“All is well. You can come in.”
On the other side of the threshold, Griffen sensed a presence, not of an intelligence but of a force. He had felt the same when Holly had warded her home to protect the sacred space from intrusion by malign energies. Ann Marie jangled the string of bones as she closed the door behind them. That sealed the entrance as tightly as an air lock. The air inside seemed warm and thick, and not just because of the candles he could smell burning. The sensation didn’t alarm Griffen. He felt enveloped and soothed. He wasn’t certain what he had expected, but the welcoming aura disarmed him.
Gris-gris sprang up from the blue-upholstered couch as Griffen entered. He stuck out a hand and grasped Griffen’s long fingers in his own. His grip was powerful enough to make Griffen wince.
“Man, I’m glad to see you,” Gris-gris said. “Sorry about the other night.”
“No problem,” Griffen said. He studied the smaller man. His nearly black skin had regained the healthy sheen that it usually had. The whites of his dark eyes were clear, not bloodshot and runny as they had been. Behind them, the quick, almost lightning-fast intelligence had returned. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine! This is worse than the hospital.” Gris-gris swept a hand around. “Least I was unconscious most of the time. Now I want to get out, but she don’t let me.”
Estelle shook her head. “It’s just like being in the hospital. You think you’re well, but you aren’t.” She pointed at a small plant in a blue container. “When that absorbs all your bad air, you can go anywhere you want.”
Griffen glanced at the plant, a broad-leaf ornamental of some kind. It leaned to the left in a sickly manner. He surveyed the room. Against one wall were three parson’s tables. On each were various esoteric-looking objects he couldn’t identify readily. Above each was a decorated, crudely carved cross that seemed to go with the artifacts below. Candles in tall, narrow glasses burned everywhere: on the floor, on every table, and on the windowsills. In the middle of the room was what looked a little like an open beach umbrella with designs painted in neon colors on the handle. It seemed as if the room had been furnished with about half the objects from the voodoo shop. Griffen tried to make sense of what he was seeing.
“Is this all part of the cure?” he asked.
Estelle snorted. “No! This is the problem.”
“What do you mean?”
“Look around you!” Estelle shrugged her shoulders. “This is a jumble. No honest practitioner would sell a worshipper all this junk. This is the kind of things that a tourist would buy.”
Gris-gris winced. “I needed help with a lot of things.”
“Consultation is free to those in need,” Estelle said. “If you had asked, I could have saved you a bundle of money, not to mention pestering the lwa so bad I had to call for help to pull you back.”
“What’s a lwa?” Griffen asked.
“Our gods,” Estelle said simply. “They rule different parts of our lives, but with love, like parents. Voodoo is a family, Griffen McCandles. You have lived here long enough to know that our religion is not all bones and potions and Baron Samedi. You know Rose.”
“But I haven’t studied your beliefs,” Griffen admitted.
Estelle shot an annoyed look at Gris-gris. “Neither has he.”
“That’s not true!” Gris-gris exclaimed. “I believe. I belong!”
“Then what’s all this crap?”
Gris-gris looked as sullen as a little boy. “I needed a lot of things. I thought I could ask by myself.”
“Of course you can ask by yourself. The lwa listen to all their children.”
Griffen was interested. “But aren’t you his priestess?”
“The role of a priest does not mean the same from religion to religion,” Ann Marie said. “Our mother and father guide us, but we are given the tools to achieve goals on our own. We can make our own mistakes, but we ought to know when we are in out of our depth.”
“Don’t say it!” Gris-gris said. “Don’t say it again! You both told me a hundred times. I get it.”
“But will it stick?”
“Ann Marie, I know Estelle,” Griffen said. “I met her before the conference last Halloween. Why did you say you couldn’t give me her name?”
Ann Marie and Estelle exchanged glances. “When I saw Gris-gris, I knew he needed special intervention. You’ve met only a few of our number. Our congregation came to your conference, as did a few others, but not all the local voodoo queens and priests attended.”
“I can understand that,” Griffen said. “I was the only dragon there. Since then I’ve met dozens who live in the area.”
Ann Marie smiled. “Some of those who follow voodoo don’t want to be identified outside the religion. We aren’t ashamed of our beliefs, but there are so many misconceptions. I had to go to one of the ones who stay in the closet, so to speak. I told Estelle, and she approved.”
“May I know his name? Or hers?”
“It’s not important right now,” Estelle said. Griffen realized from the flat expression in her eyes that she was not going to argue with him about it. “But if you ever chair another conference, he and many others will come. They didn’t realize that you were sincere in not promoting your own agenda.”
“I’m never running another conference,” Griffen said fervently. “I did a favor for Rose once. Someone else will have to step up next time. If I go, it’ll be as a participant, not the master of ceremonies.”
“Of those with great portion, great things are asked.”
“I’m not Spider-Man. I’m just a guy trying to run a business and live my life.”
“The important thing is that he came to help Gris-gris.” Ann Marie gestured to the other dealer, who was pacing impatiently like a tiger in a cage. “Together, we performed a new ritual, a sorting-out, to bring things back to normal.”
“What happened to Gris-gris?” Griffen asked.
“Voodoo is a family. This child tried to take the lead without knowing what he was doing. He did it with respect, but it’s like taking everything in your medicine cabinet if you have a cold. You need guidance.” Estelle shook her head.
“I told you why I did it,” Gris-gris said. “I thought I had a lead on Val. I’m still weak in the gut. I wanted to get healthy fast, so I could go after her. I talked to a man, a weird guy. And there was a lady with him. I met him at the Court of Two Sisters.”
“‘Weird’ is a relative term in the Quarter,” Ann Marie said, with a smile. “Define ‘weird.’”
Gris-gris gestured. “He had a face like leather and eyes on fire.”
Griffen’s eyebrows went up in alarm. “I think I know that man.”
“You do?” Ann Marie asked.
“His name’s Duvallier. He’s the one I wanted to talk to you about. The walking dead. What did he do to you, Gris-gris?”
“He only talked to me,” Gris-gris said. “Said he had a line to the people who took Val, but he doubted I could handle them by myself. I don’t take that from nobody. I went looking for what I needed. Next thing I know, I am in bed with my hands and feet tied together and a bunch of people chanting over me.”
“We had to tie him up. He kicks like a shotgun,” Ann Marie said. “But it’s part of the ritual. You don’t remember a lot of what happened in between, Gris-gris, because you were being reborn. Again.”
“That sounds interesting,” Griffen said, raising his eyebrows. “What else happens?”
Estelle made a gesture of impatience.
“If you’re really interested in finding out about voodoo, come into the shop when you have time,” she said. “I will lend you some books to read, and we will talk. I have no intention of setting another one like Gris-gris loose on the world with inadequate knowledge.”
“Fair enough,” Griffen said. “So, what is going on here?”
>
“A cleaning-out of the bad air this man made in trying to do good. You’ve met others who follow nature religions. Voodoo is similar.” Estelle pointed at the numerous candles. “These have to finish their work. You don’t ask the lwa to help, then turn your back on them. That’s impolite. That power that Gris-gris does not need is being redirected to people who do need it.”
“So, instead of being drained, he’s too charged up?”
Estelle smiled. “Yes, that’s a good way to define it. We have asked this rubber plant, as an analogue of this very energetic man, to take into it all the illness that he has suffered, absorb all his troubles. When it dies, then he is free to leave its presence.”
“When will that be?”
“Not soon enough!” Gris-gris exclaimed, throwing his hands up.
“Can I do anything to help?” Griffen asked.
“Bring a bottle of white rum and a few cigars next time you come,” Estelle suggested. “They will be offerings for the lwa.”
Gris-gris dug in his pocket and came up with a fat wad of money in a gold clip. “Here,” he said, peeling off a few bills. “Use this. Get good ones.”
“It’s okay,” Griffen said. “You can pay me back when I bring the stuff.”
“No, he’s right,” Ann Marie said. “The gift must be from him.”
Griffen accepted the bills and folded them into his wallet in a separate section from his own money.
“What about Duvallier?” Griffen asked.
“The walking dead,” Estelle said thoughtfully. “Yes, I will bring your question to our friend and let you know if you can meet.”
Thirty
If it had been a movie set, Griffen would have assumed he was walking into the home of a mathematics teacher, not a voodoo priest. The house, in a small suburb of Baton Rouge, was like thousands in southern Louisiana: wooden frame, garden with stone ornaments outside, antiques and creaky floorboards inside. The dark-skinned man of Griffen’s own height who had greeted him at the door and poured him a glass of iced tea completely filled the stereotype of a middle-aged professor who had been interrupted while grading papers. His tightly curled hair was mostly gray, and he had a potbelly. His long hands had buffed nails trimmed neat and short. Everything in the sitting room was equally neat. Even the altar set against one wall had more of the air of a Japanese tea ceremonial table than the overflowing chaos of the stands in Gris-gris’s home. The man studied Griffen with calm brown eyes behind gold-framed glasses. He smiled.
“I greet you, Griffen McCandles. This is a nice change. It’s not often I have a dragon stop in to visit. Usually you folks turn your noses up at mere humans like me. Our lives and experiences are unimportant.”
Griffen grimaced. The reputation of dragons was going to have to undergo a renovation. Since he was the ranking “big dragon” in the area, it was up to him.
“I don’t operate that way,” he said. “I don’t assume I know everything. I’d rather learn from other people than do things the hard way.”
“Rare wisdom from a young man like you. So, what information do you think I have for you?”
Griffen hesitated. “I’ve been, uh, locking horns with a man—I mean, he used to be a man . . .”
The eyes glinted behind the bifocal lenses.
“Transsexual? Not my department.”
“Uh, no,” Griffen corrected himself. “I mean, he was a human being when he was alive. He’s been dead a long time.”
“Really?”
“Well, I have no proof of it, but he lives in a mausoleum. His skin is like leather, and his eyes glow red. He’s spooky. He seems to have power, or influence, anyhow, over other, uh, undead beings. I think he’s a zombie.”
The man shook his head. “Zombies are under the influence of others, not the other way around.”
“Well, he’s the walking dead of some kind. He’s threatening people that I have promised to help protect. How can I make him go away and leave us alone?”
The man nodded. He leaned back in his chair.
“If he has defied death, he could not have done it alone. You need to approach the houngan or priestess who created him. They must help you.”
“Well, that might be hard. I understand it’s been eighty years since he died.”
That brought the man forward in his chair. His face was lined with concern.
“What is this walking dead’s name?”
“Reginaud St. Cyr Duvallier.”
The houngan shook his head.
“I know who he is. He’s the kind of man who gives me nightmares. I have heard that he created himself, but he must have had help. It was a wrong thing to do. He propitiated many lwa to allow himself to pass into the land in between. Not one of ours though his power comes from all nature. He is what you call a self-made man. He believes that he has great influence, and it comes to him. It is in the spirit of voodoo, but he does not belong to our family.”
Griffen felt a sense of desperation. The conversation was not going the way he had hoped.
“Can I propitiate them to take him back? I mean, he’s been dead a long time.”
“You would take a life?”
“Not willingly,” Griffen said.
“That’s good. You have a lot of power of your own. You could bring an end to his influence but not through force. You’d have to undermine his base of power. Is that the way you want to spend the rest of your life? He has all the time in the world. Do you?”
“No,” Griffen said. “Then how do I get him to leave me and my friends alone?”
The man shrugged. “It sounds like you’ll have to issue a challenge and have all your wits about you when you do it. Are you ready to face him?”
“I’m not, not yet,” Griffen said frankly. “But I will have to be one day.”
“When the time comes, you can ask for our help. We give it willingly.”
Griffen smiled. “I appreciate that. I may not believe in your religion, but I believe in your people.”
“That will do,” said the houngan, with a smile. “Good luck.”
Thirty-one
Val set her fork down on the empty plate and smiled at Marcella. The housekeeper had hovered beside her all the way through dinner, moving only to refill Val’s tall glass of iced tea and remove empty dishes. Her presence made it difficult for Val to relax and enjoy her meal. It was a shame because it would have rated five stars in any fancy restaurant. If she had to go by food alone, hers was going to be the healthiest baby ever born.
The long, polished mahogany table in the enormous dining room was bare except for a pearl pink cloth. A shining silver candelabrum held three huge beeswax candles that dashed flickering light over the single table setting of Spode china and sterling flatware. Val looked regretfully at the last few crumbs.
“That was great,” she said. “I didn’t really think I liked asparagus, but that soufflé was amazing.”
The dour housekeeper didn’t change expression. “It is our pleasure to serve our guests,” she said.
Val tilted her head. “Marcella, is there something about me that bugs you?”
The iron rod rammed itself back in the housekeeper’s spine. “Of course not, Ms. McCandles.”
“You know I’m just here temporarily, don’t you?” Val said. A twitch between Marcella’s dark brows made her think her guess was good. You’re not the only one who can read people, Griffen, she thought triumphantly. “I’m not trying to take advantage of Melinda.”
That remark got more than a twitch. The corner of Marcella’s mouth went up a perceptible quarter inch. “Anyone who thinks they can take advantage of Mrs. Wurmley doesn’t know her.”
Val laughed. “So I noticed. If you do or say something she doesn’t like, she rolls right over you. It must be tough.”
“Not really,” Marcella said, then shot a hasty loo
k at the dining-room door. “I just do my job. She notices when things run well. She doesn’t really expect the impossible.”
“Yes, she does,” Val said, making a face. “She wants my baby’s nursery to look like something out of a Laura Ashley catalog. I’m tempted to do the whole thing in Muppets and pirate ships. What do you think?”
“You may wake up and find it has been redecorated while you sleep,” Marcella said, with a twinkle in her dark eyes.
Val was shocked rigid. Panic rose in her throat. She put her hands protectively on her belly.
“She’d do that? She’d sneak into my house overnight? What if she doesn’t like the way I’m raising my own baby? Would she take him?”
“Oh, I’m certain she wouldn’t do anything like that,” Marcella said, but she looked uneasy. “Would you like some dessert? The chef made passion-fruit sorbet. It’s delicious but very light.”
“No. I have to get out of here,” Val said. “I want to go home. No one has returned a single one of my phone calls or answered my letters. I think my boyfriend’s written me off. No one cares where I am except Melinda, and she is only interested in my child!”
Marcella started to put her hand on Val’s arm but withdrew it in haste. “I’m sure it’s not that bad.”
Val pouted. She hated herself for it, but her sense of pique had been rising unabated for some time.
“Well, my brother is ignoring me. That isn’t like Griffen. He was turning into the original mother hen when he found out I was pregnant. I can’t believe he is still mad I didn’t call him for a week after Mardi Gras. It’s as if he doesn’t care about us anymore. It’s been months!”
Another hesitation. Val almost leaped at Marcella.
“Is there something you’re not telling me? Has Griffen called here to talk to me?”
Marcella relaxed one tiny bit. “No, he hasn’t called here. No one has. I’m sorry.”
“Oh.” Val felt very alone. The baby kicked. Val didn’t miss the irony that it was comforting her. “Listen, would you like to hang out sometime? I don’t know what your schedule is like—well, I do, but I don’t know what you do with your spare time. I mean, I can’t go out drinking in my condition, but if you know a place with good music, or a cool shopping center, we could go there.”
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