thinks they mean to bring all that back.” He shrugged. “Shit. They even might. In South Sudan we found some local Muslims—they call themselves Arabs, even though they don’t look any different from their neighbors—keeping animist tribesmen as slaves. We gave the slave owners to their own slaves. Perfect propaganda by deed. This Caliph’s just a puppet, and Siraj is a Western wannabe. I’m cool with putting him up against the wall. But in ten years. Maybe five. When we’ve shown the world the revolution works, made this place the People’s Paradise in reality as it is in name. It’s too early. Way too fucking early.” Tom turned away to lean on the rail. “And Alicia’s pet aces . . . they’re too big a risk. Look at what happened with the last one.”
“Dolores.” She laid a hand cool on his shoulder. “Butcher Dagon killed her.”
Tom turned away. “Alicia’s first success story, and look how that turned out.” The sun poured in crosswise beneath the thatch awning as it sank toward the
mangal
and the big river’s origin in the Chapada Diamantina in the middle of Bahia state. The light had softened, lost some of its sting. But the air stayed still and hot, the humidity thick enough to swim in. The bugs, ever-present, had gone from busy to frenetic.
Tom blew out his lips in a sigh and turned to Sun with a lopsided grin. “What say we go inside and get, you know, horizontal?”
Jackson Square
New Orleans, Louisiana
And then she’s back in the pit.
Adesina is crouched down. Her hair has come undone from its braids and is a tangled cloud around her face. She looks feral.
Michelle glances around.
Corpses. Check. Leopards. Check. Adesina. Check. No bunnies. Check.
She closes her eyes hard and wills herself back to New Orleans.
Juliet and Joey were staring at her. “What was that you were saying?” Juliet asked.
“I wasn’t saying anything,” Michelle replied.
“Hell you weren’t,” Joey said. “That was some fucked-up shit, Bubbles. You were talkin’ in tongues.”
Michelle wanted to shake her head, but she only managed to move it a little. “No. That was Adesina.”
Ink and Hoodoo Mama glanced at each other.
“Hey!” Michelle exclaimed. “I saw that!”
Juliet stroked Michelle’s forehead. “Sweetie, you’ve been in a coma for a year. You’re probably tired.”
“I am
not
tired,” Michelle snapped. “Hello?
Coma?
I am plenty rested. And I’ve been having these weird dreams that I’m pretty sure aren’t dreams. No bunnies.” Michelle glowered up at them. “You can stop with the looking. I can
see
the two of you.”
But then they weren’t looking at each other. They were staring at her. Any other time she might have laughed at the expressions on their faces. “What the hell? I swear I didn’t fart.”
Juliet pointed at Michelle. “You’re bubbling.”
Michelle looked down at her hand. A large bubble was forming on it. It glistened, iridescent and beautiful, and it felt as if it could go on for days.
She released the bubble, and it drifted up to the ceiling. Then her hand was shaking and she thought she would lose control. A horrible nauseaflowed through her again. And then the power was tearing at her. Fire in her veins. But she could
bubble
.
Somewhere Over the Atlantic Ocean
From New Orleans they flew to New York. From New York they’d fly to Rome. There they would transfer to a smaller plane bound for Addis Ababa, where they would board an even smaller plane bound for Dar es Salaam.
Wally shook the foil packet the flight attendant had handed him a couple of hours earlier. He leaned across the aisle (Wally needed an aisle seat; people complained about sharing an armrest with a metal guy) and said, over the rumble of the engines, “Want my peanuts?”
Jerusha shook her head, still studying the maps spread over her tray table. She’d been studying them since they left New York. She studied a lot. “No, thanks.”
It was dark in the cabin. The
“Dolores.” She laid a hand cool on his shoulder. “Butcher Dagon killed her.”
Tom turned away. “Alicia’s first success story, and look how that turned out.” The sun poured in crosswise beneath the thatch awning as it sank toward the
mangal
and the big river’s origin in the Chapada Diamantina in the middle of Bahia state. The light had softened, lost some of its sting. But the air stayed still and hot, the humidity thick enough to swim in. The bugs, ever-present, had gone from busy to frenetic.
Tom blew out his lips in a sigh and turned to Sun with a lopsided grin. “What say we go inside and get, you know, horizontal?”
Jackson Square
New Orleans, Louisiana
And then she’s back in the pit.
Adesina is crouched down. Her hair has come undone from its braids and is a tangled cloud around her face. She looks feral.
Michelle glances around.
Corpses. Check. Leopards. Check. Adesina. Check. No bunnies. Check.
She closes her eyes hard and wills herself back to New Orleans.
Juliet and Joey were staring at her. “What was that you were saying?” Juliet asked.
“I wasn’t saying anything,” Michelle replied.
“Hell you weren’t,” Joey said. “That was some fucked-up shit, Bubbles. You were talkin’ in tongues.”
Michelle wanted to shake her head, but she only managed to move it a little. “No. That was Adesina.”
Ink and Hoodoo Mama glanced at each other.
“Hey!” Michelle exclaimed. “I saw that!”
Juliet stroked Michelle’s forehead. “Sweetie, you’ve been in a coma for a year. You’re probably tired.”
“I am
not
tired,” Michelle snapped. “Hello?
Coma?
I am plenty rested. And I’ve been having these weird dreams that I’m pretty sure aren’t dreams. No bunnies.” Michelle glowered up at them. “You can stop with the looking. I can
see
the two of you.”
But then they weren’t looking at each other. They were staring at her. Any other time she might have laughed at the expressions on their faces. “What the hell? I swear I didn’t fart.”
Juliet pointed at Michelle. “You’re bubbling.”
Michelle looked down at her hand. A large bubble was forming on it. It glistened, iridescent and beautiful, and it felt as if it could go on for days.
She released the bubble, and it drifted up to the ceiling. Then her hand was shaking and she thought she would lose control. A horrible nauseaflowed through her again. And then the power was tearing at her. Fire in her veins. But she could
bubble
.
Somewhere Over the Atlantic Ocean
From New Orleans they flew to New York. From New York they’d fly to Rome. There they would transfer to a smaller plane bound for Addis Ababa, where they would board an even smaller plane bound for Dar es Salaam.
Wally shook the foil packet the flight attendant had handed him a couple of hours earlier. He leaned across the aisle (Wally needed an aisle seat; people complained about sharing an armrest with a metal guy) and said, over the rumble of the engines, “Want my peanuts?”
Jerusha shook her head, still studying the maps spread over her tray table. She’d been studying them since they left New York. She studied a lot. “No, thanks.”
It was dark in the cabin. The
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