They’d have to deal with Mr. Jones and his power-stealing Ace some other way.
As soon as she realized that, Michelle found herself back in the hall with Joey and Adesina. Joey was sitting on the floor.
“Sweetie, how did you get here?” Michelle asked Adesina. “I thought we said you were going to stay back in the otter room.”
“I know, Momma,” Adesina replied. She was sitting on her back legs with her front legs in Joey’s hands. Tears were running down Joey’s cheeks. “But Aunt Joey needed me, and you were stuck.”
“Did you see anything?” Michelle asked nervously.
Adesina shook her head. “No, just some zombies. But they’re everywhere in here.”
Michelle plopped down on the floor next to Joey. “You okay?” she asked.
Joey shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said. She looked at Michelle. Tears stained her cheeks, and her eyes were red and puffy. “My mother came back for me and she made him pay. She told me she’d keep me safe.” Tears ran down her cheeks. “Fuck, I hate crying,” she said. “And I never, ever, wanted to think about that again. Hoodoo Mama shut it away.”
“Look,” Michelle began as she reached out and wiped the tears from Joey’s face. “What happened to you was unspeakable. And you were just a child. You did what you needed to in order to survive.”
“Fucker asked for it,” Joey said with a hiss.
“Oh, I think that barely begins to cover it,” Michelle said. She sat down in front of Joey and took her hands. “But you were just a little girl then. Even if they steal your power, you’re a grown woman now. They can’t control you.”
“But if I’m not Hoodoo Mama, who am I?” Joey asked with a plaintive cry. “You saw what happened to me. If I’m not Hoodoo Mama, how can I stop those fuckers?”
“You’re Joey fucking Hebert,” Michelle replied. “And Joey fucking Hebert is Hoodoo Mama whether she has a wild card power or not. That’s who the hell you are. And day after tomorrow we’re going to tell this Mr. Jones he’s gonna stop fucking with both of us.”
“Momma,” Adesina said. “Language.”
It was muggy and hot the morning they were to meet Mr. Jones. Joey’s eyes were gritty from lack of sleep, and she rubbed them. She’d heard Michelle get up in the middle of the night and go downstairs. Then she’d come back up to bed around four. Joey had assumed she couldn’t sleep, either.
At 8 a.m. there was a knock on the front door. Joey went to the door flanked by two linebacker-sized zombies. She found a blond woman wearing a neat navy blue suit on the porch. Then she saw a black SUV with tinted windows parked in front of the house.
“Good morning. I’m Clarice Cummings, and I’m here to pick up Miss Pond’s daughter,” the blond woman said politely. “Will you tell her I’m here?”
Another one of Mr. Jones’s scams, Joey immediately thought. Her zombies stepped toward the Cummings woman. “Yeah, I call bullshit, lady. You can tell Mr. Jones to fuck all the hell off. Or I could just send you back to him in pieces.”
“Joey, it’s okay,” Michelle said as she ran to the front door. “I called in a favor. Thank you for the help, Miss Cummings. Adesina will be right here.”
Miss Cummings smiled, and Joey decided she liked her just a little. “I’m happy to help. Adesina is one of my favorite pupils.”
“Miss Cummings!” Adesina exclaimed, pushing herself between Joey and Michelle’s legs. “Momma, you didn’t tell me Miss Cummings was going to be here!”
Michelle grinned. “I wanted it to be a surprise. Besides, you’ve missed too much school this week. Now you’re going to go with her, and I’ll come to get you later this afternoon.”
“I don’t have my school bag,” Adesina fretted.
“That won’t be a problem,” Miss Cummings said. “Everything today is on the computer.”
Adesina jumped up and down excitedly. Miss Cummings laughed, then turned and started down the steps. Adesina followed her.
“Don’t I get a kiss?” Michelle asked, her voice mock sad.
Adesina spun around, and then flew up into Michelle’s arms. “Sorry, Momma,” she said, planting a big kiss on Michelle’s cheek.
Michelle kissed Adesina’s forehead. “I’ll see you soon,” she said, and then she put Adesina down.
Adesina ran back to Miss Cummings and began chattering excitedly about lessons.
Joey shook her head. “I don’t fucking get it,” she said. “I hated school.”
“Well, Adesina loves it,” Michelle said. “And I needed someplace safe for her today. Before we came back to the States, I talked to Juliette about how to approach Adesina’s education. I didn’t want to send her to regular school, and it would have been dumb for me to homeschool her. I even thought about moving to Joker Town and having her go to school there, but I was worried everything there would be about being a Joker. And I wanted her to have as normal an education as possible.”
Joey laughed. “You mean as normal as possible for a Joker who can go into other wild cards’ minds? With a mother who’s one of the most powerful Aces on earth?” She turned and went inside. “You coming?”
“I guess,” Michelle replied. She followed Joey inside and then shut the front door. “Anyway, Juliette found out about this program for kids with wild cards. They monitor their development, they get classes, and they give them a place where they’re not the only wild card. And it’s a mix of Deuces, Aces, and Jokers. They also allow a really flexible schedule. Adesina started there when we got back from Africa.”
Michelle and Joey went down the hall into the kitchen. Joey pulled out her coffeepot and Michelle got the coffee from the cupboard. She toyed with the edge of the bag.
“There’s one more thing,” Michelle began. “Miss Cummings knows that Juliette gets Adesina if anything happens to me.”
“But nothing is going to happen to you,” Joey said. “I mean, what can they do to you?”
Michelle shrugged. “Who knows?”
But they both knew. If Michelle’s power could be stolen, she could be killed.
Michelle hadn’t been back to Jackson Square since she’d absorbed Little Fat Boy’s nuclear blast. There was a shrine to her in one corner of the park. Flowers and handmade signs decorated a small official placard.
She knew Mr. Jones had chosen Jackson Square to screw with her. Absorbing that blast had done something terrible to Michelle. It had driven her half-mad and had caused her to fall into a coma where she’d wandered alone for over a year. That is, until Adesina had found her and pulled her out of that dark, insane place.
The Square and surrounding area were oddly vacant, and Michelle didn’t like that at all. She and Joey were the only people there. Even Café Du Monde was bizarrely vacant. And there were usually a least a couple of homeless people camped out on the benches. But not this morning. No doubt part of Mr. Jones’s preparations.
She scanned the area. Mr. Jones hadn’t arrived yet, but she and Joey were a little early. Joey was keeping watch on the whole square using zombie birds and insects. They’d agreed that Joey wouldn’t make a big display of zombie power. Not only because they wanted Mr. Jones to see they were cooperating, but in case Joey’s power got taken again, there would be fewer dead things for the other wild card to use.
“How the hell did they clear everyone out of here?” Joey asked. She jammed her hands into her jeans pockets and rocked back on her heels.
Michelle shrugged. “I have no idea,” she replied. “But they must have clout to clear it during Mardi Gras.”
“You’re early,” Mr. Jones said.
Michelle jumped, and then turned. Dorothy and a young man in a hooded sweatshirt were standing next to him. A bubble formed in her hand. She made it heavy. When it released, it would be fast as hell. When it hit, there would be carnage. They might nab her power, but she was going to get one last bubble off. And make it count.
“Hello, Michelle,” Dorothy called out brightly. Today she was wearing a pale blue dress
with a striped apron, and her hair was done up in pigtails.
“You’re running with a bad crowd,” Michelle replied. The bubble quavered in her hand. “But cute outfit.”
Dorothy grinned and smoothed her skirt. “Thanks! My mother always said I’d end up in trouble.”
It was an odd group: the girl, the boy in the hoodie, and the man who was so obviously a kill-first-ask-questions-later type. Michelle knew Dorothy’s power was teleportation, so she wasn’t the power thief. That just left Mr. Jones and the kid with the unfortunate complexion.
“I’m just here for a little conversation,” Mr. Jones said with a toothy smile. Despite the mugginess and rapidly rising heat, he looked cool. Michelle wondered how that was possible. Even his suit was crisp and impeccable.
“Dorothy you already know. This is Dan. He’s the one who’s been lifting Miss Hebert’s power.”
“Fucker!” Joey yelled.
“Oh, most likely not,” Mr. Jones said. “If you were downwind of him, you’d know why.”
“Hey!” Hoodie Boy said.
“Why are you telling us this?” Michelle asked. “I mean, can you not see this bubble? Can your boy yank both our powers before I get this bubble off?”
Mr. Jones smiled, and Michelle really wished she hadn’t seen it. She’d battled crazy people before. She’d even fought people she was convinced were evil. But Mr. Jones was worse. His eyes were cold and dead. And the suit and all of his smiles couldn’t disguise that he was devoid of humanity.
“I thought I was clear, Miss Pond,” he said. “Killing me—or even all three of us—won’t stop my organization. Consider me an errand boy. I make deliveries, send messages, take out the trash. In the great scheme of things, I am unimportant.”
He smiled again. It didn’t improve upon repetition.
“For instance,” he said. “I could kill young Dan here.” Then, in one swift motion, he reached into his jacket, pulled out a Glock, and held it to Hoodie Boy’s head.
“Fuck!” Joey said.
“Shit!” Hoodie Boy said.
Michelle let her bubble fly—but Dorothy touched Mr. Jones and Hoodie Boy, and they teleported ten feet to the left. The bubble hit the wrought-iron fence surrounding the park and blew an enormous hole in it.
“Settle down, Miss Pond,” Mr. Jones said. “I’m just trying to explain that even useful people reach an end to their usefulness. Dan’s been handy, but his power, unlike yours, now appears to be unpredictable. But we adapt.”
“Jesus, dude,” Hoodie Boy said his voice quavering. “I’ll do whatever you want, just don’t shoot me.”
“Miss Hebert has a very nice power, but her psychological profile is … subpar,” Mr. Jones continued with a slight smile, ignoring Dan. “She’s too unstable to be of any real use to us other than to manipulate you.”
Michelle wanted to blow a hole in him but knew that Dorothy would just teleport them again.
That’s when Michelle heard it. A faint rustling noise above her.
She looked up and there—spiraling down towards them—were hundreds of zombie birds. Dan, Mr. Jones, and Dorothy followed her gaze.
“How irritating,” Mr. Jones said. “Dorothy …”
The girl grabbed the back of Dan’s hoodie, and they ported. They reappeared next to Joey, and Dan grabbed her hand. Joey shrieked.
The zombie birds suddenly started flying erratically, crashing into one another.
Then Dan screamed, and his face turned red. Veins bulged out from his neck.
“Dan,” Mr. Jones said calmly. “You’re such a disappointment.” He grimaced and leveled his Glock at Dan again. One moldy pigeon flew into Mr. Jones’s face, and then Dan and Joey gasped at the same time.
The flock of zombie birds coalesced again and began to lower onto Mr. Jones and Dan.
“You played with my pain, fucker,” Joey said. “That wasn’t nice.”
Dan scrambled to his knees and lunged at Michelle. He touched her bare arm, and there was a terrible wrenching inside her. The world tilted and went grey for a moment. Then the contact was broken, and Michelle staggered backwards. She was empty inside, as if someone had scooped out part of her. It was awful.
Dan made a whimpering noise and fell to his knees as bubbles filled his hands and rose into the zombie birds coming for him. But instead of exploding, the bubbles just kept floating upward as if made from soapy water.
Then Michelle’s power flowed back into her like a tidal wave. It filled her up and made her whole. Relief surged into her. She was Bubbles again.
Dan was still on the ground. It was clear to Michelle that his power-snatching ability was spent. So that just left Dorothy and her teleportation, and Mr. Jones and his Glock.
“Little girl,” Joey said, her voice cold, “Dorothy’s your name? I suggest you bounce back to the fuckers who sent you and you tell them that we’re off-limits. Or there will be more of this.”
And then, in an eyeblink, the zombie flock descended on Mr. Jones and Dan.
Dan just lay there, twitching and crying, as the birds blanketed him. Michelle had a momentary twinge of guilt at seeing him buried under the birds, but then she remembered how she felt when he lifted her power and a cold anger filled her.
Mr. Jones pulled his Glock and began firing, but his bullets were useless against the zombie flock. Then he lowered his gun and aimed at Joey, but it was too late.
The birds engulfed him, and he shrieked as they ripped his flesh. He dropped his gun and began yanking the birds away from his face, tearing them to pieces as he did. But there were too many. And still they rained down on him.
“I’m Hoodoo Mama, fuckers,” Joey said. Her tone was icy and imperious. “And this is my parish.”
Dorothy squeaked, then vanished.
It grew dark, and Michelle looked up again. The sky was filled now with thousands of dead birds blotting out the sun. Crows, pigeons, waterfowl, sparrows, and more that she didn’t recognize. She’d never seen Joey resurrect so many dead things at once before.
And when Michelle looked back at Joey, she was filled with awe. The scared and nervous girl Michelle had been trying to protect was gone. Joey’s eyes had turned solid black, and her face was filled with rage. It seemed as if she were growing larger and larger. As if she had become a force of nature.
No. She had become a force beyond nature.
A force stronger than death.
She had become Hoodoo Mama.
And God help anyone who messed with her.
In the next instant Mr. Jones vanished, enveloped by the zombie flock. He screamed and screamed and screamed. Blood pooled under the mass of birds.
“Oh Jesus!” he shrieked. “Help me! Jesus, help me!”
“Jesus can’t save you, fucker,” Joey said in a cold voice. “No one can.”
Then the mass of birds collapsed as Mr. Jones crumpled to the ground. Even then he kept kicking and screaming.
“Mommy,” he cried. “Mommy!” His voice rose up into a high-pitched keen.
Then he fell silent. For almost a minute, one of his feet would pop out of the mass of birds as he kicked and flailed.
But after a while, Mr. Jones stopped doing even that.
And Dan was already still and silent.
Joey turned then and looked at Michelle with a beatific smile on her face.
“I think you were right, Bubbles,” she said. “I think I am going to be okay.”
With that, Joey threw her arms wide open and spun around. Ten thousand zombie birds swirled around her and rose back up to the sky.
George R. R. Martin
Hugo, Nebula, and World Fantasy Award–winner George R. R. Martin, New York Times bestselling author of the landmark A Song of Ice and Fire fantasy series, has been called “the American Tolkien.”
Born in Bayonne, New Jersey, George R. R. Martin made his first sale in 1971, and soon established himself as one of the most popular SF writers of the seventies. He quickly became a mainstay of the Ben Bova Analog
with stories such as “With Morning Comes Mistfall,” “And Seven Times Never Kill Man,” “The Second Kind of Loneliness,” “The Storms of Windhaven” (in collaboration with Lisa Tuttle, and later expanded by them into the novel Windhaven), “Override,” and others, although he also sold to Amazing, Fantastic, Galaxy, Orbit, and other markets. One of his Analog stories, the striking novella “A Song for Lya,” won him his first Hugo Award, in 1974.
By the end of the seventies he had reached the height of his influence as a science fiction writer, and was producing his best work in that category with stories such as the famous “Sandkings,” his best-known story, which won both the Nebula and the Hugo in 1980 (he’d later win another Nebula in 1985 for his story “Portraits of His Children”); “The Way of Cross and Dragon,” which won a Hugo Award in the same year (making Martin the first author ever to receive two Hugo Awards for fiction in the same year): “Bitterblooms”; “The Stone City”; “Starlady”; and others. These stories would be collected in Sandkings, one of the strongest collections of the period. By now he had mostly moved away from Analog, although he would have a long sequence of stories about the droll interstellar adventures of Haviland Tuf (later collected in Tuf Voyaging) running throughout the eighties in the Stanley Schmidt Analog, as well as a few strong individual pieces such as the novella “Nightflyers.” Most of his major work of the late seventies and early eighties, though, would appear in Omni. The late seventies and eighties also saw the publication of his memorable novel Dying of the Light, his only solo SF novel, while his stories were collected in A Song for Lya, Sandkings, Songs of Stars and Shadows, Songs the Dead Men Sing, Nightflyers, and Portraits of His Children. By the beginning of the eighties he’d moved away from SF and into the horror genre, publishing the big horror novel Fevre Dream, and winning the Bram Stoker Award for his horror story “The Pear-Shaped Man” and the World Fantasy Award for his werewolf novella “The Skin Trade.” By the end of that decade, though, the crash of the horror market and the commercial failure of his ambitious horror novel The Armageddon Rag had driven him out of the print world and to a successful career in television instead, where for more than a decade he worked as story editor or producer on such shows as the new Twilight Zone and Beauty and the Beast.