Persephone Underground Page 12

  “She said you’re not as sick as you appear to be – that you should get out from under your grandmother’s thumb,” I said this knowing I was sugar coating things. Ronnie had sort of intimated that, but her main idea was helping me escape from…how did she put it? “Those Furr freaks”.

  I only hoped Lucas hadn’t decided to visit any harm on my new friend, and asked Hayden if his father would dare hurt her.

  “No, he won’t,” Hayden promised me. “Because he knows that would jeopardize what I have with you. My grandmother and I can’t stand to lose you, Persephone.”

  You won’t, I said, leaving the rest of the phrase unfinished, because I love you too…

  “Perhaps you could make peace with Ronnie after all these years,” I suggested. She’s invited me to come visit her in Delray. We could all hang out together.”

  “She’d never forgive me for what I did to her! And besides,” Hayden said, worry creeping into his voice, “I seldom venture far from Mami Wata. Delray is over 20 miles from my home. It would…” he paused, searching for the right words.

  “It would deplete me to make such a trip. It might even kill me to go so far from my grandmother and the portals she uses to keep me living between these two worlds. She might need to…to revive me again.”

  I knew he was talking about Mami Wata bringing him back from the dead upon birth. We went back and forth on having the old woman come out to Delray with us – then laughed at the absurdity of it – not to mention how poor Ronnie would object.

  I told him Ronnie’s belief that he had actually been born alive and kicking, with ten completely human fingers, and ten completely normal toes.

  His grandmother’s feet were webbed, but Hayden wore a men’s size 11.

  “Mami Wata saying she revived a still born, is just her pretending you’re some kind of magic being and not a real kid. You’re as real as me I’ll bet!”

  Hayden considered my argument, stroking my hair as I rested my head on his chest. Panic rose in me when I couldn’t detect a heartbeat, but I wanted to believe otherwise so I refused to give into my fear. I convinced myself the blood was rushing through my veins too fast and producing a whooshing sound in my ears. How could I hear anything when I was so in love?

  “We’ll need to take another trip – to one of the realms like last time – let me replenish myself on the coral reef before I see Ronnie again. I loved her almost as much as you.”

  “You mean, let Mami Wata drug us again,” I said. “Let’s leave her black magic out of this, and just go somewhere like two regular people going somewhere.”

  Hayden assured me Mami Wata would never – in a million moons – hurt me.

  “Actually, my grandmother really likes you. She gives you those….those aides to…to truly see us” Hayden stammered, “but it’s not overkill like with all the others.”

  I thought of the other Persephonies trapped in the Underworld, performing the same servant like duties I had performed for Mami Wata in her house all summer.

  “I know that Mami Wata is everything to you – that she raised you, not your parents.

  “I am alive because of Mami Wata.”

  I thought perhaps this was the case for all of us.

  Hayden left shortly after we agreed to take a weekend trip to Delray. I would prove to him he could see the real world with none of his grandmother’s nonsense.

  Chapter

  21

  Whole days stretched between the prospect of school and seeing my boyfriend again. I sat in class, desperate to be anywhere but in Bad Ass Academy’s stuffy rooms. My relationship with the Springers had only gotten better since the schedule change got me out of Demi’s class and into Marc’s. I logged almost as much time in their home as the one I shared with Mom. I had a routine. After school, I’d go straight to their house, let their dog out and get started on whatever fab dinner Marc had in mind.

  It took Marc and Demi quite a while to finish up at school, and when they did get home they were exhausted. They treated me like their daughter, and I felt like one. I not only broke bread with them, just about every evening at their dinner table, but my foster parents took me to movies and street festivals. They taught me about cooking and gardening. I borrowed Demi’s floppy sun hats and Marc’s set of ginsu knives.

  When I arrived at their place Friday night, I sensed something big was happening. First of all, there were two enormous packages on the doorstep. I lugged them in, but did not examine them too closely. From the weight of it, I guessed it was furniture that needed pre-assembly.

  I checked the cutting board where Marca Stewart left me prep notes for the evening meal. A basket of Demi’s fresh grown carrots was on the counter, with dill and colander of rinsed golden potatoes. There were instructions to take the fish out of the refrigerator. What was troubling was the extra note:

  “Demi and I have big news tonight and want you to be the first to know.”

  Underneath he had drawn a winking face. I was no dummy. After months of trying, they must be pregnant. That was the news. I was happy for them. How could I not be? But would they want to continue being my Mom and Dad, if biology had finally served them reliably enough they had their own kid now?

  Asking myself this question made my heart sink. I knew I couldn’t compete with their innocent newborn, who didn’t keep booze under the bed or sneak demonic boys into its room. My gift to the baby – if it was a girl – would be warning them against the dangers of abduction.

  I was mixing a tapenade for the salmon when Marc and Demi pulled up in separate cars. When it came out at the dinner party they didn’t share a ride to the same workplace, my Mom blurted out how silly she thought that was – how bad for the environment. Lucas Furr had said every car in America loves Iraqi oil, making us all cringe. We fought over liberal versus conservative politics for hours that night, my mom discovering that the alcohol couldn’t flow fast enough.

  I rushed her to an AA meeting the very next day, and – as if I had learned nothing from going to a co-dependents meeting myself – I snuck a quick swig of vodka before Marc and Demi came in. I needed it to get through their “good news” with a smile on my face.

  Demi came into the kitchen straight away and gave me a kiss on the head. She sat on a bar stool they kept in the kitchen, and apologized for not helping me – told me she was feeling a little off tonight.

  “A little pregnant is more like it.” I said.

  Marc was taking down plates from a cupboard and almost lost the top piece of Fiestaware.

  “How’d you know?” he asked. “Did you figure it out from the Target boxes?”

  He was talking about the boxes I’d dragged in earlier – and sure enough they were parts to make a crib and changing table.

  “I’m a genius,” I shrugged.

  The expectant couple stared at me waiting for more.

  “I’m also very happy for you,” I said, putting down my kitchen gadgets and running into them for a group hug.

  Demi was in tears, saturating the Kiss the Cock Apron Marc let me borrow. It had a big chicken on it. She said she hoped they had a beautiful little girl like me.

  When we sat down to dinner, we all three took up hands and said an atheist sort of blessing. God didn’t come into it; the Springers simply said they acknowledged profound gratitude in knowing me – and that as far as they were concerned, we were soon to become a family of four.

  So that’s what I thought about on the long drive to Delray Beach. Hayden begged off the trip, saying he didn’t feel well enough to go. To tell the truth I was relieved. Being alone meant I didn’t have to put on an act, and could cry freely over the fetus that was soon to replace me.

  I had not yet broken the news to Ronnie – about Hayden opting out tonight, I mean. Of course, she knew all about the Springer’s baby. She had invited Hayden and me to her cute bungalow style house in the downtown district. The plan was to eat dinner and watch a live band.

  I got all the sadness out of my system on I-95
. I even had time to practice offering up my apologies that Hayden couldn’t make it. The more I thought about it, the more I toyed with Mami Wata’s invitation to die…so I could officially join the Furr Family. I wiped tears from my eyes with the back of my hand, actually suicidal for a split second. If I let them be – my tears – my vision might blur and result in a crash. Yay?

  Would it work if I offed myself that way, or did Hayden’s grandmother need be the architect of my untimely death? Soon, however, my moroseness began to clear. Per Ronnie’s instructions, I took the Atlantic Blvd. exit, and abruptly headed east. Delray had always been one of my favorite cities in South Florida. I loved it because it seemed so old-fashioned, offering its visitors milkshakes and hamburgers, and little coconut people as souvenirs. Ronnie managed a historic hotel on Swinton Avenue, so close to the beach you could smell it. I passed the Colonial on my way to her house. Guests sat outside the grand hotel, drinking mojitos while a jazz band played.

  Ronnie’s house was on NE 6th Avenue, and fell into the shade of giant birds of paradise planted around it. She was waiting for me on the porch. To my surprise, her face flooded with relief when she saw I’d come alone.

  “Oh good! I had an awful day at work – didn’t cook for you, like I’d planned to. I wouldn’t want to take Prince of the Underworld to a restaurant, would you? The pressure’s off and now that it’s just you and me, we can actually enjoy ourselves.”

  “A raincheck for Hayden then?” I laughed. I had the ridiculous image of him coloring in a children’s menu. He didn’t get out much. I imagine all the bright colors and action in Pineapple Grove would unsettle the lord of the undead.

  “Sure, one of these days we’ll have him over. It would be fun to parade him around downtown if he morphs into the sexy Indian version.” Ronnie was trying to be light and funny, but I knew she was actually quite scared – scared the Furr family would come after her.

  Ronnie muttered something about not wanting to risk a stroll on the beach.

  “Mami Wata could show up through a portal or something – pull us in and hypnotize all the witnesses.” She opened up to me through a tour of her house – which was even cuter than Marc and Demi’s.

  “I could live here,” I joked.

  I loved the original artwork covering every square inch of wall – the Parisian look of Ronnie’s bedroom with white furs draped over stately chairs and chandelier swinging above her canopy bed. The dominate colors were white, purple and blue. Vases of fresh hydrangeas and lilies brightened up every table.

  I could understand why Ronnie favored this look – the way the light caught in the diamonds on her lamps and crystal candy dishes. It was all so very opposite from the deep, dark Underworld. When Ronnie locked up, she used one of those old-fashioned skeleton keys. An ADT security sign had been plunged into the orchid patch growing around her front porch. It was small, but her property must have been worth a cool million.

  We made our way into the heart of downtown on foot, and stepped into an antique place for a browse before dinner. An air conditioner seemed to rattle the place, with its hulking pieces of furniture and old china cabinets, loaded with blue and white plates and teapots. Victorian dolls sat like misbehaving children in old wicker chairs. I could swear one of the dolls, with its weird click ball eyes, looked right at me when I passed by.

  Ronnie told me she got the big mirror in her bedroom from these dealers. I caught a glimpse of the store owners, sorting inventory. There was something odd about them – an unsettling vibe I couldn’t put my finger on. An ancient married couple, stooped and speaking rapid Creole, they looked like voodoo incarnate; I was glad they kept their distance.

  Ronnie said she wanted to buy the big mirror propped up in a corner full of old vases and jewelry boxes. It must have weighed 50 pounds, with tarnished gold as its frame. There were cherub angel faces in it.

  “Don’t you just love it,” Ronnie enthused.

  “Sure,” I lied. I thought it looked exactly like the mirror the wicked queen consulted in Snow White. It gave me the creeps.

  “It’s just like the one I have at home! But if I buy it, I’ll come back after we eat. I don’t want to carry it around all night,” Ronnie decided. “They take checks here. This sucker costs a fortune!”

  That’s when the store owner came up to us, and reintroduced herself as Cinnamon Bryce.

  “Of course, I remember you,” Ronnie said, shaking the woman’s hand. She was like a protégé of Mami Wata – slightly younger, but still old, and still cut from the same cloth. She spoke with a similar, lilting Caribbean accent.

  “My partner and I were talking just now about selling you this same mirror,” Cinnamon said, nodding toward the Snow White atrocity.

  Cinnamon looked upset, like she didn’t want to continue on in whatever she planned to say next.

  “Yes,” Ronnie replied cautiously. “It was pretty expensive but it’s paid for. I made the last payment around Easter, as I recall.”

  “No, no, that’s not the problem,” the store owner said. It’s just that these mirrors come as a set. They came from the same estate in Belize. A British family who lived in a grand mansion in the 1930’s owned them, and someone who worked for that family as a maid – she is quite elderly now – wants to purchase them both.”

  “So you need it back?” Ronnie demanded, not so much as asked. “I absolutely love it – looks so beautiful in my house.”

  “We will give you double what you bought it for. Please give it some thought and return with the mirror if you can,” Cinnamon asked, both her brown hands laced together in what looked to me like desperate concern.

  “I’ll double the offer if you can make it back here with the mirror this evening.”

  Ronnie told the antique dealers she’d consider it, though she really didn’t need the money. She had inherited enough from her deceased parents to buy that sweet bungalow downtown, and earned a nice chunk of change at the Colony hotel, too. Her nightlife taking classes with Marc Springer at FAU was cheap enough.

  Still she laughed uneasily over the $100,000 offer to sell back her mirror. “Maybe I can’t afford to say no,” she had joked.

  We left without buying anything and waved goodbye, the little golden bells on the shop ringing behind us. It was fun to be with Ronnie – easy. I’ve always believed you need a certain amount of chemistry to be friends, and we had it. We hit a few more stores on the way to dinner, none as creepy as the antique shop. Ronnie joked that the owner of the store asking for her mirror back, sounded like she was dealing to Mami Wata.

  “Yeah, I thought that too, but what are the odds? Mami Wata never leaves her house on the Boulevard of Champions. She wouldn’t have any connection to the people out here.”

  “Never say never,” I’d warned her, while swiping through a rack of beachy dresses and tropical robes. “You have to admit…what Cinnamon told us about that mirror. It’s an amazing coincidence.”

  Ronnie nodded, as she knew everything there was to know about Phoebe and Mami Wata in 1930s Belize.

  We chose the Bamboo Fire café for dinner – delighting over the fact they served Calypso lemonade every bit as good as Mami Wata’s. The laughs and conversation flowed between us easily. We ate off one $32 entrée – market catch, steamed in a banana leaf from the garden in the back of this fine establishment.

  Ronnie and I were surrounded by a few patrons who’d elected to bring their dogs. An ancient looking black woman was seated close by with a black dog. I gasped in surprise because she had simply just appeared. I hadn’t seen the restaurant host guide her and the animal to a seat.

  “Do you suppose that’s Mami Wata and Fury?” I asked my friend.

  “Nah,” Ronnie said, sipping dreamily from her 3rd glass of lemonade. “I mean clearly that’s not her, and that dog is way too cute to be Lucas Furr.”

  We both laughed and chalked up my suspicions to plain and simple paranoia. Our waitress had come by with the check a few moments ago, and was back to re
trieve Ronnie’s credit card. After scooping it up, she dropped by the Mami Wata look-alike’s table.

  I paled at what I overheard. This mysterious woman was a vendor, and the restaurant staff was grateful to her for selling them their last batch of Calypso lemonade.

  The drugs kicked in for us on the long walk home – long, only because it entailed a detour to the beach.

  Chapter

  22

  “Do you feel…I don’t know…weird?” It was a painfully obvious question, considering what we were doing. The seas swelled in rolling, angry waves – breaking so hard near the shoreline, we were getting splashed up to our waists. We hadn’t dressed for this because Ronnie said she wanted to avoid the beach at all cost.

  Shoes in hand, Ronnie said she felt at peace – that she had held back what happened to her when she was my age, and was finally ready to let all the memories of being with Hayden come crashing in. We were alone on the beach, except for life guards I could just make out if I squinted up at the watch towers.

  I wanted to jump up and down and shout, “Can you see me!?” because who knew after you’d drunk anything from Mami Wata.

  “I loved him too, you know…Hayden.”

  “Which version?”

  We had stopped at that point, and were looking out at the flat horizon where sea met sky. Salt water lapped around our calves. I was a strong swimmer, yet dared not venture out any farther.

  Ronnie never answered the question. She didn’t have to. At first, I thought the thing about 50 yards out, and cresting the waves was a dolphin, but as it came closer, head and shoulders emerged; then most of Hayden’s muscular body. He wore a skirt of ragged green seaweed. His hair was so long, it hung past his ripped torso. The tall, dripping Indian stood not three feet away from us, and reached out his hand.

  In a trance, Ronnie stumbled forward and accepted Hayden’s outstretched hand. In a flash, he yanked her under. They both disappeared under a breaking wave. I screamed for help, diving under water repeatedly, trying to see what I could. We were swimming along the rockiest part of the beach, with water smacking into huge chunks of limestone – or coquina – whatever it was at the shoreline, breaking up into foamy little explosions.