The drums were meant to put everyone into a susceptible state, both passive audience and active participants. They only pissed me off and reminded me of why I was here. But I let my eyelids droop and followed the prompting of the planted celebrants. The black woman in the middle of the clearing shrieked and hollered. We were supposed to be watching her being mounted by the orishas. The audience fell for it. Her followers fell for it. I bit my tongue and said nothing.
There was the presence of a powerful entity here, but it wasn’t who everyone else thought it was. But she knew. As she jerked in rhythmic dances around the clearing, beating certain people over the head with palm fronds, and certain other people with a white cloth, she knew. She was serving it. She was marking who was going to be offered to it, and who was not to be touched. I made sure I was far away from her when she came near my section of the audience. I didn’t want to give myself away too soon.
I looked for the reason I came, but I didn’t see the woman I’m supposed to rescue. Dammit. I have to get inside the compound then. I have to attract the attention of the woman’s helpers, but without attracting the attention from the Madame herself.
Let’s see, what could a woman do in the deep South that wouldn’t be out of place at a Vodun style of ceremony?
Fall the fuck out, that’s what.
I fanned myself viciously as if having a menopausal hot flash. Water was brought to me, but I refused as if offered poison. “Oh! OH!” And… faint. ~kadunk~ I was alone, so there was no one there to catch me. It was dangerous to touch a “touched” person at these type of ceremonies. You never knew if the spirit that was on them would jump from them to you. No caught me. I was alone. I was easy prey.
The Madame’s attendants were quick to “rescue” me from my predicament. Madame herself only took a cursory glance at me. It was clear I was not something for her to worry about if this little bit was enough to overtake me. She graced me with passes of the white cloth and told them to take me inside so I could recover in “peace and blessings”.
I felt the nibbling on the edges of my spirit by things and Things. But they all quickly turned away with a sour ‘taste’. I wasn’t good eats. I tasted like a waiting grave. They wanted jacque shitte to do with that.
Inside the compound, there were men and women running about in all white garments. These were the folks doing the dirty work of maintaining the compound. The dossier I had read before coming said these people were kept ritually “unclean” in menial tasks meant to keep them subservient to the ritually clean upper ranks. They wore all white as a statement that their clothing was the only thing pure about them. One of them was assigned to wait on me as I recovered. I smiled as my Lucky Jar came through for me. My helper was the woman I was tasked to rescue.
A white woman, with family in New York. She had told her kin she had found a “deep and true” spiritual path. When she first provided details, they performed due diligence on the information and were alarmed at what they found. The House she was in contact with was ostracized by many mainstream Vodun and Hoodoo houses and alliances for a long list of sins. Chief among them were deception, manipulation for undue financial gain, kidnapping, misrepresentation of spiritual truths, enslavement, and preying on the spiritual weak. The House was on the law enforcement radar as well. Seems folks from out of town come here, sign over all assets and savings, and then are never seen again. The day before her family contacted me, she had sent them a lengthy letter disowning them and her bank accounts were cleaned out and closed.
“Even if I get her on the plane, I can’t stop her from going back.”
“Just get her on the plane. Any plane. To any place away from there. We’ll be there when she gets off the plane.”
“There will probably be very little use of magics on her. This is a con-man’s game. I’ll break off what magic I can, but you’re going to need a psychologist’s help to break her dependence and self-deceptions.”
“We’ll deal with that once she’s home. Get her on that plane!”
I found her. But it’s too soon to try and smuggle her out. I thought there was very little magics involved based on the vitriol the other Houses have for Madame’s. I was wrong. From the exterior, the House looks like just another con-man’s compound. Now that I was inside the boundaries, I see the place is covered in layers of protections and reactive wards. Something is hiding here.
I play the “I’m pulled here by I don’t know what” card, and play it well. I act confused by my “falling out” and cry about not being able to keep my composure. My target, originally named “Marian”, now called “Susan” by the House Madame, is assigned to help me as I transition from Lost Child to House Novice. Everyone is assuming I am going to remain on the compound.
Two days later, there is a great ceremony. I am dressed in all white and sit with the other white-robed workers in the back of the gathering. I can feel an oppressive spirit moving through and over the crowd. Tonight is a night of dedications. Some of the white-robed workers are going to be given their color of dedication. Marian/Susan is one of them. I’ve seen enough to know that once she is initiated, she will never return to her family.
I wait until everyone is completely enthralled in the portion of the ceremony that summons the entity that Madame and the compound really serve. I shake off the weak magics meant to keep me confused, and throw a working of my own over Marian/Susan. To nearly everyone else, the two of us suddenly phase out of existence.
To Marian’s eyes, the rest of the world suddenly turned gray as time around us slows down to imperceptible movements. She looks up at me, completely mesmerized. Her mind and will is open to me. I seize it.
“We are leaving now.”
“But I’m supposed to…”
“No. You are leaving with me now, because that is what is supposed to happen now.”
“I am leaving with you now.”
I look around and see Madame and the Lord of the Compound still see us. The Entity, appearing to my eyes as a ambulatory oil slick, is not happy. Madame is seething.
“You only hear my voice, and only obey my commands.”
“I only hear your voice, and only your commands I will follow.”
The rewording placed me at ease. She was fully engaged by my magics. We stand up, make our way through the blinded crowd, and start for the exit. Madame is upon us at once.
“DECEIVER!”
“Yup.”
“THIEF!”
“Yup. You might wanna jump back into normal time, you know. Things are going on without you.”
“I WILL UNDO YOU!”
“Nope.” A series of previously unseen symbols suddenly flared across my body from head to toe in a very visual warning that stopped Madame from following through with her slap. “Touch me, and you will be undone. Personally, I find you as valuable as wet shit. But this isn’t a personal job. I was paid to extract Marian, and that’s what I’m going to do. Good night.”
Madame tried to grab Marian, but the same covering that flashed over my body, flashed over hers. She drew back her singed hand and hissed at me. “You will never leave this place.”
“Talk time over. Bye now.” As I pierced the layers of wardings and boundary markers, I pulled Marian through with me. Madame was not expecting that, but she dogged me anyway.
At the last boundary between the compound and the surrounding swamp, she stopped. As long as her master was manifesting, she could not leave the compound. “You will die unless you and her return to me. Both of you are as good as dead. You have eaten of the grave! You will not live to sunset!”
I turn to her with a smug smile. “Yes. We have. A nice peppery flavor. Your cooks are wasting it by using so much.” Madame stands there with a confused (but still lividly pissed) look on her face as Marian and I trudge into the midnight swamp.
She was not bluffing about the food. There was hoodoo at work in it. A wasting away would begin unless we return to the source of the hoodoo or I purge it from us. There are plenty of eggs, plenty of vinegar, and plenty of clean water. I got this.
Biting flies descended on us as we continued through the swamp. I bit them back, sending Madame’s curse back to her in pieces. Unfamiliar snakes dropped out of trees onto our shoulders with intent to strike. I tied them into knots and threw them back into the water for the gators to feast on. Sometimes those same gators would swim/amble beside us. I swear, one of them even did a head up-nod as if saying “We gotcha back. Ain’t no worry from us.”
As we came out of the swamp onto the dry land of a road, I was inattentive for a moment. Just long enough for a large, swollen, yellow and black hornet-like thing to emerge from the grasses and sink its stinger deep into my left ankle. When I swatted it, it exploded into putrid pieces that decayed in mid-air, but the strike was true. My ankle felt like acid had been injected and the stinger was still in place.
I pulled the stinger out and almost threw it away. I thought better of it, wrapped it up in some leaves, and tucked it into my bag. I pulled out a little bag of tobacco, spit it in to make it wet, and stuck the mash onto the sting site, using local grasses to tie it to my ankle. I was stung, but the poison wasn’t going to be there for long.
It was almost daybreak when Marian and I trudged into what the census bureau called a town. There was a general store with a diner inside, and the motel I had reserved two weeks worth of rooms at. I had already told the manager that I may be absent for a few days at a time, and my room better not have been rented out should I return during the time reserved. Even as I bribed him to show my intent, I let my voice carry the threat if I was crossed. The man gulped, crossed himself, and quickly tucked the money away saying that not even room service would be allowed into the rooms without my explicit permission.
I took Marian to my room first. I saw marks on the door handle where someone had tried to force entry. The manager quickly caught up with me, saying my key would not work. He was uncomfortable with me gone so long, and worried someone might have lifted the motel key, so he had the lock rekeyed the day after I left. Indeed, someone did try just that. I bade him to wait at the door, got my money stash, and offered to pay him for his diligence. He declined, saying I already had and he was just doing his job.
I had guessed Marian’s clothing size based on the last pictures of her given to me by her family. I worried they would be too small. They hung on her sagging frame. The difference reminded me of Madame’s curse. I had to get started or the wasting away would start soon.
Both of us now in normal clothes, I took the white garments to the front desk and told the terrified clerk that they should be burned and the ashes buried. The clerk didn’t ask why, but fetched a new trash bag for me to place them in.
In the diner, I ordered a large breakfast and a child’s breakfast. I asked if I could prepay for sundries since the same cashier handled both. The cashier looked at Marian oddly as she asked what did I want.
“A dozen fresh eggs. A jug of vinegar. A bucket. Washing cloths. And a salt box.” The cashier nodded while her fellow clerk went and fetched the items I named off.
The large breakfast was placed before me. The child’s breakfast before Marian. She was uninterested in eating. Her face looked gaunt. The wasting had begun. But she was still under my power.
“This breakfast sure looks good.”
“Yes, it does.”
“It would be a shame if I didn’t try a little of everything.”
She nibbled on the biscuit as she agreed.
“In fact, I think I’ll show the cooks how good it is by eating all on my plate.”
“That sounds like a great idea!” And she began tearing into her plate.
Now that I knew her hunger had woken up, I stopped her. She looked at me in hungry want. “A little salt. To liven things up.” But I didn’t shake the salt directly from the salt shaker. I shook some into my hand and tasted it to make sure it was salt and only salt. Satisfied it was, I shook more into my palm, and rubbed that salt over both of our plates. “Okay, now eat!” And she did.
The two clerks watched my strange behavior. Both of them knew what I just did. It was written clearly on their faces. But where one was terrified of the implications, the other only nodded in approval.
We ate quickly. I could feel the wasting turning my stomach. With Marian in tow, I went to the counter to pick up my goods. Everything was in the bucket, covered with the cleaning cloths. I removed the cloths to inspect what was inside and found a little bottle of Florida Water included. When I looked up at the clerks in askance, the terrified clerk blanched and began stuttering that everything in there was what I had requested. The other clerk only smiled a little more and said, “I took a guess what you might be doing. A little help can’t hurt, right?” I smiled and offered to pay for the extra. She declined. “You do what you gotta do. Just do it right.”
We returned to the motel room. Marian laid down on the couch, suddenly exhausted. I was tired as well, and not just from the trek. I took the Florida Water, added a few things of my own to the bottle, and laid down lines at the front door and the back door of the suite. I bid her strip, and washed her from head to toe. First with vinegar. Then with salt water. Then with plain water. I had her lay back down on the couch and picked up a raw egg. While she sucked on some salt, I used the egg to trace certain symbols over her head, her feet, her hands, and then over her chest. Touching the egg to her chest, I felt it pulse in my hand suddenly. Marian gasped. I smiled. One wasting curse, now contained.
She went to sleep as I quickly drew out and contained the wasting curse I was suffering from. The eggs looked like any other, but they had a certain heft to them that told all but the absolute clueless they were not safe to consume. I pulled off the grasses that tied the wet tobacco to my ankle. The tobacco had changed color from a brownish green to a deep and twisted black. My ankle had only the tiniest of marks to show I had been pricked, and that would be gone by morning. I laid out the tainted tobacco to dry on the table. I had a suspicion, and the poison meant to fell me would protect me instead.
The day progressed. I called for a ride and the first flight to New York for two people. All sorts of folk had heard about the escape from Madame’s compound and were curious to see us. The Manager and the Smiling Clerk had kept their mouths shut about me. The Terrified Clerk couldn’t shut up. This was going to be a problem… or was it…
I saw little heads peeping into the window trying to see through the blinds. When I opened the front door, most of the kids scattered except for one brave little boy. He stood back from the window but stared at me intently.
“Hey. Kid. Know where I could find a pipe and some ‘baccy?” He nodded.
“The good stuff, like what your uncle would smoke.” He nodded, smiling.
“Here’s fifty bucks. Go find me a new pipe, still in the wrapper, and a handful of good tobacco. If that’s not enough, come back and I’ll give you some more.” He looked at the offered money strangely. “Yea, I know you could run off with the money, but if you’ve heard what others have heard about me, you know that’s not smart. If you do this for me, I’ll give you a charm that will keep scary things away. But only for you. Because you didn’t run.” He grinned and said he’ll be right back. He snatched the money from me and ran off towards the general store.
The charm wasn’t an actual magic talisman. It was some lengths of cord from my bag, wrapped and tied to resemble a little person (if you looked crosseyed and squinted). The kid already had the bravery he needed. Just sometimes, a placebo works better than medicine. All it takes is the right words.
A little pounding at the door from a little fist. The boy was back. He had a very nice looking drugstore pipe, still in the original packaging, and a small sealed pouch of tobacco, the receipt and the change. He was honest about how much money was left over. (Not much, but still, he was honest!) He said the clerk almost beat him out of the store for asking until she stopped and described me. When she confirmed I was the one sending the boy, she quickly rang him up and told him to run straight back to me, and not speak to anyone on the way.
I gave him some money for running the errand, and spun a detailed story about the cord-person. It would work only for him, I said. He would out grow it as he got older, I said. It might even fall apart, but that’s because he doesn’t need it, I said. But don’t be foolish and run into danger. As long as he had a smart head, the cord-person would help him, because “God don’t suffer no fools”, I said. He beamed with each sentence and took the cord-person in hand. With a little swagger to his step, he bid me a good day and ran outside.
The trap has been baited. Better get it ready to spring.
The phone rang. The next flight I could smuggle Marian out on would be in the morning. On a cargo plane. As cargo. She had no identification and I was sure the local authorities were balls deep in Madame’s bribery pocket. As it was, only their fear of my rumored abilities were the only thing keeping people away.
I took the tainted eggs and wrote in pencil, “You broke it, you own it.”. I lifted the welcome mat at the back door, and hollowed out a little bit of dirt. Tucking one egg under the mat, I arranged it to look like the foot trap was elsewhere. Someone wary of juju would then step on the fold of the mat, breaking the egg underneath, and taking on the waiting curse. I tucked the second egg away for safe keeping.
I woke Marian up, who was looking much refreshed and almost completely coherent. There were no more scents of Madame’s magics on her, but she was still psychologically attached. As much as I hate doing it, I decided to retain control over her will until we arrived back in New York. The clothes still hung on her frame, but not as much as this morning. She was rebounding fast from the wasting curse and was ravenous. All my belongings were in my backpack, so when we left for the diner, the only personals in the room was a half-spent book of matches, the pipe package (not completely open, intentionally), and the bag of tobacco (opened and stirred up, apparently for an airing out). The trap was set, the bait was in sight. I wondered if anyone was going to take it.
One uneventful dinner later, Marian and I returned to motel room to the sight of the Manager clearly upset. Someone had sweet-talked the cleaning staff into opening the front door of the motel suite. The Manager checked and was panicking because there were no signs of my possessions. “Though there was a package for a pipe, but no pipe was seen.” When I only smiled, he calmed a bit. “You… left something behind… purposely.” I smiled and winked as he gave me yet another key for the motel room.
That night was the first deep sleep Marian had had in months. I slept in stolen moments. A rustle at the back window. A quiet burst of expletives. A smug catch of laughter. “The bitch is crafty, but everyone knows not to step there.” A loud crunch followed by a wet slurp. A sharp intake of breath.
“You broke it! You own it!” My words ring out from inside the motel suite. “Own… what?” The responding whisper is barely audible. “Oh, beloved saints protect me! The egg… is black…” The sounds of furious dragging of something on the ground followed by frantic footsteps running away from the back door. I smile and settle into good sleep for the few remaining hours of night.
The hired cab is at my door shortly before dawn. I gather up Marian and what little remains of my excursion. I call the Manager and tell him to keep the rent for the days I still have booked, but I was checking out and leaving right then. The room was his again. He thanked me and bid me a good day. Marian and I have breakfast while I ring up the flight captain. As I look across the dirt, I see a familiar pipe and a familiar bag of tobacco. It is in the hands of one of Madame’s lay attendants. He is smoking furiously, brandishing the pipe in what he thinks is showing off that he stole something from me. When I wink and smile, he suddenly pauses in concern. Limping up to him is another of her lay attendants. His right leg is withered from knee to toe. Everyone scrambles to stay away from him. He is pleading with the pipe smoker for something. The pipe smoker only blows clouds of smoke in the withered man’s face.
Marian and I enter the cab, and we depart for the cargo flight back to New York. News of our departure spreads fast, and everyone is jostling to take a look at the strange mulatto and her white servant. Along the way, I see the boy holding his cord-person up high. He smiles, waves, and laughs in greeting and farewell. I’m glad he is the last I see of this place. I hope if I see him again, he is still his own person. If that bitch touches him, it might become a personal job after all.
Make of that, what you may.