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The tomb of voodoo queen Marie Laveau was exactly the same. I stared at the Xs carved into the door, and wondered if we should leave our own—in case we never came back out. But there was no time to think about it, because Link had the door open in seconds and we were inside.

 

The rotted, crooked stairs were still there, leading down into the darkness. So were the smoke and the putrid smell that clung to your skin, even after you took a shower.

 

Link coughed. “Licorice and gasoline. That’s nasty.”

 

“Shh. Be quiet.”

 

We reached the base of the stairs, and I could see the workshop, or whatever this awful place was called. There was a dim light coming from inside, illuminating the jars and bottles. My skin crawled at the sight of reptiles and tiny mice frantically trying to escape.

 

Lucille hid behind my leg as if she was afraid she might end up in one of those jars.

 

“How do we know if he’s home?” Link whispered.

 

Before I could answer, a voice rose from behind us. “I am always home, in one form or another.”

 

I recognized the bokor’s gravelly voice and heavy accent. He looked even more dangerous up close. His skin was unwrinkled, but scars marred his face. They looked like scratches and puncture wounds, as if he’d been attacked by a creature that wasn’t in one of those jars. His long braids were ratty, and I could see tiny objects tied into them. Metal symbols and charms, bits of bone and beads laced so tightly that they’d become part of the hair itself. He was holding his snakeskin staff.

 

“We’re—we’re sorry to show up like this,” I stammered.

 

“Was it a dare worth takin’?” His hand tightened on the staff. “Trespassin’ is a violation a the law. Yours and mine.”

 

“We didn’t come here on a dare.” My voice was still shaking. “We came to find you. I have questions, and I think you’re the only person who can give me the answers.”

 

The bokor’s eyes narrowed, and he rubbed his goatee, intrigued. Or maybe contemplating how to dispose of our bodies after he killed us. “What makes you think I have the answers?”

 

“Amma. I mean, Amarie Treadeau. She was here. I need to know why.” I had his attention now. “I think it was about me.”

 

He studied me carefully. “So, you’re the one. Interestin’ you would come here, instead a to your Seer.”

 

“She won’t tell me anything.”

 

There was something in his expression, beyond recognition. “This way.”

 

We followed him into the room with the smoke and the fumes and the lingering residue of death. Link was next to me, whispering. “You sure this is a good idea?”

 

“I’ve got an Incubus with me, right?” It was a bad joke. But I was so scared, I could barely think.

 

“A quarter.” Link took a deep breath. “Hope that’s enough.”

 

The bokor stood behind the wooden table as Link and I stood facing him on the other side. “What do you know about my business with the Seer?”

 

“I know she came to you about a spread she didn’t like.” I didn’t want to reveal everything I knew. I was afraid he would realize this wasn’t our first time here. “I want to know what the cards said. Why she needed your help.”

 

He watched me carefully, as if he could see right through me. It was the way Aunt Del looked at a room when she was sorting through the layers. “That’s two questions, and only one a them matters.”

 

“Which one?”

 

His eyes gleamed in the dark. “Your Seer needs my help to do somethin’ she can’t. To join the ti-bon-age, mend the seams she ripped herself.”

 

I had no idea what he was talking about. What seams had Amma ripped?

 

Link didn’t understand either. “T-bone what? What kinda steak are we talkin’ about here?”

 

The bokor’s eyes locked on me. “You really don’t know what’s waitin’ for you? It’s watchin’ us now.”

 

I couldn’t speak.

 

It’s watching us now.

 

“What—what is it?” I barely choked out the words. “How do I get rid of it?”

 

The bokor walked over to the terrarium filled with writhing snakes, and lifted the lid. “That’s two questions again. I can only answer one.”

 

“What’s watching me?” My voice was shaking, and my hands—every part of me.

 

The bokor lifted a snake, its body ringed in black, red, and white. The snake coiled around his arm, but the bokor held its head as if he knew it might strike.

 

“I’ll show you.”

 

 

He led us to the center of the room, close to the source of the nauseating smoke, a huge pillar that resembled a candle. It looked like it had been made by hand. Lucille crouched under a nearby table, trying to avoid the fumes—or maybe the snake or the crazy guy carrying what looked like eggshells over to a bowl at our feet. He crushed the shells with one hand, careful to keep his other hand on the head of the snake.

 

“The ti-bon-age is meant to be one. Never separated.” He closed his eyes. “I will call Kalfu. We need the help of a powerful spirit.”