Sweet Unrest by Lisa Maxwell

gone.

    That afternoon, I found Chloe leading some tourists back to the gatehouse. Her pale green gown swished rhythmically as she walked along the path, and when she noticed me watching her, she raised her hand and waved.
    After she’d deposited the last of her group at the gates, she turned back and found me. “Piers said you took quite a tumble today.”
    I felt my face grow warm. “Told you already, huh?”
    “My man tells me everything,” she said, but then her smile faltered. “Or at least everything he thinks I need to know. He wanted me to check and see if y’all were okay, when I got off my shift, but it looks like you saved me a trip.”
    “Glad to be of assistance,” I said dryly.
    “So,” she said, dragging out the syllable in anticipation. “Tell me everything.”
    “About what?”
    She slugged my arm affectionately. “About what? About Thisbe’s place, girl. You know you and your daddy are the first people to go through those doors in a long time, don’t you?”
    “Piers was there too.”
    “Oh, he’s too busy today for me to bother him, and I’ve got you here now, so tell me everything . Did you see a ghost? Is that what made you go down like some wannabe Scarlett O’Hara?” She made a show of putting her hand to her forehead like some wilting Southern belle.
    “No. No ghosts. Just a bunch of dust and spiderwebs,” I told her, trying to dismiss the trickle of unease running down my spine.
    She wrinkled her nose at that, her smile dimming a bit. “That’s it? You gotta do better than that if you want me to tell you what Mama Legba said yesterday about reoccurring dreams,” she said slyly.
    “You asked her?” I perked up instantly. “Tell me.”
    “You first,” she insisted.
    “Look, Chloe, there’s not much to tell. The house is just kind of grimy and dirty, but I didn’t see any ghosts. It was actually mostly empty. Well, except for the box my dad found in an old cupboard.”
    “Now we’re getting somewhere.” She looped an arm through mine as we walked along the path toward the employees’ dorm. “What was in the box? Old shrunken heads and Voodoo charms?”
    “No shrunken heads, but there was something Piers seemed to think might have been used a Voodoo doll. You’ll have to ask him about it, though. It all looked like old junk to me.” Well, except for the picture. But I didn’t tell Chloe about that. I didn’t even want to think about the picture.
    “It would, Yankee girl.” She said the words without malice.
    “Okay, your turn. What did Mama Legba say about the dreams?”
    “She wouldn’t tell me anything.”
    I stopped abruptly at that. “What? Then why were you holding out on me?”
    “I wanted to hear about Thisbe’s place,” she said mischievously. “Besides, she didn’t tell me anything because she wants to talk with you herself.”
    “Really?” After the strange dream and the stranger morning I’d spent in Thisbe’s house, part of me wasn’t in any rush to go see the old Voodoo Queen again. But another part of me couldn’t help but be excited about the chance to maybe get some answers.
    Chloe nodded. “You busy tomorrow night? She told me to bring you to St. John’s Eve and she’ll talk with you then. You got something white to wear?” She looked doubtfully at my usual dark T-shirt and faded plaid shoes.
    “You mean, like a shirt?”
    “No, you have to wear all white, head to toe. Or I guess you don’t have to, but you’ll stick out like the Yankee interloper you are if you don’t.”
    “I’m sure I can throw something together,” I told her as I mentally browsed through my closet. “What time’s the party?”
    “Don’t let anyone hear you calling it a party. That’s like saying you go to church every Sunday for a party. It’s not a party. It’s a ritual.”
    The word “ritual” brought with it images of snakes and fires. Of limbs moving rhythmically to tribal drumbeats and blood blooming across lifeless, broken bodies.