Unsympathetic Magic (42 page)

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Authors: Laura Resnick

BOOK: Unsympathetic Magic
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“I don’t believe so,” said Max. “Jeffrey and I changed the bandage a little while ago, and it seemed to be healing properly.”
I cast Jeff an inquisitive glance, and he nodded in agreement with Max.
Nelli sat down and rested her massive jaw on my thigh, squashing my leg into the hard chair that I sat on. I stroked her ears as I said, “All right, out with it, Frank. Then we have to get Nelli to a vet.”
“First things first.” Jeff, who liked dogs, sat down next to me and stroked Nelli’s back soothingly. “Tell us how the bokor just tried to kill you.”
“My bed burst into flames a little while ago,” I said. “While I was in it!”
“Oh,
shit,
” said Frank, rocking back and forth. “That does it! I’m leaving New York.”
“Where was Detective Lopez?” asked Max.
“He was in the bed, too.”
“And you were . . . what?” Jeff said. “Ministering to his wounds? Playing gin rummy? Discussing the Middle East peace process?”
“Okay, fine,” I said, feeling my cheeks get hot again. “We had argued, and we were making up.”
“In the bed,” Jeff said, clearly enjoying my embarrassment.
“Yes.”
“And did your dress get torn to shreds during the argument, or was it during the making up?”
“Um, the argument. No, the making up.” Wishing the floor would open up and swallow me, I said, “Does it matter?”
“Just trying to get the facts straight.” Jeff reached over to me and brushed aside my hair. “Is that a hickey? No, it’s
several
hickeys. The boy plays rough, doesn’t he?”
“Stop that!” I slapped aside his hand.
“Please continue, Esther,” said Max, deliberately assuming his most scientifically detached expression.
“Well, uh . . .” I tried to think of how to phrase it. “The occasion, um, called for the removal of the gris-gris bag.”
“Oh, dear,” said Max.
“And the bed exploded,” I concluded.
“Just like that?” Jeff asked.
“Yes.” I touched the pouch that hung around my neck and inhaled its reassuring stink. “Max, will this thing protect me now?”
Jeff said, “Well, have any beds exploded into flames since you put it back on?”
“Shut up,” Frank and I said in unison.
Max said to me, “I believe it would be unwise for you to remove the charm again until we have confronted our adversary and gained control of the poppet made in your image.”
Frank asked anxiously, “Is there a poppet made in
my
image?”
“Has
your
bed caught fire?” Jeff asked him.
Frank had experienced no ill effects (apart from anxiety, terror, and insomnia) in the time between fleeing Mount Morris Park on Monday night and fleeing his apartment this evening after being attacked by Biko. So Max decided that he was probably not in danger from a voodoo doll.
“Nonetheless,” Max said, “it would be advisable for all of us to wear some form of protection. Particularly in view of what happened to Esther and Detective Lopez tonight.”
Jeff smirked at me. I ignored him.
“Esther,” Max added, “there would also certainly be no harm in our renewing the power of your protective charm.”
“In the laboratory?” I guessed.
“Yes. Frank, perhaps you would be so good as to continue your recitation downstairs?”
Frank nodded wearily, and he and Jeff rose to follow Max.
We heard a sudden, piercing wail come from the far side of the shop, followed by the slapping and slamming of rapidly opening and closing doors and drawers.
Frank screamed and hid behind me, his eyes rolling in terror. Jeff looked around for a weapon and grabbed the coffeepot.
“What are you going to do with that?” I took the pot away from him, then said to both men, “Calm down. It’s just the possessed cupboard.”
“The what?” said Jeff.
“That thing tries my nerves,” Max said, proceeding toward the back of the shop and downstairs to the laboratory.
“Come on,” I said to Jeff. “I’ll show you.”
Since Frank was clinging to me for dear life, he came along by default.
Along the far wall of the shop there was a massive, dark, very old wooden cupboard. It had a profusion of drawers and doors, and it was about six feet tall and at least that wide. As I understood it, the cupboard was enchanted. Or cursed. Or possessed. Whatever. Anyhow, it could be dormant and inert for weeks at a time, but then suddenly, without warning, it would act up again.
At the moment, one of its drawers was opening and closing repeatedly, while thick smoke and a wailing scream poured out of it.
“Holy shit,” said Jeff.
Frank buried his face against my back and started sobbing.
“I know it’s annoying,” I said. “But it’s really best just to ignore it.”
I gave Nelli a worried look. She disliked the cupboard and usually barked ferociously at it when it acted up. But she was just staring at it now with glazed, listless eyes.
“She needs a vet,” I said.
Frank paused in his hysteria long enough to lift his head and look at the dog. “You’re right,” he agreed. “She looks worse now than when I got here.”
“Esther?” Max’s voice floated up from the cellar.
“Coming!” I called. Then I said to my companions, “Protective charms first. Then a vet for Nelli.”
Jeff said, “I am
not
wearing something like that foul thing you’ve got around your neck, Esther.”
“Yours won’t be nearly this smelly,” I assured him, having no idea whether I was telling the truth. What did I know about voodoo charms? “The bokor doesn’t have strands of
your
hair, after all.”
Nelli gave a little groan and decided to lie down. I cast her another worried look, then turned toward the back of the shop. There was a little cul-de-sac there with some storage shelves, a utility closet, a bathroom, and a door marked PRIVATE. The door led to a narrow, creaky stairway.
At the top of the stairs, there was a burning torch stuck in a sconce on the wall. It emitted no smoke or heat, only light; and it had been burning steadily ever since I had met Max, fueled by mystical power.
My two companions blinked at it in surprise, but chose not to ask about it.
Instead, Jeff said to me, “So how is Lopez? Alert and sober?”
“Yes.”
I began descending the steps. Jeff followed me, and Frank brought up the rear.
“Then he’s got amazing recuperative powers.” Jeff asked, “Was he freaked out by your burning bed?”
“He was alarmed,” I said. “
I’m
the one who was freaked out. Lopez expects an arson investigator to explain it rationally.”
“That could happen, you know.” When I didn’t respond, Jeff said, “So are you two back together now?”
“No. He still thinks I’m deranged.”
Apparently my tone discouraged further conversation. Jeff said nothing else. We reached the bottom step in silence.
Max’s laboratory was cavernous, windowless, and shadowy. The walls were decorated with charts covered in strange symbols and maps of places with exotic names. Bottles of powders, vials of potions, and dried plants jostled for space on the cluttered shelves. Beakers, implements, and tools lay tumbled and jumbled on the heavy, dark furniture.
Frank momentarily forgot his fears and looked around in wonder.
“Cool.”
Max was at his workbench, burning incense and chanting quietly as he sprinkled something on the charms he was preparing.
Jars of herbs, spices, minerals, amulets, and neatly assorted kinds of claws and teeth sat on densely packs shelves and in dusty cabinets. There were antique weapons, some urns and boxes and vases, several Tarot decks, some runes, a scattering of old bones, and a Tibetan prayer bowl. An enormous bookcase was packed to overflowing with many leather-bound volumes, as well as unbound manuscripts and scrolls.
“Man, the set designer for
The Vampyre
should see this place!” said Frank.
“Pardon?” I said, resisting the urge to peer over Max’s shoulder.
“The Vampyre
.
”
Frank spelled it for us. “A friend of mine works for the producer. It’s an off-Broadway show they’re mounting for a limited run this season. It’s a showcase for that actor from that canceled TV series.”
“Off-Broadway? This season?” Jeff asked alertly. “Any parts?”
“Not for a brother, man,” Frank said with regret. “It’s set in nineteenth-century Europe. All white people.” He looked at me. “You know, you might be right for it. They’re looking for a couple of actresses in their mid-twenties who fit a historical style.”
“What’s it called again?” I asked.
“The Vampyre?”
Frank nodded. “Based on the story by John Polidori.”
“Who?” I said.
Jeff looked apologetically at Frank. “She’s practically illiterate.”
Ignoring Jeff, Frank said, “He was a companion of Lord Byron’s.”
“Oh,” I said. “Hence the historical aspect of the production.”
Max ceased chanting and said, “Frank?”
I said to Frank, “And they’re auditioning now?”
“In a couple of weeks,” he said.
Max said, “Jeffrey?”
“Excellent!” I would make sure Thack got me into that audition.
“Esther?” Max said.
“Yes, Max?”
“The charms are ready to be donned.”
“Oh, good.”
“You want to keep the charm close to your heart,” Max explained to the men.
He uttered an incantation as he slipped a thin leather string over each of their heads, from which the charms hung like pendants. The pouches were smaller than mine. There was a distinctly musty odor coming from them. I decided not to ask what was inside the tiny bags.
“I think I feel safer now.” Frank closed his fist over his gris-gris bag, took a deep breath, then smiled. “Yeah! I do feel safer!”
Jeff sniffed his pouch. “I comfort myself with the knowledge that Puma will understand. Speaking of which, I’ve called her four more times. That Vodou ceremony’s got to be over by now.” He said anxiously, “She’s really missing.”
“And her brother’s gone insane,” Frank said.
I gathered that Jeff had explained to him exactly who had attacked him. I asked Frank to explain to me what had happened this evening. While he did so, Max had me sit next to his workbench, so he could modify my gris-gris bag without removing it from around my neck.
Even firsthand, Frank’s story still didn’t make any sense. Until joining Jeff and Max in the bookstore tonight, he’d never even heard of Puma, let alone had any contact with her. And his only contact with Biko had been on Monday night, when the young man had rescued him.
Yet tonight, for reasons unknown to anyone, Biko had come to his apartment without warning, broken down his door, and tried to kill him.
“Based on Frank’s description of Biko’s demeanor,” Max said, “I now believe that Biko was possessed at the time.”
Frank explained to me, “The kid’s eyes didn’t blink. His face was frozen in a blank expression. He didn’t speak. He didn’t react when I threw things at him. Not even when whiskey got in his eyes. It was like he was on autopilot.” Frank clutched his gris-gris pouch again. “I figured he was on PCP or something. Possession never occurred to me.”
“Max, do you mean spirit possession?” I asked, aghast. “Like what happened to Lopez?”
“No. I believe Biko’s condition is a form of possession which is sometimes called the white darkness,” Max said gravely. “In the grip of this evil influence, the living can be made to do things they would never do otherwise.”
“White darkness,” I repeated. “Could the bokor inflict this on someone?”
“It would seem so. And it’s such a dangerous thing to do that it convinces me that the crisis must be very near.”
“Dangerous for
me,
certainly,” Frank said.
“For everyone,” said Max. “In the throes of possession, Biko—and Puma, if she has also been enthralled—may do terrible things that, as living people rather than as reanimated corpses, they will have to answer for before the law.”
“Oh,
no,
” I said, realizing what he meant. “If Frank hadn’t gotten away this evening, Biko’s life would be ruined. He’d be a murderer!”
“Er,
my
life would be ruined even more,” Frank pointed out. “I’d be dead.”
“Or you’d be a zombie now,” I said absently. “The bokor might not waste such an obvious opportunity to replace the corpse that had to be discarded.”
“Okay, this is my body that you’re talking about killing and raising from the dead,” Frank said to me. “So could you speak with a little more sensitivity, please?”

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