The Seer Renee

by C. R. Daems

  "What!" she shouted and pulled her hand from under mine. She had gone almost white as the blood drained from her face. She must have been watching my face or felt the tension in my hands.

  "Relax, Ellen. I believe your stalker is going to get physical, soon. Please relax, I may have a solution if it comes to pass." I rose and collected the two rings I had made for her and sat, placing the rings on the table. Holding my hand out, I said, "See this onyx ring?" When she nodded, I continued. "I wear this all the time. If you look very closely, you will see a tiny hole in the middle. If I strike something with it, a thin hypodermic needle comes out and delivers a dose of whatever is inside." While I talked, she took my hand in hers and lowered her head to examine the ring. When she nodded, I continued. "I had these two made for you. Take the one you like. Both have a drug that will cause a temporary paralysis."

  "What do they cost?" The look she gave me was suspicious. I couldn't blame her. A fake would use the threat of danger to sell the ring and charge her triple what it cost.

  "Nothing. I expect you to return it to me the next time you see me. I'm loaning it to you as a precaution. But, you must wear it day and night until we meet again—two weeks from today. If you use it, I would ask you to hit the person in the head with something to explain how you knocked him out. The police may not be receptive to using poison."

  "What did you see?" She picked up the Zuni looking ring and examined it closely, running her finger over the Sleeping Beauty turquoise.

  "Trouble. Place your hands on the table again, please."

  She gave me a strange look but complied. When I looked again, the man attacked her, ripped her clothes, and beat her to the floor before she used the ring. When she did, it had the desired effect.

  "I know this is a stressful time for you. Maybe nothing will happen, but if it does, try to remember a relaxed person thinks better than a stressed one and more likely to survive."

  "You know something. Tell me! You had those rings made especially for me... And you're not asking for money."

  "Trust me." I'd already said too much, and telling her more might in fact cause more harm than good. She studied me for a long time, clenching her hands with the ring against her chest.

  "This all sounds and looks like an elaborate fake, but...what do I owe you?"

  "Nothing. See me two weeks from today to return my ring. If you are satisfied, you can pay me for this session and the next. If not, you owe me nothing." If I saved her life, that would be payment enough. That was far more important than the money. She stood, put on the ring, mumbled "Thanks," and left in obvious turmoil. I sat there trembling. I walked an extremely narrow path paved with good, but evil lurked on one side and temptation on the other—the tantalizing lure to play God.

  Suddenly my arm began to burn, and as I watch the symbol Nkontim—the rune for loyalty and readiness to serve—appeared. I understood the message, loyalty to Vodou and a readiness to help regardless of the danger. With that, my thoughts were no longer troubled. I had done what I could to help. It would have been wrong not to regardless of the risk. As I watched, a tattoo of a peacock, the symbol of integrity and the beauty that can be achieved when we endeavor to better ourselves, slowly appeared. Granny had said the ancient symbols and tattoos were gifts from the Loa and each gave you some additional power. The message the Loa had given me, but I wondered what new ability I might have gained.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The Committee

  Willis sat staring at the nineteen-inch monitor screen. At present it was split into six boxes of equal size, but each with a different background color: blue, brown, green, violet, orange, and black. In the center of each was a yellow smiley-face with dark sunglasses. When one spoke, the smiley-face's mouth moved to match the sounds. At present the face in the blue box was speaking.

  "Good evening, Mr. Willis. I hope you have something good to report," the mechanical, bass-sounding voice said.

  "No, I'm afraid not." He held up his hand before the speaker could interrupt. "My two operatives have been unable to prove whether Eshe's granddaughter can see the future or not. She's definitely very intelligent and capable of convincing people she can see the future even if she can't. Conversely, she's equally capable of pretending she can only see snap-shots of the future when she can see it clearly." He took another drag on his cigar and blew a perfect smoke ring.

  "We need to know within the next three to six months at the latest," the face in the brown square said in a stern, alto-sounding voice.

  "Mr. Brown is right, Willis. You didn't disappoint us last time. Eshe exceeded our expectations. We admit the team that we sent in to persuade her to help us failed. We take responsibility for that failure," the face in the blue square said.

  "Rather spectacularly, I'd say." Willis pointed his cigar at the screen. He continued before anyone could comment. "The fifty million you are offering is more than enough incentive, gentlemen and ladies if appropriate. I believe I sent my operatives out with the wrong instructions, when I tasked them to find out if she had her grandmother’s ability."

  "Why?" several smiley faces asked together. Willis smiled.

  "Because they have wasted time trying to determine if she's a fake. We must assume she is a seer. I should have told them to prove it."

  "Seems as though it's two sides of the same coin. If you prove she's a fake you have your answer; otherwise, a seer if she isn't," the face in the orange square said.

  "It's the approach that makes the difference. If she is a seer, then my operative gave her the advantage when he asked for a telling. She now knows his future and who he has come in contact with. Maybe even what he and his partner are planning. If they had assumed she was a seer, they would never have gone near her." Willis sat back and let the smiley faces digest what he had said.

  "True," the face in the Black square said. "Let us hope that wasn't a... What were your words?" The smiley face actually frowned. "Oh, yes. A spectacular blunder that will result in our failure. The team assigned to Eshe failed and were justly rewarded." The tone of the voice made Willis pale. The smiley face in the black box had made the options clear—rich or dead.

  "A false start, not a blunder, Mr. Black." With that, the screen went blank. Damn that team the committee had assigned to assure Eshe's cooperation. He had been paid twenty-five million, and everyone was happy. Now they had suckered him with an additional fifty million if he could prove Renee had her grandmother's ability and ten if he proved her a fake. He had foreseen the possibility that proving her a fake could be considered failing.

  * * *

  Willis was surprised when Sheila called him the next day.

  "Mr. Willis, it's Sheila."

  "Sheila, what can I do for you."

  "I think we made a mistake."

  "What kind of mistake?"

  "If Renee is a seer, then Ken's visit to her has alerted her to our presence and purpose. She will have seen Ken's activities for many days, weeks, or even months from the time of his fortunetelling session. He has to be terminated...from the project. Renee will know everything he will be involved in."

  "Have dinner with me tonight. Say seven o'clock at the Windsor Court Hotel, room number 1201." He hung up. He had been considering terminating both Ken and Sheila, but Sheila was the right person to move to plan B. She was cold-blooded and already acquainted with the problem. What better person to prove Renee was a seer. He smiled and inhaled deeply from his cigar—problem solved.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Firebombs

  The next few days felt like months, and I had to keep reminding myself what day it was while hoping I was wrong, and the week had flown by. It hadn't. The customers were few, I had no fortunetelling sessions, and none scheduled for the next three days. Given I had nothing to do at night, I should have been out socializing and looking for a date, but I wouldn't be good company and would turn off anyone worth keeping. The others would persist no matter my mood. I even had trouble reading Granny's journals and didn't
even consider working on inventories or finances. So, I sat drinking sweet tea and worrying about everything—Ellen, Ken and Sheila, Locos—and even tried making up a few new ones which turned out easy in my present mood.

  It was close to closing when an elderly man in a white suit, carrying a brown leather briefcase, entered the store. He walked around the shop looking at each counter and shelf, and occasionally picking up an item to examine closer. Slowly he made his way to my counter.

  "Can I help you with anything," I asked, hoping he had lots of questions that would last hours into the night. Of course, he didn't.

  "I hope so. Are you Renee Mathur, the owner of The House of Mambo Eshe?" he asked. His clean-shaven, narrow face had a slight smile like he knew a secret I didn't and didn't plan on telling me.

  "Yes," I replied, not sure what else to say. It was his turn.

  "Are you interested in selling your business? My employers are ready to make you an exceptionally nice offer, well above what it's currently worth on the present market."

  "No, I’m not interested in selling."

  "They are offering two million dollars." He smiled like that settled the discussion. Couldn't honestly blame him.

  I stood there with my mouth open, jaw working, but no sound. I doubt the building, even with its good location, was worth more than four hundred thousand dollars. Two million was a lot of money, enough to buy another place with room to build a small temple of my own. Before my mind could come to grips with the consequences of selling my grandmother's home, he continued. "The only condition is that you can't open another Voodoo store or business or practice in the City of New Orleans."

  "Thank you for the offer. It is very generous, but I'm not interested." That was easy. It would have been hard selling the home I grew up in, but I couldn't and wouldn't give up practicing Vodou. The burning peacock on my arm reinforced my decision. I almost laughed at the thought that the Loa agreed with me, but I did smile, which turned his smile to a frown. He recovered quickly. Again, that funny smile which said he had a secret I didn't know. It made me shudder.

  "Yes, very generous. If you change your mind, you can reach me at this number." He handed me a card with the name Harold and a telephone number—strange—no last name or business name. He nodded and left the store.

  I laughed. I was hoping for something to pass the time and distract me and that certainly qualified. Why would anyone offer a million dollars for this building? It was too small for a reasonable sized bar, nightclub or restaurant. Probably large enough for a jewelry or other high-end merchandise shop, but if that were the case, why the condition that I not practice Voodoo in the city. It couldn't be because of competition since there were several other Voodoo shops in the immediate vicinity. Rather than a diversion, it was quickly becoming another thing to worry about.

  Two more days passed in slow motion, and I decided to visit Mambo Monique. Maybe she would have some information about Harold or some idea as to why he'd want the property. When I arrived, she looked to be getting ready to close for the day.

  "Good evening, Renee. Come in, child and I'll make you a cup of tea, and we can talk if you wish. You look worried," she said as she closed and locked the door. She reached out and took my hands in hers. "Come with me—"

  I screamed in horror as I watched Monique's life scroll before me in fast-forward and her shop exploded in fire and engulfed her in flames. She looked to be screaming as her clothes became a mass of flame. Then she fell onto the burning floor.

  I fell to my knees, gagging, acid rising in my throat until I threw up, again and again. Monique knelt holding me around the shoulders. I cried, moaned, and tears streaked down my face, dripping onto the mess on the floor.

  "Poison? Have you eaten or drunk anything recently?" she asked with a sense of urgency and concern in her voice.

  "No!" I shouted as the scene replayed itself in slow motion. I saw the store window break, glass flying inward around the room. A bottle with a flaming rag stuffed in its neck hit the floor and shattered only a few feet from Monique. The liquid sprayed onto her as it burst into flames. In an instant, her clothes were blazing, and she was screaming as she tried to rip them off. But it didn't matter. By then, the entire room was ablaze. She collapsed, and mercifully, the images stopped.

  "Come, child." She lifted me to my feet and helped carry me into the back room and laid me on her couch.

  "Your couch, I'm..." Covered in puke I wanted to say, but my throat was scorched raw, and I suddenly felt too weak to talk. She ignored me.

  "Don't talk, child. Just lay there and rest." She sat on the floor with her arm around me. I must have mercifully fallen asleep because when I returned to consciousness the room was bathed in gray shadows from the street lights and passing cars. Monique must have sensed I had woken because she felt my head as she rose.

  "Stay there and rest. I'll make some hot tea with herbs to settle your stomach."

  "I need to clean—"

  "No, Renee. Clean yourself up if you want. It may make you feel better. Go in my closet and get yourself something to change into." She pointed towards an adjoining room with a multi-colored cloth hanging in the doorway. I rose, feeling unsteady, and slowly made my way to her small bathroom, stripped, and cleaned myself. My mind felt dead. Then I walked into her bedroom and found a narrow closet and stood staring at the articles hanging there, not sure what I was seeing or looking for. I shook my head to clear it and tried to focus. Eventually, I selected a green and orange muumuu, which went to my ankles, and returned to the living room.

  "Feel better?" she asked, waving me to a chair next to a table where a cup of steaming tea sat. When I looked around, the couch had been cleaned.

  "I don't stink anymore. I'm sorry about..."

  "The floor and things can be clean. It's you we must worry about. It does not appear you were poisoned, and you don't look or feel feverish. Can you tell me what's wrong?" She wasn't insisting, just asking if I wanted to talk about it. I did and I didn't. What was I going to say? You're going to be burned to death. How do I know? I'm a seer, which whoever is planning this will know when you're not. I felt the peacock heating up. Yes, I know, I mentally said to the Loa—if it wasn't just my over-active imagination. I couldn't do anything, and Monique wasn’t going to buy into "I see a black cloud over you on such-and-such a date, and you need to leave town" crap.

  "I had a man come into my shop a few days ago and offer to buy it for a million dollars." Maybe this wasn't related to Ken and Sheila. I don't do fortunetelling for mambos, so how would I know what would happen to her. And no one has threatened to hurt anyone I know if I didn't cooperate.

  "That's a lot of money. Would you consider selling?"

  "I don't think I could sell Granny's home."

  "And he had conditions," she said. When I nodded, she continued. "Yes, several of us have had similar offers. I think a few of the fakes will accept, and others might, except for the condition that they stop practicing Vodou. But that's not what upset you." A statement, not a question. I needed time to think, although it wasn’t going to change anything. I had to tell her something.

  "No." That was all I could manage, still struggling with the problem.

  "They want the Voodoo people gone from their city, and this is their first attempt. Some will leave, but the real mambos and houngans are unlikely to leave. So threats will come next, and then what you saw."

  My head jerked up. She knew.

  "I suspected you had inherited or was given your grandmother's gift. Although we were extremely close friends, Eshe never told me the exact nature of that gift, but I knew she could see into the future with some clarity. You saw an attack on me. And judging from your reaction, it wasn't nice." Her eyes were sad. I'd bet more for me than her.

  "Yes."

  "Enough, drink your tea. You need time to think about what you can or wish to tell me, and now is not the time to make such a decision. I imagine it can wait a few days."

  "Yes." I was numb. I
had to tell her something but what? She was right. I needed time to think, not only about Monique but my life. "Thank you, Mambo Monique. I'm sorry, but you are right. I do need time to think." I had reached a crossroad and must choose a direction.

  * * *

  I didn't open for business for the next two days. I spent the days cleaning my shop: taking items off the shelves, washing, and rearranging them, taking inventory, and making gris-gris bags and Voodoo dolls. In the evenings, I wandered the streets enjoying the sights, sounds, and smells of the French Quarter where I had grown up and which I loved. Later, I found myself near Jackson Square and spent hours in Saint Louis Cathedral, sometimes praying and sometimes seeking the peace of a quiet mind free of conflict.

  The morning of the third day, I opened the shop on time, not free of worry but resolved to meet my problems head on. I believed in God and his messengers, the Loa, who had given me a gift to use. So long as I lived, I would not abuse it by permitting it to be used to commit acts of evil or by refusing to use it to help people. The thought made the area of peacock tattoo tingle as if in agreement or maybe I hadn't gotten enough sleep lately. I laughed. It didn't matter which.

  The shop was busy, the day went by quickly, and I made a good profit. After closing, I washed and dressed all in white, a tignon on my head, a blouse and flared skirt with a red wrap at the waist. I felt free. A half hour later I knocked at Monique's door. A few minutes later she opened the door and stood appraising me.

  "You look rested...and at peace. Come in, Mambo Renee, and join me for a meal if you wish." She smiled and stepped back for me to enter.

  "I'd like that, Mambo Asogwe Monique," I replied, acknowledging her seniority.