Voodoo Academy

by Theophilus Monroe

  “You’re holding out?” Pauli asked, as if he didn’t believe me. In truth, it was as much because of Isabelle as anything. As much as I hated the way she’d kissed Mikah without my consent, I’d kissed more than a few boys in my time, to her chagrin. But she’d never let things go any further. She’d start lecturing me mid-tryst about the Virgin Mary, or whatever. Imagine the priest… standing right here. What would he think? It was a real mood killer.

  “I’m just saving myself,” I said, which was only partially true.

  “For marriage?” Pauli asked, dropping his jaw as if I’d just told him the craziest thing he’d ever heard.

  “Maybe,” I said. “It just has to be the right guy.” That wasn’t a lie. Until I find a guy who both Isabelle and I liked, who I could trust, it wasn’t going to happen. And even then we’d probably end up with jealousy issues.

  “You must have high standards,” Pauli said. “I’ve met three or four right guys just this week.”

  I rolled my eyes. “And you must have no standards.”

  “I do have standards!” Pauli insisted in a high-pitched voice. “Six inches, minimum!”

  I laughed. “Not the kind of standards I was thinking about. And I don’t want to know how you know that three or four guys you met this week meet those standards… keep those details to yourself.”

  “Oh the stories I could tell,” Pauli said, gazing into space.

  “Speaking of stories,” Mambo Hannigan interrupted, stepping into view. “I’ve promised Nico he could present first. You two will present first thing next week.”

  I felt mildly relieved. At this point, I hadn’t given it much thought at all what I’d say when it was my turn to present. I mean, I made a doll of my dog. Scanning the room, it looked like Ellie was working on something that more closely resembled the Incredible Hulk than any man I’d met as of late. Sauron’s could have easily been mistaken for a Raggedy Ann or Andy. I had to admit, though, that I was mildly curious about Nico’s doll, if for no other reason than he’d been working on it with his back turned toward my position the whole time, as if intentionally to deflect my view.

  “Could everyone turn their attention to Nico, please,” Mambo Hannigan announced. “As some of you know, those who belong to College Samedi have a unique ability as dollcrafters to affect either the living or the dead.”

  I turned to Pauli, biting my lip. He simply nodded, as if to confirm that this was common knowledge.

  “Mr. Freeman, would you kindly explain your ambitious project to the class?”

  “Yes, Mambo Hannigan,” Nico said as he held his doll out for all to see. It resembled a young African American girl. It was more detailed than most, though by appearance it’s almost always impossible to discern who a Voodoo doll is meant to represent. “I’ve created a doll meant to hopefully evoke the aid of a young girl from the other side. Her magic was used to banish our school’s headmaster.”

  Holy shit… Isabelle said. You don’t think?

  I coughed over my shoulder, briefly eliciting a stare from Nico as he continued to speak.

  “In recent weeks our college came into some information about the Baron’s disappearance. We now know where it occurred, who was involved, and even why.”

  I could almost feel Nico’s eyes shooting lasers into my skull. How did he learn about this?

  Kalfu… Isabelle said. When he read Ashley’s mind. Somehow he must have gotten word to someone here.

  Isabelle was probably right. But why would Kalfu want to see Baron Samedi return? If what Papa Legba had said was true, Samedi was actually a dedicated protector of the school. What had happened to us, supposedly, an unfortunate result of Messalina’s machinations.

  “We believe that by harnessing this spirit’s power, we might finally have what we need to free the Baron and return him to our college.”

  I was torn about how I felt about Baron Samedi. Years of nightmares are difficult to ignore. Though, I had promised I’d consider Papa Legba’s request. He insisted it would be key to my own emotional well-being, blah, blah blah. But the decision was Isabelle’s as much as it was mine. It was her magica, after all, that would need to be added to the rite. If Kalfu didn’t somehow get this information across, Legba was the only other one who knew all the details. Even Oggie didn’t know much about what had happened. He’d never asked, and I’d never gone out of my way to tell the story.

  Still, Legba had said he knew about all this because he was there the night it had happened. If that was true, then he’d always known. Why wouldn’t he have come up with this plan years ago?

  I quickly raised my hand.

  “Questions can wait until the end of the presentation, Miss Mulledy,” Mambo Hannigan said.

  “It’s okay,” Nico interjected, raising his had as if he felt he had some power to dismiss Mambo Hannigan’s attempt to impose order on the process. “I’m happy to answer a question.”

  “I only see one issue with this,” I said, lying in part. In fact, I saw a number of problems with it. Most of them, however, I couldn’t speak about openly in class. “How do you know that this spirit is willing to help? We learned already in this course that the coercion of the will is strictly forbidden in dollcraft.”

  Nico smiled widely. “The dead do not have a will. Their decisions in death are governed by the lives they lived.”

  That’s not true! Isabelle protested. I might have died, but I sure has hell have my own will.

  “How do you know that?” I asked, shaking my head incredulously. “I mean, is there any basis for making that claim other than College Samedi tradition?”

  “And do you suppose, Miss Mulledy,” Mambo Hannigan interrupted, “that College Ogoun has any greater insight than College Samedi regarding the condition of the departed?”

  “No, that’s not what I mean,” I said. “It’s just logic. If you don’t know for sure if someone has a will, I mean, apart from tradition. If you don’t have any science or evidence, isn’t it better not to act rather than risk violating a person’s soul on the basis of a tradition?”

  Nico rolled his eyes. “This is why the Academy shouldn’t let outsiders join…”

  Miss Hannigan cut him off. “It is not your place, Mister Freeman, to question a Loa’s choice of an initiate.”

  “My apologies,” Nico said, a shit-eating grin still spread across his cocksure face. “I simply mean to point out that our schools have traditions for a reason. If we constantly revised our art in favor of modern science, we’d lose our arts entirely.”

  “A fine point, Mr. Freeman.” Mambo Hannigan’s countenance was immediately softened. “The modern sciences have little to offer when it comes to affairs of the deceased.”

  “I simply think it’s a question we should consider. Say you’re wrong. Say you offend this spirit by manipulating her to do this ritual. If she had the power to banish a Loa, isn’t it risky to evoke a spirit with such power if you aren’t certain you can control her?”

  Nico and Mambo Hannigan laughed in concert. “That’s precisely what College Samedi is most equipped to do, Miss Mulledy. Though perhaps you should consider if the arts of war taught in your college have any ethical implications of their own. What is war if not coercing the will of others on the premise that might is right?”

  “Sometimes those who have the power also happen to be on the moral side of history,” I said. “Sometimes force is needed for the greater good, to keep the peace, to thwart evil.”

  “And freeing one of the arts’ most important Loa is not something you would deem in the interest of the greater good?” Mambo Hannigan said. Nico simply stood there, his arms folded across his chest.

  “All right,” I conceded. “You have a point. I’m sorry for interrupting the presentation.”

  “It’s always important we reflect on the ethics of our arts,” Nico said, clearly sucking up to Mambo Hannigan in the process. “Thank you for your questions. They helped me sort out my own feelings on the matter.”

 
; I rolled my eyes, which in turn elicited an even wider closed-mouthed grin from Nico. I wanted to smack the smugness right off of his face.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Oggie pinched the stubble on the tip of his chin as he pondered what I’d said.

  “It sounds like we need to make a trip to Baton Rouge. If he fashioned the doll after Isabelle, the only place he might secure her DNA would be at her grave.”

  “But if we stop him before he performs the summoning, will it even matter?”

  Oggie pressed his hands together, forming a steeple with his fingers. “If Nico revealed this to you, on purpose, he’s basically begging you to try and stop him.”

  I bit the tip of my thumbnail. “Or maybe he’s just reckless and overconfident. Talking shit to get under my skin.”

  “Is that a gamble you are willing to make? If he binds Isabelle, it isn’t going to separate her from you.”

  “So whatever he makes her do…”

  “You may have to go along for the ride. And anyone who sees what he makes her do…”

  “Will think I did it.”

  Oggie nodded.

  “So why not just stop him? I mean, he’s just a first-year student. How hard can it be?”

  “I don’t believe he would have told you his plans if he didn’t want you to try,” Oggie said, rising from his chair. “When preparing for a battle, intelligence is your greatest asset. Counterintelligence is one of the best ways for an enemy to get the upper hand.”

  “So, you think he might be bullshitting us?”

  “If you try to stop him, if it gets you to use Isabelle’s powers, that might be enough on its own to resurrect the Baron.”

  “Do you think Legba put him up to this?”

  “Not really his style,” Oggie said. “Legba can be crafty. Sometimes he has an agenda he doesn’t reveal. But he isn’t a liar. He wouldn’t have deceived you, not on purpose anyway.”

  “Mambo Hannigan said that the rules are different when it comes to manipulating the dead… for College Samedi.”

  “But Mambo Hannigan doesn’t know that the spirit he hopes to wield could be the one soul-bound to you. It would be a clear violation if she knew.”

  “Shouldn’t we just tell her?” I asked.

  Oggie cringed. “There are greater matters at stake here. Particularly in the light of what we know now about your soul blade. If anyone knows—anyone who empathizes with the Bokors—it would paint a target on your back.”

  “I can handle myself,” I said.

  Oggie raised his eyebrow. “Confidence is a virtue. Arrogance is a vice. The difference between the two is how well you can back up the shit you talk.”

  “You don’t think I have the ability to defend myself?”

  “No, I don’t. Annabelle, your abilities are unrefined. If Isabelle has the reins, you stand a better chance. But passions run high in battle. If she loses control, you’ll be back in the driver’s seat with diminished abilities and a debilitating headache.”

  He has a point, Annabelle. If things get intense, will you really be able to swallow your emotions entirely?

  They were both right. I didn’t think I was any more emotional than anyone else. But I was human. There might be some monks, some ancient Stoics, who could control their emotions… to a point. But that takes a life of disciplined meditation. It wasn’t an art I could master over a semester, and certainly not before Nico attempted his summoning.

  “Isabelle agrees. And if she isn’t in charge, my access to her magica is limited. The two or three spells I can conjure up might not be enough.”

  Oggie nodded. “I think once you master my aspect, when you can wield your blade proficiently, you’ll stand a chance. Until then, we need intelligence.”

  “So who’s driving?” I asked. “My Camaro is faster than your Hummer.”

  Oggie raised an eyebrow. “Why do you think I drive a Hummer, anyway?”

  “I don’t know, compensating for a small—”

  “No,” Oggie said, cutting me off with a grin. “It’s because I don’t fit in almost any other car.”

  “So it is about size,” I said, grinning out of one side of my mouth.

  “When you’re as big as I am,” Oggie said. “You don’t fit inside just anything.”

  “We’re still talking about cars, right? Because the same could be said about your…”

  “Just cars,” Oggie said, his expression blank. “But what you’re thinking about… similar principle.”

  “So your host is well-endowed?” I asked, failing to filter my words.

  Oggie raised his eyebrows as he zipped up his oversized jacket. “I was talking about my coat… weren’t you talking about my coat? I thought…”

  My eyes widened with horror as I felt my cheeks blush.

  Isabelle was giggling in my mind.

  Oggie stared at me intensely.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep… I’m horrible with boundaries.”

  Oggie’s blank stare suddenly broke as he released a raucous laugh from his gut. “I got you good! I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist. I knew what you were talking about.”

  My jaw dropped to the floor. “You asshole!”

  Oggie continued chuckling as he opened the door and I followed him out.

  I took the opportunity to steal a glance at Oggie’s chiseled hindquarters as he stepped through the door ahead of me. I was in a trance. Each step caused one of his form-fitted denim-covered cheeks to flex. I casually wondered how many lunges and squats it took to form a butt like that…

  While I was pondering the figures, I collided into another body.

  “Mikah, what the hell?”

  He grinned, showing off his snow-white chompers. “You should really pay attention to where you’re going.”

  Oggie paused and turned, his eyes locking with mine. “Mikah will be accompanying us.”

  “It’s fine,” I said. Things had been incredibly awkward between us ever since Isabelle and he kissed. I almost lost it a few days earlier when he’d suggested we let her take the reins again. Isabelle was begging me to go along with it, promising she’d behave. How could I trust that? The chemistry between them… I could feel it, wrenching in my gut like a bad case of food poisoning. It was, quite possibly, the only feeling I’d ever experienced that was less pleasant than the headaches that were guaranteed to follow. So, I became something of a bitch about it, I admit.

  “Nice to see you today, Annabelle. You too, Isabelle,” Mikah said.

  Tell him hi for me, please!

  “Isabelle says hey,” I replied unenthusiastically.

  Mikah grinned.

  “Well let’s get it over with,” I said.

  Oggie nodded.

  * * * * *

  I’d volunteered to take the backseat thinking Mikah would ride shotgun. He didn’t. He hopped in the back with me.

  I shrugged, unbuckled my seat belt, and moved to the vacant front seat instead.

  He wanted to sit with us! Isabelle protested before lecturing me about how I was being rude and immature.

  I didn’t respond—I couldn’t without making the situation more awkward. But really—what was more immature than leading a boy on when I had no intentions of reciprocating any feelings that might exist between us? Or, between him and Isabelle, rather… Whatever. I was involved regardless, and I didn’t want to be.

  Oggie just stared at me as I buckled myself in. Then he shook his head.

  “Sometimes I get nauseous sitting in the back on a long drive,” I said. It was true. Motion sickness was a thing for me. Though, in this instance, it was likely Isabelle’s inner dialogue about Mikah’s cuteness that was most likely going to make me want to puke if I sat back there for the trip. Not that Baton Rouge was an intolerably long drive from New Orleans… but two hours plus of his longing glances and Isabelle’s commentary would make the trip seem at least twice as long.

  When we arrived at the Campbell Plantation in Baton Rouge, I was struck by h
ow similar the house was to my own family’s mansion. Six white columns lined the front. No one lived here, though. A sign out front read “Tour a REAL Antebellum Plantation!” Of course, the tour would be all about slavery and the Civil War—they all were. Nothing is more American, I suppose, than turning the horror of our ancestors’ sins into a profit-garnishing spectacle.

  To the right side of the house… just through the trees. That’s where I was buried.

  “Isabelle says there’s a cemetery just through the trees,” I said, pointing in the direction Isabelle guided me.

  “All right,” Oggie said. “Will she recognize exactly which grave was hers?”

  I will…

  I nodded.

  Arriving in a clearing, I was struck by the fact that the whole cemetery had been seemingly cleared and kept. It must have been a stop on the tour.

  My grave was right here.

  “I don’t see a stone.”

  I think there used to be a wooden cross here. I don’t exactly remember on account of, you know, being dead…

  “That makes sense,” I said. “But you’re sure this is it?”

  My bones are directly beneath your feet.

  I bit my lower lip and kicked at the ground. It was well-packed. Totally undisturbed. Clearly, this wasn’t where Nico managed to harvest her DNA.

  “Over here,” Mikah shouted.

  Oggie and I quickly followed. He was hovering over a fresh patch of dug-up dirt. The only patch in the whole graveyard not covered in grass. “Is she sure that this isn’t where she was buried?” Oggie asked.

  Not me. Isabelle paused a moment. It was her. My sister, Messalina.

  “This was Messalina’s grave… Isabelle’s sister.”

  “The Caplata?” Mikah asked.

  I nodded.

  But she wasn’t buried here… not anymore.

  Of course she wasn’t. She’d resurrected herself. She held the aspect of Baron Samedi… she came back, and I’d seen her when I was nine.

  “This doesn’t make sense.” I brushed my foot over the loose dirt that covered what used to be Messalina’s grave. “She’d resurrected… you guys know that.”

  Oggie nodded. “But her body had been here, decomposing for more than a century.”