Voodoo by Samantha Boyette Page A

from the doorway of a building that was now only two stories, but looked like it was once at least a couple more. I felt like I was in a war zone.
    “Come on,” Stephen said. He got me moving with a gentle hand on the small of my back.
    The city was unnaturally quiet. We passed few people as we walked, and there was none of the usual bustle of talk and activity that fills a city. I could hear gulls calling in the distance, and the chittering of squirrels in the trees. It was like a lonely country road, but surrounded by buildings. The people we saw seemed more like ghosts.
    “Why don't they leave here?” I asked.
    “Some of them have no place else to go, some of them are afraid to leave,” Stephen said. “For criminals, this place is a haven. They rule the streets without question.”
    “Seems like even more reason to find someplace else to go,” I said with a shudder.
    “I agree,” Stephen said.
    We walked along the silent main street until a church came into view. Like the rest of the city, it was a crumbling mess. It looked like a giant had walked by and taken a bite out of the spire. The cross at the top looked like it might fall in the next big wind. A half broken, circular, stained glass window faced the road, and stone from the church walls littered the yard. We stood at what once would have been the gate to the church yard. Now it was only a gap in a collapsing wall.
    “Are we sure this is the right place?” I asked.
    “Not really,” Stephen said. “There could be another church, but the guy at the yard made it sound like there was only one.”
    “I really wish we had a gun or something.”
    “A little late for that, don't you think?” Stephen asked dryly. “It wouldn't matter anyway; I don't know how to shoot one.”
“Me either, so I guess we wing it.”
    “That was my plan. Let's go.”
    We picked our way carefully through the yard. At the doorway we paused, peering over the broken down door into the church itself. Sunlight filtered onto the stone floor through a roof that was mostly gone. I took a deep breath and stepped through the door, Stephen was right at my heels.
    “About time you showed up,” a man said.
He grabbed me from behind, pressing a cold wet cloth to my face. I struggled, kicking the man in the shins, but he didn't let me go. I saw another man had grabbed Stephen in the same way. A sickly sweet smell filled my senses, and the world faded to darkness.
    *
    When I came to I was staring up at the sky through the church roof. Tree branches crossed the opening, filtering the light with their leaves and providing some shade where there would have been none. I turned my head, seeing Stephen was still out cold beside me. I reached out, shaking his shoulder.
    “Stephen,” I hissed quietly.
    “No need to whisper.” I knew it would be Clea before I turned around. She sounded just like Claire. I faced her and tried to stand. I could barely get my feet under me.
    “If you hurt him,” I said. I heard a round of clicks and found I was surrounded by her guard, who had all just drawn their weapons on me.
“No one moves,” Clea ordered. “You, sit,” she said to me. I slowly sank back down. I wasn’t sure I could have stood for long anyway. “I didn't hurt him any more than I hurt you. Just a little chloroform to lay you out for a bit.”
    “Why?” I asked. “Why do you want to hurt me?”
    “Because I want to stay in this body and so does she. Because you hurt her.” Clea leaned forward. “In a dozen or more ways, over and over again you hurt her.”
“Claire?” I asked. “I didn't hurt her.”
    “Please,” Clea said. Her hand went to the wide scar on her forehead. Up close I could see it was more than an inch long, angry red and swollen.
    “We were just kids when that happened,” I argued. “And the scar isn't so bad on her.”
    “Her’s is just the physical scar,” Clea said. “There is nothing to show for the times you went out with a boy she liked, or didn't