The Ballad Nocturne (The Midnight Defenders Book 3) Page 6

  Now, waking in the middle of the night to find him meandering around was common-place. Over the last ten years, Chess has become a normal part of my life. Whenever I was alone in a room, he would just show up. He never said much, just made his presence known, but if someone happened to enter the room, he just disappeared. I didn’t know if he turned invisible and remained or if he just popped into another room by some kind of teleportation. Nobody ever saw him. Just me.

  Except for the day Jono and Nadia moved in. He appeared, just the once, and just to learn their scent. It was the most curious thing I’d ever seen, not even a year after learning he existed, so it was all still pretty fresh.

  Chess must have felt me looking at him because he turned his big, black eyes to me. “I apologize for disturbing you, sir.”

  I smiled weakly. “You didn’t. My leg hurts. It woke me up. I think I need another pill.” As I said that, my stomach growled. “And maybe a snack. Probably best not to take the medication on an empty stomach.”

  “I would gladly fetch you something from the kitchen.”

  I shook my head. “It’s okay. I think I’d like to try it on my own. But thank you.”

  “Alert me if you need assistance, sir.”

  I threw the covers back and swung my legs to the side, scooting to the edge of the bed. With a little help from the side table, I was able to stand. It lasted all of thirty seconds, as it hurt to put too much weight on my leg.

  A few feet from the bed, my head began to swim with dizziness. As I reached the door, I took a step, screamed, and fell over. I’d half expected Chess to be at my side as I fell, but he wasn’t. I looked over at him to find him dusting, just as before, with no regard to me at all. In fact, he may have even been whistling.

  “Chess,” I said. “When I was a kid, my dad broke his ankle. I think the crutches he used should be in the attic. Would you be able to get those for me?”

  “The crutches are actually in a bedroom closet upstairs. Your mother had used them while you were away. I shall retrieve them.”

  Before I could even say thank you, he was gone. Just blinked out of the space he had been occupying. I took a few deep breaths and pushed myself up the wall with my good leg. After about three minutes, Chess reappeared with the crutches. They were aluminum with rubber crutch pads, and while they weren’t exactly heavy, they were a lot longer than Chess, yet he handed one to me as though it weighed no more than his feather duster.

  “Thanks,” I said, taking it. Once I got them in place and took the weight off my foot, I was able to move over to the door and out into the hallway. Along with the stillness, it was also eerily quiet, and the only sound as I moved along was the squeaking of the crutches and the intermittent give of the hardwood floors.

  The clock on the oven revealed that it was almost half-past four. The sun would be coming up soon. I poured a glass of juice and was startled by how cold it was. As I dug through the fridge to find something to eat, Chess said, “There are some fresh banana muffins on the counter, sir. If that is not to your liking, I can serve something else.”

  I cast a glance to my right to see him sitting on the edge of the counter, this time polishing the silverware. “No need,” I told him. “Muffins sound great.”

  I closed the fridge and moved to the cake stand on the counter where he had placed the muffins. Removing the cover, I took a small plate and took two muffins. I looked toward the coffee pot, just behind where Chess was sitting and considered coffee for a minute, glanced back at the clock. It was after four-thirty now, basically morning.

  Chess saw me glancing in his direction and said, “There is also chicken salad in the icebox, sir. You enjoyed that when you were a boy.”

  “I…” Knowing what I knew now, of course Chess had been responsible for that. I had always thought my mother made it. “Thank you,” I said. “I’ll be sure to eat that for lunch.”

  I leaned back against the counter and took a bite of muffin. It was fresh, with a slight crunch on the outside and soft in the middle. It was perfect. It didn’t take long before I finished the first and moved on to the second.

  As I stood there, it started to rain. Not a heavy rain, just a light pattering, but with the only other sounds being the tinkling of polished silver, the ticking of the old clock in the front room, and the sound of my own chewing, the rain was nearly thunderous.

  After a few seconds, I heard a soft, high-pitched noise. Looking around the kitchen and outside, I couldn’t see anything. If Chess heard it, he made no indication.

  “Is everything okay?” he asked.

  “Do you hear that? Like a…crying, maybe?”

  “The dogs are at the back door. They are wet.”

  Thai and Taboo, Crestmohr’s dogs. I’d forgotten about them.

  “Can you let them in?” I asked.

  “Sir?” Chess replied. He looked straight at me, but there was no discernible expression on his face.

  “Is that…okay? They won’t try to eat you or anything, right?”

  “I am quite fond of the dogs. I only questioned as they have yet to be inside the house. They are kept outdoors.”

  “Well, if you don’t object, Chess, I think they’d be good company.” I was also hoping they would keep the place from feeling so hollow, add some ripples to the pond, as it were.

  Chess nodded. I expected him to blink away and open the door, but he didn’t move. Rather, the back door, which was down a small flight of stairs toward the basement, just swung inward and the two Ridgebacks bolted inside. At first, they disappeared down into the basement, probably following a scent. While Jono used to stay in the room down there, he’d more recently given the space to Jamie to keep him separated from Nadia. The dogs liked Jamie, but by the time the back door closed behind them, they had realized he wasn’t down there, and they came bounding up the stairs into the kitchen. Their wet paws slipped as they hit the kitchen tile, tripping them up a little, but they recovered together and came toward me, both tails wagging. Their tongues were flapping, yet they didn’t try to jump on me. They simply stood in front of me like soldiers waiting for orders. Panting, tail-wagging soldiers.

  I tossed them each a muffin and rubbed the tops of their heads for a while as I ate and finished my juice. Sure enough, their presence sent resounding ripples throughout the vacancy of the manor, and it didn’t take long before the entire place began to feel warmer, as if the furnace had just kicked on.

  After taking another pill, I moved in to the front room, letting the dogs tag along behind me. They leapt onto the sofa, and when I sat down beside them, they snuggled in close. Suddenly, I didn’t mind being alone. I didn’t have to worry about Jono walking in and making some quip about the dogs giving me fleas, or vice versa. I turned on the television, despite rarely watching it. I just knew I wasn’t going back to sleep and was too tired to read. After everything that had been going on, I think I just wanted a mental break.

  The room was dark. Behind me, Chess began polishing the grand piano. A little after five, he appeared in front of me, standing between the sofa and the TV. His black eyes stared directly at me.

  “Sir,” he said. “The sun is rising.”

  “Okay,” I said, trying to look past him to the news ticker crawling along the bottom of the screen.

  “Sir,” he said again. He motioned over to the window blinds as the first crack of sunlight was beginning to peek through the trees. “The Circadian clock has started.”

  7

  Swyftt

  Ezra’s house was far from the mansion that Ape’s was. Of course, hers was smack-dab in the middle of a sodding swamp. Despite her not expecting us to turn up, she was very friendly, inviting us in at once. We entered into a dark hallway, and immediately, I felt the humidity lose its grip on us. It was several degrees cooler inside, despite the lack of central air. As she closed the door behind us, I noted the bedroom and bath to the right. To the left was a living room, and at the end of the hallway appeared to be the kitchen.


  She invited us to make ourselves at home in the living room while she disappeared to the kitchen to make tea. Nadia and DeNobb took the sofa. Having been sitting for so long already, I just stood, and after she disappeared, decided to walk the room, which comprised a small box television, the sofa, and a few chairs. Bookshelves lined every wall, and at the far end of the room was an opening stopped with two heavy, velvet curtains.

  The shelves nearly burst with books of all shapes and sizes. Some of them were mass-produced paperbacks or sturdy hardcovers, but many were unmarked, leather-bound journals. I browsed like a window shopper in an antique store, careful to keep my gloves on, not just because of the dust, but because I didn’t want to know the history of most of the objects.

  Some of the books -- the Keys of Solomon and a couple very old, very ornate Bibles -- looked like things I had seen Huxley with all those years ago. Still, there were volumes of books written by people called Doktor Snake, Marie Laveau, Jim Haskins. Topics ranged from Hoodoo spells and rootwork to Santeria. Among the books were bones, shrunken heads, stopped glass bottles of dried herbs.

  “Jono,” Nadia said, “Come sit down.”

  “You can’t tell me you aren’t curious, Nads.”

  “Would you stop calling me that?”

  I shrugged. “What’s wrong with it?”

  “It sounds gross.”

  “Like gonads,” DeNobb agreed. “Er…uh, bollocks.”

  “I know what fucking gonads are,” I said, turning back around.

  I ran a gloved finger over the spine of an old journal, collecting a film of dust. Toward the end of the wall was a small, wooden box. The top was carved, very ornately, with an old tree. There was something about the box that I found peculiar, but I couldn’t say what.

  As I reached for it, Nadia’s words came in a harsh whisper, “Don’t touch that!”

  I pulled back and turned to look at her. “What’s your fucking problem?”

  “You shouldn’t be looking at her stuff,” was all she said.

  I looked at DeNobb, but he looked away, choosing not to pick sides.

  With a slight tinkling of china, Ezra moved from the hallway into the room. “It’s quite alright,” she said, her voice almost melodic. As she neared, DeNobb stood suddenly and took the tray that she was carrying. She smiled and stepped over to me, opening the box without hesitation.

  Inside, as if it had been interred in a coffin was a small, burlap doll. It was just slightly bigger than my hand. Very plain, very reminiscent of a gingerbread man. Its eyes were black buttons, the right of which was chipped on the top, flattened to make it look almost angry. There was no nose, no mouth, no fingers or toes or markings of any kind. Except for a heart drawn on its chest in permanent red marker.

  She took it in her hand and spun quickly, crossing the room back to Nadia. She offered it to her. Nadia didn’t take it, just stared at it as if it were a cobra.

  “It’s okay, child,” Ezra said, her voice gentle. “I would like you to have this.”

  “What…”

  “Whoa,” DeNobb said, keeping almost the same expression as Nadia. “Is that a…voodoo doll?”

  Ezra smiled. “Of course.”

  “Does it work?”

  Ezra just shrugged. “Depends if you believe in that sort of thing.”

  He looked around the room, indicating the books and trinkets. “Don’t you?”

  She laughed. “Of course, I do. But most of what you see is just for show.” She indicated the velvet curtains at the far end of the room. “This is the lobby where my customers wait for their readings.”

  Nadia still hadn’t taken the doll, and Ezra looked toward her. “Well, go on, child. It belongs to you now. It was your father’s.”

  “I…”

  “She means that it’s of your father,” I said, still standing by the empty box.

  Ezra turned to me with a curious expression.

  “That is what you meant, right, Love?”

  Her smile would have fit a Cheshire cat. “You are a very perceptive man, Mr. Swyftt.”

  “So I’m told.”

  Reluctantly, Nadia reached out for the doll. She didn’t take it at first, just kind of poked it a little, as though the bloody thing might poke her back. Of course, it didn’t, and when she was satisfied of that, she grabbed hold of it, studying it intently. The room was completely silent for a minute, the only noise being a fan blowing somewhere in the house. Then Nadia said, “If you were his wife, why did you have a voodoo doll of him?”

  Silence hung heavy in the room for several heartbeats. I watched Ezra, wondering if she would be the one to vocalize it, but her body had tensed, as if she didn’t want to be the one to tell Huxley’s daughter about his flaws. I looked at Nadia, wondering if I should be the one to tell her. My eyes were drawn to the amethyst medallion at her neck that sparkled with a dim, lavender light. I took a deep breath.

  “Because Huxley was a bastard,” I said.

  Ezra looked at me with a sense of relief. “So, you did know him,” she said with a grin.

  “Wait a second,” DeNobb said. “What am I missing?”

  Ezra’s voice was sad. “My husband was not a faithful man.”

  “He was a bloody womanizer,” I said. “He wasn’t shy about it. He flirted with every pair of tits we crossed, and I never even knew about you.”

  Ezra looked down and away. She nodded, but said nothing.

  “I’m sorry, Nad,” I told her, but it was DeNobb’s hand on her shoulder.

  I walked closer to where the others sat, but continued to stand back against the shelves. “How long were you married?”

  “Three years,” she said. “Right up to his death. We…were estranged.”

  “You didn’t leave him?”

  “Huxley was a man of many flaws. My flaw was that I loved him. I couldn’t leave. I…” She grew very silent and her hand went to her mouth.

  I looked between her and Nadia, who just continued to stare at the doll, saying nothing. “We can talk about something else,” I said.

  Ezra nodded.

  She moved to the tray that sat on the table before her and poured four cups of tea. After she took a sip of hers, she looked at me and said, “If he never spoke of me, how is it you’ve come to my doorstep?”

  I looked at Nadia. Nadia looked up at me uncomfortably, breaking gaze with the doll for the first time. She set the doll on the tray, leaning it up against the tea pot. She looked at Ezra timidly. “This is going to sound strange.”

  “Says the girl holding a voodoo doll,” I said.

  “Right.” She cleared her throat and steeled her nerves. “For the past few weeks, I’ve been…dreaming about you.”

  Ezra lifted an eyebrow. “Is that so? Please, tell me about these dreams.”

  “Well, that’s just it. There’s not much to tell. I see you in a dark room, but you’re…older. You’re so much prettier in person.” Ezra smiled. “But I can still tell that it’s you. In the dreams, you’re in a rocking chair, and everything’s quiet for a little while, but then there’s this loud knocking sound. You stand up and start screaming like you’re in pain. It’s…rather awful. I always wake up sweating.”

  Ezra listened intently, remaining silent, letting her gaze drift down to the floor.

  “I know, it’s not much,” Nadia continued. “But I just wake up with this urgency. It’s like I know you’re in trouble somehow, but…”

  “I am.”

  “Oh.”

  “Doesn’t look like it,” DeNobb said.

  Ezra shook her head. She looked up at Nadia with kind eyes. Taking her hand, she looked into Nadia’s face for a minute and Nadia just looked back. They held the gaze for a few awkward seconds. Eventually, Ezra said, “Louisiana – well, this part of it anyway and much of New Orleans – is two things. It’s very religious and very superstitious.”

  “Let me guess which side you fall into,” I said.

  She ignored me. “Perhaps a month ago, a ne
w preacher came to town.”

  “He started making trouble for you.”

  She nodded, but her conversation stayed directed toward Nadia. “It began simply enough. He told me I was no longer welcome in his church. My friends, also. We didn’t mind so much. He was a younger man from the city. He wasn’t used to how things worked around here.”

  “What does that mean?” Nadia asked. “You mean the…voodoo thing?”

  “Your father was a very religious man. When we were together, he rarely missed a church service. He believed, like many practitioners, that vodou and the church were not mutually exclusive. Just the opposite. We believe in one God, Bondye, who created all things, and the loa are just lesser beings more involved in daily affairs.”

  “Like angels?”

  “Angels or saints. But different, child. The loa are not merely prayed to. They are served.”

  Sensing she was getting off topic, I said, “Which clearly didn’t resonate with this new minister.”

  “No,” she said. “Perhaps he was not a superstitious man. Or, as I suspect, he was, and it was because of his superstitions and fears that he began to openly criticize and condemn our culture. I had a shop in town, but it has since been shut down, and I’ve had to hold meetings out of my house.”

  “And the old preacher? He didn’t have a problem?”

  “Clarence? Lord, no. He was a wonderful man. Such a gentle spirit.”

  “What happened to him?”

  She grew solemn. “It was a stroke.”