Gathering Deep (19 page)

Twenty-Three

Across the Mississippi from the Quarter is a neighborhood called Algiers. It's been around as long as New Orleans has been a town and has seen as much as any other bit of land around these parts. It's the first land slaves saw after being kidnapped from their native countries and the place they were kept until they were sold. It's where the Acadians were held after they fled from Canada when the British conquered it three hundred years ago. It's a land that's soaked up all sorts of blood and pain and suffering over time, and at the very tip is a place that was once called Slaughterhouse Point, which was where we were heading.

By boat, it would have only taken a few minutes to get over there, but by car, it took closer to half an hour from Bywater, where Odane's family lived. I, for one, was happy to have the time to think. Everything had happened so fast—once he had me settled with a sweet tea, I'd started talking, and once I started talking, I couldn't make myself stop. So we were going to see his father—Ikenna Gaillard—a man I wasn't none too sure about meeting.

“When we get there,” Odane was saying, “you let me do the talking.”

“Excuse me?”

He glanced over at me as he drove. “It's not that I don't think you can handle yourself, but I know how his mind works.”

“Why are we doing this again?”

“Because he's the only person I know who can help you break into your dreams if Aunt Odette won't.” Odane's jaw ticked as he focused on navigating the truck through the last bit of traffic in the Quarter and headed for the Crescent City Connection Bridge.

“You don't like this any more than I do, do you?”

“Not overly,” he admitted, “but Auntie O can be stubborn—sometimes too stubborn. Just look at the whole mess between her and my mom.”

“Yeah, about that. They obviously care about each other, but it doesn't look like they can stand being in the same room for more than five minutes.”

Odane
gave a soft grunt of agreement. “That's putting it mildly.”

“So, what's the story there?”

“It's family stuff … ”

“I told you my family stuff,” I said, a challenge in my voice. “Seems like it's only fair that you do the same.”

He hesitated for the length of a few blocks, but then finally gave in. “It goes back a long ways, but the bottom line is that Aunt Odette was always the oldest and because of my mom's leg, she was always looking out for her baby sister. When her baby sister didn't want to be looked out for anymore, they had words.”

I studied his profile. “There's more to it than that, though.”

“A little bit. See, they were supposed to be going into business with each other. Aunt Odette's shop used to be my grandfather's, and he was supposed to pass it on to both of his girls. His name was Luke Turner—he claimed to be a nephew of Marie Laveau. Although, I have to say, half the Hoodoo doctors in a fifty-mile radius say the same, so I don't know if it's true or not.

“Anyway, my grandfather willed the two girls his shop, because they both seemed to have the touch when it came to the spirits. Everything was all set, from what I understand, and then my father came strutting in and messed everything up.”

“Messed it up how?” I asked.

“First he tried courting Auntie O, but when she realized he was more interested in the shop than in her, she turned him down flat. Then he turned his sights on my mom. Auntie O tried to warn her off, but my mom wouldn't hear any of it. She was convinced that her sister was just jealous that my father chose her instead.

“She let Ikenna sweep her off her feet, and before she knew it, she had me on the way and no ring on her finger. When she pressed my father to get married, he wanted to have his name added to the lease of the shop—as a gift for the wedding, or so he said. When Auntie O refused, it caused a big fight. The sisters haven't been the same since then. My mom asked Aunt Odette to buy out her half of the shop, since she didn't want anything to do with her sister or the shop anymore. Aunt O refused, saying half the business was still and always would be hers. My mom refused to have anything to do with it, and now they don't talk much anymore.”

“Did he end up marrying your mom?”

Odane shook his head. “Nope. Once Ikenna found out that Aunt Odette wasn't going to budge, he cut my mom off almost completely. He must have heard through the grapevine that my mom had a son, because when I was thirteen, maybe fourteen years old, he started coming around trying to make nice with me—offering to buy me smokes or liquor or take me out on the town. Make a man of me, he used to say.”

“Charming,” I drawled.

“Yeah.” His voice went dark, dangerous, like there was barely leashed anger skimming across the surface of it.

“And you still think going to see him is a good idea?”

“Honestly, I wouldn't call it a good idea, but it's the one I've got. If Aunt Odette is dead set against helping you figure out these dreams you've been having, and if you're dead set on knowing what they're trying to tell you, he'll be able to help. For a price.”

“That's what I'm worried about,” I told him, shifting uneasily on my side of the truck. “This price of his—how much will it be?”

“No way to tell until he names it,” Odane said as he steered us onto the bridge. To the right and left of us, the Mississippi's dull waters glinted in the sun. “We don't have
to accept what he offers, though. If we don't like his bargain, we'll walk away—no harm, no foul. If it seems doable, we maybe can learn something.”

Odane navigated through a residential area before finally pulling up to a small neighborhood bar. It was painted white with decorative wrought-iron bars over the dark windows. The sign read
Crossroads
in scarlet over a design that looked like a compass rose without the points.

“This is it,” Odane said, shutting off his truck and peering out through the windshield. His arms resting on the steering wheel, he looked at the entrance to the bar with apprehension on his face.

“We don't have to do this,” I told him. “I can find another way.” Now that we'd arrived, part of me wished that he would take the out I was offering him.

“Maybe,” he said as he opened his door. “But we're here, and he probably already knows it. Might as well go in and see what's what. Otherwise, he'll think we're running scared.”

The interior of the bar was dark except for the glow of amber-colored bulbs hanging from the ceiling, and it took my eyes a minute to adjust. The bar was the definition of a dive. Dark, scarred wood lined the walls. Most of the booths had rips in their red vinyl seats, some of which had been repaired with silver duct tape. The windows were darkened, and the barroom was empty except for a couple of older men huddled over their drinks. The baseball game playing on the big, old-fashioned TV kept fuzzing in and out as they ignored it.

“Can I help you?” an older woman with a sagging bosom and a missing eyetooth asked as she leaned against the bar and dried a hazy glass.

“We're here to see Ikenna,” Odane said.

“Are you now?” She looked us up and down, but then something like recognition lit in her yellowed eyes. “Go on back, then. You know the way?”

Odane gave a tense nod and grabbed my hand. “Come on,” he whispered, pulling me along gently.

We made our way through the narrow place, which seemed to only get darker the farther back we went. At the very back of the main barroom was a hallway, and at the end of that hallway was a room with only a beaded curtain for a door. We weren't even halfway there when a tall, wiry man stepped through the beads.

Odane's dad didn't look as old as I'd expected him to be. He looked more my momma's age—or what I'd thought her age was—than Mama Legba's. Tall and lean, he wore his hair plaited in braids close to his head, and he was dressed—head to toe—in black. A gold ring flashed on his right pinkie and a diamond stud winked in each ear.

When he saw who it was, he smiled, a flash-of-teeth kind of grin that exposed a crooked front tooth.

All at once, he was someone else—deep-set, empty eyes, hair like snakes, bones for fingers, and a crooked-toothed grin that said I was about to meet my fate. But then the
vision from my dream faded as quickly as it had come, and he was just a man. Just Odane's father.

“My boy!” He opened his arms, as if in welcome, and Odane moved in front of me.

“Hello, Ikenna.” There wasn't any greeting in his voice.

The man's smile never faltered, but his eyes found me. “And who's this?”

“A friend,” Odane said. “Can we talk?”

The man laughed, a deep, hollow-sounding laugh that was all cold amusement. “That's how it's gonna be? I like it. All business. I like it a lot.” He pulled back the dark wooden beads and gestured us in. “Come on back then, and let's get to this.”

I followed Odane, his hand still securely wrapped around mine, into the room behind the curtain. Ikenna didn't so much as move to give us more room to pass, and I had the feeling he was taking my measure as I brushed by him.

There was something oily about him. Something that reminded me of a snake creeping or an eel sliding away. I couldn't look right at him—not without him looking right back and seeing more than I wanted him to. So I kept my eyes busy taking in the room.

The walls were washed in a deep burnt ochre, and there weren't any windows at all. On one end of the room, incense burned on a small altar lined with the kind of glass-jarred candles you'd find in a church. It made the air hazy with its too-rich, too-spicy scent.

The bench-like altar was piled with trinkets and roughly carved statues. It reminded me a little of the one Mama Legba had in her shop, but these small effigies looked twisted and bent compared to hers.

On the other side of the room, a desk that looked like it belonged in an old-fashioned detective show was piled haphazardly with papers and folders. Behind the desk was a wall of shelves holding different pictures, more of the strange, gnarled statues, and a leathery-looking alligator head, its mouth open to expose its sharp, yellowed teeth.

Ikenna settled himself in a large leather chair on one side of a round table that stood in the center of the room and gestured for the two of us to take the other seats.

“Y'all want something to drink?” he asked, leaning back in his chair.

“No,” Odane answered. “This isn't a social call.”

“I can see that plain enough,” Ikenna said with a grin that seemed more like a leer. “Your mama okay?” He didn't really sound like he cared.

“Mama's fine,” Odane ground out. “She's not why I'm here and she's not up for discussion.”

Ikenna's mouth went tight, and his eyes flicked to me for a second and then back to Odane. “What about this one? Can we discuss her?”

I bristled at the tone in his voice, but as I opened my mouth to say I wasn't up for anything with him, Odane squeezed my hand tightly and beat me to it.

“She's a friend, and she's not for you. That's all you need to know for now.”

Appreciation gleamed in Ikenna's eyes. “She's more than a friend, or you wouldn't be so jittery right now.”

Odane tensed, but he didn't respond.

“And she's more than that, too, isn't she?” Ikenna's eyes focused on me, and my breath went tight. In the dim light of the hallway, I'd thought his eyes were dark, but that wasn't the case. His eyes were actually more the color of honey, and they fairly glowed in the dim light. One of his pupils was almost completely dilated, so the iris was nothing but a ring of gold around the dark, empty center, giving his gaze an unbalanced intensity.

Ikenna took a deep breath, his unnatural-looking eyes closing like he was savoring the moment. “Mm-hmm,” he murmured without opening his eyes. “It's like she bathed in power and then sprinkled on some more, like powder.” His eyes flashed open, hungry. “Where'd you find her, son? And how much for her?”

I started to get up, because no way was I sitting here being talked about like I was something to be bought or sold, but Odane's hand tightened almost painfully around mine.

“She's not part of this negotiation,” he said, calm and easy.

“Everything's part of the negotiation,” Ikenna said with a sharp-toothed kind of grin that reminded me of an alligator just sitting in the bayou, waiting for its prey. “But you finally got to your point, so we'll set the girl aside for now. Why don't you tell me what you came here for—and how much you're willing to give up for it?”

Odane released my hand then and leaned his elbows against the table, like a poker player waiting for the deal. “I'm not giving up anything until I know what you can do for me.”

Ikenna laughed at that. “If I was worried your mama was raising you soft, I ain't no more. Nice.” Still looking more amused than anything else, he also leaned forward. “Start at the beginning, and we'll see if we can't come to terms.”

I didn't like any of this discussion, not one little bit. Not the intensity that seemed to hum between father and son, and definitely not the fact that Ikenna wasn't looking at me at all, but still seemed to be focused on me.

“I don't think we should do this,” I whispered to Odane. “We can find another way.”

“Ain't no way but my way, sweetheart,” Ikenna said.

I looked up and forced myself to meet those eerie eyes without flinching.

“Good. She got a backbone. She's gonna need it.”

“Why's that?” Odane asked.

“You really can't see it?” Ikenna said, and for the first time since we'd arrived, he looked confused. Maybe even a little disappointed.

“See what?” I asked.

Ikenna scratched his chin as he considered me, and I noticed that he had a ghostly tattoo in white ink covering the dark skin of his hand. It replicated the bones that lay beneath his skin, giving the impression that he was a living skeleton. “You don't know either, do you?”