Unsympathetic Magic - Laura Resnick [121]
I sighed wearily and reflected that it was a good thing I’d be getting a paycheck for a week’s work in television soon. I couldn’t have afforded to replace my bed otherwise.
“Hey.” Lopez touched my arm gently. “Are you okay?”
Still seated, I nodded. “Yeah. Just . . . you know. Still stunned.”
He leaned over me and kissed my forehead. Then he whispered, “I meant . . . I was so rough. Before.”
“So rough you made my bed explode,” I grumbled.
He smiled down at me. “Come on. I’ll need some help to get that mattress out of that room.”
As I rose to my feet, I said resentfully, “Thanks to you, it seems like I’m spending my whole night hauling around heavy objects.”
He was willing to do most of the work, and that suited me fine. It was only a double mattress, not queen-size, which made it a little easier to maneuver out of the room, through the apartment, and down the narrow stairs. Outside, we propped it against the stone side of the building, well away from anyone’s window. Then Lopez came back upstairs with me so he could write a notice in thick black marker to warn everyone but the arson investigator away from the ruined mattress.
While he did that, I went back into the bedroom to survey the wreckage with calmer eyes now. Lopez was right; it wasn’t as bad as I had feared. At least half the room would need repainting, but the damage had otherwise been limited to the mattress and the bedclothes. I touched my hair and realized how lucky I was that it hadn’t caught fire. Or my clothing. There were soot marks on my dress and my skin, but nothing worse. I ran my hands over my body, recognizing for the first time that I hadn’t been burned or even singed. Lopez had moved very fast when it happened.
He stuck his head in the doorway. “I’ve got to go to work now. And figure out how to explain, when I get there, why I smell like a rum distillery tonight.” He hesitated. “Are you going to be all right?”
I was looking around the room, still surprised there wasn’t more damage. “Yeah, fine,” I said absently.
“God, I hate leaving you like this,” he said. “Right after a fire and . . . And everything.”
That was when I saw it. I gasped in horror and fell back a step, realizing what this meant. What had happened.
“What’s wrong?” He was at my side instantly, his hands on my shoulders, looking around the room, trying to see what had just frightened me into such a reaction.
I started shaking. My wide, unblinking eyes were fixed on it, unable to look away.
“Esther?” He shook me gently. “What is it? Tell me.”
My throat worked, but only guttural sounds came out. I had no idea how to put it into words anyhow. How to explain to him, of all people, what I had just recognized.
So I pointed in dumbfounded silence.
His gaze followed my gesture, but he was still perplexed. “What? What do you see?”
I took a few sharp, quick breaths, trying to steady myself. Then I crossed the room, stooped down, and picked up the gris-gris pouch that lay on the floor.
He was staring at me, bewildered by my behavior.
I clutched the protective charm to my chest and looked at him.
“Esther?” His voice was puzzled.
I tried to explain. “You took it off me and threw it away. And then the bed burst into flames.”
He stood staring silently at me, a baffled frown on his face, trying to work out what I meant.
Then he got it, and his expression changed completely. “Oh, for God’s sake! You can’t be serious!”
“The bokor took things from my purse,” I said.
“A voodoo curse from an evil sorcerer? Come on, Esther.”
“Personal things! Strands of my hair. Makeup that I use every day.” I clutched the gris-gris pouch. “And the moment this protective charm was removed from my body . . .”
Looking exasperated beyond endurance, he started to speak—then changed his mind, closed his eyes, and seemed to be counting to ten,