The Summoner: (17 page)

“I was watching for that very thing,” Nya said. “No one except the captive entered the smaller circle, and no one came out.”

“Judging by the way the crowd reacted,” Grey said, “they didn’t think the captive left the circle either.”

Viktor gave a slow nod.

“When he was trapped in the circle,” Grey continued, “he was trying to leave and couldn’t. Like there was some sort of invisible barrier. I don’t know what the hell happened, but he wasn’t acting.”

Viktor stroked his chin. “The enclosed circle is for the protection of whoever is on the outside. Blood is used to help seal the circle with metaphysical energy, trapping the summoned entity. The only time I’ve heard of an animal or a human being placed inside the circle is when a sacrifice is being offered. Understand this is something from the pages of black magic, demonology, ancient Kabbalah—as far as I’m aware, it has no place in Juju. Perhaps the
N’anga
has expanded his repertoire.”

Everyone was quiet. Grey found this talk of circles and summoning rituals absurd, but still…
something
had happened at that ceremony.

Viktor jerked his head as if shaking off an unpleasant thought. “You mentioned chanting. First with the arrival of the
N’anga
, and again after the two hundred cuts.”

“They were chanting for the
N’anga
when he came in,” Nya said. “And later, after the… goat… they were chanting another word. I didn’t recognize it. I’m not even sure what language it was. It sounded like “
Eh-shoo
.’”

“That was it,” Grey said. “E-su.”

“Esu,” Viktor corrected in a soft voice.

“You know it?” Nya asked.

“It’s a name. A Yoruba name. One you won’t hear many Yoruba speak aloud.”

Grey frowned. “That’s a common theme in this religion.”

“In Juju names have power.
N’anga
is not the true name of this man, of course, just as Esu is not the true name of the entity to which it refers. But the Yoruba believe the utterance of a name—even a “second” name, so to speak—alerts those in tune with the spirit world. They avoid mentioning the names of babalawos or spiritual entities unless they want their attention.”

“All of this is so unreal,” Grey said. He put his hands behind his head and let out a slow breath. “But it’s like you said. These people believe in it. So Esu’s a name? Who is it?”

“Esu is one of the more powerful Orisa. Some believe the most powerful.”

“So that ceremony, and probably the one Addison attended, was some type of worship service,” Grey said. “For Esu.”

“Esu isn’t an Orisa that is worshipped in the traditional sense. Placate or appease would be more accurate. Chanting the name of an Orisa is considered a dangerous practice, reserved for those Orisas that are more favorably inclined towards mankind. I don’t know of any Yoruba rituals that call out the name of Esu.”

“Why not?” Nya asked. “How is Esu different from other Orisas?”

Viktor cradled his glass. “While many of the Orisa are believed to be capricious, Esu is… perhaps craven is the best term. The sacrifices he’s believed to desire, the depravity he demands—a theological description of the Yoruba concept of Esu would be a lengthy and irrelevant conversation. Simply put, Esu is the Orisa most synonymous with the Western concept of the Devil.”

26

“I
think I’ll take you up on that drink,” Grey said. “Scotch, if you have it.”

Viktor fixed Grey a highball, and a spreading warmth eased his battered nerves. “I skipped the diplomatic sensitivity training on Yoruba devil worship,” Grey said, “so you’re going to have to fill me in.”

“You now have more first-hand knowledge than do I. But I’ll fill in what I can. Most practitioners of Juju, at one time or another, partake in a ritual involving Esu—to pacify him. It’s also common to find a statue of Esu in a doorway, or on a mantle, to frighten other evil spirits away.”

“I don’t think they were trying to pacify anyone,” Grey said.

“I believe you witnessed something else entirely. There are many different sects within Juju, each focused on worshipping a different Orisa, or an ancestor. It’s rather like Hinduism in that regard, to some extent Catholicism. The Esu cults are the worst, the most perverse and extreme. Thankfully, they are rare. Until today, I believed them to be only a rumor in the modern era.”

“And the man in the circle?” Nya asked. “What happened to him?”

Viktor opened his mouth, paused, then closed it. “I don’t yet know.”

“Why?” she said. “Why would anyone partake in such a monstrous practice?”

“You know the answer to that, Nya. For the same reasons other religious ceremonies, all over the earth, are held. To petition higher beings to fulfill the desires of man.”

“I don’t know how he pulled it off,” Grey said. “And I don’t really care. He’s just a man. I’m not saying he’s not dangerous—I’ve seen him handle a knife—but I’ll take my chances with the magic tricks.”

“Understand this—I do not deal in superstition, or rumor, or fantasy, except as concerns an effect, real or imagined, on practitioners. But as I said before, there are documented cases of babalawos performing acts that would be labeled as impossibilities by the Western world. There are two explanations for these phenomena. The first is that the victim believes so strongly in the powers of the babalawo that this belief, literally and seemingly miraculously, causes the babalawo’s “spell” to become a reality. An extreme example of psychosomatic affectation.”

“If I hadn’t seen the damn thing myself,” Grey said, “I’d be laughing right now.”

“I’m afraid there’s not much debate as to the occurrences themselves. And scientists have witnessed only a small portion of true Juju practice.”

“And the second explanation?” Nya asked.

Viktor shrugged. “One must account for all possibilities. The second explanation is that they’re real.”

“Harris is going to love this,” Grey muttered.

Nya hid her disconcertment well, but Grey could see a shadowing of her eyes, a twitch in her hand gestures. There was something else in her mannerisms Grey had been trying to pin down, something more ingrained than even her fear. He thought he glimpsed it now, struggling to break free, forcing its way to the pedestal of her emotions. He thought it determination, an adamantine resolve concerning this case.

“I’m not convinced Lucky isn’t the
N’anga
,” Nya said. “But I agree we should pursue all avenues. Professor, what do you suggest?”

“I’m not sure attending another ceremony is the wisest course at this juncture, now that he knows who you are. Not unless you’re prepared to arrest him.”

“Unfortunately I’ll need strong evidence—physical evidence—before I can convince my superiors to attend one of the ceremonies. If we can even find another one.”

“Then try to find where the
N’anga
lives, where he goes during the day. See if you can uncover a name, a residence, a haunt. Anything that might draw us closer.”

“Is it possible Addison was just a random sacrifice after all?” Grey said. “And is there a possibility he’s still alive?”

“If he still lives, he might wish he were dead. And no, I don’t think he was chosen at random. Addison is too connected, too risky—frankly, too white and American—to have been a random selection.”

“I’ve been searching for a link,” Grey said, “and Lucky is as far as I’ve gotten. There’s something to that angle, I just don’t know what.”

“Unless Lucky is the
N’anga
,” Viktor said, “I doubt he knows why Addison was chosen. We need to talk to someone who knows Juju better than I. This Doctor Fangwa you told me about—Nya, can you arrange another meeting?”

“I believe so.”

“Even better,” Grey said.

“We’ve been over this,” Nya said. “He has an alibi.”

“So he already has an alibi for the ceremony we attended?”

“I haven’t had a chance to ask him about Friday night.”

Grey snorted.

“Regardless, I’d like to speak with him,” Viktor said. “He may be our only insight into why Addison was taken.”

“Something I overheard at Lucky’s club,” Grey said. “Two men made reference to an “order” made by a “Doctor.”

Viktor set his glass down for the first time, and leaned forward. “Do you remember what was said?”

“I didn’t hear much. One of them said he needed the order by Sunday, the other said that was too soon, then they argued briefly. That was pretty much all I understood, except they seemed frightened of this Doctor. They said something about his Juju. You think they were talking about Fangwa?”

Viktor’s face hardened. “They were likely discussing ingredients ordered by a money Jujuman.”

“What kind of ingredients?” Grey said warily.

“My guess would be body parts to be prepared by the Jujuman for potions and elixirs for wealthy customers.”

Nya was aghast. “In
Harare
?”

“I warned you. We can’t be sure if it was Doctor Fangwa they were discussing—babalawos are sometimes referred to as doctors. But if he is, then he’s either the
N’anga
himself, or a very dangerous man.”

The world as Grey knew it was slipping further and further away. Priests that make potions out of human body parts because people
buy
them? Jesus. “What it means for sure,” Grey said finally, “is that Lucky has some type of connection to whichever Jujuman those men were talking about.”

“Yes,” Viktor murmured.

“And now?” Nya said. “Do you still wish to visit Doctor Fangwa?”

“Even more. I intend to ask him why William Addison was taken—and why a babalawo would want to summon the Devil.”

27

N
ya surprised Grey by calling early the next day. She asked him to meet her and Professor Radek at noon outside Doctor Fangwa’s town house. She said she’d tried to procure a more neutral location, but Doctor Fangwa would only agree to a meeting at his residence.

Grey was also surprised when Professor Radek arrived at Fangwa’s soon after they did; he half-expected another note or phone call.

Nya rapped on the narrow door, a model of professional chic in her designer sunglasses and sleek business suit. She really is a good-looking woman, Grey thought.

The door creaked open to reveal the vacant stare of the boy-servant. He appeared in the same white linens, and showed no sign of recognition. Grey noticed Viktor’s eyes latching onto the boy’s.

“This way,” the boy intoned in his emotionless voice. He shut the door behind them, and in the windowless parlor Grey had the sensation of being sealed inside a tomb.

The boy led them to the third floor again, to the same room. There Doctor Fangwa sat, in the same chair and in the same white robe, greeting them with the same skeletal grin. The whole scene again felt eerily staged, as if they could come to visit Doctor Fangwa every hour of every day, and would be greeted in an identical manner.

Nya introduced Professor Radek, and Fangwa motioned for everyone to sit. He folded his hands in his lap and turned to Nya. He grinned wider. “I am pleased you decided to return.”

“We need to ask you a few questions,” she said, with an affected brusqueness that failed to mask her discomfort.

“And you chose me.”
Click-clack
.

“There’s no one else.”

“Oh? Then I assume you seek more of the… specialized knowledge… you believe I possess. That also pleases me.”

Nya crossed her legs and smoothed her pants. “Doctor, there’s something we need to clear up before we proceed. I need to ask you where you were the night of December 12
^th
. Last Friday night.”

“I was performing my duties. With my followers.”

Nya’s face twitched. “What kind of duties?”

“My duties as Cultural Attaché, of course. I was hosting a small gathering of certain of my countrymen. Is everything all right? You look… pale.”

“Where was this gathering held?” she said, her voice low.

“Here, of course.”

“I see. I assume you can verify this?”

“But of course. You may question my staff after our meeting, as you desire,” he said, inclining his head towards the boy, who had retreated to stand by the door.

Grey’s mouth compressed. He was toying with them again.

Nya glanced at the boy, then swallowed. “I suppose we can proceed for now.”

Doctor Fangwa awaited her question, his fingers now tapping spider-like, one digit at a time and in succession, on the slender wooden armrest. His face was calm as glass. Grey stole a look at Viktor, equally composed, but staring at Fangwa with the same interest with which he had studied the boy.

“Do you remember the man we discussed last time?” She said. “The babalawo?”

“Of course.”

“Mr. Grey and I attended one of his ceremonies last Friday night. We’d like to ask you a few questions concerning this.”

The Doctor’s eyes widened ever-so-slightly, and he took a long sip from a cup of tea waiting on a low table beside him. He set the tea down and his fingers resumed their movements.

“If you’ll remember,” Nya continued, “we discussed the meaning of the word
n’anga
, and how it does—or does not—relate to Juju. You informed us you didn’t know of any Juju rituals involving summoning.”

The Doctor’s head bobbed, as if pleased at her progress.

“We believe the
N’anga
was trying to summon an entity at this ceremony. We witnessed it firsthand.”

“And which entity might that be?” he asked with overt politeness, as if to a schoolgirl.

“You have, I assume, heard of Esu?”

The Doctor gave a high-pitched giggle. “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard anyone outside of my culture speak that name. Have I heard this name? Every Yoruba knows this name, every child has it whispered to them when they misbehave. The question is, do you know the meaning of this name?”

“Professor Radek informed us.”

“He did, did he?”

Viktor finally spoke. “We need to know why the
N’anga
was trying to summon Esu, and how that might relate to the disappearance of William Addison.”