Free Sweet Unrest by Lisa Maxwell

lucky. I’m going to be working behind the scenes on some of the excavation work. Working with your dad, actually.” He looked a bit awed, like he couldn’t believe his luck.
    “You’re into history too, huh?”
    He grinned. “Actually, I’m finishing up a degree in cultural anthropology. I study how societies use different rituals.”
    “Nice.” I nodded my approval. That explained his interest in Mama Legba and in Le Ciel.
    “Well, I’ve gotta get back,” he said with a smile. “I guess I’ll be seeing you around.”
    I watched him walk off and imagined Chloe would be more than happy to have her man around for the summer. I got up, brushed the dirt from my seat, and started walking back toward my family’s cottage. Beyond it lay the trees, and beyond that, the pond. I couldn’t help but wonder if Alex would be there sunning himself again.
    I put the thought away, though, and climbed up the steps to our cottage, leaving Alex and my thoughts about him behind.

Eight
    That night, I dreamt that the Mississippi was on fire. Yellow-gold flames jumped high into the dark sky and transformed the murky waters into a street of light. The smell of woodsmoke and sulfur filled the air, and when the wind shifted, a haze blew across my vision and stung my eyes. Captivated by the sight, I was drawn closer to the banks. Slowly, carefully, I picked my way through the brush and walked toward the river. Only as I got nearer did I understand that it wasn’t the water that burned, but small bonfires lining the shore.
    As I approached, a girl waved to me and I felt suddenly calm, elated that she recognized me from such a distance.
    “Armantine!” she called happily.
    At her greeting, I knew I was back in Armantine’s body. I wanted to look around to see if Alex was there as well, but the eyes I saw through remained trained on the light-skinned young woman. She wore a worn but fairly tidy dress, and her dark hair was plaited close to her head.
    “You came! I didn’t think Jules would ever let you out again.” She was sitting with others, a few yards away from the fire to escape its heat. In the flickering shadows I could make out makeshift tables laden with food and large gourds and jugs filled with dark liquid.
    I could feel Armantine’s pleasure at the girl’s greeting, her sincerity when the two embraced. Her guilt that it had been so long since last they’d visited. “He needs my help most days with the project he is been working on,” she told the girl. “Documenting some of the important families in town.”
    “That so?”
    Armantine nodded. “Word must be spreading. Just the other day, your mistress’s brother came to the studio. French gentleman,” she said, trying to keep the admiration out of her voice. “Must have heard about us from some of the other white folk.”
    “What did he want?” the girl asked, in a voice thick with caution.
    “He came to ask if Jules would do a portrait of his sister. I think he wanted to make sure the process wasn’t dangerous.” Armantine chuckled softly at the memory. “He made me create a likeness of myself first.”
    “You didn’t give it to him, did you?” The girl grabbed Armantine’s arm.
    “Not yet, but he did pay for it.” Armantine shrugged.
    “You give it to him, you give him too much power over you. He own a piece of you. A piece of your very own soul.” The girl’s soft voice was low with horror.
    “You know that soul-snatching stuff’s not true, Lila,” Armantine told her gently. Lila was young, barely fifteen, but she looked older than her years. She had clear, dark eyes and a nervous mouth. And she was one of the hundred or so people owned by Roman Dutilette.
    Lila made a low, throaty sound of disapproval. “By and by, you’ll see. You can’t be takin’ people’s likeness without takin’ some of they spirit.”
    Armantine knew she couldn’t convince Lila that the only thing harmed by the daguerreotypes Jules Lyon produced was a