Jasmine could tell her dad added that last part because his suggestion that she and Jasmine needed protecting was quickly offending Nana. Nana took great pride in taking care of Jasmine and keeping the house safe. She had raised six kids by herself without a lot of money after her husband had died when the kids were little. She would remind Jasmine and her dad periodically that she didn’t need anyone to protect her. She could take perfectly good care of herself and her family.

  Jasmine thought this would probably be a great time to change the subject. “So how long are you home for?” she asked her dad. She knew to ask this close to when he got home, because chances were he’d be off again soon. He loved his work and hardly ever turned down an assignment. He didn’t seem to mind the long plane trips, and often traveled with his photographer friend, Buddy. A lot of Buddy’s photos were displayed in their home, actually. Jasmine wished one of the photos were at the top of the stairs in place of the mask.

  Whenever Jasmine’s dad got home from a trip, he’d spend day and night at his computer, typing on the keyboard loudly, as if getting his notes into the computer was very urgent. And maybe it was. He had important, interesting things to write about each place he’d visited, and obviously his readers agreed with him, because his office walls were covered in travel writing awards and honors.

  He used his chopsticks to reach for some more moo shu. “A few days, actually, honey,” he said. He looked carefully at her face for signs of disappointment. Jasmine didn’t show any, of course. She was good at wearing her own mask.

  “This is a big one,” her dad added. “I’ll be going north of the Arctic Circle for the very first time. It will be supercold. I’ll be in a remote part of Russia called Siberia.”

  “What will you be doing there?” Jasmine asked politely.

  “I’ll be living with native hunters for a few weeks,” he answered. “I’m going to observe how they trap animals for food and fur, and how they build their boats from trees, and how they make their own skis to travel around in all the snow. They’re expert craftsmen, and the world doesn’t really know about their work. It’s very hard to get there. The only way is by boat, helicopter, or dogsled. I’m very lucky they agreed to host me.”

  “Wow,” Jasmine said, trying to keep her true feelings out of her voice. She knew her father’s work was interesting and fascinating and all that, but the only thing she could think was Gee, could Siberia be any farther away from home?

  As if reading her mind, Jasmine’s dad pulled out his phone and tapped the map app. “I’ll show you exactly where it is,” he said. He showed her a world map and pointed at a line that sort of went across the top. “That’s the Arctic Circle,” he said. “It’s actually an imaginary line. You learned about longitude and latitude in school, right? See, the Arctic Circle covers Russia, Canada, Alaska, Greenland, and parts of Scandinavia. So now let’s zoom in on Siberia, which is part of Russia, and here’s the little village I’ll be visiting.” Jasmine took the phone and looked carefully. She loved that map app, the way it was like you were an astronaut way out in space and then you were slowly landing on Earth.

  “What about you two?” her dad asked. “What do you have planned? Mardi Gras is just around the corner, isn’t it?”

  “The days just fly by,” Nana said. “Well, Jasmine and I will make our special king cake, as always.”

  Jasmine thought her grandmother’s king cake was pretty cool. It was like a giant cinnamon roll with purple, gold, and green sugary icing. Those were the three colors of Mardi Gras. But here was the really cool thing: a tiny plastic baby doll was placed into the cake, and whoever got the piece with the baby was supposed to host the party the next year. Jasmine and Nana had changed this tradition into “whoever gets the plastic baby doll doesn’t have to clean up the mess we made while baking.”

  “I’ll be sorry to miss that this year,” her dad said, smiling. “You guys should open your own bakery for Mardi Gras. Seriously. Your king cakes are that good.”

  Jasmine smiled. “Yeah. Our bakery could be called Jazzy Nana.”

  “Or Nanny Jazz,” Nana added with a chuckle.

  “And what about parties or parade plans?” Jasmine’s dad asked. “Anything brewing yet?”

  “I’m not sure. I’ll be making a mask in school on Mini-Course Day. And some kids from school will be having parties, I think.” Jasmine looked away from her dad and, unfortunately, the mask caught her eye again.

  “What are you thinking?” her dad asked her.

  Nana raised her eyebrows.

  “You really want to know?” Jasmine asked her dad, a little edge to her voice. As soon as the words came out of her mouth, she regretted them. Now she might have to actually tell him.

  “Of course,” he answered. “You can always tell me what you’re thinking.”

  “That mask totally creeps me out,” she admitted, pointing to the top of the stairs without looking up.

  Her dad nodded, a sympathetic look on his face. “What about it creeps you out?” he asked.

  “Um, I guess its expression,” Jasmine said, her voice getting softer. “That expression on its face. It just looks so freaky and so creepy. I don’t know. Never mind,” she said quickly.

  “I hear you, Jazzy,” her dad said gently. “And I do agree its expression is kind of strange. I wish you could have met the people in this village, though. They were so generous, even though they had very little themselves. They were a very gentle, peaceful people. They shared everything with me and made me feel like such an honored guest. You know, Buddy wasn’t with me this time, so I was taking my own photos, and they were very gracious about it, letting me take pictures of the children and everything. And of the mask-maker himself. Well, except for in the very end, when he got mad at me for taking the pictures of the mask, he was such a kind and lovely man.”

  “Why did he get so mad?” Jasmine asked.

  “I’m not totally sure, actually,” her dad said. “I can only guess. Actually, there’s an anthropologist I can talk to about it. I have to call him about the article anyway. He’s an expert on that tribe, and he may be able to help explain what happened.”

  “Oh,” Jasmine said. “What’s an anthropologist?”

  “There are lots of different kinds of anthropologists, but the one I’m thinking of studies cultures and the people within them,” her dad said. “To learn about how they live. Some anthropologists specialize in certain cultures, like the guy I’m going to call. Anyway, the mask is in good company. It’s hanging with all our family pictures.”

  Jasmine knew, of course, that practically every inch of the wall was covered in family photos both old and new. Her favorite one was of her and her dad when she was about one year old. They were at a pumpkin patch, and Jasmine’s dad was helping her sit on top of a pumpkin that was about the same size as she was.

  Jasmine really wanted to change the subject again. “Oh, there’s another thing going on in the next few weeks besides Mardi Gras,” she said. “The animal shelter is having a fund-raiser and I’m making cat toys to sell.” Jasmine volunteered once a week at a shelter for cats and dogs, the one where they’d found Momo. She cleaned cages, brushed the cats and walked the dogs, and helped get them ready to be adopted. If a cat was shy, she’d spend extra time with it to get it more used to being around people.

  “That’s great, honey,” Jasmine’s dad said. “Do you have everything you need?”

  “Yeah,” Jasmine said. “They’re giving me all the supplies. Including the catnip that’s going inside each toy!” She tried for a carefree laugh. “They’re going to sell them for five dollars each,” she added.

  “Time for fortune cookies,” Nana said, handing one to both Jasmine and her dad. Jasmine had been so wrapped up in her conversation with her dad that she hadn’t even noticed that they had finished eating. She opened the plastic wrapper and cracked hers in half right away. She loved fortune cookies. She examined the little strip of white paper silently as she chewed the sweet, crunchy cookie. I can’t wait till Lisa gets here for our sleepover and I can forget about all this mask stuff, she thought. Lisa would be arriving just after dinner.

  “Mine says, ‘All your hard work will pay off,’ ” Nana announced. “Now, I like that! But it already has,” she added, looking proudly at her son and granddaughter.

  “That’s a good one,” Jasmine’s dad said. “Mine’s pretty great too. Listen to this. ‘You have a way with words.’ How do you like that! Well, I should hope so; otherwise I’m out of a job!”

  Jasmine and Nana laughed. But then Jasmine frowned.

  “Well?” her dad asked. “What’s your fortune, Jazzy?”

  Jasmine kept staring at her slip of paper and didn’t respond.

  “Are you okay, honey?” Nana asked.

  “I’m fine,” Jasmine said, looking up.

  “Well?” her dad asked again.

  Jasmine looked back down and kept her eyes on her fortune. She didn’t look at her dad or grandmother. “It says, ‘The only thing we have to fear is fear itself. Franklin Delano Roosevelt.’ ”

  Jasmine was glad that this wasn’t one of Ms. Berger’s quotes that they would have to discuss the meaning of. She’d had enough of her own fears for one twenty-four-hour period—of feeling them, of thinking about them, and of talking about them.

  Her dad leaned back in his chair and slowly clapped his hands a few times. “Well, there you go, Jazzy.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Dingdong. Dingdong. Finally! There was Lisa was at the door, sleeping bag in hand. Jasmine and Lisa headed upstairs right away.

  But at the top of the stairs, Lisa stopped in front of the mask. “Wow,” she said, looking up. “This is really freaky and also kinda cool. Where did it come from?”

  “My dad just brought it back from his trip,” Jasmine mumbled. Then she stayed silent, even though Lisa was clearly waiting for more of a response. Jasmine didn’t want to encourage Lisa to talk about the mask—she was going to try to pretend it wasn’t there. But of course Lisa kept asking questions. She was practically acting like a newspaper reporter. She touched the mask gently with her fingertips.

  “Who made it? Did your dad say?”

  “Um, an old guy,” Jasmine answered. “He gave it to my dad. Come on, let’s go to my room.”

  “Wait a second,” Lisa said. She moved in closer to the mask to get a better look. Jasmine took a step back.

  “Sometimes masks like these have special powers,” Lisa said casually, as if she were talking about the weather. “Like magical powers. I saw a show on TV about it. Does this one? Did your dad say?”

  “He mentioned something about what it’s supposed to do, I guess,” Jasmine admitted. “But I wasn’t really paying attention. Come on.”

  Lisa followed Jasmine to her room, much to Jasmine’s relief. But she kept asking: “So does it, does it?”

  “Does it what?” Jasmine said flatly.

  “Have special powers!” Lisa’s whole face was lit up with excitement.

  Jasmine sighed. “If I tell you, will you stop asking?” she finally said.

  “I promise!” Lisa said, and held her right hand over her heart.

  “Okay, but seriously, you need to stop. It’s just some boring travel story my dad came back with, as always,” Jasmine said. “The mask is supposed to protect a house from evil spirits. Okay?”

  Lisa stared solemnly at Jasmine. “How does it do that?” she asked.

  “Aaaaargh! I don’t know!” Jasmine said, her voice rising with annoyance. “You said you’d stop asking!”

  “Okay,” Lisa finally said. “Do you want to watch TV?”

  “Yes, please!” Jasmine laughed. She was lucky enough to have a television in her bedroom, after years of asking her dad for one. They watched a movie about twins who switch places and trick everyone. It was pretty good. When it was over, Jasmine handed Lisa the remote. “Here, you can choose.”

  Lisa flipped through a bunch of shows that Jasmine actually wanted to watch, but she reminded herself she had told Lisa she could choose the channel. “Yay!” Lisa crowed, stopping on a show called Haunted New Orleans.

  Jasmine groaned. That was pretty much the last thing she wanted to watch with the exception of Haunted New Orleans and Especially That Creepy Mask in Jasmine Porter’s House. The host of the show had a very deep and spooky voice. Jasmine knew the producers of the show were just trying to set the mood, but she wished they wouldn’t set it so well.

  This episode took place in an old home in the French Quarter. The owner was being interviewed.

  “Well, when I bought the building, there were stories,” the owner was saying. “But I didn’t believe any of them. The price was so low that I just had to buy the place. It wasn’t until after I started renting rooms out and people began coming to me, inquiring about strange goings-on, that I started to rethink my decision.”

  Jasmine couldn’t take it anymore. She grabbed the remote and turned the channel. Some silly game show came on.

  Lisa grabbed the remote and turned it back to the ghost show. The owner was still talking. “Like cold spots, spots in the house that wouldn’t heat up. And noises at all hours of the day or night even when no one else was home or everyone was asleep. Things like that.”

  Jasmine grabbed the remote from Lisa’s grip and turned the channel again.

  “You are being such a scaredy-cat!” Lisa laughed. “Come on, this stuff is so fun.”

  “I am not a scaredy-cat,” Jasmine protested, although of course she knew the truth about herself. “I’m just in the mood for doing something else.”

  “All right, scaredy,” Lisa teased. “What do you want to do, then? It’s almost time for lights-out.”

  Nana still had a very strict “bedtime” for Jasmine, though the girls were allowed to talk while they lay in bed in the dark.

  “I don’t know,” Jasmine said softly. She felt kind of badly. She hated to ruin Lisa’s fun, but that show was just too scary for her. It was going to give her nightmares—she just knew it. “We could play a game online,” she suggested.

  “Or we could plan our own Haunted New Orleans episode!” Lisa said, her eyes bright. “After your dad and Nana go to sleep, we could search for ghosts in your house. Because you know my theory . . . There are ghosts in this house.”

  Jasmine sighed dramatically, trying to cover up her dread of actually playing the game Lisa had suggested, as well as the sinking feeling she got whenever Lisa wanted to talk about how she thought there were ghosts in her house.

  “And you know what else,” Lisa went on, “I read somewhere that New Orleans is the most haunted city in the United States.”

  “Really?” Jasmine had never heard such a thing. Just her luck.

  A sudden overwhelming feeling of sadness enveloped Jasmine. She tried to keep a normal expression on her face. Me and my mask, she thought.

  But Lisa was still chattering away. “There are lots of reasons why New Orleans is so haunted,” she said kind of dreamily. From history class, and from just living in New Orleans, they both knew that their city was settled by the French beginning in the 1690s and that many of the houses, including those in their neighborhood, were very old.

  “Lights-out!” Nana called from downstairs. Great, Jasmine thought. Just in time for me to freak out about being in the dark. As usual. She got up and turned out the light just as Lisa crawled into her sleeping bag on the floor. The two sat silently in the near dark for a minute.

  Creak! Jasmine jumped a little, but it was just her dad opening the door and poking his head into the room. “Good night, girls,” he said in a singsong voice. “Sleep tight. Don’t let the bedbugs bite!” Jasmine was secretly annoyed whenever her dad said that rhyme, which was often. Why would he put such a horrible thought in her head just when she was getting ready to sleep? Little bugs in your bed that came out when you were asleep. And bit your skin! But Jasmine tried to keep her voice light and steady as she said “Good night, Dad.”

  “Good night, Mr. Porter,” Lisa said.

  “Lisa, how many times have I told you to call me Martin?” Jasmine’s dad scolded in a joking way.

  “Good night, Martin.” Lisa laughed, and Jasmine was jealous of how natural Lisa’s laugh sounded—she would fall right to sleep, while Jasmine predicted that she’d lie there wide-awake thinking about ghosts and the bogeyman for a while. She was glad the night-light had been fixed. She had casually asked her dad to replace the bulb earlier, and she was relieved that he had. He left the door open a crack so some of the light from the hallway spilled in. Jasmine heard him enter his study down the hall and start up his computer.

  Sometimes it seemed like he never stopped working.

  Lisa was already breathing differently, the way you do when you’re asleep. Again, jealousy rose in Jasmine’s chest at the ease with which her best friend fell asleep. She is probably dreaming of unicorns and puppies and lollipops and rainbows, Jasmine figured. Jasmine lay patiently and waited for sleep to come. But something strange started happening.

  Jasmine’s hands and toes felt like they were falling asleep, all pins and needles. She hated that feeling. And the blanket was feeling heavier and heavier on her body. Maybe I should get up, she thought. Whenever she complained about her arm or leg falling asleep, her dad would tell her to move it around as much as she could to “wake it up.”

  Jasmine quietly got up and tiptoed out of the room, stepping carefully over Lisa in her sleeping bag. The hall was bright, thankfully, and she walked slowly to the bathroom, trying not to disturb her dad working in the study.

  The bathroom door was closed, which it usually wasn’t, and Jasmine turned the handle and opened it and . . .

  HISSSSSS! HISSSSSS! The sound reached Jasmine’s ears before she processed what she saw. HISSSSSS! And when Jasmine was finally able to focus on what was in front of her, she wished she had kept her eyes closed.

 

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