Tortured Spirits

by Gregory Lamberson

Flipping a wall switch, she turned on dimmer lights in the high ceiling and entered her summoning chamber, where she prayed and instructed her top priests and priestesses. The circular chamber, fifty feet in diameter, occupied the space directly beneath the worship hall. Catoute closed the door and lowered the heavy wooden bar across it, preventing anyone from entering uninvited. Two thousand five hundred unlit white candles surrounded the chamber, resting upon tiered shelves. The candles glowed in the soft overhead light. A smaller circle, twelve feet in diameter, marked the floor’s center, drawn by Sivelia with chalk under Catoute’s supervision.

  Catoute set the jar down on another pulpit and unscrewed its lid. The strong odor that rose from the crimson fluid caused her to frown. Rolling up one sleeve, she drew a dagger from the folds of her dress and pressed its tip against a two-inch scar. The blade sliced into her dry flesh, and she cut open the scar. She held her arm at an angle, allowing her blood to flow into the jar.

  After sixty seconds, she put the dagger down and wrapped her arm in a bandage. Sivelia would stitch her up later. Screwing the lid back on, she shook the jar several times, mixing its contents like paint. From the bottom of the pulpit, she took out a plastic container the size of a bucket and a pump with a nozzle attached to a short hose. She poured the jar’s contents into the container, affixed the pump, and pressurized the device.

  A silver mug joined the sprayer on the pulpit, then a bag of gunpowder and a bottle of Pavot Island rum. Catoute filled one-third of the mug with gunpowder, the rest with rum, and stirred the contents with the dagger, cleaning her blood from its blade at the same time. After sliding the dagger back into her robe, she took a thick black candle and a box of kitchen matches from the pulpit.

  With her concoctions prepared, she carried the candle and matches to the center of the circle and settled on her knees. Then she set the candle on the floor, struck a match, and lit the wick. Grimacing, she rose once more, returned the matches to the pulpit, and carried the sprayer to the circle. She aimed the nozzle at the chalk and squeezed the trigger, and a fine stream of blood sprayed out with a hiss. Walking around the circle, she traced the outline Sivelia had made, covering the white chalk with blood. When she had finished, she admired her handiwork. Despite an unavoidable sense of dread, her pulse quickened with excitement.

  Catoute sat cross-legged on the floor. She cleared her throat and bowed to the candle. A moan rose from within her, followed by a chant, the words a mixture of French, Spanish, and African tongues. The chant grew louder, the rhythm of the sounds more urgent, almost sexual in nature. She had learned some of the words from her mother and others from her studies.

  Please come, she thought. I need you more than ever.

  In the center of the circle, the candle’s flame flickered as if a breeze had swept through the chamber.

  Catoute continued chanting.

  A shadow passed over the floor but only within the circle. Tiny black threads appeared in the crack between two floor stones, like the legs of a spider. The threads expanded and multiplied until a black dome the size of a bowl rose from the floor. A ring of brown appeared beneath the dome, then a forehead, fine eyebrows, closed eyelids with long lashes, and a wide nose. The head emerged from the solid floor, supported on a taut neck. The male body levitated like someone rising from beneath the surface of a still pool. Lean arms, a six-pack abdomen, and a penis both long and thick emerged from the stone. Powerful thighs gave way to sturdy knees and strong calves. When the bottoms of his feet became level with the floor, the figure stopped rising.

  Catoute blinked at the beautiful body in awe. The man, perhaps seventeen years old in appearance, opened his eyes, which glowed red. She had never forgotten those mesmerizing eyes. He stretched his body in a manner that seemed almost feminine.

  Kalfu, Catoute thought, rising.

  The man-boy looked at the floor, then swept up the mug in one graceful move and gulped down the gunpowder and rum mixture. Catoute watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he tilted his head back. He discarded the mug, which made a hollow clanging on the floor, and smacked his lips. Ripples, like waves in the ocean, ran from his head to his feet. His red eyes widened, and for an instant he projected the demeanor of a very old man. Then he composed himself and moved forward, setting one foot in front of the other, like a model on a runway.

  Catoute stood her ground four feet beyond the circle.

  The being reached the blood on the floor and stopped, toeing the line. He stared into Catoute’s eyes and exaggerated the movement of his lips as he spoke. “Puri.”

  The sound of his voice caused Catoute to tremble, both from fear and sexual arousal. “Kalfu, my lord.”

  The red light in Kalfu’s eyes grew brighter. “It’s been a long time, girl. At least by your measurement.”

  Catoute offered him a crooked smile. “I’m surprised you even recognize me.”

  “Your soul looks the same as when you were twenty-two. Better, even, because you’ve done such wicked deeds. I can hardly wait to drink your essence.” His gaze flitted to the crimson circle. “Why have you summoned me this way?”

  When Catoute had first summoned Kalfu, he had not materialized before her. Instead, she saw him walking on the street in Pavot City days later. He was the most beautiful man, the most perfect creature, she had ever seen, and she knew he was the Loa she had sacrificed a white dove to meet. Without saying a word, she invited him to her apartment, where they made hungry love. Then he showed her his true self, both physically and spiritually, and raped her for hours. By the end, she had experienced rapture.

  “Because I can,” Catoute said. “I’ve learned a great deal since the days when you shared your knowledge with me.”

  Kalfu extended one hand as far as the space above the circle’s edge. His palm and fingers flattened as if he had pressed them against glass, and his eyes showed amusement more than anger. “I taught you well.”

  “You planted the seeds of my learning. I taught myself.”

  “I’m insulted. When I take a woman, she’s mine body and soul. It’s been three decades since our last encounter. I find it hard to believe you haven’t fantasized about me every day since we last shared flesh.”

  “Oh, you still make me wet, my lord. Even in this shriveled-up old shell. But you’ll not have my soul today, demon.”

  Kalfu spread his arms in a gesture pleading innocence. “I’m no demon, chéri”.

  Catoute cackled. “You would say that. You always have. Save your charms for some ingénue.”

  Kalfu’s nostrils flared. “You didn’t use your own blood.”

  Catoute showed him the bandage on her forearm. “Just a little of it. I haven’t menstruated in twenty years, and I haven’t been a virgin for a lot longer than that.”

  Kalfu smiled. “Your granddaughter.”

  “She’s saving herself for you, lord.”

  Kalfu licked his chops. “When can I have her?”

  “When I say so. That girl is dying to unlock your secrets so she can replace me as the top Mambo. I’m not ready to lie down and decompose yet.”

  Kalfu’s chest rose and fell. “You summoned me. There’s a price to be paid for that. Produce the girl, or crawl into this circle and open your legs.”

  Catoute made a dismissive gesture with one hand. “Don’t tempt an old woman. You’d give me a heart attack for sure.”

  Kalfu looked down, and Catoute followed his gaze to his throbbing erection.

  “Don’t even think about leaving me like this, girl.” The words came out sounding like a threat.

  “You want me to stroke you? Forget it!” She didn’t intend to reach inside the circle.

  Kalfu snarled. “Give me the girl’s blood.”

  Catoute glanced at the sprayer, then stooped and picked it up. Pumping the handle a few times, she stepped forward. “Open up.”

  Kalfu smiled and opened his jaws wide. Catoute aimed the nozzle and squeezed the trigger. A crimson stream jetted out, splashing Kalfu’s f
ace before echoing inside his mouth. The sprayer had only one good pump in it, and the stream ran out of steam and dribbled on the floor. Catoute discarded the sprayer, and Kalfu tilted his head back and gargled the blood in his mouth.

  When he finished, he showed her his long tongue, which appeared even longer slicked with blood. Catoute watched him sink to his knees, seize his penis in both hands, and stroke it raw with great pulls and jerks. She well remembered that enormous member tearing apart her insides decades earlier. Kalfu threw back his head and unleashed a roar that rebounded around the walls. Black semen flew from the head of his penis, and she found herself craving a taste.

  Get your head on straight, you old fool.

  Kalfu fell face-first to the floor, slapping the cement. His breathing grew ragged, then more relaxed, and he laughed. “What fun! To walk in human form is to serve the needs of the flesh.”

  “I called you here for a reason, lord.”

  Kalfu rose. “You keep calling me that, but you’ve served another for years.”

  Catoute grunted. “Malvado’s your servant, too. By serving him, I serve you. He paid for this church and filled its congregation. And he drove the Church of the White Snake underground.”

  “He’s had a good reign.”

  “I fear it’s in jeopardy.”

  “The affairs of men aren’t mine to preserve or destroy.”

  “His sons wear your symbol on their arms, but they’re not true acolytes. Don’t be surprised if your name loses some of its luster once he’s gone.”

  Kalfu thrust a finger at her and she flinched. “Don’t appeal to my vanity. You lack the faculties to crawl inside my mind.”

  Catoute made a broad bow. “Forgive my clumsy expression. Sometimes I’m not as articulate as I wish. I meant no impertinence.”

  “While you live and breathe, it’s your responsibility to enlighten Maxime and Najac about the benefits of serving me.”

  “They’re thugs, just as Malvado was before I seduced him.”

  Kalfu sneered. “You’re too withered to seduce them.”

  “Unfortunately, you’re right.”

  “But your granddaughter will make one of them happy.”

  She nodded. “I’ve planned for the future—after you’ve had her. But circumstances are speeding up my timetable. I wish to delay any drastic changes in the current state of Pavot while I prepare Sivelia for her future duties.”

  Kalfu stared at her hard, the red in his eyes intensifying. “What is it you want?”

  “Maria Vasquez is a policewoman from the United States. She’s here on—”

  Kalfu’s eyes blazed. “Do you believe anything of significance occurs on this island without my knowledge?”

  Catoute shuddered. “Of course not. But this woman has gotten under Malvado’s skin. He badly wants her brought into custody. There’s a political struggle within his cabinet. Whoever brings her in will curry his favor … and his allegiance.”

  “You want to be that person.”

  “The challenges that lie ahead for me will be easier with Malvado’s full support.”

  Kalfu crossed one arm over his chest and rested the elbow of the other upon it, the fingers of his right hand curled around his chin and lips as he pretended to mull over the situation. Catoute always had to play the unsuspecting audience member to his theatrics.

  Unfolding his arms, he stood before her in a relaxed manner. “Nothing comes without a price—not even between old lovers. You already have Vasquez’s consort Jake Helman in custody. Bring him here and give him to me, and I’ll see to it the woman is yours.”

  Catoute struggled to show neither the surprise nor the consternation she felt. She had not expected Helman to enter the equation. Kalfu’s interest in him suggested that Russel had a more astute grasp of the man’s potential for trouble than Malvado did, yet another reason for concern. She chose her words carefully. “Forgive me, lord, but we’ve dealt with Helman—”

  “You’ve dealt with him. Malvado has. I haven’t.”

  She realized Kalfu didn’t intend to tell her why he wanted Helman. “We introduced Black Magic into his system. He’s already begun the journey to join the walking dead.”

  “I don’t care if he’s alive or a zonbie. I only care that his soul is intact. Bring him to me in any form, so long as he can still walk. Dead, he’s of no use.”

  He wants Helman’s soul.

  “Do not interpret my motives, Puri. Bring me Helman. Stand him inside this circle. When I finish with him, I’ll deliver his bitch to you.”

  “Malvado wants to see him as a zonbie harvesting his drugs.”

  “I don’t care what Malvado wants. Neither should you. You say I’m your master; prove it.”

  “Yes, lord. Of course. It shall be done.”

  Kalfu returned to the middle of the circle, where he picked up the burning candle. He studied its flame for a moment, then blew it out. When the candle struck the floor and broke in two, he had already vanished.

  Catoute sniffed the candle’s scent in the air. Whoever Jake Helman was, he had angered the demon she worshipped. Kalfu wanted him alive, which meant the demon world couldn’t claim the man’s soul if he died. But Kalfu had told her he could not directly interfere in the affairs of men, and that had to include punishing or killing a man with a good soul. She studied the circle of blood.

  I created a temporary portal between our worlds, one that prevented Kalfu from touching me despite my soul already belonging to him.

  But if she had entered that circle, the demon could have done whatever he wished to her.

  In that circle, he must also be able to harm a good man.

  The rules as she understood them did not apply within the summoning circle. She had stumbled upon a new secret to the universe. Regardless, she would deliver Helman to Kalfu as promised.

  TWENTY-ONE

  The truck stopped moving, and Jake heard doors open and close. The two soldiers appeared and lowered the gate. One uncuffed the shackles on his ankles, and then they eased him out of the truck and onto the ground. The sudden infusion of fresh air caused Jake to reel, but the two men supported him.

  Jake gazed at the stars in the clear sky, then at the moon, and finally at the fields below them. Hundreds of silhouettes toiled in the distance.

  Who are they?

  The soldiers guided him to the closest of several single-story buildings. As they entered the structure, one soldier flipped a switch, and a ceiling light came on.

  Two dozen men and women scattered on the filthy floor in pairs and small groups looked up. Most were at least half-naked, which allowed Jake to observe their skeletal bodies. The air was foul.

  “Scarecrows,” Jake thought. Or had he spoken out loud?

  “What?” one soldier said.

  Jake looked at the man. Sorry. I was talking to myself.

  The other soldier spoke in French. They guided Jake to the rear of the building and propped him up in the corner. They did not seem to care when he slid to the floor. On their way out they flicked off the light, enshrouding Jake in darkness. A moment later, he heard a bell ringing.

  Is it dinnertime?

  The truck started, and its headlights passed through the windows and along the ceiling.

  Jake glanced around the room. What the hell was he doing with a bunch of scarecrows?

  The silhouette of a tall man filled the doorway, then lumbered forward, making its way through the crowd.

  He’s walking funny.

  A sense of dread swept over Jake, though his limbs felt too much like rubber to react.

  Heavy, thudding footsteps. The man passed a window through which a work light shone, and Jake glimpsed dead eyes and stiff features.

  A zonbie!

  The creature stood before him, silhouetted once more, holding a metal bucket. He reached into the bucket with the other hand and came out with a fistful of something Jake couldn’t see. The zonbie’s hand rotated on his wrist, and the shiny objects struck the floor.
Then he turned and walked away, some of the scarecrows pawing at his legs until he dropped more of the packets for them.

  Jake scooped up the packets: plastic dime bags like he had seen after a former drug informant named AK had stabbed him in the eye. Jake had killed the man in self-defense. He rubbed the packets between his fingers. When he had held the substance before, he had flirted ever so briefly with the idea of snorting it and had resisted the temptation. Now he tore one of the packets open and dumped the fine black powder into his palm. Among other ingredients, Black Magic consisted of the ashes of incinerated zonbies.

  Jake buried his nostrils in his palm and inhaled the powder, which froze his nasal passages and burned his throat. The universe seemed clear. He wanted more Magic.

  Maria sat in the front seat of the Subaru next to Jorge. Through the windshield she saw the cargo boat docked at the pier. The vessel appeared old but large, its sides scored with years’ worth of scars from the elements. A jeep carrying four soldiers passed between them and the ship.

  “Just a routine patrol,” Jorge said.

  Maria stared at the gangway leading up to the ship’s deck. “Where will I be staying?”

  “In the hold with several refugees.”

  “So I could get caught?”

  “It’s possible, but no one has been discovered on this ship before.”

  “What time is it?”

  “It’s 11:04. My contact expects you in half an hour. The ship is scheduled to leave at 1:00 a.m.”

  She took out her cigarettes. “Do you mind? I can get out.”

  Jorge lowered her window. “I don’t mind, if you don’t mind losing the air-conditioning.”

  “Tough call.” Even at night, it felt like 90 degrees. She lit a cigarette and inhaled. “What a waste.”

  “I’m sorry you didn’t get what you came here for.”

  “It almost doesn’t matter.” Her eyes moistened. “Jake.” She swallowed. “Humphrey.”

  “Do you want me to cry, too?”

  “Misery loves company.”

  Jorge managed a sad smile. “I’m glad I met you. My American friend.”

  “You’re my second friend on Pavot Island.”