him. “Forget starting over,” he says, his even tone sending some calm through my body. “You’re safe and that’s all that matters right now.”

  I absently nod as he moves me back to the sofa and has me sit down. King rubs circles on my back—while keeping his distance—until my breathing and pulse are back to normal. I can feel his eyes on me, but I avoid them for so many reasons. I don’t deserve his kindness, but I am too selfish to turn him away. Minutes pass and it is just two people with a pile of unanswered questions between them. I don’t know where to start.

  “I answered your question,” I finally say. “Now you answer mine. Why are you here?”

  He sighs before answering. “It’s Saturday. Our deal is that I help you on Tuesdays and Saturdays.”

  “So, where were you on Tuesday?” I challenge, still keeping my eyes on the floor.

  “Don’t push your luck, Laney,” King says, dropping his hand from my back. “I’m here because I made a promise to you and I want to follow through. I’ll help with your research—or whatever it is we’re doing now.”

  “King, I…”

  “Save it,” King says, holding up his hand to stop me. “Let’s just get some food and coffee in you and get to work.”

  Knowing that I’d rather have him here on his terms than not at all, I nod in defeat. “Can I take a quick shower first?”

  “Yeah.” He turns on the TV and his attention away from me.

  When I am dressed, I find him still watching television. His eyes stare at the screen, but he doesn’t seem to really pay attention. Those long fingers zip his medallion back and forth a few times, before dropping it beneath his shirt.

  “Ready?” I ask.

  He doesn’t answer, but turns the TV off and stands. “Do you want to call the police about your attack this time? They’re not going to go away, Delaney. Things are escalating.”

  “I… I guess so. I mean, I don’t even have a phone to call them on anymore.” I wave my hands around before realizing I probably look crazy. Tucking them into my back pockets, my gaze finally connects with King’s. “Can I borrow yours?”

  An hour later, two NOLA officers stand in my kitchen asking me questions. Officer Zander looks pretty young, still fresh-faced and enthusiastic about his job. The other man is older, weathered. He remains quiet and doesn’t even introduce himself. His suit is dated with a coffee stain on his tie.

  Zander hands me a couple of forms to fill out. “Please use these to make an inventory of all missing items, Miss Mills.” I take the forms and slide them onto the kitchen counter, vowing to get to it as soon as possible while knowing it’ll never amount to anything.

  The older officer waddles around the apartment as if looking for clues or just to avoid doing any work. King’s eyes follow him around the space.

  “Miss Mills,” Officer Zander says, removing a pen and a small notepad from his front pocket. “Can you please recount the events of last night?” King stands beside me, supportive, but still withdrawn.

  “I came home late last night. The street was dark and I just felt like something was off, you know? The glass was broken from the streetlight, but I decided to just hightail it home. I wasn’t in the best frame of mind to be making rational decisions.”

  “You mean you were drunk,” King says, disappointment paints his tone and I die a little more inside.

  “Yes,” I admit, keeping my attention on the two officers. “Anyway, when I got to the stairs, I was attacked. They dragged me into the alley and choked me until I passed out. I woke up early this morning and made my way up here. My door was wide open, but there was no one h
ere. I slept until he showed up.” I jab a thumb in King’s direction.

  “Can you give a description of the men?” Zander asks.

  I shake my head and wrap my arms around my middle. “One of them had a long scar across his cheek. That’s all I remember.”

  “Had you ever seen the men before?” Officer Zander scribbles in his notepad while I wonder what he’s writing in there.

  “The man with the scar. I’d seen him before, at The Bulldog on Magazine Street,” I say. Zander nods and keeps writing. Silence stretches between us and I debate on telling him everything. His eyes meet mine and I feel like he can read my thoughts.

  “Is there anything else you’d like to add?” he asks. His expression is not judgmental or expectant. It’s kind and hopeful and it makes me confess.

  “This wasn’t the first time I was attacked,” I say, dropping my chin to my chest and looking at the floor. “But I didn’t see anything the first time.”

  Officer Zander tucks his pen and notepad away and catches my gaze. “Miss Mills, is there a reason you seem to have a target on your back?”

  I look to King, who offers nothing, and back to Zander. Blowing my bangs from my eyes, I shrug. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  “Try me,” he says. Again I shake my head. “Well, if you change your mind, give me a call.” He hands over a business card with his name and phone number on it.

  The two officers search the apartment, but admit that nothing much ever comes of these cases. They leave me with a case number, and a feeling of helplessness.

  “What do I do now?” I ask King. “I know what they want. They want me to give up and go home. But, I can’t let them win. I just can’t. I mean, I have most files backed up on a flash drive in my suitcase. I’ll just be missing the physical research and handwritten notes from my bag.”

  “How long are you going to keep going, Laney? Until they kill you? This isn’t even about your dissertation anymore. You’ve become caught up in this obsession with the Bondye Saints.”

  “It’s not an obsession,” I say, shaking my head. “I’ve just shifted the focus of my research to include this new development.”

  “Maybe you should just go home,” King says. “This is getting crazy and way over your head.”

  “I don’t have anything to go home to.”

  “You have your family, friends,” he says.

  “I have no one who won’t look at me like a god damned nut case. No one whose eyes don’t paint me with pity and judgment. I can’t deal with that. No one here looks at me like that. You don’t look at me like that. Or, at least you didn’t.”

  I raise my eyes, wanting to see his face. King looks gorgeous and concerned, but there is no sign of disappointment. All this talk of light and dark since arriving in New Orleans has opened my eyes to what lives inside a person. For so long, it’s been shadows and the deepest night and I never even realized it. King is killing that dark. He brings light to everything. It’s just a part of him and I crave it like a drug. My chest aches at the thought of leaving this place and never seeing him again. I don’t think I’d survive another blow like that.

  “I think you should forget about helping me,” I say, trying to sound convincing. “They’ve already come after me twice. Eventually, they will go after you, too. I don’t want to put you in danger.”

  He is shaking his head before I even finish speaking. “Laney, I told you already, I’m in.”

  “If anything happens to you…” I reach for him, my fingers aching to connect, but I drop my hand to my side.

  “I’m in. Whether you want to admit it or not, you need my help. I am your only inside connection. So, suck it up, buttercup. This fool is here to stay.”

  I cringe at the word fool, my word, knowing how hurtful it was. I want to apologize again, but I know he doesn’t want to hear it. So, I keep my mouth shut.

  “So we’re still a team?” I ask.

  “Yes,” King says, a hint of a smile appears, but it disappears so quickly I wonder if I imagined it.

  13

  “MISS MILLS,” CAS SAYS, when we run into her on the sidewalk in front of the bookstore. “Did I see NOLA PD go up to your apartment this weekend?”

  King leans against the front glass, his sunglasses hiding those eyes I want to see. “Yep,” he answers.

  “Two men attacked me in the alley Friday night. Then they broke into the apartment,” I tell her. “They took my computer, my keys, all my research.”

  Cas’s face scrunches up, all the skin pulling in toward her nose and pursed mouth. “Come in,” she says, motioning to the store.

  I shoot a look at King and he shrugs, following her inside. We both weave through the rows of books, working our way past the counter and into the back apartment. Cas’s cat greets us, rubbing himself against King’s shins and meowing.

  “Hey, little guy,” King says, bending over and scratching behind the cat’s ears.

  “Oh, that’s just Couyon,” Cas says with a wave of her hand. “He’s an attention whore. No loyalty to anyone.” She shoots the cat a hateful look but laughs. “I suppose at his age, he don’t give a damn about much anymore. I know the feeling.”

  King and I stand there as Cas rambles on about the cat and then her aching knee, which means rain is coming.

  “You wanted to know about the break in?” I finally ask, when there’s a break in her jabbering.

  “Oh, that,” she says. “I knew I invited you in for a reason.” She turns and walks to a large trunk serving as a coffee table between patchwork chairs. We watch as Cas pulls a set of keys from the pocket of her gauzy skirt and opens the trunk.

  “Well, take a seat,” she insists. “Rude to be lingerin’ in doorways.”

  I scurry over to one chair and King takes a seat in the other. Cas kneels between us, still digging around in the trunk. She pulls a huge book out—the one I saw her pull from the safe upstairs when I first arrived.

  “I know all about the break in, boo. I’m just sorry you are caught up in this,” Cas says to me. “They’ve been looking for this book for the past year or so. Even took my safe from upstairs. Tee fools.”

  “They who?” I ask.

  Cas sits back on her heels and gives me a look that is pity and annoyance all in one. “You both know very well who. The Bondye Saints.” King sits up in his chair, his eyes connect with mine. My pulse thunders as I wait for her to continue. “Yes, I know what you two have been up to and I can tell you now that you shouldn’t be diggin’. But that won’t stop you, will it?” Cas struggles to stand, closes the trunk and sits on top of it. “No, of course it won’t.”

  The old leather bound book sits on her lap now. There are no words or lettering on the cover to indicate what’s inside.

  “What do they need that book for?” King asks.

  Cas runs her hands over the book and clutches it to her chest. “This is an old African Voodoo book. It contains spells and rituals that we never knew before discovering it in the ‘50s. Good and bad stuff.”

  “So the Bondye Saints tried to perform a ritual from that book in 1969, didn’t they?” I ask.

  King’s head snaps up and his gaze questions me. “How do you know that?”

  “I visited Emma Green this week.”

  Cas shakes her head, her cloudy brown eyes look off into the distance. “That poor girl,” she says.

  “Cas, what was the ritual? Why did they need Emma? Why do you have that book? Are you part of the Bondye Saints?” I ask, scooting to the edge of my chair, itching to get my hands on that book.

  “Girl, you need to slow down before your head explodes,” Cas says. “You talk faster than green grass goes through a goose.” King chuckles and I don’t even know if I should laugh or be offended. “My husband was part of the Bondye Saints when they first formed in the sixties. He was young, thought their intentions were good. Pauvre bête didn’t know better until he was too far in. Those people ain’t true Voodoo. They corrupt.” Cas looks me in
the eyes, something she rarely does. “As far as that girl, all I know is that she wouldn’t have survived the night if she hadn’t run. Miles wasn’t there that night and he kept me out of the loop on purpose. Didn’t want me involved.”

  “Shit,” I whisper, before slapping my hand over my mouth. “Oh, sorry.”

  Cas gives me a lopsided grin. “Girl, if I was offended by language, I wouldn’t survive a day in this damn city.” She stands and walks to her kitchen table, setting the book down there. King and I follow. “We’ve been moving the book around for decades, in case the group formed up again. Somehow, they know I have it, so it’s got to go. Don’t know who to trust these days. I will admit, I did take a peek inside once or twice. The only thing I read from that ritual was that it must start one hour after sunset. I closed it right after that and never opened it again. Gave me a bad feeling in my bones.”

  Couyon hops up onto the kitchen table and sits directly on the book, looking up at Cas with a long meow.

  “You hungry, boo?” she asks him. “I know that feelin’.”

  Cas opens her fridge and starts moving things around, all we can see is her round, floral-covered behind sticking out. “I’ll have the locks replaced on your apartment today, Miss Mills. Just stop back by here and I’ll have you a new set of keys.”

  She turns to face us now, holding a jar of pickles and a carton of eggs. “It’s the only protection I can offer.”

  “Thanks, Cas. I’ll see you later,” I say, knowing we won’t get any more information out of her. “One more thing. Did you carve Papa Legba’s symbol into the floor under my bed?”

  Cas’s mouth drops open and she quickly snaps it closed. “No,” she says. “I didn’t do no such thing.”

  I grab King’s hand and pull him from the room, through the bookstore and onto the sidewalk. The heat is suffocating when we step outside and I immediately want to go back in.

  King removes his hand from mine and I frown as he pushes it deep into his front pocket. “Well, that was interesting,” he says. “You need to update me on Emma.”