Voodoo by Samantha Boyette Page B

distant for a moment. I had the strange idea that he might fade away. Almost without thinking, I put my hand on his arm, bringing his attention back to me. “I was headed to see a woman who might be able to help,” he finished.
“What like a private detective?” I asked. Stephen gave me a half smile. For the first time it hit me how handsome he was.
    “More like a voodoo queen, but I don't think she would call herself that.” He nodded to a man and a woman passing as they glanced at us.
    “Voodoo queen?” I asked, skeptically. “Are you serious?”
    “As a heart attack. Word is Madam Delia can help you find anything. I've had a couple good leads on Hannah, but nothing has panned out.”
    “Is Hannah your sister?” I asked. An old man playing a saxophone headed our way and Stephen pulled me to the side, letting him pass.
    “Yeah, only thirteen years old.” Stephen’s face clouded with worry. “Crescent isn't a place for a girl that age to be alone.” He looked back at me. “Or any age for that matter. You should stick with me.”
    I hesitated only a moment before nodding. “Fine with me.” I had no better leads and no one else on the street looked half as friendly as Stephen. I was beginning to understand what he meant about drawing attention. Already it seemed like people were looking at us. When Stephen began to walk again, I followed him.
    Like the other street, this one was rutted with cobble stones. Cars that looked like they were straight out of an old gangster movie rolled along the street. They moved out of the way when a street car came hurtling down the road, pedestrians moving to avoid being hit. Twilight was falling over the city, bringing a cool breeze that made me wish I had a jacket. I hugged myself tightly as I walked beside Stephen.
    Crescent , I thought. Where the hell am I?
    I would have been tempted to write the whole thing off as a dream if it didn't feel so real. I was cold; I could feel the breeze across my face and the brush of my skirt against my legs. The street had felt hard beneath me. This was no dream.
    As we walked the streets became less and less populated, and the buildings around us deteriorated from freshly painted to barely standing. Soon we were in a neighborhood that I wouldn't have wanted to walk in alone. The cars were no longer shiny and new, and the few people we passed had a hard look to them. I found myself edging closer to Stephen.
    *
    A rickety building came into sight as we rounded a corner. It looked like barely more than a one room shack that could collapse at anytime. Once it might have been painted white, but if the condition of the paint was anything to go on, that was a long time ago. As we drew closer, I noticed an old wooden cross hanging above the door. In the pale light of the setting sun it didn't look like anyone in their right mind would be inside the building.
    “This should be the place. Looks just like my source said it would,” Stephen said. We had stopped on the walk in front of the house. He seemed as hesitant to enter as I was.
    “I don't know about this.” I looked up and down the street. If anything went wrong inside the small building, no one was going to come to our rescue. I could swear the sun was setting faster as we stood on the rapidly darkening street.
    “Come on, it's our best chance,” Stephen said.
    He took my hand. In any other circumstance I would have wondered what the hell he was doing; we barely knew each other. At that moment I welcomed the comfort. I took some strength from holding his hand as we approached the building. He let go of my hand when he knocked on the door.
    There was no answer for a long minute. As Stephen raised his hand to knock again, we heard locks sliding, and the door opened a crack. A boy stared out at us with wide dark eyes set in chestnut brown face. The whites of his eyes seemed to almost glow as he looked up at us from just above the door handle.
    “We're here to see Madam Delia,” Stephen