by Eric Wilder
“Mama was just kidding,” Taj said, topping up his wine from the bottle on the table. “I’m sure she didn’t mean it the way it sounded.”
“I wouldn’t want to waste my breath,” I said.
“I’m sorry,” Mama said. “I had no place to comment. Please finish your tournedos and tell us what you know. I’ll refrain from further snide comments.”
“Sorry,” I said. “I haven’t had much sleep in the last two days.”
“Welcome to the club,” Taj said.
Mama topped up my coffee. “The pot’s on the stove. I’ll make more when you drink what’s left.”
I glanced at Adela to check on her demeanor. She looked as if she was about to sit through a boring movie for the third time.
“After Adela and I left Bertram’s this morning we took a stroll down Royal Street. We went all the way to the LaLaurie Mansion. When we reached it, something strange happened.”
“Such as?” Mama said.
“Adela had a fainting spell. For a while, I thought I might have to call an ambulance.”
“What’s the Lalaurie Mansion?” Taj asked.
“A house in the Quarter where the people who owned it abused and tortured the slaves there,” Mama said. “Though it’s closed to the public, it’s still quite a tourist attraction. What caused Adela’s fainting spell?”
“Proximity to the mansion, though I didn’t realize it at the time,” I said. “Adela recovered once I got her away from the house. We went to see Madeline Romanov, and it was Madeline who suggested the Lalaurie Mansion may have been the cause of Adela’s distress.”
“And Madeline Romanov is . . . ?” Taj said.
“A former Catholic nun who lives in the Quarter,” Mama said. “She owns Madeline’s Magic Potions where she sells mystical-related souvenirs to the tourists. She is also, by all accounts, a witch and the best fortune teller in town.”
“She wouldn’t tell my fortune,” Adela said.
“Because some fortunes are best left untold,” I said. “Madeline has a raven named Calpurnia who lives in her courtyard. The intelligent bird can talk. She flew into the courtyard while we were there and became excited and agitated when she saw Adela. She called her Aisling.”
Taj stared across the table to where Adela was tinkling the ice in her glass of vodka.
“Is that true?” he asked.
“Yes,” Adela said.
“How do you explain that?” Taj asked.
“No idea,” Adela said. “I’d never seen that bird before in my life. From what Wyatt says, Madeline is used to dealing with gullible tourists. Maybe it was a hoax.”
Taj and Mama turned their stares to me. “Madeline’s not a charlatan. She had no idea we were going to knock on her door and no way to cause her raven to react to Adela the way she did. It’s too much of a coincidence that Calpurnia linked Adela to someone named Aisling. There must be something to it.”
“That is strange. What did Madeline think about it?” Mama asked.
“That Adela and Calpurnia are connected to the abuse and torture at the Lalaurie Mansion.”
“Surely Calpurnia isn’t that old,” Mama said.
“If humans can have past lives, then why can’t animals?” I said.
“I don’t know,” Mama said.
“I don’t either,” I said. “I trust Madeline’s intuition. When we left there, I decided to find out more about the place.”
“Go on,” Mama said.
“Allemands wasn’t far away. We went there hoping to find Armand and Madam Toulouse,” I said.
“Experts on everything dealing with New Orleans,” Mama said when Taj gave her a quizzical look. “What did you expect to learn from them?”
“I thought they might know some things about the Lalaurie case that isn’t common Internet knowledge.”
“Did they?” Mama asked.
“Lots more. Madam Lalaurie was of Irish descent, and Madam Toulouse told us it was common for the rich locals to have indentured servants from Europe as well as slaves from Africa and the Caribbean. That would explain why someone of Irish descent was living in a Creole household in the French Quarter.”
“Is there more?” Mama asked.
“Yes,” I said. “Madam Toulouse knew all about the murder at the Hotel Montalba.”
“So there really was a murder?” Mama said.
“A chambermaid discovered the headless body of the woman in the bathtub. They buried the headless body in the Charity Hospital Cemetery. You won’t believe who had the room the night of the murder,” I said.
“Tell us,” Mama said.
“Madam Lalaurie’s third husband, Dr. Leonard Louis Nicolas Lalaurie.”
“No way!” Mama said.
“And the murder occurred the same night the Lalaurie Mansion burned and the tortured slaves were discovered.”
“The mansion burned?” Taj said. “Didn’t you say you and Adela walked past it when she had the fainting spell?”
“It’s not the same mansion where the Lalaurie’s lived. The present house was built several years after the original one burned almost to the ground,” I said. “A fact French Quarter tourist guides never tell their customers.”
“Probably because they don’t know,” Mama said.
“So a mansion that’s not there anymore caught fire and burned to the ground? How did the slaves escape the fire?” Taj asked.
“Rescuers saw the flames and hurried to help,” Mama said. “They managed to get the servants out of the house. They also found a torture room. The people in that room were there for only one reason—to be tortured and even killed by their sadistic owners.”
“Were the Lalauries taken into custody and charged with murder?” Taj asked.
“They escaped a mob bent on punishing them for the heinous acts they committed,” I said. “Madam Lalaurie reportedly died in France. I have no clue what happened to her husband. According to Armand, Madam Lalaurie and her husband were both politically connected. It’s possible they were spirited away before the angry mob could deal with them.”
“A typical situation present to this day in New Orleans. Still despicable,” Mama said.
“One last thing,” I said. “Armand identified the symbol on Adela’s chest as a Baron Samedi veve, though he said it was done by someone other than a mambo or houngan.”
“That’s what Mama thinks,” Taj said. “We were talking about it less than an hour ago. You never told me why these veves are drawn in the first place.”
“To summon a loa or deity for assistance,” Mama said.
“Are they always tattoos?” Taj asked.
“They are usually pictures drawn on the ground using a powder such as flour, salt, gunpowder, or whatever. Once drawn, money, whiskey, or something considered valuable is placed on top of the veve in hopes of securing the loa’s assistance.”
“What does any of this have to do with Adela and me?” Taj asked.
“Madam Toulouse told us the Lalauries had an African overseer who helped them control the slaves,” I said. “His name was Taj, and he was tall enough he could have played in the NBA.”
“You gotta be shitting me!” Taj said. “Other players respect me, and I’ve never backed down from a fight. Doesn’t matter because I’m not cruel and I’ve never abused or tortured anyone.”
“Wyatt isn’t suggesting you have, Baby,” Mama said.
“Then what is he suggesting?”
“Wyatt?” Mama said.
“Maybe in a past life, you and Adela both lived in the original Lalaurie Mansion. The one that burned the night the woman was murdered at the Hotel Montalba.”
“Wyatt believes it was me who was murdered,” Adela said. “I think he’s full of shit.”
“I have my reasons. The demon was dragging a woman’s head by its long red hair. I could swear it was Adela’s head. If that’s true, then she was murdered by Dr. Leonard Louis Nicolas Lalaurie.”
“If I was dead, then how am I alive now?” Adel
a asked.
“Because it was you during a past life,” I said. “What connects you and Taj are your twin veves. Someone or something put them on your chests to try and curry favor with Baron Samedi. Maybe it worked, and spiritual powers have brought you two back here to New Orleans.”
“For what purpose?” Taj asked.
Outside, heavy rain was pelting Mama’s old roof. I felt the storm’s intensity as Adela, Taj and Mama’s stares bored inquisitive holes in my soul.
“Redemption,” I said.
Chapter 29
Everyone at the table had grown quiet as I finished my rambling narrative. The cats had returned to their snug beds as the storm outside continued to rage. Mama topped up Adela and Taj’s glasses and then started a new pot of coffee for me.
“What now?” she asked when she returned.
“I feel certain we’ve found a tangible link with the events that occurred at the Lalaurie Mansion. I’ve checked all my live sources. I think it’s time to chase the dead ones.”
“Maybe you’d better explain,” Mama said.
“Use your magic music box. See if you can summon a spirit from the Lalaurie Mansion,” I said.
“You know I don’t like using the music box. Even if I did, I’m not sure who to summon,” Mama said.
“Yes, you do. If Adela and Taj lived past lives in the Lalaurie house before the fire, then you can use them to summon their spirits. If they didn’t, then it’ll be no harm, no foul.”
“I don’t know,” Mama said. “You know how powerful and dangerous the music box is. I’d hate to unleash its powers without knowing for sure we’d achieve positive results.”
“The only way to be sure is to try it,” I said.
Taj grew agitated with the talk of spirits. “Maybe you better explain a few things to Adela and me,” he said. “What is this magic music box?”
“I’ll show you,” Mama said.
She disappeared into another room, returning with an ornate box constructed of polished wood, an antique jar, and a red velvet pouch. She placed the three objects on the table.
“Is that your music box?” Taj asked.
“Much more than just a music box. It’s a priceless relic.”
“It’s so beautiful,” Adela said. Is it really magic?”
“Monks, shrouded in mystery, constructed this medieval music box during the Early Middle Ages.”
“For magical purposes?” Adela asked.
“Christianity was in its infancy in Europe. During the Early Middle Ages, Christianity was little more than a mixture of folk religion and paganism. Monks and other holy men still practiced magic. This music box was created, among other things, to summon spirits of the dead.”
Taj was frowning. “Does it work?”
“Of course it works,” Mama said. “Stow your cynicism and trust me when I tell you this music box has magical powers.”
“I’m trying my best to believe,” Taj said. “It just seems so foreign to me.”
“When monks created this music box, the practice of magic was rampant. They had knowledge of secrets that are long since lost,” Mama said. “Powerful secrets.”
“Such as?” Taj said.
“The magic of this music box has the power to summon the dead.”
“No one practices magic anymore. If they could do so much with it, why did they stop using it?”
Adela winced when I said, “Because the ones who used it were damned as witches or wizards and burned at the stake, or tortured on the rack.”
“How did you come by such a powerful instrument?” Taj asked, ignoring my comment.
“I can’t tell you,” Mama said. “All I can confirm is its powers are so great, I’ve only used it once and it’s quite frightening.”
“It is impressive looking, I’ll give you that,” Taj said. “I just can’t wrap my head around what makes it magic.”
“I understand your doubt,” Mama said. “I can only give you a simple explanation because I don’t fully understand it myself.”
“Please do,” he said.
“Everything in the world can be described using mathematics. The universe is the most complex mathematical formula, and music is rooted in mathematics. Some say the arrangement of musical notes in Gregorian chants results in particular responses. One all-powerful chant is the musical equivalent of the universe’s mathematical formula. When performed in a specific manner, certain chants can unlock the powers of the universe.”
“Then why don’t today’s scientists know about this?” Taj asked.
“There was little written history during the Dark Ages. Practically everything people knew then has since been lost. The ancients knew lots of things that aren’t common knowledge in our modern world.”
“But we are so much more advanced now than we were then,” Taj said. “Surely, we know everything they did.”
“Maybe not. Wyatt wasn’t far off with his burning at the stake comment. People were afraid of magic and fearful of the people who practiced it. Those who practiced magic had to hide their abilities or chance being killed.”
“Surely we have enough knowledge to replicate what uneducated monks knew,” Taj said.
“Do we?” Mama said. “Knowledge begins with a single seed. If that seed is lost, is it ever possible to recreate again?”
“Most people have hard times believing anything they haven’t seen with their own eyes,” I said. “Even, then they try to explain anomalies away.”
Adela looked the other way when I glanced at her.
“If your music box is so powerful, then why not share it with the powers-that-be?” Taj said.
“Magic is power,” Mama said. “The monks guarded their magic with their lives because not only can it unlock the secrets of the universe, it could also destroy it.”
“Okay,” Taj said.
Mama chuckled as she finished her vodka in a single swallow and then filled her glass to the brim.
“No more questions and no more explanations. This music box will never leave me. Now, either we’re all in on using it, or else I’ll return it to its proper place of keeping.”
“You sound so dire,” Adela said.
“For good reason,” Mama said.
“This is starting to sound like there’s risk involved,” Taj said.
“There is,” Mama said. “When Wyatt and I used it to summon a spirit of the dead, I wasn’t sure if either of us would survive. Employing its immense power should never be taken lightly, and only done as a last resort.”
“Is that what this is?” Taj asked.
“Though we’re close, I’m not sure we’ve reached that point yet,” Mama said.
“I haven’t been this excited about trying something new in a long time,” Adela said. “Count me in.”
Casting a grave stare at Taj, Mama said, “In or out?”
“Will it hurt my basketball chops?” he asked.
“No, but if you don’t hurry and make up your mind, I’m going to break both of your legs.”
Taj grinned. “Why not? It can’t kill me.”
“Don’t be so sure of that,” Mama said.
“I trust you,” he said. “You know what you’re doing.”
“Don’t be so sure of that, either,” she said. “Hold out your hands.”
Outside, the wind had picked up, rain pounding the windows and wooden shutters. Mama lit a single candle on the table, turned off the CD player, and extinguished all the other lights. From the velvet pouch, she removed two necklaces with polished black stone pendants.
“Put these around your necks,” she said.
“What is it?” Adela asked.
“The stone is psilomelane, also known as the Crown of Silver. It’s a metallic mineral with magical properties. It’ll help induce the trance I’m going to put you into.”
“You’re putting us into a trance?” Taj said.
“That’s exactly what I’m going to do,” Mama said. “I thought you said you trust me.”
“I do trust you. I just don’t like anesthetics.”
“This isn’t the same,” she said. “When you awaken from the trance you’ll have no anesthetic hangover.”
From the antique jar, Mama shook something into Adela and Taj’s awaiting hands.
“What is this?” Taj asked.
“Mushroom. Chew it up and wash it down with your wine.
“If it’s psychedelic I’ll get in trouble with the league.”
“One last time, are you in or out?” Mama said.
“I’m all in,” he said. “But taking illegal drugs could end my career.”
“We’re not doing this for recreation,” Mama said. “Chew the mushroom. I’ll give you an antidote and something to cleanse the remnants of the drug from your system later.”
“What about me?” I asked.
“No magic mushroom for you. I need you to be cognizant and help me make sense of the spirits if we are successful in summoning them. Put these in your ears. In case you don’t remember, the music is deafening.”
Mama handed me a pair of soft rubber earplugs. “What about you?”
She showed me her own pair. “I was all but deaf for days after the last time we used this box. That’s when I bought these earplugs. Adela and Taj won’t need them.”
Adela was grinning. “I’ve never tried magic mushrooms.”
“You’ll be in a trance, so don’t expect much. You may not know anything until the spirits are gone.”
“That sucks,” Adela said.
“I can’t do this without you and Taj. Tell me when the drug begins to take effect. Until then, I won’t start the music box.”
Taj and Adela didn’t need to tell Mama the psychedelic drug had begun working. Their heads were soon drooping, their eyes closed, their arms off the table and hanging by their sides.
“I’m going to put my cats in their beds outside on the back porch,” Mama said. “They won’t be happy but the porch is covered, and they’ll be safe from the storm and the cacophony of the music box.”
When Mama returned, she signaled for me to insert the earplugs. After winding the music box, she opened the carved top of the ancient instrument. The inner workings began to turn and the metallic, though dulcet notes of an unknown melody began to play. The sound of the storm raging outside the house soon became little more than background noise. Though the earplugs blocked most of the melody, I could clearly hear the plucked tones resonating inside the medieval wooden cabinet.
