All acts of pleasure argi-7

by M. R. Sellars

  “That has nothing to do with you,” I objected.

  “Aye, it has to. She gets inside me and makes me do things. We’re bound by blood. Maybe we are bound by madness as well.”

  “You’re going to have to stop talking like this, Felicity,” I told her. “You aren’t her and she isn’t you. This is a Lwa, and it’s taking the path of least resistance.”

  She shook her head slightly. “This isn’t just the Lwa. It’s her too. You know that.”

  “Even if it is, so what?”

  “You said it yourself.”

  “What?”

  “The Lwa is taking the path of least resistance. What better choice than someone who is insane?”

  “Honey, we can’t have this conversation. You aren’t being rational.”

  “Aye, you’re right. Maybe you should go.”

  “Excuse me?”

  She hung her head, avoiding my eyes. “You should go now.”

  “Felicity…”

  “No,” she choked. “Go. Please.”

  It took a pair of minutes before I could bring myself to rise from the chair. Felicity still hadn’t lifted her head, and it became obvious that she was done with the visit. No amount of pleading was going to bring her back into the conversation, not right now anyway. Her stubbornness would see to that.

  I was worried, angry, hurt, and confused all at once, but there was nothing more I could do here. I just kept telling myself that she was safe and that Helen would take care of her. Maybe tomorrow she would be ready to talk again.

  I leaned forward and kissed her on top of her head.

  “I love you Felicity Caitlin O’Brien,” I whispered, lingering for several heartbeats before turning and walking to the door.

  It took a moment before the attendant answered my knock and unbolted the barrier. On my way out I paused, looking back toward my wife. She had drawn her legs back up and was sitting again, just as I had found her when I walked in, although this time she was no longer watching the window.

  *****

  “Dammit, Helen, she thinks she’s insane!” I almost spat the comment across the desk. My pain and confusion had given way to anger before the elevator doors had ever closed. Now that I was standing in the office she kept at the hospital, it had begun to boil over.

  “Rowan,” she replied calmly. “I told you that everything we had accomplished thus far was completely negated by the incident this morning.”

  “But she thinks she’s insane!”

  “She thought she was insane the day you admitted her,” she replied matter-of-factly. “She simply had not told you as much.”

  My cell phone chirped again. My awareness of the tone had been drifting in and out, so I’d lost count of how many times it had reminded me to pick up my voice mail. I snatched it from my pocket, angrily stabbed some buttons to silence the annoyance, and then shoved it back into the darkness from whence it came.

  “Well, there’s got to be something you can do,” I demanded.

  “Yes, Rowan, there is. Continue her sessions and keep her safe and comfortable until you find the rogue spirit that is causing her this strife. Then, and only then, real healing can begin.”

  “Dammit, Helen, this is fucked up.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  I rubbed my hand across the lower half of my face, pinching my cheeks together and pursing my lips as I contemplated the situation. Stubble had already begun to sprout around my goatee, and it made a soft swishing noise as it dragged against the ridges on my fingertips.

  “I’m sorry,” I finally muttered.

  “I understand, Rowan,” she replied. “And, apology accepted.”

  We sat in silence for a long while. I could feel the ever-present throb in my head beating out a rhythm all its own. I’d grown used to it these days. Enough so that I pretty much ignored it unless it got worse.

  “I guess I’d better go home,” I finally said.

  “That would probably be a good idea,” Helen replied. “I would not normally do this, however, under the circumstances I am willing to make an exception. Would you like for me to prescribe something to help you sleep?”

  “No.” I shook my head. “I’ll be fine.”

  *****

  I hadn’t been in my truck for more than five minutes that my cell phone began to ring. I finished backing out of the space and levered the vehicle into drive before fishing around in my pocket for the device and pulling it out. Stabbing it on, I placed it against my ear, holding it tight as I swung my gaze left and right before pulling out of the parking lot.

  “Rowan Gant,” I half-barked into the device. Right now I didn’t care who I alienated.

  “Rowan, it’s Velvet,” a Southern drawl rolled into my ear. “Did you get my message?”

  “No,” I returned, fighting to soften my tone.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “Yeah, actually. Felicity experienced another possession by the Lwa this morning,” I explained. “It wasn’t good.”

  “Did anyone get hurt?” she asked, genuine concern in her voice. I had confided everything in her to date, so she was well aware of how bad things could get.

  “Physically, no, but my wife is now convinced that she is insane.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Thanks, but I don’t intend to let her travel that road for very long. But anyway, you said left a message? Tell me it’s good news.”

  “Yes, I think it might be. I just might have found something.”

  “If you did, I’ll put you on my goddamned altar as my personal Goddess.”

  “Let’s not go that far just yet,” she replied. “I put some feelers out in the Vodoun community and started getting a few interesting calls. But, one that came in yesterday really stuck out, so I ran it down. There’s a tomb in New Orleans that has been having offerings placed on it on a fairly regular basis starting a few years ago. Not unusual in itself, but none of the locals were familiar with the ancestor, so that was curious. Still, not that big a deal, but then over the past year, they noticed that the activity had increased significantly.”

  “Did this tomb survive Katrina?”

  “Yes, it is in a part of the city that didn’t flood.”

  “Has there been activity there since the disaster?”

  “Yes, actually.”

  “Okay, sounds promising. So, in your opinion do you think this might mean someone has made this ancestor a personal Lwa?”

  “It’s possible, but let me finish because here’s the interesting thing. The tomb had been damaged at some point, so the name was only partially legible, but it started with an M and an I…”

  “You’re getting damn close to a place on that altar, Velvet.”

  She ignored the comment and rushed into an explanation. “Just to cover the bases, I went ahead and got the location for the tomb and had a friend with the Louisiana Division City Archives look into it for me. Listen to this. The remains interred in there are of one Miranda Blanque, date of death on or around September fourteenth, eighteen fifty-one.”

  I felt the thud in my skull ramp up a notch then send a hard stab of pain lancing beneath my scalp. A wave of gooseflesh followed it as the hair along the back of my neck rose to attention. I knew then that this wasn’t a case of finding some thing.

  This was the thing.

  It was she.

  “How does it feel?” I asked.

  “How does what feel?”

  “To be a Goddess,” I replied. “Because you just got a promotion.”

  Wednesday, November 30

  7:17 P.M.

  Lambert Saint Louis International Airport

  Concourse C, Gate C3

  Saint Louis, Missouri

  CHAPTER 34:

  Felicity had been in much better spirits when I had visited her earlier in the day. Apparently, a good nights sleep and some time chatting with Helen had done wonders. I didn’t want to second-guess someone with a laundry list of credentials that I, myself, didn’t possess, b
ut I was betting my wife had far more resilience than she’d been credited.

  Helen had objected to me coming to the hospital at first, feeling that my presence might upset some of the balance they had reached. For once, I actually agreed on that point and would have bowed to her wishes had it not been for the fact that I needed to seek my wife’s permission. Not exactly like a child seeking endorsement from a parent, but I needed to make a trip to New Orleans. There was no way around it. Unfortunately, I was having trouble making myself leave Saint Louis with Felicity locked away in the psychiatric ward of a hospital, even if she was under Helen’s watchful eye.

  I knew I had no choice, and so did they. In fact, the prospect that I had most likely found the Lwa served to brighten my wife’s mood even more, turning her underlying sense of despair into a newfound hope. But, in the end it still took both of them better than an hour to convince me that it was okay for me to leave and that she would be all right.

  I looked at my watch and shifted in my seat. The entire row of chairs was interconnected, and they rocked slightly as I moved, shifting back and coming to a rest with a mildly jarring clunk. The lady sitting two seats to the left of me instantly shot me a hard glance. Her face was creased with a thin frown as she made a show of tugging at her yarn and settling back in to crochet whatever oddly shaped project she was attempting.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled then tried to sit still. The seat wasn’t exactly comfortable, so I couldn’t say how long that was going to last.

  My trip through the TSA security checkpoint had been much quicker than I expected, so I had ended up sitting here way too long. It was one of the things I hated most about air travel, especially since 9-11. It had become a terminal case of hurry up and wait. Of course, I had hurried, and now I was waiting. I’d been planted in this spot long enough now that my buttocks were going to sleep, and I still had a plane ride ahead of me.

  According to the time on my watch, I had a good twenty to thirty minutes before they would even begin boarding. In fact, the plane hadn’t even arrived yet, and in my experience if they said they were going to board at 7:45 that really meant 8:05. I knew I was going to be miserable if I didn’t at least get up and move around a bit.

  I turned my head slightly to the side and watched the woman with the crochet hook stabbing away as she poked it through one loop, hooked a strand, pulled, then repeated, twisting and fiddling as she went. Eventually, she stopped and gazed intently at a folded magazine in her lap. I assumed it was a pattern of sorts.

  Either way, pattern or not, I took the opportunity to get up from my seat and heft my carry-on from the floor next to me. The row of joined chairs rocked and thumped once again, and even though she wasn’t actually working on the project at the moment, the lady shot me another disgusted glare.

  This time I didn’t bother to apologize. I simply shrugged and walked away.

  Hooking the strap of my backpack over my shoulder, I started across the concourse, dodging travelers as they endeavored to run over one another with their wheeled luggage in tow. After running the gauntlet, I ducked into the coffee shop that sat diagonally across from my gate. I ordered a large coffee with a double shot of espresso and then, after glancing at the refrigerated case, had them add a cheese Danish onto the tab. I suddenly realized that I hadn’t even given thought to eating before I rushed to the airport. There’d been too much to do with getting the last minute plane ticket, arranging for our friend RJ to watch the animals, canceling a meeting with a client, and trying to pack for the quick trip.

  The shop was bustling, just as it was any other time I’d had occasion to fly, so it took a few minutes for my drink to get done. I simply stood away from the crush of people, holding my pastry-filled and logo-adorned bag in one hand, with the thumb of my other hooked through the shoulder strap of my backpack. Eventually, my name was called, and after an aborted attempt or two at reaching the counter, I managed to get my hands on my coffee.

  I had kept an eye on my gate and thus far saw no one exiting the jetway, so I figured there was plenty of time before I would be called to board. I exited the shop and found that one of the small cafe tables in front of it was free, so I parked myself there, dropping my carryon to the floor and sitting back. The chair wasn’t any more comfortable than the one I had been sitting in before, but at least it wasn’t connected to anything else, so the only person I could disturb was myself.

  I was just pulling the Danish out of the bag when my cell phone started to warble. I dropped the pastry onto a handful of napkins then pulled the device out of my pocket and answered it.

  “Rowan Gant.”

  “Where the fuck are you?” Ben’s voice hit my ear.

  “Actually, I’m at the airport.”

  “Why in hell are ya’ at the friggin’ airport?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  “Well where ya’ goin’?”

  “Like I said, you don’t want to know.”

  “Dammit, Row, is this somethin’ ta’ do with that Voodoo stuff? Are you doin’ somethin’ stupid like I told ya’ not to?”

  “Do I need to say it a third time, Ben?”

  “Fuck me.”

  “I’d rather not. So, did you just call me to brush up on your suspect interviewing skills, or was there some greater reason?”

  He adopted a snide tone. “I dunno, are you sure you wanna know?”

  “Hey, you called me.”

  “Yeah, I did.”

  “So?”

  “So I got a piece’a news for ya’. Are ya’ sittin’ down?”

  “Actually, yes.”

  “Good, ‘cause guess what? We found your goddamned sister-in…half sister-in…aww, hell, whatever-the-fuck-she-is-in-law.”

  I instantly sat up straighter in the chair. “You found her? Where?”

  “Well, not ‘zactly found. But, we know who she is.”

  “Who?”

  “Her name’s Annalise Devereaux,” he replied. “I’m lookin’ at ‘er driver’s license photo right this minute. And, Row, you ain’t gonna believe this. She’s the fuckin’ spittin’ image of Firehair.”

  “Where is she, Ben?” I pressed.

  “Right now, we don’t know, ‘cause of Katrina.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The address on ‘er license is in a section of New Orleans that got totally flooded out, so there’s no way to know where she is at the moment. But, obviously we know she survived.”

  I sat there staring into space for a moment, feeling my headache creep up another notch.

  “Row…” Ben’s voice flooded into my ear. “Hey, Row, you still there?”

  “Yeah,” I finally said. “So, Ben, you wanted to know where I’m going?”

  “Yeah, I do, but I seem ta’ recall you decided ta’ be an asshole about tellin’ me when I asked.”

  “Well, it’s my turn to tell you something you won’t believe. I’ll give you three guesses where I’m going, and the first two don’t count.”

  Friday, December 2

  3:11 P.M.

  St. Louis Cemetery #1

  New Orleans, Louisiana

  EPILOGUE:

  “Do you have any change with you?” the woman asked.

  The man dug in his pocket and extracted a handful of coins, spread them out with his index finger, then displayed his palm to her. “This enough?”

  “It’s really not as much about the amount as the effort and respect,” she replied, nodding toward the assortment in his hand and then showing him the few she held in her own. “Just let them know you have a gift for them and ask permission to enter.”

  The pair was standing on the sidewalk in front of the cemetery gate. The walls surrounding the plots showed their advanced age but were obviously maintained as best they could be. The iron gates were propped open in an eerily inviting manner.

  “I can’t say that I’ve ever done this before,” he replied.

  “Have you gone into cemeteries before?” she asked.

>   “Yeah, of course.”

  “Then I suspect you’ve offended a few ancestors.”

  “Great.”

  “Don’t worry about that now. You’ll all get over it,” she told him with a quick shake of her head. “Just do it right this time.”

  “Anything special I’m supposed to say?”

  “No, just speak from the heart. Tell them you’re bringing a gift and ask permission. It’s not hard. It’s like showing up at a dinner party with a bottle of wine and knocking on the door.”

  “And then I just walk in?”

  “You’ll know what to do,” she said with a slight smile. “Believe me, if they don’t want you to come in, you’ll know it.”

  “Okay,” he replied, an underscore of apprehension in his voice.

  He stood at the gates and gathered his thoughts for a moment, then looking in through the opening at the closely arranged rows of tombs, he began to speak.

  “Greetings…” he started hesitantly.

  He glanced over at the woman for reassurance but saw that she had her eyes closed, and her lips were moving as she silently greeted the spirits herself.

  “Greetings,” he began again. He continued speaking aloud though he wasn’t quite sure why. “My name is Rowan, and I’ve come to visit you…for…well, for some very important reasons. I’ve brought you this token…”

  Not quite sure how to proceed, he held his hand out, displaying the coins to the unseen spirits.

  The day was pleasant with the temperature resting in the upper fifties. The sun was shining, and there’d been no reason for anything more than a light jacket. Even so, a slight chill ran up his spine causing him to shiver. It lasted only a moment then was immediately followed by soothing warmth that enveloped his entire body. His earlier anxiety was instantly replaced by comfort.

  Just as Velvet had told him he would, he knew he was welcome.