Voodoo by Samantha Boyette Page A

owned. Pain burned in my temples. I gripped my head, shoving my fingers through blond hair and willing myself not to scream as I teetered sideways. My eyes shut.
    “She should be fine,” someone said. The voice sounded far away. “It's Claire we need to worry about.”
    “No, please fix my baby.” My mom's voice was more a sob.
    The street flickered back into focus, old and cobbled instead of smooth and new. I lay at the edge of the street, just on the sidewalk with my hand on the cobblestones. Bright light filled my vision; I was looking up at the fluorescent lights again. From the corner of my eye I could see mom and dad talking with a doctor.
    Then I was on the street again. A woman ran by, long red hair seeming to float behind her. When she looked my way before crossing the street I saw it was Claire. Her smooth pale skin almost glowed. I’d never seen her looking so radiant. Relief flooded me; the doctors had no idea what they were talking about, she was fine. I tried to call out to her, but my voice was little more than a croak. I felt the hospital room tugging at me as I closed my eyes. I forced them open again, digging my fingers into the space between the stones of the street and clinging to it. If Claire was here, I wasn't leaving without her.
    *
    “Are you okay?”
    I opened my eyes. A guy crouched beside me. He was probably in his late teens like me, with a dark complexion and black hair under his wide brimmed hat. Kind, brown eyes peered down at me, filled with concern. Looking past him, I realized I could hear all the noises of this world now. Gulls cried in the distance, and music was coming from somewhere. Someone was playing a horn and really getting into it, then a drum picked up a matching beat and someone whistled their approval.
    Closer up, I heard the clatter of a street car’s wheels as it passed, and people talking around me. Only then did I realize the kind boy wasn't the only one looking at me. A few people were slowing their pace and stepping closer.
    “I'm okay.” Slowly, I sat up. The guy offered me his hand and helped me to my feet. With his loose, tan suit he looked like he’d just stepped out of some Al Capone movie. Dizziness swept through me and I put a hand to my head, leaning into the guy.
    “Whoa there. Come on, let's go,” he muttered. We took two steps forward, my legs shaky beneath me. As they began to collapse, he put an arm around my waist and led me away from the growing crowd.
    “Thank you.” I tried to focus on keeping my feet moving forward, but they seemed miles away from my control.
    “Never a good idea to draw attention around here.”
    “Where is here?” I leaned against him, still feeling shaky and grateful for his support. He felt strong beside me, and I appreciated that more than anything.
    “Crescent,” he answered, turning me down an alley. “How did you get here?”
    “I, I'm not sure. Did you see a redheaded girl out there?” I craned my neck, trying to look back toward the street. A flutter of fear slipped through me. Was I really letting this guy lead me off into an unfamiliar city?
    “Not that I noticed,” he said. We turned onto another street, slightly less busy than the first. My fear ebbed away as we moved past others on the street. “She a friend of yours?”
    “My sister,” I said. “I need to find her.”
    “Then we have that in common.” He stopped and turned to face me, hands on my arms. He raised an eyebrow as he pulled his hands away. I felt steadier on my feet and was able to stand on my own, but I found I missed the feel of his strong hands. “I've been looking for my sister too. My name's Stephen Miller.” He put out his hand. I shook it. I smiled at the ridiculous formality of it.
    “Alyssa Jacobs,” I said. What he had said hit me then. He was looking for his sister too? “Have you been looking for her long?”
    “Feels like.” Stephen frowned. “But maybe not.” He looked off up the road, his eyes looking