“Lid!” she yelled.
Shit. I slapped it down. “It’s cool. They’re secure.”
She peered up at me over the rims of her glasses, shoulders unclenching. Her dark hair had been bleached out, and now faded streaks of turquoise and emerald made her seem like some kind of water nymph. She eyed my torn shirt. “You’re bleeding.”
“Come on, let’s get off the street,” I said, shivering, hoping she was going to take the teapot. As she shoved the remaining silver pieces into the sack, I realized it had been a while since I’d seen her around. “Wait, didn’t you go on that ghost-hunting trip upstate? Is Chatham back, too?”
“Yeah. Apparently, the whole event in Shreveport was an elaborate ruse to get Chatham out of town. Callis poisoned one of Ritha’s relatives in Mississippi so she’d be MIA, too.”
Spit flew from my mouth as I suppressed robust expletives.
But then a small beacon of hope shimmered through the disaster of a night. The Daures were a second family to Adele; she’d feel safe staying with them until we figured out how to get Mac back. I needed to talk to Chatham. He could get Adele out of the Medici house.
Poppy strained, lifting the sack. I traded it for the teapot of souls.
“What’s in here?” I asked, adjusting it on my back. “I don’t think you’re planning a tea party.”
“Hardly. We’ve run out of things to contain the souls in. We had to start doubling up.”
Doubling up. The haunting feeling flooded back. The soul. Jamal. The two of them in the pickle jar. This time it was no longer a nagging feeling but an explosion of urgency. Fuck.
I set down the sack and leapt into the air.
Julie.
I soared back to the Tremé, ignoring the chaos below, hoping I wasn’t too late.
By the time I glided through the broken second-story window of the assisted living facility, I was in a total panic. I shouldn’t have left Adele in the cemetery just to save those random souls. If I hadn’t, Julie never would have followed me here. The room was exactly how I’d left it: table, chairs, and the pieces of a BINGO game knocked around. The residents were crowded around Julie, who still lay on the floor.
She was curled up, brow taut, translucent muscles strained as if fighting the pain. Stormy popped up from her shoulder, and the grannies and grandpops parted ways for me.
“Julie!” I fell to her side. Stormy yelped.
“Did that bird just turn into a boy?” asked a skinny white woman with pink curlers. “And I thought I’d seen it all.”
Julie looked my way, forcing a smile. “Mon cher.”
I pushed her raven hair from her face. Her chest glowed faintly with the invading soul. “You’re going to be okay.” I scooped her up, cradling her somberly, and headed back the way I came. She felt like buttery smoke, weighted with pending death. Only, death she’d already been through. Now, a finality waited for her that no one should have to experience.
I’ve gotta get her to the tearoom. Chatham will know how to help her.
“Excuse me, son.” A gray-haired Black lady in a floral bathrobe stepped right in front of me. “Are you the new Jamal?”
“Oh. Um . . .”
They all took a step closer, each one more frightened than the next. With his last dying breath, Jamal had asked me to look after them. If I didn’t protect them, who would? Shit. I needed a hexenspiegel.
Julie winced. She was the only one in imminent danger. Dominate. “I need to get Julie to someone who can help save her life, er, spirit. I’ll be back. I swear.”
The woman crooked an eyebrow like I was one of her kids who wasn’t going to be back until Christmas.
“Promise me, if anyone comes around—I mean anyone—do not let yourselves be visible. Hide in the walls. Hide in the floor. Hide wherever you can. Do you understand?”
“I gotchu, sonny.” She looked like she didn’t take shit from anyone.
“And be on the lookout for any more glowing orbs. They are not to be messed with unless you want to end up like Jamal.”
Gasps went around the room. The lady clutched her robe to her chest.
I started for the window, hoping they couldn’t see the fear on my face.
A wisp of words floated up from Julie. “N’oubliez pas . . . Jamal.”
I strained to hear her voice. “English, please—”
Stormy barked, standing over the jar of pickled okra. Inside it, two orbs bobbed through the vinegary water, lighting up the glass with a greenish glow.
Shit, Jamal. I whipped a quick gust, and the jar slammed into my hand. Rest in peace.
Stormy bounded to my side, and I took a running start. The spirits yelled goodbyes to their friend as I jumped out of the window and rode the current down to the street like a wave at Rockaway Beach, not really caring who might see me. I needed to get her home.
Julie was silent all the way to the tearoom. By the time we arrived, my panic was explosive. “Chatham!” I yelled, nudging the door open with my foot.
Poppy was unloading her loot onto the zodiac tables while her two younger sisters poured bottles of Florida Water into crystal pitchers, lining up the empties. Chatham was behind the counter in a heated discussion with Fiona and Edgar. Little flames flickered on the glass shelves all around the tearoom, floor to ceiling—I stopped short in disbelief.
They weren’t flames; the crystal balls and antique telescopes had been replaced with glowing orbs sloshing inside perfume bottles, wine bottles, and vials usually reserved for crystal essences. A shiver rocketed up my spine.
Julie softly groaned, but the witches just stared at me, none of them hurrying over to help. The two youngest girls still had their party dresses on. How were they not cold? The room was freezing.
“Where did you go?” Poppy asked.
“Where’s Adele?” Dahlia chirped.
That’s when I realized: They can’t see her. To them, I was just standing with my arms out in the air.
Edgar noticed the glowing jar in my hand and hurried over.
“There’s—there’s two in there. One’s Jamal,” I stuttered. They couldn’t see Julie, and I was going to have to tell them. They’d already suffered such a great loss tonight.
Edgar took the jar from my hand. “I’ll make some shelf space for them.”
I nodded, and he looked at me with concern.
“Isaac . . . What’s wrong?”
“S-she needs help.”
Chatham marched over to us. “Adele?”
“It’s-it’s Julie—”
Comprehension washed over his face. He rushed back to an old leather doctor’s bag and pulled out a tin, mumbling words as he tossed its contents into a mortar. He strode over, already grinding the pestle. “How long has it been?”
“Um . . .” When had I left the assisted living home to go back to the cemetery? “A couple hours.”
He scooped the powder out—it had a sweet scent like vanilla and grapefruit—and said the words:
“No dust, no ash, no soul in sight,
May this magic bring your spirit into light.”
He blew the turmeric-colored mixture toward us. The girls ran over as the magic dusted her ghostly figure and an outline of her form sparkled gold.