“Thank you, Monique.” Cyrus raises the witch’s hand to his lips, kissing it gently. “You are as spectacular as always.”
She giggles, reminding me of a schoolgirl. “You flatter me, Cyrus.”
“I only speak the truth,” he retorts, making her cheeks turn pink. He offers his elbow toward me, and Iwrap my arm through. Back on Royal Street, Cyrus motions toward a large black car waiting by the curb.
“Is this for us?” I ask.
“It is.” He opens the door, allowing room for me to step inside. Sliding into the seat from the other side, he issues an order to the silent driver, and we’re speeding toward the train station minutes later.
……
“Good morning, Mr. Knight,” an older man greets us as we climb aboard the locomotive-driven train.
“Good morning, Rupert,” Cyrus responds, handing the man two tickets he pulled from nowhere. “Is my usual available?”
Rupert smiles. “It is. I try to keep it open in case you’re aboard.” He turns toward the back of the train. “Follow me, please.”
Cyrus places a hand on the small of my back, directing me to follow the train conductor through the overcrowded seats. “Cover your nose,” he whispers as we pass through a mixture of smells. I lift a hand to my nose, trying not to appear obvious.
“Here we are,” Rupert announces, opening a private door in the very last car. Cyrus ushers me inside. “Is there anything you will need for our trip, Mr. Knight?”
“I don’t believe so, Rupert.” He hands the man a twenty-dollar bill. I focus on not letting my eyes grow large with the amount of money he shared.
“Thank you, sir. I’ll check on you in a few hours.” Rupert makes eye contact with me before turning to leave. His look tells me this is nothing new for my buyer.
The train car is decked out lavishly. Four large leather chairs face each other, sitting on top of plush red carpet. Dark wood covers the walls, making the space feel more like a hotel room than a train car. “This is very nice,” I say, lacking the right words.
“It is,” he agrees. “This room is away from other passengers. You shouldn’t be tempted to eat anyone on the trip over.”
I resist the urge to show how much his words annoy me. “Thank you,” I answer, lying.
Not long after settling into the seats, the train begins to move. Strangers at the station wave as we pull away from New Orleans. “Is this your first time on a train?” he asks.
“Yes,” I answer truthfully. “My family hasn’t gone many places.” My heart lurches at the thought of my family.
“You should stop that,” he answers.
“Stop what?”
“Stop thinking of your family.”
I stare at Cyrus, not sure if I want to kill him or cry. “I know,” I choose to answer.
“Read this,” he says, handing me a book thicker than the phone directory I use at work. The unsuspecting cover gives no clues as to what’s inside.
“Why?”
“Must you question everything?” he scoffs.
I bite back the snark that wants to escape my lips. Opening the cover, I’m met with something that looks like a mixture of letters and numbers. “What language is this?”
“English,” he answers with a smirk.
I flip several pages, seeing the same as the first. None of it makes sense. “This is not the English I’m used to.”
“It’s a sypher. You will have to decipher it using this.” He hands me a round piece of cardboard with the same symbols on the outside rim and a smaller circle in the middle that turns to match.
“You expect me to decipher each letter of this book in order to read it?” Frustration sounds through my voice.
