The Voodoo Children

by Les Goodrich

  “First let me stress to all of you the importance of extreme caution. We’re dealing with powerful dark magick here, and voodoo is mixed up in all of this and that means, for us at least, the unknown. We’ve all felt for these little kids who appear to have been manipulated.

  “Yesterday one of our own, Casey, was cursed by at least one of the people involved. It’s not our job to go around meddling in every victim’s life. But because dark magick is involved here, and the authorities, as usual, have no clue about what they’re up against, it’s simply in our Light Tribe nature.” Carol looked to Tanner. “And Ashenguild nature, to help those who need it. But I’m making this clear right now, this is seriously dark and dangerous territory. You already see what can happen by just scratching this surface. If we’re going to move on, I want to know that everyone wants to, on their own accord.”

  Everyone said a round of, “Yes,” “of course,” and “absolutely.”

  “You’re sure? Right now we could probably walk the other way. If we don’t quit this now, there will be no turning back.”

  “These kids are all alone.” Jordan said. “No one knows what’s really happening to them but us. If we don’t help them, no one will. Plus this guy hurt Casey and I won’t stand for it. He drew first blood. I’ll track him down myself if I have to.”

  “You don’t have to,” Brit said. “We’re with you.” Everyone joined in agreement.

  “Very well,” Carol said. “Here’s what we know so far. Someone, apparently male, who calls himself Figment, has combined modern technology with powerful Shadowclan magick. He has further blended the power of at least one spell that we know of, with voodoo spellwork. Voodoo magick uses spirits to accomplish certain ends. In this case, to persuade the children to connect with Figment through this gaming site Casey discovered.”

  “How do you know all this?” Jordan asked.

  “I had Brenna over last night and we watched the available security videos again and compared them to hex behavior and delivery methods from her conspiracy research database. We believe Figment has figured out a way to combine a voodoo manipulation hex with some form of dark magick-energized computer system. We just don’t know how. What we do know is that he recruits the children online, stun-hexes them, overrides their central nervous system with some elaborate network of electromagnetic field energy manipulation, then plays them like a video game to carry out the robberies.”

  “Holy super villain,” Tanner said.

  “I know how he’s doing it,” Jordan said and everyone turned to her. “Don’t ask me where I got this, and it’s just a few pages from an obscure text, but listen to this.

  “Of all skills respected and sought after among the early voodoo practioners, Action at a Distance was the most prized. Partly because of it’s usefulness, and partly because it was believed that it could never be taught, trained for, nor developed. If an apprentice was found to possess the ability to influence Action at a Distance, he or she was instantly ushered into the highest ranks of study.”

  Jordan looked up from her phone.

  “If we’re dealing with a voodoo practitioner who can perform Action at a Distance, then we have our work cut out for us,” Carol said. “Thanks to Casey we know he’s located in or near the French Quarter of New Orleans, where our customer Josephine Lemort just happens to be from. Doctor Covington, if you please.”

  “Thank you Carol. Your customer Josephine Lemort and her companions are staying at the Penny Fountain bed and breakfast on Almeria Street. But it seems they are to leave soon. They have begun to pack. She’s a well known voodoo high priestess from the Saint Tammany Parish of New Orleans, who resides now in the French Quarter. Well respected by all accounts and feared by some. I was able to spend some time in the Penny Fountain inn and I’ve learned she plans to perform a voodoo ritual in the Tolomato Cemetery.”

  “When?” Jordan asked.

  “Tomorrow at midnight. And here’s where we run into a complication. As Carol has pointed out, voodoo magick often makes use of spirits. As such, a powerful voodoo practitioner such as Ms. Lemort is skilled at sensing and recognizing ghosts.

  “She recognized me for what I am the instant she laid eyes on me where I was having tea in the inn common room. I believe she simply thought I was a ghost haunting the bed and breakfast. She went on her way.

  “However, this makes it impossible for me to spy on her further, and especially so during her ritual tomorrow night. She’d sense me from a mile away.”

  “This is where you two come in,” Carol said and she nodded toward Thistle and Prisma on the shelf.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Mims said.

  “I’m serious,” Carol said. “I’ve talked to them both. They know what to do and I’m confident they can do it.”

  “Quietly and without getting caught?” Mims asked.

  “As silent as the grave,” Prisma said from the shelf.

  “That’ll be the day,” Mims said and Carol shot her a look. “Okay. If you say so.”

  “Prisma helped rescue Brit not long ago. With Thistle at her side she’ll be fine. They’ll hide in the oak trees at the cemetery and wait for the voodoo ritual to begin. Together they can watch and listen to the ritual, and look out for other faeries and hobs. Both will report back to me in my garden as soon as it’s over.

  “In the mean time, all of you are to stay off any computer, and turn off the WiFi on all your devices and in your homes, at least until we know more about what team Lemort is up to.” A chorus of groans erupted. “I know it’s hard but I think you’ll all live. Watch each other’s backs and I don’t want any of you wandering about town alone, especially at night.”

  Everyone agreed and those who weren’t working began to gather their things. Prisma and Thistle spoke to Carol in her office then left together as Carol returned to the front.

  “And one more thing,” Carol said. “Jordan. Brit. You better help these two find wands.” She looked at Casey and Mims over the rims of her glasses. “You might want to begin their street spell training a bit sooner than you had planned.”

  Chapter 10

  Grave Alliance

  Prisma and Thistle met at eleven p.m. on a cold concrete bench in Carol’s long, narrow, walled garden. Both faeries wore all black as they had agreed but Prisma still carried her green cocktail sword.

  “Why’d you bring that?” Thistle asked.

  “In case I need it,” Prisma said and she stuck it down behind the black sash tied around her waist.

  “Do you have a wand?” Thistle asked and held up her polished oak twig.

  “No.”

  “Can you do magick?”

  “Never tried.”

  “Not even defense spells?”

  “I live in a coffee shop.”

  “Okay just stick with me. The most important thing is that we stay quiet and go unseen.”

  “We can do that,” Prisma assured Thistle.

  “Okay. Now, the Tolomato Cemetery is a short flight away. You know it’s one of the most haunted places in town, and that’s saying a lot. Just thinking of going there at midnight gives me the creeps.”

  “Where is it?”

  “It’s just up the street that runs beyond the back of the garden. We’ll go this way, through the treetops, and stop on the roof of the barbecue place. It’s right across from the cemetery gates. We’ll check things out from there before flying right in. We don’t wanna stumble upon them.”

  “That would be a grave error,” Prisma said and Thistle rolled her eyes.

  Prisma followed Thistle as they flew north in short gaps from branch to branch. The day had been overcast and it had rained once just before sunset which brought on a damp, thirty-nine degree night. The tree limbs were wet and slippery in places where moss grew but the nimble faeries made easy work of the canopy terrain. They stopped in a sugar maple at the corner of a dirt parking lot just south of the barbecue restaurant.

  The tree’s leafless white branches stoo
d pale and still in the clammy air and the two faeries sat balanced on a high branch and looked down.

  “Let’s sit here for a minute,” Thistle said and to judge the time she looked at the height of the Moon where it swung behind swift moving clouds. “Eleven thirty-three. Doctor Covington said the ritual would begin at midnight. We want to be in place before they get here.” They watched the streets and saw no one. “Come on. Let’s go to the roof.”

  They flew down to the wood shingled rooftop of the barbecue place and sat on the south side of the center dormer window. They could see the cemetery gates and a short way into the grounds but any deep view was blocked by the oaks.

  “It smells so good. Can we go inside and get some barbecue?” Prisma asked.

  “No.”

  “I don’t see anyone,” Prisma whispered. They watched for two minutes and saw no movement. They listened intently and heard only crickets and a gentle wind rattling palm fronds along the wider Orange Street where river breeze moved through in gusts.

  “Let’s go,” Thistle said, then added, “quietly.” They stood.

  “I think it would be best if we flew to the roof of that house there, then came in from the south,” Prisma said and pointed. “Instead of flying right across the main street and in through the front gate. In case the voodoo witch turns the corner just as we’re halfway there.”

  “Good idea,” Thistle agreed. Anything to delay actually going into the graveyard was a good idea to her. They flew to the corner house and landed on the slate tile roof.

  “Wow,” Thistle said looking at the expansive roof. “This is a big house.”

  “And the neighbors are quiet,” Prisma joked.

  “Very funny. Let’s go.”

  From there they made their way among the tree branches into the Tolomato Cemetery. Eerie above-ground crypts cast shadows among ancient gravestones and Spanish moss hung like ghostly rags from every branch and crypt roof corner. Fog clung to the ground and the clear night sounds they had heard from the open rooftops were deadened and distant.

  They stopped on a wide oak branch covered with a deep carpet of resurrection fern, dark green and lush in the damp air. From it they could see the front gate and the majority of the grounds, yet the tree was off to the western side and behind a mesh of bare maple branches that provided cover but did not obscure the view. “This is a perfect spot, don’t you think?” Thistle asked.

  “I think so,” Prisma said and she sat in the soft green fern. Thistle sat next to her and they waited.

  A slowly drifting form crossed the foggy grass below about ten yards away between them and the gate.

  “Look!” shouted Prisma.

  “Shhh!” Thistle scolded and they watched the gauzy apparitional ghost of a girl in a white dress drift among the gravestones and vanish through the cemetery gates as if going for a stroll.

  “Holy Oberon’s boots!” Prisma whispered.

  “I told you this place was haunted. Now we have to be quiet, remember. Voodoo witches won’t put up with faerie spies. Next time you get scared, put your hand over your mouth or you’re gonna get us killed.”

  “Okay okay. No more talking. Oh shit here they come!” Prisma burst and she slapped her hand over her mouth.”

  The faeries slowly lay down among the curling fern stems and folded their wings flat. Prisma squirmed and brushed at her arms.

  “Be still,” Thistle whispered. “They’re coming.”

  “There’s little chigger bugs in here,” Prisma whispered and she brushed a few more bugs away. She calmed down and they watched Josephine Lemort, the young girl, and the two men enter the front gates.

  All were dressed in white gowns with white head scarves and each carried a black lantern with purple glass panes that glowed with candle light. The men at the rear also bore satchels. The girl in the middle carried, in her free hand, a bouquet of flowers and herbs. And Josephine Lemort, at the head of the slow procession, carried a purple lensed lamp larger than the others, and in her free right hand she held a shining sword.

  They stopped once everyone was within the gate. Thistle and Prisma were frozen and could hear clearly as Josephine Lemort spoke.

  “We come here tonight in the blessed dark of November, to perform two rituals. The first, our sacred Blessing of the Cemeteries. We call upon the powerful Lwas who protect the Cities of the Dead. The mighty Oya, we ask humbly that you join us, so we may present our offerings, to strengthen and nourish your sacred duty as the guardian of all graveyard gates. May these offerings ensure the purity of this final resting place, and all such places.”

  With the invocation stated, Josephine led the procession in a solemn march around the cemetery. Along the way the men removed sacred and blessed offering items from their bags and placed them at the locations indicated by Josephine, such as near the bases of gravestones, and at the crossroads of the cemetery paths. They placed beautiful eggplants, orange and purple candles, and small bottles of rum.

  As they performed this ritual, Thistle and Prisma watched. The largest and most central marble crypt gathered the low cemetery fog in glowing swirls around it. From the crypt door emerged a luminous figure naked and strong with feminine grace. Her bronze skin tattooed with phosphorescent gold sigils that cast illuminated symbols upon the grey grass and stones. Her hair a dazzling display of feathers and jewels. Her eyes lascivious projectors of purple light whose gemlike awareness shone like amethyst crystals in the Sun, and deepened the darkness around her which she so obviously commanded.

  “A Goddess of the ancient world,” Prisma whispered and her skin crawled.

  “Oya,” Thistle heard herself whisper then she made the sign for silence with her finger over her lips and Prisma nodded.

  The Goddess Oya began to flow with elegance and she danced among the graves like liquid music and she swung with grace among the tombs until she took up a regal and authoritative stance at the entrance to the cemetery where she guarded it to protect Josephine Lemort and her further rituals.

  Josephine gathered her followers and they formed a circle to begin their second and final spell. The group held hands and Josephine spoke.

  “We call upon Lwa Ogun La Flambo. We seek your power to stop the cultivation of a most heinous and disturbing crime. For a pretender has come to rob the vodooo power and misuse it like a plague. He has mixed the Earthly black magick of Shadowclan, the heartless machinery of man, and the sacred energies of our voodoo spells to control and manipulate a group of children. Within this physical world, there could be no worse magickal offense. It is for this reason that we call upon you, Ogun, to help protect these children and bring this foul lost soul to justice. And we ask your help in finding the Shadowclan witch Gwen, who has aided and tutored this most misguided villain. For it is her mentorship which has provided this villain the tools of his dark trade. ”

  The girl knelt and arranged her flowers in a neat bed and carefully removed the long stems of agrimony with their green spikes and yellow flowers. The men knelt beside her and from their packs placed a tarnished brass cauldron upon the remaining flowers. The girl crumbled the agrimony and added it to the cauldron. The men added 151 proof rum, nails, and tobacco from a leather pouch. Ogun never appeared physically as Oya had, but Josephine knew that no plea to him ever went unanswered.

  The group rejoined hands and swayed with closed eyes. Josephine chanted in a language the faeries could not understand, and the others in the group repeated each phrase in turn. What they were saying or doing the faeries did not know. When they reached a point, the chanting stopped, the purple lanterns were picked up, the cauldron dumped, and the procession left the grounds. The impressive luminous figure of Oya had vanished and the faeries sat up in the darkness on the limb and looked at each other.

  “She’s helping the kids,” Prisma said.

  “Apparently so,” Thistle agreed. “Now let’s get the hell out of here!”

  They flew to report to Carol in the garden. Carol listened to Thistle and Pris
ma as they described the rituals and everything they had seen.

  “And you’re certain she said protect these children and bring this foul lost soul to justice?” Carol asked.

  “We’re positive,” Thistle said.

  “And you’re sure she said Gwen?”

  “We’re sure. And while she was saying all that, the Goddess Oya was guarding the cemetery gates.”

  “Yeah,” Prisma added. “And Oya had glowing purple eyes that shined like flashlights.”

  “If you could see Oya’s eyes, then she saw you. She just knew you meant no harm and let you be.” Carol reasoned.

  “And we saw a ghost,” Prisma said. “A ghost girl in white and she just walked right out of the front gates. Or she floated out.”

  “During the rituals?” Carol asked.

  “No,” Thistle said. “That was before. It was just a ghost wandering around.”

  “And you could never see Lwa Ogun La Flambo?”

  “No,” both faeries said at once. “Whoever the hell that is,” Prisma added and Thistle smiled.

  “This is all fascinating. Oya is the queen of what voodoo practitioners call the Cities of the Dead. She is the guardian of all cemeteries and burial sites. The fact that Josephine Lemort would conjure Oya to guard her ritual, tells me her spell to send Ogun is most serious to her. And if you could physically see Oya, it tells me this Josephine is a powerful priestess. But why come all the way here to do it?”

  “If she’s a good voodoo witch, and she really is trying to help the little hexed kids, then maybe you could just go ask her.”

  “I think you’re right Prisma. Tomorrow I’ll do just that. You two have done an excellent job. Thank you so much.”

  The faeries smiled and hugged each other. They touched one finger tip each in turn to the tip of Carol’s pointed finger (a sort of faerie equivalent to the handshake). They were both thrilled to have accomplished their mission, and although they were opposites in many ways, they felt a friendship growing between them. They promised to visit at least once a month and flew home with joy in their hearts and the contentment of knowing a faerie promise is always kept.