CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SIX

Dawn could not come soon enough for Lenobia. Finally, when the sky through her porthole began to blush, Lenobia could wait no longer. She almost sprinted to the door, pausing only because Marie Madeleine’s voice warned, “Have a care, child. Do not remain too long with the horses. Staying out of the Bishop’s sight means you are staying out of his mind as well.”

“I will be careful, Sister,” Lenobia assured her before disappearing into the hallway. She did watch for the sunrise, though her thoughts were already belowdecks, and before the orange disc had fully broken free of the watery horizon, Lenobia was hurrying silently but quickly down the stairs.

Martin was already there, sitting on a bale of hay, facing the direction from which she usually came into the cargo hold. The grays whinnied at her, which made her smile, and then she looked at Martin, and her smile faded.

The first thing she noticed was that he hadn’t brought her a bacon and cheese sandwich. The next thing she noticed was the absence of expression on his face. Even his eyes seemed darker and subdued. Suddenly he was a stranger.

“What do I call you?” His voice was as emotionless as his face.

She ignored his strangeness and the awful feeling it gave her in the pit of her stomach, and spoke to him as if he were asking her which brush to use on the horses, like nothing at all was amiss. “Lenobia is my name, but I like it when you call me cherie.”

“You lie to me, you.” His tone stopped her pretense and she felt the first chill of rejection pass through her body.

“Not on purpose. I did not lie to you on purpose.” Her eyes begged him to understand.

“A lie still a lie,” he said.

“All right. You want to know the truth?”

“Can you tell it?”

She felt as if he had slapped her. “I thought you knew me.”

“I thought I did, too. And I thought you trusted me. Maybe I was wrong twice.”

“I do trust you. The reason I did not tell you I was pretending to be Cecile was because when I was with you, I was the real me. There was no pretense between us. There was just you and me and the horses.” She blinked back her tears and took a few steps toward him. “I would not lie to you, Martin. Yesterday was the first time you called me by her name, called me Cecile. Remember how quickly I left?” He nodded. “It was because I did not know what to do. It was then that I remembered I was supposed to be pretending to be someone else, even with you.” There was a long silence, and then he asked, “Would you have ever told me?”

Lenobia didn’t hesitate. She spoke from her heart to his. “Yes. I would have told you my secret when I told you I loved you.”

His face reanimated and he closed the few feet that separated them. “No, cherie. You cannot love me.”

“Cannot? I already do.”

“It is impossible.” Martin reached out, took her hand, and lifted it gently. Then he raised his own arm until the two were side by side, flesh to flesh. “You see the difference, you?”

“No,” she said softly, gazing down at their arms—their bodies. “All I see is you.”

“Look with your eyes and not your heart. See what others will see!”

“Others? Why do we care what they will see?”

“The world matters, perhaps more than you understand, cherie.”

She met his gaze. “So you care more for what others think than for what we feel, you and I?”

“You do not understand.”

“I understand enough! I understand how I feel when we are together. What more is there to understand?”

“Much, much more.” He dropped her hand and turned, walking quickly to the stall to stand beside one of the watching grays.

She spoke to his back. “I said I would not lie to you. Can you say the same to me?”

“I will not lie to you,” he said, without turning to look at her.

“Do you love me? Tell me the truth, Martin, please.”

“The truth? What difference does the truth make in a world like this?”

“It makes all the difference to me,” she said.

He turned and she saw that his cheeks were wet with silent tears. “I love you, cherie. It feels like it will kill me, but I love you.”

Her heart felt as if it were flying as she moved to his side and slipped her hand within his. “I am no longer betrothed to Thinton de Silegne,” she said, reaching up to brush the tears from his face.

He cupped his hand over hers and pressed it to his cheek. “But they will find someone new for you. Someone who cares more about your beauty than your name.” As he spoke he grimaced as if the words hurt him.

“You! Why can it not be you? I am a bastard—surely a bastard can marry a Creole.”

Martin laughed humorously. “Oui, cherie. A bastard can marry a Creole, if that bastard be black. If she be white, they cannot marry.”

“Then I do not care about being married! I only care about being with you.”

“You are so young,” he said softly.

“So are you. You cannot be twenty yet.”

“I be twenty-one next month, cherie. But inside I am old, and I know even love can not change the world—at least not in time for us.”

“It has to. I am going to make it.”

“You know what they do to you, this world you think love can change? They find out you love me, you give yourself to me, they hang you, or worse. They rape you and then hang you.”

“I will fight them. To be with you I will stand against the world.”

“I don’ want that for you! Cherie, I will not be the cause of harm to come against you!”

Lenobia stepped back, away from his touch. “My maman told me that I must be brave. I must become a girl who was dead so that I could live a life without fear. So I did that terrible thing I did not want to do—I lied and tried to take on the name, the life, of someone else.” As she spoke, it was as if a wise mother were whispering to her, guiding her thoughts and her words. “I was afraid, so afraid, Martin. But I knew I had to be brave for her, and then somehow that changed and I became brave for me. Now I want to be brave for you, for us.”

“That not brave, cherie,” he said, his olive eyes sad, his shoulders slumped. “That just young. You and me—our love belong to a different time, a different place.”

“Then you deny us?”

“My heart cannot, but my mind—he say keep her safe, don’ let the world destroy her.” He took a step toward her, but Lenobia wrapped her arms around herself and stepped back from him. He shook his head sadly. “You should have babies, cherie. Babies that don’ have to pretend to be white. I think you know a little what it like to pretend, don’t you?”

“Here is what I know—that I would rather pretend a thousand times over than deny my love for you. Yes, I am young, but I am old enough to know that one-sided love can never work.” When he said nothing, she wiped the back of her wrist angrily across her face, sweeping away her tears, and continued, “I should leave and not come back and spend the rest of the voyage anywhere but down here.”

“Oui, cherie. You should.”

“Is that what you want?”

“No, fool that I am. It is not what I want.”

“Well, then, we are both fools.” She walked past him and picked up one of the curry brushes. “I am going to groom the grays. Then I will feed them. Then I will return to my quarters and wait until tomorrow’s dawn calls me free. Then I will do the same thing all over again.” She moved into the stall and began brushing the nearest gray.

Still outside the stall, he watched her with olive eyes that she thought looked sad and very, very old. “You are brave, Lenobia. And strong. And good. When you are a woman grown, you will stand against the darkness in the world. I know this when I look into your storm-cloud eyes. But, ma belle, choose battles you can win without losing your heart and your soul.”

“Martin, I stopped being a girl when I stepped into Cecile’s shoes. I am a woman grown. I wish you understood that.”

He sighed and nodded. “You right. I know you a woman, but I not the only one who knows this. Cherie, I heard talk today from the Commodore’s servants. That Bishop, he don’ keep his eyes from you all during dinner.”

“Sister Marie Madeleine and I have already spoken of it. I am going to stay out of his sight as much as possible.” She met his gaze. “You do not need to worry about me. I have been avoiding the Bishop and men like him for the past two years.”

“From what I see, there are not many men like the Bishop. I feel something bad follows him. His bakas, I think it turn against him.”

“Bakas? What is that?” Lenobia paused in grooming the gray and leaned against the big horse’s side while Martin explained.

“Think of a bakas like a soul catcher, and it catch two kind of souls—high and low. Balance is best for a bakas. We all have good and bad in us, cherie. But if the wearer is out of balance—if he do evil, then the bakas turn against him and there is darkness set free, terrible to behold.”

“How do you know all of this?”

“My maman, she come from Haiti, along with many of my father’s slaves. It the old religion that they follow. They raised me. I follow it.” He shrugged and smiled at her wide-eyed expression. “I think we all come from the same place—we all go back there someday, too. Just lots of different names for that place because there are so many different kinds of people.”

“But the Bishop is a Catholic priest. How could he know about an old religion from Haiti?”

“Cherie, you don’ have to be told about a thing to feel it—to know it. Bakas are real, and sometimes they find the wearer. That ruby he wear around his neck—that a bakas if I ever see one.”

“The ruby is a cross, Martin.”

“It also a bakas, and one that has turned to bad, cherie.”

Lenobia shivered. “He frightens me, Martin. He always has.”

Martin strode over to her and reached under his shirt, pulling out a long piece of slender leather tied to a small leather pouch that had been dyed a beautiful sapphire blue. He pulled it from around his neck and put it around hers. “This gris-gris protect you, cherie.”

Lenobia fingered the little pouch. “What is in it?”

“I wear it ’most my whole life and I don’ know for certain. I know there thirteen small things in it. Before she die, my maman she make it for me to protect me. It worked for me.” Martin took the pouch from her fingers. Looking deeply in her eyes, he raised it to his lips and kissed it. “Now it work for you.” Then slowly, deliberately, he hooked one finger on the fabric in the front of her bodice and pulled gently so that the shift came away from her skin. He dropped the little bag within, where it lay against her breast, just above her mother’s rosary. “Wear it close to your heart, cherie, and the power of my maman’s people will never be far from you.”

His nearness made it hard for her to breathe and when he released her, Lenobia thought she felt the warmth of his kiss through the little jewel-colored pouch.

“If you give me your mother’s protection, then I have to replace it with my mother’s.” She took the rosary beads from around her neck and held them out to him.

He smiled and bent so she could put them on him. He lifted a bead and studied it. “Carved wooden roses. You know what my maman’s people use rose oil for, cherie?”

“No.” She still felt breathless at his closeness and at the intensity of his gaze.

“Rose oil make potent love spells,” he said, the corners of his lips lifting. “You trying to bespell me, cherie?”

“Maybe,” Lenobia said, their gazes locking and holding.

Then the gelding butted her playfully and stamped one large hoof, impatient that his grooming hadn’t been completed.

Martin’s laugh broke the tension that had been building between them. “I think I have competition for your favors. The grays, they not share you.”

“Jealous boy,” Lenobia murmured, turning to hug the gelding’s wide neck and retrieve the curry brush from the sawdust on the ground.

Still chuckling softly, Martin fetched the wide, wooden comb and got to work on the other gray’s mane and tail.

“What story for you today, cherie?”

“Tell me about the horses on your father’s plantation,” she said. “You started to a few days ago and never finished.”

While Martin talked about Rillieux’s specialty, a new breed of horse that could run a quarter mile with such speed they were being compared to winged Pegasus, Lenobia let her mind wander. We have two more weeks left in the voyage. He already loves me. She pressed her hand against her breast, feeling the warmth of his mother’s gris-gris. If we stand together, we’ll be brave enough to stand against the world.

* * *

Lenobia felt hopeful and so very alive as she climbed the stairs from the cargo hold to the hallway that led to her quarters. Martin had filled her head with stories of his father’s amazing horses, and somewhere in the middle of his tales she’d had a wonderful idea: perhaps she and Martin could stay in New Orleans only as long as it took to earn enough money to purchase a young stallion from Rillieux. Then they could take their wingless Pegasus and go west with him and find a place where they wouldn’t be judged by the color of their skin, and could settle down and breed beautiful, swift horses. And children, her thoughts whispered to her, lots of beautiful brown-skinned children just like Martin.

She would ask Marie Madeleine to help her find employment, maybe even something in the Ursuline nuns’ kitchen. Everyone needed a scullery maid who could bake delicious bread—and Lenobia had learned that skill from the Baron’s host of talented French chefs.

“Your smile makes you even more lovely, Lenobia.”

She hadn’t heard him enter the hallway, but he was suddenly there, blocking her way. Lenobia’s hand went up to touch the leather thong hidden under her chemise. She thought about Martin and the power of his mother’s protection, raised her chin, and met the Bishop’s gaze.

“Excusez moi, Father,” she said coldly. “I must get back to Sister Marie Madeleine. She will be at her morning prayers, and I would very much like to join her.”

“Surely you are not angry with me about yesterday. You must realize what a shock it was to realize your deception.” As the Bishop spoke, he stroked the ruby cross. Lenobia watched him carefully, thinking how odd it was that it seemed to flash and shine even in the dim light of the passageway.

“I would not dare to be angry with you, Father. I only wish to return to our good Sister.”

He stepped closer to her. “I have a proposal for you, and when you hear it you will know that with the great honor I pay you, you can dare much more than anger.”

“I am sorry, Father. I do not know what you could mean,” she said, trying to sidle around him.

“Do you not, ma petite de bas? I look in those eyes of yours and I see many things.”

Lenobia’s anger at what he was calling her overrode her fear. “My name is Lenobia Whitehall. I am not your bastard!” She hurled the words at him.

His smile was terrible. Suddenly his arms snaked out, one hand on either side of Lenobia, pinning her against the wall. The sleeves of his purple robe were like curtains, veiling her from the real world. He was so tall that the ruby crucifix dangled in front of her eyes and for a moment she thought she saw flames within its glistening depths.

Then he spoke, and her world narrowed to the stench of his breath and the heat of his body.

“When I am finished with you, you will be anything I desire you to be—bastard, whore, lover, daughter. Anything. But do not give in too easily, ma petite de bas. I like a struggle.”

“Father, there you are! How fortuitous that I should find you so close to our quarters. Could you please help me? I thought moving the Holy Mother would be simply done, but I either underestimated her weight or overestimated my strength.”

The Bishop stepped back, releasing Lenobia. She sprinted down the hallway to the nun, who was not looking at them at all. Instead she was struggling to drag a large painted stone statue of Mary from the doorway of their room out into the hall. As Lenobia reached her, the nun glanced up and said, “Lenobia, good. Please get the altar candle and the incense brazier. We will be saying the Marian litanies, as well as the Little Office of the Virgin, on deck today and for the next few days until we reach port in New Orleans.”

“Few days? You are mistaken, Sister,” the Bishop said condescendingly. “We have at least two more weeks remaining in our voyage.”

Marie Madeleine straightened from wrestling with the statue and rubbed the small of her back as she gave the Bishop a cold look that completely belied her offhanded manner and the coincidence of interrupting his abuse of Lenobia. “Days,” she said sternly. “I just spoke to the Commodore. The squall put us ahead of schedule. We will be in New Orleans in three or four days. It will be lovely for us all to be on land again, will it not? I will be especially pleased to introduce you to our Mother Superior and tell her what a safe and pleasant voyage we all have had thanks to your protection. You do know how well she is thought of in the city, do you not, Bishop de Beaumont?”

There was a long silence and then the Bishop said, “Oh, yes, Sister. I know that and much, much more.”

Then the priest bent and lifted the heavy statue as if it were made of feathers rather than stone, and carried it above deck.

“Did he harm you?” Marie Madeleine whispered quickly as soon as he was out of sight.

“No,” Lenobia said shakily. “But he wants to.”

The nun nodded grimly. “Get the candle and incense. Wake the other girls and tell them to come up for prayers. Then stay close to me. You will have to forgo your solitary dawn trips. It simply is not safe. Thankfully, we only have a few short days. Then you will be at the convent and beyond his reach.” The nun squeezed her hand before following the Bishop to the upper deck, leaving Lenobia alone and utterly brokenhearted.

“Pray for us…”

Martin! How am I going to get word to him? I must see him again, even if it means I chance another encounter with the Bishop.

“Mother most pure.”

“Pray for us…”

Lenobia’s gaze flitted to the group of men and the man in purple robes who knelt before them. Her eyes widened in shock. He did not have his head bowed and his eyes closed. He was staring at the statue, in front of which the nun was on her knees in prayer. His hands were not folded. Instead, one hand was stroking the shining ruby crucifix that hung in the middle of his chest. The other was making a slight but odd motion, just a flutter of his fingers, almost as if he were beckoning movement from something before him.

“Mother most chaste.”

“Pray for us…”

Confused, Lenobia followed the Bishop’s gaze and realized the priest was staring not at the statue but at the single thick pillar candle lit at the feet of Mary, directly in front of the nun. It was at that moment that the flame intensified, blazing with such a fierce intensity that wax seemed to weep from it. Then wax and flame joined as sparks, and fire exploded from the taper and cascaded onto Marie Madeleine’s linen habit.

“Sister! The fire!” Lenobia cried, getting to her feet to run toward Marie Madeleine.

But the strange fire had already become a terrible blaze. The nun cried out and tried to stand, but she was obviously disoriented by the flames that were consuming her. Instead of moving away from the wildly burning pillar, Marie Madeleine lurched forward, directly into the pool of burning wax.

Girls all around Lenobia were screaming and bumping into her, keeping her from reaching the nun.

“Get back! I will save her!” the Bishop yelled as he ran forward, purple robes billowing like flame behind him, with a bucket in his hands.

“No!” Lenobia screamed, remembering the lessons she had learned in the kitchen about wax and grease and water. “Get a blanket, not water! Smother it!”

The Bishop threw the bucket of water on the burning nun, and the fire exploded, raining flaming hot wax into the crowd of girls and creating panic and hysteria.

The world became fire and heat. Still, Lenobia tried to get to Marie Madeleine, but strong hands entrapped her waist and pulled her back.

“No!” she screamed, fighting to get away.

“Cherie! You cannot help her!”

Martin’s voice was an oasis of calm in chaos, and Lenobia’s body went limp. She let him pull her back out of range of the burning aft deck. But in the midst of the flames Lenobia saw Marie Madeleine stop struggling. Completely engulfed in flame, the nun walked to the railing, turned, and for an instant her gaze met Lenobia’s.

Lenobia would never forget that moment. What she saw in Marie Madeleine’s eyes was not pain or terror or fear. She saw peace. And within her mind echoed the nun’s voice, mixed with another that was stronger, clearer, and otherworldly in its beauty. Follow your heart, child. The Mother shall always protect you …

Then the nun stepped over the railing and purposely leaped overboard into the cool, welcoming arms of the sea.

The next thing Lenobia remembered was Martin ripping off his shirt and using it to beat out the flames that had been licking at her skirt.

“You stay here!” he shouted at her when the fire was out. “Don’ move, you!” Lenobia nodded woodenly, and then Martin joined the other crew members as they used clothes and pieces of sails and rigging to pound out the fire. Commodore Cornwallis was there, shouting orders and using his blue dress jacket to beat out pockets of fire, which now seemed to extinguish with an unnatural ease.

“I was trying to help! I did not know!” Lenobia’s gaze was drawn by the Bishop’s cries. He was standing at the railing, looking over into the sea.

“Charles! Are you burned? Are you injured?” Lenobia watched the Commodore hurry over to him just as the priest swayed and almost fell overboard. The Commodore caught him in time. “Come away from the railing, man!”

“No, no.” The Bishop shook him off. “I must do this. I must.” He lifted his arm, made the sign of the cross, and then Lenobia heard him begin the last rites prayer. “Domine sancte…”

Lenobia had never loathed anyone so much in her life.

Simonette lurched into her arms, pink and singed and sobbing. “What do we do now? What do we do now?”

Lenobia clung to Simonette, but she could not answer the girl.

“Mademoiselles! Are any of you injured?” The Commodore’s voice boomed as he waded through the group of weeping girls, pulling out those who had been closest to the flames and directing the ship’s surgeon to them. “If you are uninjured, go below. Clean yourselves. Change your clothes. Rest, mademoiselles, rest. The fire is out. The ship is sound. You are safe.”

Martin was lost in the smoke and confusion, and Lenobia had no choice but to go below with Simonette still holding tightly to her hand.

“Did you hear her, too?” Lenobia whispered as they made their way, trembling and crying, down the narrow hallway.

“I heard the Sister scream. It was terrible.” Simonette sobbed.

“Nothing else? You did not hear what she said?” Lenobia persisted.

“She said nothing. She only screamed.” Simonette gazed at her with wide, tear-filled eyes. “Have you gone mad, Lenobia?”

“No, no,” Lenobia said quickly, putting a reassuring arm around her shoulders. “I almost wish I was mad, though, so I would not have to remember what just happened.”

Simonette sobbed anew. “Oui, oui—I will not leave the room until we have reached land. Not even to go to dinner. They cannot force me!”

Lenobia hugged her tightly and said nothing more.

* * *

Lenobia did not leave her quarters for the next two days. Simonette needn’t have worried about being forced to the Commodore’s room for the evening meals. Food was brought to them instead. Sister Marie Madeleine’s death had cast a spell over them all, and the normal fabric of shipboard life had unraveled. The loud and sometimes bawdy songs the crew had been singing for weeks were no more. There was no laughter. No shouting. The ship itself seemed to have gone silent. Within hours of the nun’s death a fierce wind came up from behind them, caught the sails, and propelled them forward as if the breath of God were blowing them from the site of violence.

In their quarters, the girls were in shock. Simonette and a few others still wept on and off. Mostly they huddled on their pallets, talked in hushed voices, or prayed.

The galley servants who brought them food assured them all was well and that they would make land soon. The pronuncement evoked nothing but somber looks and silent tears.

All the while Lenobia thought and remembered.

She remembered Marie Madeleine’s kindness. She remembered the nun’s faith and strength. She remembered the peace she’d seen in her dying eyes and the words that had echoed magickally through her mind.

Follow your heart, child. The Mother shall always protect you.

Lenobia remembered Sister Marie Madeleine, but she thought about Martin. She also thought about the future. It was just before dawn of the third day that Lenobia made her decision, and she crept silently from the room that had begun to feel like a mausoleum.

She did not watch the dawn. She went directly to the cargo hold. Odysseus, the black and white giant of a cat, was rubbing against her legs as she got close to the stall. The horses saw her first, and both grays trumpeted greetings, which had Martin whirling around, closing the space between them in three long strides, and pulling her into his arms, hugging her close. She could feel his body trembling as he spoke.

“You came, cherie! I don’ think you would. I think I never see you again.”

Lenobia rested her head against his chest and breathed in the scent of him: horses, hay, and the honest sweat of a man who worked hard every day.

“I had to think before I came to see you, Martin. I had to decide.”

“What is it you decide, cherie?”

She lifted her head and looked up at him, loving the light olive of his eyes and the brown flecks that sparkled like amber within them. “First, I have to ask you something—did you see her jump into the ocean?”

Martin nodded solemnly. “I did, cherie. It was a terrible thing.”

“Did you hear anything?”

“Only her screams.”

Lenobia drew a deep breath. “Just before she leaped overboard she looked at me, Martin. Her eyes were full of peace, not fear or pain. And I did not hear her screams. Instead I heard her voice, mixed with another’s, telling me to follow my heart—that the Mother shall always protect me.”

“The nun, she was a very holy woman—one of much faith and goodness. Her spirit strong. It might have been speaking to you. Maybe her Mary she love so much speaking to you, too.”

Lenobia felt weak with relief. “Then you believe me!”

“Oui, cherie. I know there more to the world than what we can see and touch.”

“I believe that, too.” She drew a deep breath and squared her shoulders and, in a voice that surprised even herself by how grown-up she sounded, she declared, “At least now I do. So what I want to say to you is this: I love you, Martin, and I want to be with you. Always. I do not care how. I do not care where. But seeing Marie Madeleine die has changed me. If the worst that can happen to me for choosing to live by your side is that I die in peace loving you, then I choose whatever happiness we can find in this world.”

“Cherie, I—”

“No. Do not answer me now. Take two days after we dock, just like I took two days. You have to know for sure either way, Martin. If you say no, then I do not want to see you again—ever. If you choose yes, I will live by your side and bear your children. I will love you until the day I die—only you, Martin. Always only you; I vow it.”

Then, before she could weaken and beg him and hold him and weep, she walked away from him and picked up the familiar curry brush and entered the Percherons’ stall, caressing the big horses and murmuring endearments in greeting.

Martin followed her slowly. Not speaking to her or looking at her, he moved to the second of the two geldings and began working his way through the tangle of the horse’s mane. Thus he was hidden from the Bishop’s view when the priest entered the cargo hold.

“Grooming beasts—not a job for a lady. But then you are no lady are you, ma petite de bas?”

Lenobia felt sickness slick through her stomach, but she turned to face the priest whom she thought of as more monster than man.

“I told you not to call me that,” Lenobia said, proud that her voice did not shake.

“And I told you I like a fight.” His smile was reptilian. “But fight or no fight, when I am finished with you, you will be anything I desire you to be—bastard, whore, lover, daughter. Anything.” He moved forward, the light in the ruby cross on his chest glowing as if it were a living thing. “Who will protect you now that your shielding nun has been consumed?” He reached the edge of the stall, and Lenobia cringed, pressing herself against the gelding. “Time is short, ma petite de bas. I will claim you as mine today, before we get to New Orleans, and then there will be no reason for you to keep up this virginal charade and cower with the Ursulines in their convent.” The priest put his hand on the half door of the stall to open it.

Martin stepped from the shadow of the horses to stand between Lenobia and the Bishop. He spoke calmly, but he was brandishing a hoof pick in his hand. The lantern light caught it and it glistened, knifelike.

“I think you not be claiming this lady. She don’ want you, Loa. Go now, and leave her be.”

The Bishop’s eyes narrowed dangerously and his fingers began to stroke the ruby stones of his crucifix. “You dare speak to me, boy? You should understand who I am. I am not this loa you have mistaken me for. I am a Bishop—a man of God. Leave now and I will forget you ever attempted to question me.”

“Loa is spirit. I see you. I know you. The bakas has turned on you, man. You evil. You dark. And you not wanted here.”

“You dare stand against me!” the priest roared. As his anger grew, so too did the flames in the lanterns that hung around the stalls.

“Martin! The flames!” Lenobia whispered frantically to him.

The priest began to move forward, as if he would attack Martin with his bare hands, and two things happened very quickly. First, Martin lifted the hoof pick, but he didn’t strike the priest. Instead he wielded it against himself. Lenobia gasped as Martin slashed his own palm and then, as the priest was almost on him, he flung the handful of blood at him, striking him in the middle of his chest, covering the red jewels with living scarlet. And in a voice that was deep and filled with power, Martin intoned:

“She belong to me—and hers I be!

“Of loyalty and truth,

“This blood be my proof!

“What you do to her you do in vain.

“What you cast come back on you tenfold the pain!”

The priest staggered to the side, as if the blood had been a blow, and the geldings laid their ears back flat on their enormous heads and, with squeals of rage, struck out at him with their great, square teeth.

Charles de Beaumont lurched back, stumbling out of the stall, clutching his chest. He bent over and stared at Martin.

Martin raised his bloody hand and held it, palm out, like a shield.

“You asked who protect this girl? I answer you—I do. The spell is cast. I seal it with my blood. You don’ have no power here.”

The priest’s eyes were filled with hatred, his voice malicious. “Your blood spell may lend you power here, but you will not have power where we are going. There you are only a black man trying to stand against a white man. I will win … I will win … I will win…” The Bishop muttered the words over and over as he left the cargo hold, still clutching his chest.

As soon as he was gone, Martin pulled Lenobia into his arms and held her while she trembled. He stroked her hair and murmured small, wordless sounds to soothe her. When her fear had ebbed enough, Lenobia moved from his arms and ripped a strip of cotton from her chemise to bind his hand. She didn’t speak while she was bandaging him. It was only when she was finished that she clasped his wounded hand within both of hers and looked up into his eyes asking, “That thing you said—that spell you cast—is it true? Will it really work?”

“Oh, it work, cherie,” he said. “Work enough to keep him from you on this ship. But this man, he filled with great evil. You know he cause the fire that killed the holy woman?”

Lenobia nodded. “Yes, I know it.”

“His bakas—it strong; it evil. I bind him with tenfold pain, but come a time maybe when he think having you worth the pain. And he right. In the world we go to he have the power, not me.”

“But you stopped him!”

Martin nodded. “I can fight him with my maman’s magick, but I don’ fight white men and their law he can bring against me.”

“Then you have to leave New Orleans. Get far away, where he cannot hurt you.”

Martin smiled. “Oui, cherie, avec tu.”

“With me?” Lenobia stared at him for a moment, worry for him foremost in her mind. Then she realized what he had said and she felt as if the dawn had risen within her. “With me! We will be together.”

Martin pulled her into his arms again and held her close. “It is what made my magick so strong, cherie, this love I have for you. It fills my blood and makes my heart to beat. Now my vow you have in return. I will always love you—only you, Lenobia.”

Lenobia pressed her face to his chest and this time when she wept, her tears were of happiness.

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