Persephone Underground Read online

  Joining him down there meant death, and even though my grades weren’t great right now, I still wanted to go to college.

  I knew what would have to happen to take up residence in hell. I’d have to endure some kind of painful mortal wound that would end my physical life. No way, no how. And yet…my curiosity and desire to be with Hayden again was so intense, it crawled up my arms and felt a little bit like fire, it tingled so much. If I went to the cemetery and felt along the mausoleum’s walls for a secret passage way, probably nothing would happen. I’d be like a Hispanic Nancy Drew in there. The more I thought about my portal ride into hell via the Furrs’ crypt, the more I was sure Mom and my shrink were right and I was, simply, permanently brain damaged.

  If I took a look this evening with adults along, perhaps that ensured my safety. Maybe Demi and Marc would want to walk their new pooch to the cemetery after we ate. They’d long since given up on finding Domino. They had no idea Mami Wata was holding their pet in the deepest caverns of her…uh…house. I was going to stay strong and NOT call on the old woman’s shack while in her neighborhood. I didn’t even drive past it. I pulled right up into the Springers’ driveway and gasped at how different it looked since the summer.

  Demi had quite the green thumb! Gigantic sunflowers and drop-eyed Susans flanked a path to her front doorstep. I smiled at all the ceramic gnomes she had in her garden. The pot of geraniums – where she said the key was – sat right next to the welcome mat. Stupid of them, really. How many break-ins had they had with such a bad hiding place? I decided not to let myself in immediately. Instead, I went around to the back of the house to check out the vegetables. I could smell them!

  The Springers had more produce than Publix. I ran back to my car to get plastic bags. I wanted to pull some lettuce and make us a salad tonight. I knew they wouldn’t care if I helped myself. How good the sun felt beating down on my back as I leaned over stocks of fragrant tomatoes, and found a couple of cucumbers hidden in deep vines. I was tired after harvesting all that stuff, so I lugged my organic loot down to the canal and sat, staring out at the water.

  Iguanas are a common sight in Ft. Lauderdale, so I thought nothing of the HUGE one I spotted on the opposite side of the murky canal. I was just glad that when it decided to jump in the water, it didn’t splash me. I watched its scaly body crest the surface of the brackish water. It appeared to be swimming toward me, which didn’t make me uneasy until it was close enough to see a face.

  I didn’t know Mami Wata could shape shift before today. As the “iguana” got closer, its featured changed, so that the old woman’s head was on a serpentine body. She was actually more like a komodo dragon than an iguana. Her tongue forked. Terror disabled my vocal chords and I couldn’t scream.

  “Be careful, Persephone – be careful with these people. The Springers do not care for you like Hayden and I do,” it hissed.

  I had recoiled in terror and even a little disgust. I tried to get to my feet, spilling precious vegetables from my plastic bags. Mami Wata was so ugly as a reptile – so evil looking. As I scrambled to pick up the scattered fruit, she said one last thing before disappearing under the water.

  “Come to my house at midnight.”

  Chapter

  12

  I was still white as the orchids grafted to Demi’s trees, when Marc Springer pulled up in his car. I hadn’t gone in yet – was sitting on his front door stoop with sacks of vegetables in my lap. He knew me. I didn’t have any classes with him at Bad Ass, but Demi had introduced us and we always said hello in the hall.

  “Seph – that you?” he asked, squinting in the sunlight.

  I nodded and told him I wasn’t feeling too good, that I may even go home.

  “No, no, come inside,” Marc insisted. He reached into his pocket for keys, heaving his big man purse to the side. He was a good looking guy – tall and lanky. His body reminded me a little bit of Hayden’s when it was deprived of all sorcery. I followed him inside, and took his offer to lie down on the couch. Their new white poodle blended in so well with the upholstery that it gave a little yelp, jumped to their hard wood floors.

  Expensive Oriental carpets lead to well-appointed rooms. It smelled like old books and aromatherapy. Those stain glass lamps with dragonflies in the design gave off a comforting low level light.

  If you could forget it was in one of the worst parts of town, you’d want to move in. Marc told me to feel free to fall asleep until Demi got back. He was just going to walk the dog. I drifted off for about 20 minutes, surprised I could after witnessing Mami Wata’s komodo dragon stunt.

  If it happens again, I’ll check myself into a mental hospital, I promised myself. I grabbed a cashmere throw and covered myself, power napping until I heard Demi and Marc talking in the kitchen. I could hear water running, and smell something beginning to cook. How could I not have heard her come home? Wow. I was passed out!

  “Hey there, sleeping beauty,” Demi said, marching into the living room with the poodle in her arms. Chester and I didn’t think you’d ever wake up. Dinner’s served in 15.”

  I assumed Chester was the dog. “Is Marc’s friend here yet?” I sat up and stretched, remembering that they were having another dinner guest besides me. I hoped I’d have time to run to the bathroom, run a comb through my hair.

  “Nope, but she’ll be here soon. She texted us she just left Delray. She’s even prettier than you if you can believe it. Same type – got the beautiful feisty Latina thing going on.”

  She was back. The funny standup comedian from The Pomegranate was back. It was a terrible thing to say to me and kind of weird, but I laughed anyway.

  “Uh, thanks?” I shot back. “I’m sure you’re wrong. Isn’t she old like you?”

  “Veronica’s in her 40s. I’m only 38,” Demi said, feigning offense on her way to the stereo. She put on an old jazz record of a woman singing Girl from Ipanema – it made my toes curl with pleasure. Being with Marc and Demi was the first time I’d been genuinely happy in a very long time.

  “Marc and I call her Ronnie,” Demi explained of their dinner guest.

  “She’s from Mexico, or I think she said her dad is. He’s a magician on the Royal Caribbean cruise line. Pretty wild.”

  I got very dizzy hearing that name, in the old merry-go-round kind of way that had disoriented me all summer. It was especially weird our father shared the same occupation, but I guess it happens.

  “She’s from Havana!” Marc added his two cents while he set the table, dish towel thrown over his shoulder like someone in a movie.

  “Isn’t this table amazing?” he asked, gesturing at the spread. I ran over and hugged him – happy the salad ingredients I’d picked this afternoon were plated as an exciting array of appetizers. He gave me a foodie tour: heirloom stacked tomatoes and some kind of eggplant pate for crackers in a little crystal bowl.

  He need not fish for compliments. The table scape was impressive, indeed. The dishes were Lennox china – the long oak table covered in a lace cloth he said they picked up on a vacation to Greece. He whistled while he decanted wine from a carafe. There was even a glass for me – but less than a third full. Just a taste for the minor, I assumed. A silver candelabra flickered at the center of it all. Marc was Martha freaking Stewart.

  “I call him Marca Stewart, actually,” said Demi reading my mind. Her husband curtsied and blushed.

  The doorbell rang and Chester the poodle went berserk. Demi scooped him up again and let Ronnie in.

  A stranger who seemed oddly familiar to me, Ronnie was super friendly, hugging and kissing the Springers on both cheeks. She gripped my hands warmly and made eye contact – the brown irises seemed to search my soul and turn up exactly what she wanted.

  “You have no idea how glad I am you’re here!” she cried out loud.

  I may already be too late – they’ve got her, is what I read from Ronnie’s mind.

  I don’t know why the temperature of her hands surprised me. She must have been running the
air conditioner extra high on the long way over. They were freezing. Touching her hands rang some kind of bell for me.

  “You must be Persephone. Marc has told me so much about you,” she gushed. But her enthusiasm seemed forced. In fact, after taking me in, Ronnie seemed a little bit worried – the kind of mild panic you get when you’re sure a person you care about is going to meet a dreadful end.

  I drank Ronnie in too.

  She had the sort of hair on Instagram that got tagged #mermaidhairdon’tcare. It fell to her waist in dark waves. Her body was perfect. I stopped myself when I realized what she reminded me of; tonight was going to be fun, after all. No need to think of Hayden’s sketch book of all the Persephonies he’d stolen and taken down to hell. The only big difference between Ronnie and me was age. She had fine lines around her eyes – her face not as taut.

  She accepted a wine glass from Marc and they joked how they were both ABD’s.

  “What’s that mean?” I asked Demi, who had begun to circulate the room with her husband’s appetizers.

  “All but dissertation,” she replied. I snagged a couple artisan crackers slathered in savory. It must have taken my hosts hours to make them.

  I later came to understand that Ronnie was getting a PhD in history, too. A 1992 graduate of Bad Ass Academy, she had decided to return to college as the direct result of a mid-life crisis.

  “It was either go back to school or move to a small northeastern town and open my own antique store,” she joked.

  I was amazed at her rapport with the Springers. Like me, she hadn’t known them very long either, but they clicked instantly. Ronnie already knew Marc was gay. The couple told their story again, for my benefit, as we chowed down on baked ziti.

  “So, Demi and have been BFFs since 4th grade. We had a blood oath we’d marry each other if we couldn’t find the one by age 35. I just never found Mr. Right and either did she,” he winked.

  He took a big gulp of his wine. “We want kids…” Marc shrugged, “before it’s too late.”

  Demi jumped in and said that to everyone’s great relief no turkey baster had been used in tonight’s dinner preparations. Ronnie howled with laughter but I was a little slow on the uptake. She patted my shoulder and whispered that the Springers were trying to conceive using Marc’s sperm creatively, if not acrobatically.

  I put it in a turkey baster and stand on my head. I’ve also tried IVF. We’ve been married just three years, but no baby yet,” Demi lamented.

  I noticed how she seemed like she might cry. Marc rubbed her back affectionately. “It could be me, kiddo,” he said softly, trying to comfort her.

  Ronnie offered her own sympathies, saying all the usual stuff about just relaxing and letting nature take its course. Demi gave her the finger.

  I wanted so badly to tell them about Mami Wata. In my days as the old woman’s live in maid, I’d seen her meet with…shall we say, clients, in her home. She did spells, gave them little vials to drink, and soon enough it looked like they had watermelons in their bellies. Mami Wata was a witch, and could probably have gotten Demi pregnant in the time it took to unload a dishwasher.

  I imagined myself arguing with Hayden and Mami Wata to do this for my childless friends. After all, they kind of owed the Springers – after taking their beloved Papillon away. I wondered what Oreo/Domino was doing right this very minute. The Springers still kept his picture on their phones.

  After dessert, we went outside and looked at the empty grave they’d made for him. It was just a cross with his name carved into it. Demi told us her theory: he’d gotten out while they were at work. They had a dog door for him. He’d gotten out and been run over – his carcass disposed of.

  “We don’t have any tears left for Oreo,” Marc said. “All cried out.”

  He looked at his watch and cursed.

  “Shit. It’s almost midnight! Isn’t your mom gonna be worried about you, Seph.”

  “Well,” I replied. “I sort of texted her and told her I’d be extremely late. She really doesn’t care anyway. She’s a workaholic – got the graveyard shift tonight.”

  I shivered, thinking of Our Lady in Heaven and the Furr crypt that dominated its green lawns. There was a full moon tonight. I had plenty of time to excuse myself and head to Mami Wata’s like I’d promised.

  I said my goodbyes to everybody, thanked them for dinner – lied and said I’d be going home now. In truth, I had texted mom another lie, that I planned to spend the night at my English teacher’s house. She’d replied with thumbs up and smiley face emoji’s. Even if they were kind of old to be my friends, mom was very happy for me that I had made dear friends in Mr. and Mrs. Springer.

  Maybe Ronnie would become my friend by proxy. It didn’t look like she was going anywhere herself, tonight. She had taken my old spot on the couch. Demi made it up for her because she was legitimately spending the night. Too much wine to drive the 25 miles north to her cute little bungalow in Delray.

  I knew everything about Ronnie listening to her talk tonight. She didn’t know half as much about me. Maybe she wanted to change that. She wouldn’t stop staring at me when I finally hit the road.

  Chapter

  13

  So I got in my little car and drove away – straight to Mami Wata’s. The house sat bright and quiet under the full moon. It didn’t match my state of mind. My heart pumped around 217. Probably because I’d have to give up my beating heart to live forever with Hayden. I still had my house key from the summer. I was so nervous walking up the front door, I accidentally left the headlights on. The old woman said nothing when she let me in.

  “You’ve been a stranger here,” she accused more so than stated. I noticed that she leaned heavily on a cane.

  Mami Wata looked haggard again. They must not have found another Persephone since I left. To tell the truth, I’m not sure how it’d make me feel to be replaced as their maid. I tried to see behind her, look for Hayden, but there was no one there.

  “He’s down in the root cellar,” she said matter-of-factly. “Come have tea with me, then you can go down.”

  I laughed out loud at the proposition.

  “You must think I’m some special kind of stupid,” I shot back. I’m not letting you drug me into submission. Besides, I don’t need your hallucinogenic tea. I’ve seen the Underworld without taking anything.”

  Mami Wata shrugged and stepped aside, so I could enter. We went straight to the kitchen where Domino was sleeping on the dirty floor. The place looked awful – like no one had cleaned it once since my last day working here, 2 months ago. As the old woman prepped the tea kettle, she told me I was a fool for presuming to think anything she didn’t already know.

  “Of course I knew you’d been married below,” she said carrying over a tray with two delicate teacups and bowl of tamarind candy. “I was at The Pomegranate feast, remember?”

  She looked 1,000 years old when she shakily pushed my tea toward me. “It’s not poison. Obviously. I mean…look around. Hayden and I are in desperate need of housekeeping and you’re the only one who can put up with us.”

  “Why should I drink it if I don’t need it to see what’s down there?” I asked, arms folded stubbornly across my chest. Mami Wata was almost hidden from me in a veil of steam. The tea was exceptionally hot. The fumes made me woozy.

  “It depends on what portal you enter hell. The energy at Our Lady in Heaven, where you went down before, is strong. It requires no sorcery on our part to bring you down through there. Here, it’s different. The blend is actually Earl Gray, but I like to call this particular batch of it ‘Suspension of Disbelief’.”

  “What’s in it for me to say, bottom’s up?” I fought back.

  “My dear, you and Hayden’s honeymoon is long overdue. Drink up so that he can bring you on a journey through the 7 seas. It’ll only take an hour.”

  “Oh, you are funny, Grandma,” I answered sarcastically. Nevertheless, I picked up my cup and gulped from it – wishing it over. The old witch h
ad, after all, indicated she’d let me go home in an hour, and what kind of Alice in Wonderland can resist this kind of psychedelic offer?

  I rose from my chair, expecting to feel out of it by now, but I followed Mami Wata quite capably out to the backyard. She was too old and decrepit to get down under the roots of the Banyan, she explained to me.

  The old witch trained her flashlight into the hole, where we were met with Fury’s eyes. He growled and barked viciously, as it took him a moment to remember me. He licked my legs and hands once I’d climbed carefully down into the bowels of the earth.

  The claw foot bathtub and AR-15 I remembered from the summer were still here. It was impossible to describe the energy in the air, but it did have a smell. A salty, briny smell I attributed to being so close to sea level. It felt like a hurricane was coming. The ground shook, making the tub tremble on its antique legs. Fissures cracked the porcelain in glowing spider-web shapes.

  Fury stopped barking and spoke. His voice was of Hayden’s father, Lucas Furr. I knew that instantly because Luke had a very distinctive voice: deep and booming.

  “Get in the tub, bitch.” the dog advised quite plainly.

  Fearing for my life – worried Fury might walk upright, and over to the AR-15 and shoot me in the heart– I did as I was told.

  Mami Wata stood above, watching, giving the pit bull a final directive before leaving us to our own advices.

  “I know it’s tempting, but don’t kill her,” she asked of Fury. “Never forget she’s of more use to us alive...for the time being, anyway.”

  Then she looked straight at me, her green eyes like burning emeralds as she threw back her head and cackled harshly. Fury jumped into the tub and across my lap, anchoring me to my slippery seat.

  The floor opened up beneath us and the tub fell through, me gripping its sides and screaming as the dog and I plummeted to the bottom most depths of hell.