Persephone Underground Page 10

  “For God’s sake, don’t be jealous,” Ronnie chided. “He must have quite a love for you. He never took me back in time to meet Mami Wata and explain the reason she’s so fucked up.”

  At that, she shook her head sadly, telling me how the old woman’s past seemed to haunt her to this day.

  “You know, when I came to rescue you from that hole tonight, I spied through Mami Wata’s bathroom window to make sure the coast was clear. I saw some stuff I can never unsee.”

  I shared my own horror – told Ronnie about the mermaid scales, I’d found in her Roman tub. According to Ronnie’s account of what Mami Wata was up to in her bathroom tonight, the old voodoo queen listened to jazz from the days when she loved Phoebe. She had an old phonographic record player going, and was drinking from her ruby rimmed antique cup. Her fish tail had been in plain sight.

  “A mermaid is what we see,” Ronnie pronounced carefully – but I think that woman is no more than a gifted hypnotist and trickster. For all I know, she found a way to taint the air and make us normal people hallucinate.”

  We paid the bill and walked outside to our cars. Before I got in my Beetle, Ronnie grabbed me by the hand again. She begged me to say nothing of what she’d told me. She said I’d just have to play along for now, and that, eventually, I would escape too.

  “You can’t tell Lucas Furr we know he’s the devil incarnate – that we know he slept with his own sister,” she said.

  “But why, isn’t that my bargaining chip – to escape from all this, like you did?”

  Ronnie looked deep in my eyes, where I thought I read guilt. “I’m afraid I may have ruined it for you. Lucas said that if I told anyone I’d been kidnapped, he’d find a way to kill everyone at my alma mater, YOUR high school, Persephone.”

  “So, I’m the only living soul who knows about it?”

  “Yes,” Ronnie replied.

  “Shit.”

  Chapter

  16

  So…when I went back to school on Monday, it was with a brand new friend contact in my phone. RONNIE SANTIAGO. She was older than my mother, but fun to hang out with – I could see sister potential in the friendship. Plus, who needed a blood oath when we had all this in common? I was crafting just the right response to Ronnie’s invitation to come out to Delray this weekend, when I heard Miz Furr come up to me in the school’s breezeway and clear her throat.

  I backspaced over my beautifully crafted text, annoyed.

  “Young lady, shouldn’t you be in class? The bell rang a few seconds ago.”

  “Ummm. Sorry?” It was hard to look at Hayden’s mother after all that had happened. Hard not to stare. He’d told me some personal stuff about her over the summer. I knew they weren’t close. Hayden claimed she liked working long hours at Bad Ass, so she could pretend her mother wasn’t the most powerful underground voodoo queen in South Florida.

  Miz Furr grabbed me under the elbow and guided me toward her office. “It doesn’t matter…” I heard her grumble under her breath. “I know you’re headed to Mrs. Springer’s class and I wanted to talk to you about that, anyway.”

  The principal gave a polite nod and forced smile to a security guard in a golf cart as we made our way to the main part of campus. Once in her office, she shut the door and drew her window blinds. I couldn’t believe I was getting into this much trouble for being late to Demi’s class.

  I wasn’t alone in the room. Actually, it was pretty crowded. Two vice principals were there, and to my amazement, Marc Springer.

  “Demi’s teaching, so she couldn’t make it,” Miz Furr told us. “I’m asking Marc to take notes of this meeting and get it to her after the fact. Unlike his wife, Marc is a wonderful teacher and an asset to this school…”

  Everyone was aghast the principal would throw a faculty member under the bus like this, without her being present to defend herself. It was incredibly unprofessional, but just the sort of thing that happened at a school like Bad Ass Academy. We were in the hood and no one cared about checks and balances. I felt sick when I realized why I was here.

  Miz Furr wanted me to rat out Demi as a sucky teacher, which, sadly, she was.

  “My dear,” Miz Furr said to me, “you’re not in any trouble for helping Mrs. Springer manage her class. I know you’ve been helping grade papers and giving her tips on behavior modification. But it can’t continue.”

  “Okay,” I said slowly, looking at the ground. I mustered the courage to stick up for Demi. “She’s not so bad, you know. Mrs. Springer is incredibly funny and smart.”

  “We all know she’s funny,” Miz Furr snapped. “I think my husband is ready to offer her a full-time job at The Pomegranate, he loves that act of hers so much.”

  I held my tongue, but the malice in Miz Furr’s voice and face was unmistakable. I wanted to accuse her of simply being jealous of another woman. This didn’t have much to do with Demi’s weaknesses as a teacher. I really did mean it, when I said she wasn’t all bad. I decided to talk her up a bit.

  “I wouldn’t help her if I didn’t believe in her,” I said. Mrs. Springer shines when she teachers her honors classes. The kids love her lectures and the cool writing assignments she comes up with. It’s just that remedial Creative Writing class that gives her fits.”

  I looked over at Marc, whose head was actually buried in his hands. Demi was his best friend and he was in agony watching his BFF get trashed. He looked up, obviously keeping his temper in check and said, “I’ll tell my wife she’s on notice. Any other reason I need to be here?”

  “Well….” Miz Furr said, walking a slow circle around her rather large office. The vice principals said not a word, just scribbled notes. “I changed Persephone’s schedule around, so she’ll have a more competent English teacher. When one class changes, everything changes. To make it all work, she has to switch history teachers too.”

  What the actual fuck?! I was furious. Here I had been thinking that Mami Wata was the witch the whole time. I wouldn’t give her daughter the pleasure of seeing me cry, though. I squared my shoulders and asked if I was being transferred to Mr. Springer’s history class.

  “Yes, effective today,” Miz Furr replied. I looked at her self-satisfied, righteous face. It was the first time I’d discerned what was actually different between she and her mother’s very similar faces. Mami Wata had the kinder face, even when she was in talking-iguana mode.

  I wondered what would happen if I brought up the fact, she laid in sin with her twin. Kind of funny that it rhymed. I almost laughed. I was told the secretary had my new schedule and to have a nice day.

  “I’ll see you sixth period, Marc.”

  He went red in the face at my faux paus. I had called him by his first name, which would raise Miz Furr’s suspicions.

  She merely frowned, opened the door for me, and shooed me out with a manila folder that looked like it had Demi’s walking papers in it.

  By the time sixth period rolled around, I was mostly over it. In truth, my new English teacher was an upgrade. She didn’t lose things; she didn’t suffer fools. I learned more in one class than I did in two weeks under Demi’s instruction. I still missed her, though. I mean, Demi was a kindred spirit who even let me help her write jokes sometimes. But it calmed me down to learn, to know what was expected of me. I quickly saw that Marc ran the same tight sort of ship.

  He may have been gay, but he knew so much about his subject matter his students didn’t dare give him any grief. You’d have to be an idiot not to realize Mr. Springer was a straight man on paper only. He was married, so what? He was the sort of limp wristed, stereotypical fag that usually got beat up at Bad Ass Academy. The Jamaican kids at the school were especially homophobic. Marc didn’t have to worry about that so much, as he taught all honors classes.

  He sailed through a lesson on the Black Plague like a Harvard professor, and then it happened. I had another panic attack.

  It had built up slowly as Marc showed the class pictures of boils and other ailments that killed
thousands of people from the dark ages. I wondered if it was because all the stuff in the power point presentation reminded me of demons and of hell – of the place I’d spent so much of my summer. I checked for my pulse and had a hard time locating it. That freaked me out. Maybe Mami Wata had turned me into a zombie from miles away, and I was death on two legs already. I struggled to catch my breath.

  Marc noticed me panicking and told everyone to take 5, finish reading the chapter on their own. He walked over.

  “Are you okay, honey?”

  Tears gathered in the corners of my eyes. “I guess I’m just upset about what the principal’s doing to Demi,” I lied. I certainly didn’t want to level with him about the Prince of the Underworld – Hayden’s promise to take me back down again when school let out for Christmas.

  “I have an idea,” he said, pulling me gently from my seat. “Follow me.”

  We walked to his tidy desk and grading area. It had lemon fresh streaks from where he’d just swabbed it down with cleaning cloths. Inspirational quotes on plaques, and shiny pair of apples were the only clutter. Just when I thought it couldn’t get any gayer, I spotted a photo of him and Demi. They were laughing and wearing sparkly top hats. Marc opened the door to the supply closet just adjacent to his work space.

  I wandered inside, surprised by its size. It was big enough to have a bunk bed in it, but instead there were walls of books. He guided me into a chair and told me to meditate, blowing me a kiss as he softly shut the door.

  For the benefit of my classmates, he gave a shout out to the class, that he needed my help organizing text books.

  I remained in my cinder block sanctuary until it was time to go home.

  Chapter

  17

  I slinked back to the apartment complex, heavy backpack on my shoulders. The first thing I noticed was my mom’s car parked next to mine. I walked some days and drove others. It was unusual to find mom home. She usually started her shift at the hospital around 3 p.m.

  I sighed at what a giant lump of shit today was turning out to be. I liked my mom okay – heck, after she showed up for me that night at The Pomegranate, I may have started loving her…but I wanted to be alone and decompress after such a long day at school.

  I climbed the steps to our upstairs-2 bedroom. The leasing office called our type of unit the “Sugar Plum” apartments. It was pretty nice, actually. We had a balcony, overlooking a grassy field. My room was spacious – and that’s where I planned to retreat after I grabbed a snack.

  Mom came out of her own room when she heard me rustling around in the kitchen. “I called in sick,” she smiled at me sleepily. “I think I’m coming down with something.”

  She was in her pajamas, a book in her hand. We’d become a little more tactile with each other since the summer. She’d kiss me on the forehead now, when she never used to. She apologized for being too contagious to touch me and went back to bed. When I went back to my nice room, I started feeling guilty. Like an ingrate. Mom had a really bad cough – it was loud even with her door closed.

  Mom obviously loved me a lot. Marc would have coveted the decorating in here. Did I deserve a closet full of the best clothes, a car of my own, healthy snacks and such a wonderful place to lay my head?

  I thought back to how hard I’d been on her, since the first year or two of being put back together in family court. My foster days were over. My biological mother paid the price for her DUI, and we could be a family again. When I saw the calendar over my desk, it hit me why she probably wasn’t feeling well.

  The anniversary of the accident was coming up. She hit the girl’s car shortly before Halloween in 2005 when I had been a toddler. The stress surrounding the 14-year anniversary had probably compromised mom’s immune system. I finished my granola bar and fruit, and marched into the kitchen to make her some soup.

  Then, I thought. No, it’s not enough. I’ll call Mami Wata and ask for a spell to heal her up. The old woman met with people all the time and cured their ailments. I remember seeing them come and go when I worked as her maid.

  Soup in hand, I knocked on mom’s door and set it on her nightstand. She was sleeping, snoring actually. I drew hearts on a couple of napkins and tucked them under the bowl. Then I set out for the Boulevard of Champions to consult with the old lady.

  I talked myself out of the idea I was doing it to see Hayden again.

  It was like no time had passed at all when I ascended the rickety porch steps and pushed my way through Mami Wata’s screen door. One needn’t knock here. She and Hayden were working a huge jigsaw puzzle at the kitchen table, and drinking large glasses of Calypso lemonade.

  I poured myself a big, sweating glass of the delicious stuff (without asking), and joined them. I suppose Hayden didn’t jump at seeing me again, because we’d been honeymooning together less than 48 hours ago.

  “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” his grandmother said without looking up. She was intent on finding where the piece in her hand fit. It was a marine life puzzle, and she was working the side with killer whales. “What do you want, Persephone?”

  I cut right to the chase. “My mom is sick, and I wondered if you could send me home with one of your potions.”

  I regretted it right after I said it. The great Mami Wata did not make potions. She used the term gris-gris and other French words when she talked about her magic.

  “Hayden will mix it for you,” she said, victoriously pressing a shark tooth into the puzzle.

  When he rose from the table, he bent over me, grazing my cheek with a modest kiss that somehow set my thighs on fire. Hayden looked good – as though he were closing the gap on what he looked like down in hell. I could swear I saw muscles under his nerdy long sleeved shirt. His skin looked lively, rather than ashen. His face was no longer drawn. The Persephonies must be taking good care of him.

  He went into her bedroom to mix my mother’s spell, leaving me to talk with his grandmother a good ten minutes. I decided it wouldn’t be so awkward if I helped with the puzzle – and let the lemonade do its work. I knew it was laced with a bunch of crap to make me see things.

  “It’s just lemonade this time,” Mami Wata assured me. “Just a long, cool drink on a hot day. Her voice took on a hypnotic quality.

  Here we go, I thought.

  “I think it’s nice you and your mother are close again,” she said, surprising the holy hell out of me.

  “You do?”

  “Child, yes! Hayden and I aren’t monsters you know. We are nothing like his parents. I have a heart – the same tender heart as he. My big dream for us is to leave this world for another when he is strong enough. We will leave Lucas and Robin behind.”

  I shuttered hearing Miz Furr’s first name on her lips, imagining how evil her face looked today, threatening to fire Demi.

  “When do you think that will be?” I asked.

  “We could go now; slip down under the root cellar and never return. You would have to drink a lethal batch of Mami Juana, however. I so happen to have a pitcher of it in the fridge if you want to come with us today. It won’t hurt. You’ll just wake up below, wearing the crown and scepter I have begun to make for you.”

  I pushed my chair back and prepared to run. “Lethal?” I squeaked.

  “Well, lethal to you,” the old voodoo queen laughed. “You can’t be my Hayden’s permanent princess of the Underworld, so long as you’re alive. You were merely auditioning when you were down there before.”

  She continued making fun of my wan face, my shaking hands. “I can see you’re not ready yet. But hopefully you will be by December. Think long and hard about your mortality. It’s not so great, is it? It pales compared to living forever like Hayden and I will.”

  At that her grandson came back into the kitchen. He handed me an old cigar box with mom’s gris-gris and instructions on how to administer it inside. We left Mami Wata in the kitchen, with the promise that I’d visit again soon.

  He walked me back to the car, embraced me and
stuck his tongue down my throat, seeming to draw strength just from being near me.

  Hayden had never kissed me like that on the surface – not even in the graveyard the day we first entered hell together. He bit my bottom lip as we parted, drawing a small amount of blood again.

  He was cryptic in his parting words. The only thing he said before I drove way was “I’m almost strong enough.”

  Chapter

  18

  The contents of Mami Wata’s healing kit reminded me of something from an essential oils catalog. Well, almost. It was a little gross to pull out several crumpled, used tissues. Under those, was a compact mirror made of clam shells. It had been rigged up to open and close easily, but instead of a pearl inside there was a mirror. The small note attached said this had nothing to do with Mom’s healing charm – just a gift from Mami Wata.

  Hmmm, I thought putting it aside. I heard my mom cough, restless in her bed and turned my attention back to the spell. In a handwritten note from Hayden, I was instructed to dab the hankies (they had been mine, apparently) in the lavender and rosemary…and….

  I craned my neck over the bathroom sink to read the rest. I was holed up in the john at home with a Bic lighter and several different colored candles. All of these things were meant to make Mom well again. She was still fast asleep. I’d been gone around an hour to procure this Cigar box full of black magic.

  I cracked open a vile of sandal wood and eucalyptus, praying they were in in no way flammable. I dipped the candle wicks in them, and, casting a circle of snot rags around me, also placed the candles in holders, Hayden had thought to include.

  “Legba I call thee!

  Ancient power I call thee!

  Rid my mother of this cold!”

  I chanted it as I walked around, stooping to light green, white and blue candles. I felt so stupid! Nevertheless, I performed the ritual and left the candles burning the few hours I was supposed to.