From the dark edge of the circle, Sadie walked forward, outlined against the flames that seemed to consume her. She rapped her staff sharply on the ground; the chanting and drums ceased. Still gripping the staff, she raised her arms toward the dark sky. "Oh Loa Legba, nous allons ce soir parce que un femme cherchez pour un garcon pour beaucoup l'ans. Attende-vous pour moi oh Loa, Loa Legba. Ouvrir barre pou nous passer."
Jack leaned toward Mary. "What are they saying? Do you understand them?"
Mary nodded. "Only some of it. My French's pretty rusty; I'm not sure about the dialect. I think she's praying to for the Benevolent one to listen to her because a woman's been searching for a man for a long time. She wants the Benevolent one to open the door."
The chanting continued, growing louder and louder with each repetition until Sadie shook uncontrollably, then screamed, "Il arrive. Il arrive. Il veut manger le poulet! Il veut manger le poulet!"
Jack tilted his head toward Mary.
"She's saying he's arrived and wants to eat the chicken. What chicken? I must be missing something in the translation," she whispered.
Beside her, a man and woman pulled two screeching roosters from burlap sacks, each holding one flapping bird by the legs. Bile rose in her throat. Not a blood sacrifice! Please, God, no! A man approached with a gleaming knife that caught the light of the fire and danced with it near the faces of the couple. Sadie was chanting softly now, "Preparez le poulet pour le Loa Legba. Preparez le poulet pour le Loa Legba."
Mary held her hand up to her throat. "Oh God, Jack, she's telling them to prepare the chicken. It must be some kind of sacrifice." She glanced at him, but he stared straight ahead. Didn't he understand how much danger they were in? She tried to close her eyes but couldn't. The man's hand shot out to grab the head of one of the roosters. In a single arc of the knife, he severed the neck and tossed the head so he could grab the other bird and kill it with the second swing of his blade.
Paralyzed with fear and horror, Mary felt a spurt of warm blood splash her face. The man and woman grabbed the headless roosters by their feet and swung them in wide circles at arm's length above their heads, as if anointing those who pressed closer with the spattering blood. Mary tried to swallow the bile that rose in her throat, wanting desperately to run, to escape, but still she couldn't move. She forced herself to breath through clenched teeth, for members of the group held out their hands for some of the oozing liquid, then rubbed the spattered blood onto their painted faces.
She had to get out! Terrified, she tried to get up and run but her legs wouldn't move. Her hands gripped the cold, wet ground in an attempt to push herself to a standing position, but the rest of her body crumpled beneath her. Dear God, would she and Jack be the next ones to feel the bite of the knife?
In blind panic she opened her mouth to call to Jack, but nothing came out. She took a deep breath, licked dry lips, and tried again. "Jack, for God's sake, look at me," she whispered in a hoarse croak. As the dancers moved closer to the flames, she tried again. "Jack, help me, please. We've got to get out of here!"
Unresponsive to her pleas, he blinked his eyes and stared ahead. She grabbed a handful of wet dirt and leaves, flung it his way. He didn't even flinch, even though a rock struck the side of his face and drew blood. What was wrong with him?
When one of the dancers leaned toward her, his dark, black eyes inches from her own, she thought her heart would stop beating. The stench of his breath fanned her face as he shouted,"Ouvrir le barrie, ouvrir le barrie."
Remove what barrier? Mary squeezed her eyes shut and held her breath until he clicked his tongue and moved away. When she found the courage to look again, the rhythmic weaving and bobbing of the men and women intensified until frenzied bodies and blood-spattered clothing blurred into a sea of white.
Sadie paused in the middle of the flames. Moments later, the men and women froze in position.
What were they waiting for? Chills raced down Mary's spine as an eerie hush fell upon the circle. Please, God, not another sacrifice!
Staff in hand, Sadie's hoarse cries rang out, shattering the utter stillness. "Mangez le poulet, oh le Loa Legba. Mangez le poulet, oh le Loa Legba." She raised the carved staff above her head and tossed it into the air.
Dear God, which one of them was going to eat the headless chickens? Mary nearly fainted when Sadie's staff clattered to the ground in front of her. One of the male dancers picked it up. Reaching over, he pressed it against her throat, chanting softly, "Fermez la bouche. Fermez la bouche."
He must have heard her whispering to Jack. Why else would he tell her to shut her mouth? Was he going to kill her with the staff for talking? Terrified, she reared back when the hard wood bit into the soft flesh of her neck, cutting off her air supply. The man grinned, poked her shoulder with his finger, and released the pressure. Her vision blurred, then refocused as she gulped air into starved lungs.
Sadie was chanting loudly now, her voice filling the clearing. "Passez le baton, passez le baton."
Evidently Sadie wanted her staff. Mary watched as two men bowed in front of Sadie, and held out a pointed stick, which she kissed, then skewered the roosters on. Choruses of "Passez le baton, passez le baton," echoed loudly as the men pitched the pole into the bonfire and tossed cupfuls of potion onto the flames after it. Thick, black smoke billowed out, followed by the stench of charred feathers.
Mary crossed her hands over her face when two male dancers suddenly lurched toward her, as if struck by a heavy blow. The two stood up, staggered in circles, screaming, "C'est moi. Je suis le Loa Legba. C'est moi. Je suis le Loa Legba."
Who were they claiming to be? A diety? Mary's mind reeled as she struggled to translate their jumbled phrases into coherent thought.
Their arms and legs flailed uncontrollably so that they fell to the ground, writhing and shaking. The dancers nearest them pinned them down until the spasms stopped. Once released, they jumped to their feet and pranced toward a group of females.
Sadie pointed to the men, gesturing excitedly. "C'est le Loa Legba, C'est le Loa Legba! Regardez les hommes--C'est la femmes! Regardez les hommes -- C'est la femmes!"
Mary struggled to keep her mind focused. Why was Sadie claiming the men had become women? Surely she'd misunderstood.
Beads of sweat rolled down the men's faces, forming tiny rivers across their cheeks and necks. When they reached the women, the two men admired their jewelry, examined the braids in their hair, and fingered the ruffles on their clothing. Mary wanted to close her eyes, but the events unfolding in front of her were so bizarre that she felt hypnotized. The men were acting like women! Amazed, she watched them gently pat their cheeks and hair, smooth their tattered shirts over their flat bosoms and hips, then flick imaginary hair away from their necks. After a few moments they flopped their hands toward the women, bowed to Sadie, then fell to the ground, arms and legs jerking and twitching.
Sadie passed her staff over their shaking bodies. "C'est fini," she cried as she poured cupfuls of potion over their heads. "C'est fini. Le Loa Legba departe. Le Loa Legba departe."
Mary couldn't believe her ears. Over? Who departed? Her knees shook as it dawned on her that the Voodoo ceremony was almost over.
The shaking stopped and the men lay completely still. Another wave of Sadie's staff brought others to help them to their feet and carry them around the circle.
The clap of thunder pounded in Mary's ears and she gradually lost contact with her surroundings. Thin beads of sweat formed on her brow as the heat of the fire once again fanned toward her. Despite her nervousness, she felt compelled to focus her gaze on the flickering fingers of light. The flames parted and the image of a long, dark window appeared.
The darkness surrounding the window faded; light replaced shadow. Wispy images of a male and female took shape. Later, she remembered their names. First, Jean-Pierre and Magdalene, then Larussard. She watched them together, side by side at the plantation. The images flashed by faster and faster, revealing the depth and s
trength of their bond. The window darkened and she cried out as the images blurred, then faded from view. She struggled to bring them back, but they would not reappear.
Mary stirred, not sure how long she'd been sitting. Gray predawn had replaced the black night sky above the clearing. Jack sat motionless beside her, his eyes wide open. Across the clearing Sadie sat on a stump, her thin body shivering.
The old woman's piercing black gaze met Mary's and she motioned for them to leave. When Jack didn't move, Mary touched his arm. He blinked a few times and awkwardly rose to his feet. His hand felt cold in hers as they followed Sadie's steady pace along the narrow path.
Sadie slowed her steps as they approached the house. She suddenly veered off to the left, disappearing into the grove of trees. Too tired to follow, Mary willed rubbery legs to propel her onto the porch. Jack's stumbling footsteps echoed closely behind.
Inside, the glowing embers in the fireplace barely warmed the drawing room. She tossed some rolled-up newspaper and a few strips of kindling onto the coals and stood there until they burst into flames. Moments later she added another log to keep the fire going.
Jack walked over to the bar. "I don't know about you, but I need a drink. Want one?"
She nodded and he poured two glasses. She stared at him, unsure how to tell him what she'd seen and felt. Surely he'd had the same experience. She groped for a way to break the deafening silence. Finally, she blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "What did you see when you looked into the flames?"
He drained the whiskey from his glass. "Nothing, why? Were we supposed to see something?"
Her heart felt heavy. He hadn't seen anything. Why had she been the only one to have the vision? She shook her head, trying to clear her jumbled thoughts. "Are you sure you didn't see anything, Jack? Please, think carefully."
He drew his eyebrows together. "Nothing. All I saw were flames." He stared at her for a few minutes. "You saw something, didn't you? Otherwise, you wouldn't be asking me these questions."
She nodded. "Believe it or not, I did see something in the flames. You're probably going to think I've lost my mind when I tell you this, but I need to tell somebody what happened." She sipped her drink to ease the dry tickle in her throat. "I swear, it was like someone wanted me to see this house's past. I saw a man and woman. They were married and lived in this plantation. Their names were Jean-Pierre and Magdalene Laroussard." She glanced at him carefully. "Are you sure none of this rings a bell?"
He shook his head. "Nope."
She finished her drink and sat the whiskey glass on the coffee table. "They were so real. It was as if somebody let me actually feel their emotions, see what they saw. It was unlike anything I've ever experienced." She rubbed her hands up and down the sides of her face. "Nothing like this has ever happened to me before. I'm not real sure how much of it I can believe."
He rubbed his chin. "Sorry, but I don't believe in that kind of stuff."
She rubbed her hands on the sides of her slacks. "That's okay, Jack. I'm not so sure I believe it myself. I've never believed in people visiting the past. At least, not until now."
He poured himself another drink. "You know, this whole trip has been strange."
She tried to remain calm and rational. "Well, in all the years I've been a curator, nothing like this has ever occurred before. If I didn't know better, I'd say somebody was feeding me background information. Visual images from the past of what the house looked like, who lived in it, that kind of stuff." She twisted her head from side to side, to ease the kinks in her neck. "But why pick me? It isn't as if I'm connected to this house in any way. I don't even have any relatives in this area. Why me?"
Jack placed a hand on her shoulder. "Have you ever had anything unusual happen to you before?"
She shook her head. "No. Nothing. I don't think anybody in my family has ever been psychic." As the words left her mouth, she remembered her mother telling her father that her Aunt Elizavon must be psychic to figure out which stocks to invest her money in, because everything she bought made money. Surely that couldn't have been true!
The shrill ring of the phone interrupted their discussion. Justine's sleepy voice drifted from the hall as she answered it. A few moments later she appeared in the doorway and announced the call was for Jack. He was gone only a few minutes. When he returned, the look on his face spoke volumes. "Audrey's illness has taken a turn for the worse. I'm sorry, but I have to leave. I'll copy my files onto a diskette for you."
"I'm sorry to hear that, Jack. Is there anything I can do to help?" she asked in a soft voice.
He shook his head. "No, thanks. After I get my stuff together, I'll need to give you a copy of my inventory sheets."
She waited in the drawing room until he called for her to join him. While she waited by the window, he copied a file from his computer and handed her the diskette.
"Here's my inventory file. I hate to leave you with all this work, especially since this means you're going to have to present both reports by yourself." He sighed. "Well, at least the Martines are nice people. It could be a lot worse if they weren't. I just wish you could give them better news about the value of the items in the house."
She stared at him, open-mouthed. "You're kidding, right?"
He sent her a puzzled stare. "I don't know what you mean. Why would I kid you? Nicole Martine is one of the most charming women I've ever met. Of course, I didn't meet her husband, but I couldn't have asked for a better introductory meeting." He sent her a curious glance. "What happened when you went to their house?"
She groaned inwardly but managed a false smile. "Nothing. I just didn't get the same impression about her that you did. Don't worry about it, Jack. I can handle the exit interview. I'll finish up here, give the Martines the report, and be home before Christmas. Once I get back to Boston I'll send you all the files over the Internet. No problem. You need to get home and take care of your wife."
He looked at her, nodding his head. "I guess that about handles it then." He touched her cheek with the back of his index finger. "Thanks for everything."
Her skin tingled at his touch. "Yeah, well, have a safe trip, Jack. I hope your wife..." her voice trailed off. "Um, well, you know."
He nodded and patted her shoulder. "Thanks. My taxi should be here in a little while. I'll wait downstairs for it."
She got the subtle hint. "Yeah. Well, I need to get some sleep anyway. Have a safe flight." She walked back to her room, strangely depressed. A little while later a horn honked outside and she heard the front door open and close. As she tucked the covers under her chin, she wondered what would have developed between them if he hadn't been married. Would they have become lovers?
That thought depressed her even more, so she forced herself to think about her memories of the house, Jean–Pierre, and Magdalene. They certainly seemed real enough. It was as if someone was acquainting her with events from the past. In preparation for what? As she lingered in the limbo between awareness and exhaustion–induced oblivion, it dawned on her that the events she'd witnessed were only the beginning, the opening of the door. Her only fear was--what was this thing she was supposed to do? And worse, what kind of trouble was it going to bring?
Chapter 6
Mary cast a glance at the inventory sheets sitting next to her computer and sighed. Even though she'd been working steadily, the pile of pages hadn't lessened. She glanced at her watch and was startled to realize she'd been sitting at her desk for over two hours.
Where had the time gone? Had she been daydreaming without realizing it? That stack of inventory figures should have been recorded long before now. She berated herself for not concentrating on her work, gritted her teeth, and kept her eyes glued to the numbers scribbled on the pages. She'd finish entering the data even if she had to skip breakfast, lunch, and dinner to do it.
The events of the night before slowly wormed their way back into her thoughts. She wondered why she kept remembering things about this house and the people who used
to live in it. What connection could they possibly have with her? She had never been to Louisiana before, and wasn't related to anyone in the area.
The idea that she might not be in control irritated her. She'd made up her mind long ago that she neither believed in "fate" nor leaving things "to chance." She'd always been decisive and in control, especially when it came to her own emotions.
What would she have to do to regain control? She thought about it and decided she needed to finish her work, then leave as quickly as possible. She'd simply forget about this place and go back to her safe, steady routine. No more emotional roller coasters or irrational infatuations, just work and relaxation with old friends.
Her conviction suddenly left her depressed, and intuitively she realized it had to be because she'd made up her mind to forget about this house and everything connected to it. Why did the thought of picking up the threads of her old life depress her?
Old life? Since when did everything she did before this job become an old life? Puzzled, she shook her head, but nearly fell off her chair when a hand gripped her arm.
Sadie stood next to her, grinning.
How long had the old woman been standing there? She hadn't heard her come into the room. Heart pounding, Mary opened her mouth to berate the old woman for giving her such a shock, but Sadie spoke first.
"Where you been?" Sadie asked as she gazed around the room. "Ain't much time left. I done seen it. There's things still needing done." Her bony fingers tightened around Mary's wrist, then loosened. "You get downstairs," she demanded as she withdrew into the hall.
Once she recovered her wits, Mary stomped down the stairs, fuming. How dare that old woman order her around? As she entered the drawing room, a blast of warm air cascaded over her and she realized just how cold she was. Her teeth chattered as she walked closer to the fire.
Justine shoved a glass of brandy into her hand. "Here, drink this. You look chilled to the bone." She shook her head. "What on earth were you doing up in that cold room?"
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