by King, Leo
Tania’s voice rang out as she put emphasis into her speech for this room. “The resulting religion became what is known as Louisiana voodoo. It combined the prayer and concepts of a supreme deity from Christianity, with the ancestral and spirit worship of both Africa and Haitian voodoo.”
Sam was fascinated. She had been studying Haitian voodoo as if it were the authentic thing—never would she have guessed that there were so many versions of the religion. Sam felt completely fixated on the tour.
Passing through another black curtain, the cart entered a dark area, a semicircle.
In the center, amongst a large circle of candles, was a priestess in a bloodred robe, kneeling before a large pool of water, a ceremonial dagger in her hand. Above the priestess, a ghostlike apparition hovered, moving in an up-and-down motion. Around her were people in black hooded robes, holding bowls of water.
Sam felt Richie grab her arm and shake it, pointing at the hooded robes. “The Nite Priory!”
Sam swatted Richie away. She felt drawn to the circle. More than that, she felt an uneasy and sickening feeling of déjà vu.
“All voodoo religions have one thing in common,” Tania continued. “The ritual! The priest or priestess, preparing themselves with incense of the guava and mango plants, using the blessing of holy water and blood, direct their willpower through an object, called a focus, to call down the voodoo spirit—a loa—to attach to their body and communicate with the living. Once the loa attaches itself to the living host, attaching at the spine and riding on its back, the spirit is capable of wielding its magic in this world.”
Tania leaned forward and, in a hushed voice, said, “But a loa can only ride on a host’s back for a short amount of time. To stay within the host permanently, a deeper and much more dangerous ritual is needed to force the loa to possess—that is, to take up residence within—the host. This persists until either the loa is cast out, or the host dies.”
Sam heard Tania’s voice, but it seemed so distant. She started to feel sick to her stomach, and her head was starting to pound. Up until the moment when the cart passed through another curtain, Sam couldn’t tear her eyes from the animatronic ritual.
Passing through another curtain, the cart entered another dark room. On one side was a bedroom scene, where a priestess, with a ghostlike creature resting on her back, attached where the spine meets the neck, extended her hand over the body of a very frail-looking little girl. On the other side was a voodoo priestess, again with a spirit-like creature attached to her, blessing a bride and groom.
“All ceremonies beneficial, from healings to weddings to tending to the recently dead,” Tania continued, sweeping her arm around the room, “use holy water to call down the loa and use their magic to bless the world around them.”
Sam leaned to the side and stared at the animated loa attached to the back of the priestess. Her head was starting to throb, and her vision was getting blurry. It was getting difficult to think clearly.
What’s going on?
The cart passed through yet another curtain. This time, the room was pitch-black, save for two unsettling scenes—one of a priestess slicing open the throat of a chicken, with crimson blood pouring into a bowl, and one of a priest covered in runes and casting an accusing finger at a pair of wealthy land owners.
Both of them had spirits upon them as well, but these looked scary, like something out of a horror story. The two spirits tormenting the wealthy land owners looked like twin hags made of nightmares.
Tania’s voice lowered as she leaned forward and spoke in a hushed tone. “But for ceremonies malevolent, such as curses and the stealing of life, blood was used instead of water. For blood contains life, and to spill it creates both great power, and a great sin.”
Sweeping her arm toward the twin hag-like spirits, Tania’s voice rose. “These two loa, Marinette and Bwa-Chech, are particularly called down to ride, or even possess, hosts in order to unleash terrible calamity upon others. The sisters, who are forever destined to be in conflict, have a hatred of life and a desire to cause suffering to all living around them.”
Sam stared at the two hags and felt, for a brief moment, a primal fear.
Then the pain really started. Sam’s head throbbed terribly, and her nausea started to build. Her dinner was starting to try to come up, and her heart was beating uncontrollably. As Sam struggled to fight back the noxious feelings, she began to wonder if she herself was possessed.
Once again, the cart passed through a curtain, into a pitch-black room where Zydeco music played. All around, in the darkness, were skeletons dressed in the attire of the living. Some were dancing. Some were drinking. Some were fornicating. Above the cart, ghosts flew about in dancing patterns. At the far end, where the cart was headed, were three beings.
One was a short, dark-skinned man with a comically tall top hat on his head, wearing a tuxedo with tails, a cigar in his mouth and an apple in his hand. His expression was one of laughter.
Another was a dark-skinned beauty who wore a purple shoulder wrap that showed most of her bosom, a purple skirt that left little to the imagination, and a sash made of gold. Her hair was jet-black, and her seductive eyes were fiery red.
The third was a skeletal man in a tuxedo, top hat atop his bony head, holding a cigar in one hand and a rum bottle in the other.
Sam, who now felt so woozy she was leaning against Richie, recognized the third as Baron Samedi. Richie put his arm around her. Sam wondered, with annoyance, if Richie thought she was trying to cuddle with him.
“The three chief loa of Louisiana voodoo,” said Tania, back again to showing off, swinging her arms to motion toward the three at the end of the track, “are Papa Ghede, protector of children and chief of the loa; Madame Brigitte, defender of graves and cemeteries, and queen of the loa; and Baron Samedi, usherer of spirits into the realm beyond, guardian of the crossroads between life and death, and king of the loa.”
Tania leaned forward once more. Sam, feeling like she was on the verge of vomiting, couldn’t tell if Tania knew how bad off she felt. Sam could smell the sweat on her friend and former servant as she said, “It’s said that until Baron Samedi digs your grave, you cannot die.”
Quickly, Tania jumped off the platform, and the area with the three loa flew open, parting like double doors, to reveal a grave. From the way the set was built, however, it looked as if the cart was falling down into the grave. Baron Samedi stood on the side of the grave, holding a shovel and looking “up” at the cart. With an earsplitting laugh, Baron Samedi motioned toward the grave as the cart sped up, giving the riders a real sensation of falling into the ground.
Sam felt Richie tense up and grab her protectively, but it was already too late. Sam felt herself vomiting her dinner as her world went black.
When Sam came to, the ride was stopped, and she was out of the cart, being held in Richie’s arms. Tania was kneeling worriedly over her, and the Creole man from the front of the store was cleaning out the cart with a mop and bucket, grumbling the entire time.
“Sam,” Richie said as Sam opened her eyes, his voice thick with concern, “can you hear me?”
“Miss Samantha,” said Tania, reaching out to give Sam a small shake, “are you all right?”
Sam’s eyes finally focused. She blinked a few times and tried to sit up, only to have Richie hold her steady, telling her to go slow. Sam was glad she decided to listen, for the moment she started moving, she felt woozy again. With effort, and with Richie and Tania helping, Sam sat up.
She could see that she was back at the start of the tour, near the loading ramp, and that the black lights were off, replaced by fluorescent lighting.
“Ugh,” Sam said. “How long was I out?”
“Just a few minutes,” replied Richie, concern still on his face. “You had us worried.”
“What happened?” Sam asked, looking around.
“You got bad motion sickness, Miss Samantha,” Tania replied, her face showing concern as well as guilt. “I sho
uld have said something—given the usual blurb I give at the start of the tour. I am so sorry, Miss Samantha.”
“Please, call me Sam,” was Sam’s reply, a small smile and a touch of her hands to Tania’s showing that it was okay.
“I guess we won’t be doing that tarot card reading,” Richie said with a chuckle, the obvious attempt to lighten the mood not lost on Sam.
“More excuses, Princess?” came a voice from behind the beads leading out to the store.
Through those beads came a dark-skinned woman who, other than being skinnier and with a more gaunt face, and with steel-blue eyes as opposed to dark ones, looked identical to Tania. She was dressed in a black robe that covered her entire body, and a dark purple shawl that draped over her shoulders.
“Hello, Princess,” Violet said, looking in Sam’s direction. Her grayish eyes were just as they had been years before, distant and gazing. And her gaunt face showed that as kind as the years had been to Tania, they had been just as unkind to Violet.
“Sam,” Richie said as he started to help her stand, “did you know that Violet is blind?”
As Sam stood up, with some difficulty, she looked at Violet. Hearing Richie’s question, Sam nodded. It wasn’t something she had ever paid much attention to before. Violet’s being blind was as normal as Violet’s being mean-spirited.
“Violet, it’s good to see you,” Sam said, not sure what else to say to someone who had been antagonistic to her for years.
Violet’s response didn’t help the situation. “To answer your question, Mr. Fastellos, yes, I am blind. I was born blind. And I doubt Princess paid much attention to it, living in her Shangri-la.”
“Violet,” Sam said, “that’s not true. I—”
“Save it,” Violet interrupted, then turned toward the young Creole man. “Are you done, Ollie? We have customers.”
“Yes, ma’am,” replied Ollie, who took the mop and bucket and stowed it away in a nearby closet before scuttling up front.
Tania, who had been kneeling over, was standing up now and, turning to her thinner sister, said, “Now Violet, you need to stop that! It’s been too many years. Miss Samantha is our friend now. Our equal.”
“If that is the case,” said Violet as she walked past Tania, moving around her sister as if she could see her, looking directly at Sam, “then why do you keep calling her ‘Miss Samantha’ when she’s asked you to call her Sam?”
Sam watched as Tania opened her mouth to say something, her bottom lip starting to quiver as it did when they were younger. Closing her mouth, then opening it again, Tania said, “I’ll be up front. It was good seeing you again, Sam. Take care of yourself.”
Tania left, leaving Sam and Richie alone with Violet.
Sam felt extremely uncomfortable. She might have never gotten along with Violet, but there was always a restraint to the hostility in the quieter Patterson sister. Now, though, that restraint was gone, and part of Sam felt as if Violet was sizing up her throat for attack—a feeling that made Sam tense up defensively.
Richie had gotten very quiet. Sam could feel him tensing up, as well, his fists clenched.
Sam decided that she didn’t want to be alone with Violet anymore, Richie notwithstanding, so she started to head toward the exit, taking his hand. “Well, nice to see you again, anyway, Violet. Good—”
“Stop,” Violet said, her voice authoritative.
Sam’s legs seized, as if some invisible force had grabbed them and rooted them to the spot. She felt herself grow angry as she unwillingly obeyed Violet’s command. I can’t move!
Violet walked in front of Sam and stared blindly with those gray eyes, her gaze distant. “You came here to ask me and my sister something. What is it, Princess?”
Don’t call me Princess! Sam wanted to scream at Violet but couldn’t. As unsettling as her gaze was years ago, now it was ten times worse. Looking away, Sam said, “I want to know about Blind Moses.”
To Sam’s surprise, Violet chuckled and then asked, “And what would you do with that information?”
“Find her,” Richie spoke up, moving just enough to pull Sam back away from Violet, a gesture that Sam felt instantly grateful for, “and ask her about the Bourbon Street Ripper murders. And her role in them.”
“She was Grandfather’s courier,” Sam said, feeling stronger now that she was no longer so close to Violet. “She delivered messages to his accomplices.”
“And that’s all she was to Master Castille? Is that what you believe? Because I never pegged you as that stupid,” Violet said, leaning down and looking up, once again staring blindly ahead. Immediately Sam felt indignation within her, like someone had lit a hot coal within her heart, and suddenly the years of Violet’s cruel behavior toward Tania and herself came surging forth. Before Sam realized it, she had pulled her hand back and slapped Violet across the face.
“Sam, what the hell?” Richie shouted, pulling Sam away.
She looked at Violet as she stood there, her head cocked to the side from the slap, a welt forming on her face. Feeling her self-control slipping, her body shaking, her eyes widening, and her jaw clenching, Sam waited for Violet to make her move.
“Princess,” Violet said, a little blood trickling down the side of her mouth as she looked in Sam’s direction, “you’re pathetically weak.”
Sam felt her body quivering, every single muscle in her body seizing, as if the next logical action would be to leap on Violet and rip her throat out with her teeth.
“Helplessness is a terrible feeling,” Violet said, walking away from the pair, her back to them. “Your grandfather’s victims knew that feeling while he was torturing them. The families of those victims knew it when they viewed the bodies. And I knew it, every second of my life from the moment I first opened these useless eyes. Now the Princess, the most blessed among us, knows how that feels. She’s helpless against her own inner demons.”
“You’re insane,” Richie said, still holding Sam. “People feeling helpless is a horrible thing. So you were born blind. That’s unfortunate. But to torment Sam like this? To make her so upset that she hits you?”
“I didn’t make her do anything,” replied Violet, her fingers running over the railing of the dark ride. “Like the hag sisters, Marinette and Bwa-Chech, the Princess and I are destined to be in conflict.”
“You want to fight with Sam?” exclaimed Richie. “You’re out of your mind! Why would you want to be at odds with someone you haven’t even been around in over ten years?”
“Because she hates me,” Sam said, her voice bitter with anger as she moved from Richie’s grasp. “That’s it, isn’t it, Violet? For whatever reason, you’ve hated me my entire life. Now, more than ever, you hate my guts.”
There was a very long silence before Violet answered. Her voice was low, but the venom dripped from it like fangs from a serpent. “Yes, Samantha. I hate you. You would never understand why. You cannot understand why. One day, maybe you’ll see the sheer amount of blood spilled for you. Then, just maybe, you’ll grasp the depth of my contempt for you.”
Sam didn’t know what to say. In her wildest dreams, she had no idea how much Violet Patterson hated her.
After a long, tense silence, Violet said, “If you want to meet Blind Moses, don’t worry, she’ll seek you out soon enough. Your stars and hers are also destined to clash, Princess. You best be ready.”
“And the Nite Priory,” Richie asked, for Sam was still feeling bewildered by the hatred she felt from Violet. “What about them? How do they figure into this?”
“Idiot,” was Violet’s reply, her voice contemptuous. “Irrelevant. Don’t waste my time.”
Sam watched as Richie moved to say something, then shook his head. “Come on, Sam,” he said, taking her hand. “The last thing you need is to listen to this hatred. She’s clearly mad from bitterness.”
Sam started leaving with Richie. Suddenly Violet’s voice called out, “Princess!”
Sam stopped, turning quickly, not sure what to
expect. Violet, still with her back turned, was holding up her hand and showing three fingers.
“I read your cards while you were unconscious,” Violet said. “Your past is the World Card reversed. Your present is the Moon Card. Your future is the Death Card. Take from that what you will.”
Sam didn’t know what that meant, having never put a lot of stock in the tarot. She filed away a mental note that she’d have to look up what those cards meant later on. She didn’t like the idea of the Death Card being in her future. It sounded ominous.
Sam allowed Richie to tug her out. In the front of the store, Tania was busy helping two customers, a young man and woman, select candles. For a moment, the dark woman turned to look at Sam, a sad look on her face.
She started to move toward Sam, who shook her head, not wanting any more contact with the sisters. Tania stopped, nodded, and went back to helping the couple as Sam and Richie left the store.
On the way back to the car, Sam mulled over everything that had just happened. She felt anxiety at being forced to confront Violet. She felt rage at the way Violet treated her. And she felt fear at how strong the negative emotions inside her were. Sam felt as if she had met her mortal enemy, someone whom she would one day have to kill or risk losing her own life to.
That disturbed Sam terribly. Most importantly, Sam was suddenly very tired. She felt drained, like all her willpower had been siphoned out.
On the ride home, Richie, who was driving, said, “Sam, I think we should stop investigating and leave this to the police.”
Sam, who was leaning against the side window, staring ahead blankly, looked over at Richie and said, “Why? Why would you say that?”
Richie gritted his teeth, and Sam could tell that he was struggling with what to say and what not to say.
“Out with it, Richie,” Sam said. “We’re in too deep to start withholding information from each other.”
“This voodoo cult shit,” Richie said. “It’s a bit too freaky. I mean, I don’t believe in loa or ghosts or Baron Samedi, but there are people who really believe this shit. And they’re crazy. Like that Violet bitch. She probably is Blind Moses herself, you know.”