No Mercy (9 page)

“You’re a witch doctor, too?” I ask, impressed with Mr. Adewale’s knowledge. “Just when I think I’ve got you all figured out you come up with something new to shock me.”

             
“Don’t sound so surprised,” he says, tying Mama’s hair with hemp yarn and then positioning it onto the dolls head. “I was properly trained in the art of all things voodoo, just like you’re being trained now.”

             
“Ogunlabi is a very talented priest,” Dr. Whitmore says, washing Mama’s forehead with lavender oil and another fragrance I don’t recognize but it smells divine. “He will make a wise elder one day.”

             
“How’s Lynn Mae doing?” Netta asks, reentering the space with fresh towels. Whatever they did has Mama sleeping like a baby.

             
“She’s just fine, resting peacefully for now.” For now? What’s that supposed to mean, and exactly how long is my grandmother going to be out of commission?

             
“How are we going to explain Mama’s disappearance to everyone, including our clients in an hour?” I blurt out. Suddenly I’m afraid of life without Mama around on a daily basis. It’s as if she’s slowly dying right before my eyes and there’s nothing that I can do about it. “Not to mention our family?”

             
Dr. Whitmore reaches across Mama’s bed and takes my hand. “Do you trust me, Jayd?”

             
“Yes, I do,” I say, near tears. “And more importantly, my grandmother does.”

             
He looks into my eyes and I can remember him stitching up my knee after I cut it wide open running from a dog. It seemed like the needle he used to numb me was ten feet long. Whatever was inside calmed me down so well that I fell asleep in my grandmother’s lap while he patched me. Mama used to call him the fix it man, but Daddy didn’t like that too much so she stopped. But I’ll always remember Dr. Whitmore as the man who could fix anything, including my grandmother’s current state of mind.

             
“We’ll say she went on an emergency trip to New Orleans, which ain’t far from the truth,” Netta says, wiping the tears from her cheeks. “And we don’t know when she’ll return.”

             
“Can’t she stay awake long enough to at least say good bye to her husband?” I know my mom’s already hip to the plan via my thoughts, but Daddy and the boys have no idea of what’s going on.

             
“No one outside of this room can know for their sake and for Lynn Mae’s,” Dr, Whitmore says, letting me go. “Esmeralda has living zombies everywhere and the worst part is that they don’t even know it; in the church, at the grocery store, even at your school. Esmeralda’s touch is wide-spread and we have to be extremely careful who we talk to.”

My grandfather understands Mama’s work but I’m not sure how he’d feel about this. When Mama had to go to the hospital last week for her head injury Daddy had a fit and then some, but Mama told me not to tell him where the bird came from. I know he has his suspicions, as does Bryan and Jay but they know not ask too many questions when it comes to Mama.

“It’s dangerous for her to be awake for too long,” Netta says, wrapping her right arm around my shoulders. “Rousseau cannot track her scent when she’s asleep. He can hear from miles away and catch a scent from her body odor or even the slightest movement she makes. He’s a beast and hunts like one, too.”

             
“I see.” I miss my grandmother already. I’d give anything for her to be able to invade my mind now: I never thought I’d miss the constant mental intrusions.

             
“She’ll be okay, Jayd,” Mr. Adewale says, putting his hand on my left shoulder. “You’re grandmother is as tough as they come.”

             
“So was my great grandmother and all of our mother’s before her,” I say, looking at my bracelets. “And they were all killed.” The tears I’ve been holding back begin to flow freely as the gravity of this moment sinks in.

             
“Yes, but not this time,” Netta says wiping the tears from my eyes. “Your ancestors never had a fully initiated daughter or granddaughter to help them fight their enemies. You, young lady, are not an infant. You will save your grandmother, and that’s all there is to it.” Netta picks up her purse, kisses my grandmother on the forehead and heads for the front door. “We need to pick up some things for Lynn Mae before opening the shop. And my son was supposed to drop your car off at the house on his way to work this morning. We’ll check back in at the end of the day.”

The sun is shining bright this morning giving us all an idea of just how beautiful a day it’s going to be. It’s just another Saturday for most, but not for us. My grandmother’s sanity is on the line and it’s up to me to make sure she doesn’t lose it forever.

Netta packed a full overnight bag for Mama explaining to our family that Mama’s trip was unexpected and couldn’t be avoided. No one asked any questions, not even my grandfather although I could tell he had a thousand of them. Netta explained to me the importance of keeping Mama clean every day. If she isn’t bathed and her clothes changed daily then Rousseau could catch her scent and come for her.

After we closed the shop Netta went back to Mama’s bedside while I came back to my grandparents’ house to work in the spirit room for the rest of the night so that I could figure this whole thing out. Keenan was upset that I cancelled our plans but he has to learn patience when it comes to my spirit life, just like my grandfather with Mama.

All this time I’ve had it backwards. I learned from Maman Marie’s stories that instead of me trying to figure out how to keep Mama and my mom out of my head I should’ve been learning how to get inside of theirs. Purposefully falling into a dream pattern with my grandmother’s not going to be easy but it can be done. I can’t stay in her head for too long or else I risk getting caught up in her witch-created reality, too.

“I think I’ve got it, girl,” I say to an alert Lexi who’s been my constant companion. Usually she’d be knocked out across the threshold, but without Mama here she’s all out of sorts.

Lexi turns her head toward the door and begins to growl.

“What is it, girl?” I ask, looking out of the small window at the top of the door.

Lexi’s growl grows from low and guttural to a loud and vicious bark. She only reacts this violently toward one individual: Rousseau.

I open the door to find him standing right in front of me as if he rang the bell and was awaiting my answer.

“Bonsoir, mademoiselle,” Rousseau says, breathing heavily. “Might I add that you smell absolutely ravishing this evening?” Rousseau looks like he’s dressed for a costume party in a formal Colonial suit and top hat. I guess he’s also caught back in time with Esmeralda and Mama.

“You don’t scare me,” I say, confronting Rousseau; the exact opposite of what Dr. Whitmore advised.

“Then you are a fool.” Rousseau sniffs the air between us. “I’ve had mercy on you thus far, little princess. My generosity ends now.”

“Touché,” I say, taking a step back. His breath smells like the dog he truly is.

“Jayd, mi petite. Such a beautiful young woman,” Rousseau says, his shape shifting into a young and still impeccably dressed Creole white man. In this form, he actually resembles Maman’s lover, Jeremy’s great-grandfather. “In another time I might have considered making you one of my many, many concubines.”

“And I might have considered killing you in your sleep,” I say, keeping Lexi from charging him.

Rousseau belts out an evil laugh. “Such a charming young woman, indeed,” he says, touching the edge of his trimmed mustache. In this body he’s actually attractive. This must be who Esmeralda sees when she looks at her beast. “I’m just checking on your grandmother. Such an unfortunate incident last weekend, oui?”

“Oui, very unfortunate. But as you know my grandmother’s a strong woman. Thank you for your concern.” I attempt to close the door but our unwelcomed guest persists on.

“Are you sure, mi petite? I sensed that she was in dire straits when I prayed over our enemies this morning,” he says, attempting to look over the threshold, but the Legba shrine by the door stops him cold. No one is allowed in the spirit room without an invitation from Mama or myself. Even Rousseau respects Legba’s power to protect and serve impartial justice when needed.

“I find it very interesting that you pray over your prey.”

By the scowl on his face I’d say Rousseau isn’t impressed by my wit. He repeatedly sniffs the air between us much like Lexi does when she’s looking for buried treats. “I don’t take too kindly to liars, Jayd.” Rousseau calls me by name instead of the various pet names he’s conjured up for me: I must’ve hit a nerve.

“Here I am thinking that you can’t be lied to,” I say, sniffing at Rousseau in return. “I was sure that was impossible with your astute hound dog skills and all.”

             
“Careful young queen,” Rousseau says, stretching his palms open and displaying his yellow claws. “Heavy is the head that wears the crown. And since the reigning queen seems to be M.I.A. that makes your head the new target.”

             
“Is that a threat?” I ask. Lexi’s by my side ready to leap at my command.

             
“Oui, mademoiselle. It most certainly is,” Rousseau says, momentarily mirroring my great-grandfather, Jean Paul, also his godfather. “And I wouldn’t take it lightly if I were you. My queen does not make empty threats.”

             
“You can tell your witch of a queen to kiss my ass.”

             
“Indeed, I will relay the message and quite possibly grant your wish if you like,” Rousseau says, displaying his fangs as if to attract me like a peacock spreading his tail. What the hell?

             
I look down at Lexi who’s about to snap. “You’re way out of line. Get the hell out of our yard before I let her loose on you!” I scream loudly hoping somebody’s inside the main house. But on a Saturday night that’s highly unlikely.

             
“Go ahead,” Rousseau says, manifesting a toothpick to pick his overgrown teeth. “It’s a bit early for my midnight snack but I can make an exception for you, j’adore.”

             
“Rousseau,” Esmeralda calls out of her back door. “Mon amor?” she says, wondering where her love is. Interesting that she can’t seem to track her man-pet eventhough he’s right next-door.

             
“Until next time, mon petit,” he says, vanishing as swiftly as he appeared. Why is Rousseau over here bothering me without Esmeralda’s knowledge? Something else is going on with him; I can feel it in my bones.

             
“Guess I’m not done after all,” I say, rubbing Lexi’s neck.

             
She’s still vexed but calming down.

             
“I guess it’s just you, me and the ancestors tonight, girl.”

“
One day I’m not going to be here and you’re going to wish that you were a better student.”

-Mama

Drama High, volume one: The Fight

~7~

HAVE MERCY

             
Last night I slept in the spirit room not only because I was too exhausted to drive home, but also because I feel safer in here than anywhere else. Rousseau is straight tripping and is taking me right along with him. I did a little more digging on his powers and what he was like as a young man in several of his incarnations. He always comes back to New Orleans, always with Esmeralda’s lineage, and always desiring to join the Williams’ bloodline by any means necessary.

Instead of thinking like me, which is to just haul of and kick his ass for coming at me last night, I decided to ask WWMD: What Would Mama Do? I decided that in this case she’d enlist some outside unconventional help. I’ll have to make a trip to Long Beach to visit the o
ld witch doctor Mama calls on when she needs something handled gutter style. The ugly has to get done even if we’re not the ones to do it. Mama says the religion, like life, is built on two main staples: blood and shit. We deal with the blood; the old witch doctor deals with the shit. He’ll help me get back at Esmeralda and Rousseau through their weakest links, Misty and Emilio without Dr. Whitmore, Netta’s or Mama’s knowledge.

My cell vibrates with yet another text from Rah. It’s his third message today and it’s only nine in the morning.
“What up, Jayd. I know you got the letter from my attorney with the court date. Call me back, please.” 

Dude is on my jock something fierce. Yesterday’s walking dream quest with Mama was a clear indication that I need to focus on my own shit right now, not my friends and their self-manifested drama. I’ll text him back later if I’m feeling charitable.

“Jayd, a word,” Rah says, scaring the hell out of me as I walk toward my car from the back yard.

“Rah, what the hell are you doing creeping up on me?” I ask, noticing his immaculate Acura parked across the street. The ’93 coupe will never go out of style.