Mona Livelong Page 4

  “My retirement coins are more than enough to live on,” she’d said, “and I love teaching. So, why should I charge? Life should always be like this, easy, no pressure, just folks helping each other out.”

  Mrs. Fisk opened the door. “Hey Mama Fisk,” Mona greeted her.

  “Hey sugar, come on in.”

  Mrs. Fisk, a retired schoolteacher in her sixties, had tofu-colored skin, a wide nose and full lips. Her thick salt and pepper black hair was pulled back into a French roll, and she wore a blue dress with petticoats. Laconia was what Southern black folks called “red nappy:” fair-skinned but with Negroid features.

  Laconia had informally adopted Mona when she was seventeen, after both Mona’s parents were killed in an airship crash. She had no preternatural abilities but had a wealth of wisdom about supernatural lore, having grown up in the Black-Belt with Mona’s parents, Bartholomew and Earline.

  Mona followed Mrs. Fisk into the kitchen. Light flowed from the two windows, streaming across the pots of fresh herbs Laconia kept there. The dark young woman took four danishes from her cloth bag (she’d eaten two on the way over) and put them on a plate on the countertop.

  “There you go spending coins on that stuff, when you know I cooked,” Laconia scolded affectionately.

  “I was hungry.”

  “You always hungry. Help me set the table, and then you can tell me about your new case.”

  Mona lifted her brows. “Mama Laconia, I swear you psychic. You keep this up, and I’m gonna have to put you on my payroll.”

  Laconia Fisk chuckled. “I don’t have to be psychic to see how you eat when you’re working one of them cases.”

  Mona put the platter of fried chicken wings and a sweet potato pie on the table, while the older woman set a plate of biscuits and a tureen of green beans beside these dishes. The iced tea had already been prepared, and Mona filled both their glasses.

  Over their early supper, Mona told Laconia about her case and her trip to Ethel’s house. “Lord, Lord ain’t that something? You don’t scare easy, but I believe I woulda fainted.”

  “Mama, I was scared—Curtis too. I know you don’t live on Ethel’s side of town, but I was hoping you might know a thing or two about her. The Constabulary file said her husband used to beat her.”

  Laconia’s face hardened. “Oh yes, he beat her. He beat her for breakfast, dinner and supper. That Clark was a mean, low-down rascal.”

  “She ever leave him?”

  “Humph. Every other week and come right back— she said he threatened to kill her if she left him for good. He had another woman too, somewhere out of town.”

  Mona shook her head. “All that and he was cheating on her too? No wonder she stabbed him.”

  “Baby, nobody blamed her for killing him,” Laconia replied, anger and sympathy danced across her light-brown face. “I’d killed him too if he was my husband, and I wouldn’t waited years to do it. But what made her wanna move back in that house? That’s probably what drove her crazy.”

  “You know his girlfriend’s name?”

  Laconia shook her head. “No, baby. One of Ethel’s neighbors might know. I feel so sorry for Elconia and poor little Isis—poor little innocent thing. I sure hope you find her.”

  “Yes ma’am, me too.” Mona said quietly.

  “So, Curtis went with you?” Mrs. Fisk said with a gentle I-told-you-so tone. “Uh-huh, I told you y’all would work it out.”

  The young woman smiled, glad for the change of subject. “And you were right, as usual.” She fetched two more plates from the countertop and cut two slices of pie, one for her godmother and one for herself.

  Laconia poured herself another glass of tea. “If Ethel’s neighbors don’t know her name, why don’t you put your ghost friend, Junebug, on it.”

  Mona grinned. “Why Mama, I think you’re warming up to Junebug.”

  “Well, if he insists on walking around,” Mrs. Fisk said dryly, “instead of staying dead like he ought to, you might as well put him to work.” The women chuckled together, as the shadows lengthened across the sky.

  ___

  Chapter 7: The Dream Time

  By the time Mona got home, dusk had fallen. The tall woman let herself in the house and gathered up her foldaway coffee table and two chairs. She stuck a pint of bandy and two glasses into her over-sized purse, remembering to add a cigar and wooden matches, locked up, and headed for Macon Street.

  Now that Mona knew she and Curtis were still together, she was glad to see him on the train back to Monterrey. She wanted to talk to Junebug, and there was no way she could have left Curtis at home while she went to see another man.

  Even a ghost.

  She reached Macon Street and set up the table and chairs, placing the brandy, glasses and cigar atop the table. On a whim she whispered, “Let them come,” opening her Third Eye to the spirit world. Now she could see the creatures that cloaked themselves from prying human eyes.

  Macon Street was a hotbed of paranormal activity, so much had happened over the years. The street had witnessed protests, lynchings—had been burned to the ground to rise again like a Phoenix from the ashes. It was as if Macon Street itself was an eternal spirit that refused to be vanquished. Indeed, more sensitive folk avoided it, preferring alternate routes, for fear they might encounter a ghost.

  Mona heard a faint, but insistent thumping of bass, guitar and drums coming from a deserted building across the street. Curious, she crossed the cobblestones to the structure, and pushed the door open. It had probably been locked at one time, but the poltergeists preferred it be open. She gazed around at a stained and dusty room.

  Twenty dancers suddenly appeared, a band playing onstage behind them. Vampires blowing trumpets and saxophones stepped forward, with bass and drum players pulling up the rear. Troll, faery and werewolves formed a line, dancers gyrating between them. She had stumbled into one of the Realms, invisible to all but those with the Sight. As Mona watched, a faery with shimmering ebony skin and myriad-shaded wings put her hands on her hips and strutted soulfully down the line. Two trolls with purple eyes danced behind her; the one on the left did a split and smoothly slid up, without missing a beat, to dance in unison with his partner. Two more dancers, most likely vampires by the look of their golden eyes, followed the trolls.

  A coconut-colored vampire with slicked-back hair saw her standing there. He smiled widely, exposing his fangs, and winked. Unafraid, Mona smiled into his eyes. She lingered for a few more minutes, enjoying the show, then turned and left the club, crossing the street back to her table. Mona spotted more ghosts—men, women and even a few children content to spend their time hovering between the world of the living and the dead. Eternity, in all of its vastness, lay before them.

  A young man with a saxophone leaned against a streetlight and began to blow, the exquisite melody in synergy with the faint music still coming from the club. Mona had seen him before and thought perhaps he’d died on Macon Street, or roomed nearby when he’d still resided among the living.

  Now she spotted Junebug coming up the street, his long legs in rhythm with the darkness, his derby perched jauntily on his head. Junebug was chocolate-colored with thick lips and dark smiling eyes, and he smelled like tobacco and whiskey. He carried a switchblade in his back pocket, and a harmonica in the other. He was a spirit who could easily be mistaken for a living man.

  If you didn’t look too close.

  Larry “Junebug” Walker had been dead for forty years. He was the most powerful ghost she’d ever meet.

  “Mona, how you doin’ baby?”

  She smiled up at him. “Alright, sit down and have a drink on me.”

  “Well, I ain’t gonna say no to that.”

  Mona poured them both a drink. Junebug sat down, and stuck the cigar between his thick lips, and she lit it for him. Fire had to come from a living source. He accepted her light and puffed on the cigar.

  The ghost crossed his long legs, picked up the glass and sipped his brandy. “Ho
w you and Curtis getting along?”

  She sipped her own drink. “We’re back together.”

  “So, I heard.”

  Mona blushed and fidgeted. It was virtually impossible for her to hide anything from Junebug. He was a ghost with incredible supernatural powers. Privy, if he chose to be, to her most private thoughts. And right now, he didn’t sound like the friend she’d known for years. He sounded like a former lover quizzing her about the man who’d replaced him.

  “I guess I can’t keep nothing from you.”

  “Naw, you can’t. But I knew y’all would work it out.”

  Mona avoided his probing eyes. “The spell I put on him is changing him, making him more like one of us.”

  “With all the scrapes y’all get into, I reckon that’ll come in real handy.”

  There was an awkward silence. Here was the second reason she hadn’t wanted Curtis at this impromptu meeting. During Mona’s last case, she and Junebug had almost made love. She didn’t want to bring Curtis into a situation where he might sense the sexual tension between her and the ghost.

  Mona didn’t know what would have come from her and Junebug’s coupling. Nothing good I imagine. Yet, in her heart of hearts she was disappointed, curious too.

  What was he like in bed?

  So, so good I bet ... Guess I’ll never know. “What about you and Susie Mae? Y’all doing alright?”

  Junebug chuckled sheepishly, and some of the tension lifted. “We on the outs.”

  Mona quirked her mouth knowingly. “What’d you do?” In life, Junebug had been quite the ladies’ man. And dying hadn’t changed him one bit.

  “Susie found out I was crossing over to the Blue Realm to see my other woman.”

  “Oooo Junebug!” Mona exclaimed, like a child snitching on another in grade school. “She must be something special.” And he got the nerve to blush.

  Junebug managed to look both pleased and embarrassed. “Sho’ nuff. Marilyn’s a vampire, her man too. But I stay outta his way.”

  “Both of them? Junebug, I don’t like the sound of that.”

  “Don’t worry, baby. Dartanian put a protection spell on me.” Dartanian, a troll, was a gangster and sorcerer they’d crossed paths with during Mona’s last case. He’d wound up becoming friends with them both and with Curtis as well.

  “Well, be careful … I got a new case.”

  Junebug puffed his cigar. “Uh-huh, I know.”

  “I ain’t gonna tell you and Mama Laconia nothing no more. Y’all can tell me.”

  The ghost’s rich laughter filled the night, and Mona laughed with him. Whatever happened, they would always be the dearest of friends. “Everybody’s talking about Isis being snatched—it’s all over the grapevine,” he said, serious now. “I knew her mama would come to you for help.”

  “Somebody besides Ethel is in on this, and they ain’t human.” Mona told Junebug about her terrifying experience in Ethel’s house. Junebug eyed her sternly. “You ain’t going back in there, are you?”

  “Not a chance.”

  The ghost nodded approvingly. “That’s good. You shouldn’t been there to begin with.”

  Mona fidgeted again. Junebug rarely scolded her and only when he was afraid for her safety. Now, he sounded like her big brother.

  “I was looking for clues.”

  “You likedta been a clue—you and your man. A house like that is bound to hold a heap of bad juju … You know, I’m thinking maybe Ethel didn’t take Isis. Maybe something else grabbed her.”

  Mona held his gaze. “You mean like a daemon?”

  “Or one of them other creatures that keep popping round here.”

  “What would it want with a little girl?”

  Junebug shrugged and finished off his drink. “I dunno. It was a jest a thought ... I better go look for Susie Mae, see if I can patch things up.” He unfolded his long legs and got to his feet.

  “If you hear anything, anything at all—”

  Junebug gazed down at her tenderly. “Baby girl, you ain’t even got to ask. I’ll be in touch.”

  He turned and strolled up the street, disappearing into the night.

  ——

  With a tiny smile, Mona unlocked the door to her house. Talking to Junebug always left her in a good mood.

  She made a mental note to hold office hours next week. I got a little put back, but I don’t wanna run through my savings. I’m not gonna ask Mrs. Stamps for any more coins. She probably couldn’t afford the fifty she gave me. Mona dug in her purse and pulled out a match and a bit of quartz. She lit an oil lamp, carried the lamp back to her bedroom and set it down. She undressed, blew out the lamp, and climbed into bed. Minutes later, she’d fallen into a deep sleep ...

  … In a breath, she was transported from her bed to a fey city of towering buildings and crumbling debris. A bridge stood in the distance, and behind it a peach and mauve sunset. She was facing a steep hill. Six creatures were loping over it, running on all fours in slow motion ... creatures that were half wolf and half human.

  Mona stood rooted to the pavement, unable to move, gazing at their slow, yet inexorable, exodus toward her ... a wolf with thick black fur, another with burnt sienna hair, a snowy white wolf, a russet colored one, a tan wolf and a sepia brown lycan—

  They ran through her, rocking her on her feet in a rush of wind. She turned to watch them leave, and realized she’d felt no ill will from them. Only a fierce purpose—

  Suddenly, she was running with them, racing with incredible speed, her limbs doubling under her as she loped down the hill. She looked over her shoulder—

  To gaze at herself, standing in the midst of the city—

  The dream shifted. It was sunset, and Mona stood watching a young man with light-brown skin and freckles speak to a small group.

  Richard Starks.

  Everyone in the crowd, except Richard, was dead … the spirits of men and women murdered by Constables. A brown-skinned young woman with freckles stood beside him: his sister, Simone Starks.

  She spied another woman standing apart from the throng, a young woman with old eyes and cinnamon-colored skin, her hair braided in an upsweep. She was clothed in a ruffled wine-colored dress, she wore a black pearl choker round her neck, and her bejeweled feet were bare.

  “His rage cried out to us,” her voice echoed through the crowd, “and we will answer.”

  _____

  Chapter 8: House of Shadows

  Mona pulled onto the cobblestones in front of Elconia’s borough. She sat for a moment looking out at the scene, but without really seeing the grass and playing children. She was thinking about the dream.

  Was it one of the realms? Definitely not one I ever visited. The second part of the dream was even more disturbing. Why was I standing among the dead? She pushed these thoughts away. The answers would reveal themselves in time.

  I hope.

  Mona got out, hunkered down in front of the auto and turned off her engine. She spotted Fiona, bouncing a ball a few feet away from the other children, and walked over to her.

  “Hey Fiona, how you doing?”

  Fiona turned her small face up to the detective’s; her eyes were red from crying. “Alright,” she said. She dropped her eyes back down to the ball.