Page 48 of Scout’s Honor

Dallas went right to the counter. “We’re looking for someone.”

The teenager looked up and fixated on Dallas’ face, smiling. “Well hello,” she flirted. “I’ll help you any way I can.”

Bonhi snorted and gave her a look, but the smile on the girl’s face said she didn’t give a shit about Bonhi. She never even looked, just kept fawning over Dallas.

Dallas nodded curtly. “Ever heard of a woman named Mama Soline?”

The girl shook her head. “No, but if you give me your number. I’ll ask around and give you a call, yeah?”

“Thanks anyway,” Dallas said. He turned around and took Bonhi’s hand, and out on the street they went. Bonhi couldn’t help but grin at the girl as she scowled at them on their way out.

They tried another shop, and another, until finally someone had heard of Mama Soline.

“She’s dead,” the woman said reverently. She wore a colorful dress, and her black coily hair was tied up under a red wrap. A white stripe graced each of her smooth dark cheeks. The sign on her shop identified her as ‘Priestess Dubois.’

“She died two months back,” Priestess Dubois said. “Her funeral done wrapped around the entire district, so many people came out.”

“Oh!” Bonhi covered her mouth, feeling like crying. Dallas pulled her into his arms, thanked the woman, and walked Bonhi down the street, then into an alleyway, where he leaned against a brick storefront and held her.

“I don’t know why I’m crying over someone I’ve never met,” Bonhi sniffled.

“It felt like a punch in the gut, hearing she’s dead,” Dallas said.

“Yeah,” Bonhi agreed, “It did.” She rested her head on his chest.

“Two months ago was when Thorn got his clothing spell,” he said, his voice hard.

“Oh no, do you think he did something to her?”

“Better not’ve,” Dallas growled.

Bonhi felt like she was being watched, and she looked around while she wiped her tears, meeting eyes with a woman in a nearby shop, just past a tattoo parlor. She stood under a purple sign that read, Queen Mambo, High Priestess of New Orleans.

“Why you crying, bébé?” the woman asked. Her voice was warm and her cadence, lyrical.

Bonhi’s instinct was to say, ‘No reason,’ but Dallas stiffened and whispered in her ear.

“She glows with white light, like my mom.”

25—Witch Blood

Bonhi smiled, wishing she could see the glow. “I’m crying because we heard someone died.”

“Who?” the woman asked. She was tall, dark-skinned, with a straight back and lifted chin, but a heavily-wrinkled face. She wore a white dress and head wrap, and a red sash wrapped around her waist. Her eyes were so light brown they were gold.

“Mama Soline,” Bonhi said.

“You knew Mama Soline?”

Bonhi shook her head. “No.” She pointed at Dallas. “We were coming to meet her and now I’m sad that we never will.”

The woman put her hands on her hips. She looked Bonhi over head to toe, then smiled and motioned to her door. “Magic comin’ off you like firecrackers, cher. Come in here now.”

“Wait,” Dallas asked, his face astonished. “You see her glow?”

The woman came close and took Bonhi by the hand and practically pulled her into the little shop. Dallas followed. Inside the shop, the walkway narrowed between tables of different sizes and heights. Each one was crowded with bowls, and each bowl was piled high with miscellaneous bits: crystals and incense, strips of leather, feathers, bits of wood, and bits of bones.

At the back of the room was a small circular table with a white tablecloth that reached to the floor, and near it was a carved wooden statue of a wolf on a pedestal, stained a deep red. The wolf stood on four feet, looking straight at them, its eyes and tail alert. Bonhi wanted to pet it.