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Bissau stepped out of his hotel into the gray Parisian morning. He wrapped his arms around himself, shivered and cursed. He hated Paris. It was too wet, too rude and too foreign. He’d been waiting for days, looking into his mirror anxiously for word that Alake and Amber had arrived. He flagged a taxi and began a daily ritual, paying for the long ride to a neighborhood on the south side of the city, a neighborhood filled with people from home. They spoke Bambara differently than he, if they spoke it at all, so he was reduced to using the annoying language of the natives of the city. It seemed awkward speaking to faces so familiar in a language so strange, but that was the world outside. The food was familiar; the savory flavors brought images of Marai’s swaying towers to his weary mind. His experiences among these outside folks made him more determined to insure the Veil remained between his city and this vileness.
He headed back to the hotel after a hearty breakfast. His room was comfortable yet modest based on what was available. Bissau tried to occupy himself by watching the television but he was disgusted by most of what he witnessed on the black screen. It took him a while to determine that every image coming across the device was not real; some images were based on actual happenings while others were like the plays held in the market during week’s end. If what he saw was a reflection of this world, it gave him more reasons to reject it. Sometimes he wondered if Bagule had the right idea. This world was in need of a cleansing and Jakada was much too benevolent to administer such a punishment. He shook the thought out of his head. Bagule’s evil might be what this world deserved, but it would swallow Marai as well. That he could not allow.
Bissau jumped from his seat and went to his bedroom mirror. The seeing dust rested atop the dresser and he picked it up, checking the contents. He was running low; he needed to save as much as possible for their return. He knew Alake possessed a portion but her supply was old and might have lost some of its potency over the years. Against his better judgment he removed a pinch and blew it into the mirror. The glass wavered, rippling like a disturbance in a bucket of water. Images appeared, faces of Parisians skimming across the reflective surface too fast for normal eyes but just the right speed for Bissau. He chanted as he scanned the images, hoping to find something among the throng to let him know Alake and Amber had arrived.
“You’re wasting your time,” Jakada said.
The images dissipated, replaced by the angry countenance of his mentor. Bissau dropped to his knees, his head lowered.
“Forgive me, Jele. I embarrass myself.”
“Yes, you do,” Jakada scolded. “I choose you for your reason and maturity. Don’t make me regret my decision.”
“I’m sorry, Jele.”
Jakada nodded. “Your impatience is not why I contacted you. Bagule has discovered our plans.”
Bissau jumped up. “How?”
“Traitors in my household,” Jakada said, the disbelief apparent in his voice.
“Who?” Bissau asked.
Jakada’s face took on a pained look.
“Hindolo.”
“The cook?”
Jakada nodded. “I would not have known if I had not sensed the gris-gris added to my yams. I summoned him to my chamber then confronted him. Apparently his family owes a great debt to Bagule and this was his way of paying it back. He was afraid what I might do to him, so he shared Bagule’s plans with me.”
Bissau didn’t like the sound of Jakada’s voice.
“What has he done?”
“Bagule sent Aisha to stop Alake and Amber.”
“The shape shifter?”
“Yes. Since she is not Maraibu she can pass through the Veil.” Jakada stepped closer to his mirror. “You must go to them as soon as they contact you. I don’t know if Aisha knows you are in Paris. That is your advantage. Do not fail me, Bissau.”
Bissau’s back straightened, the new urgency pushing away his anxiousness.
“I won’t, Jele. I will bring them home, even if I have to kill Aisha to do it.”