“I thought you said you had no matches.”
“Someone had a birthday recently, there were matches in the kitchen,” she said.
Ben noticed them, now, in Enok’s hand. “It was Dr. O’Hara’s birthday,” he said absently, longingly. He had to admire the woman’s resourcefulness. “What made you come up here?”
“You never know where a habit may take you,” she said.
Ben eyed the woman. “Is that all?” he asked. “This is just a place to smoke?”
“Smoking is never just to smoke,” she replied. “It helps me think. And I think that Dr. O’Hara was up here.”
“Many times,” Ben replied.
“I say recently,” she said, raising her arm and pointing to the southeast while she puffed on her cigar. “Very recently. The snake flows there. It tells me of a death.”
“In the past or future?”
“It already happened,” she said.
Ben peered out. “That’s the direction of the park where Caitlin was found.”
“It is not she who is dead,” Madame Langlois said confidently.
“Do you know exactly when she was here?” Ben asked, approaching her under Enok’s watchful eye. “Or rather, was she here in body?”
“In body and soul,” Madame Langlois assured him.
Ben looked back at the woman, disapproval in his expression. “Madame, I’m sure you understand how frustrating this is for me.”
“You are in love.”
“Yes. Yes, I am. You say Dr. O’Hara is alive but in danger, yet that isn’t much to go on. Can you please tell me anything more?”
It was Enok who answered. His eyes were hard, his voice even harder.
“You must learn to listen,” he said as the smoke from his mother’s cigar swirled past his face. “You do that for your livelihood, I am told, yet you are lost in words and not meaning.”
“I don’t agree,” Ben said. “I struggle every minute with nuance and subtext—”
“You deconstruct, that is all you do,” Enok said. “Dr. O’Hara tried. She was fully committed. She heard. You talk about going to your job. You only hear your own voice.” He touched his own forehead, right between the eyebrows.
“The third eye?” Ben said. “That’s a Hindu concept, the seat of wisdom—”
“It is present in many cultures,” Enok told him. “I was with the doctor when she heard other voices. Heard, not just listened.”
“I was with her on one of those occasions as well,” Ben shot back, “and Dr. O’Hara—Caitlin—has now paid a price for ‘hearing’ without fully understanding.”
“She saved the child from the serpent,” Madame Langlois said pleasantly. “We here are not ready for it.”
“Are you talking about a cult?” Ben asked. “Snake worshippers?”
It sounded trivial as he said it. Not silly, but small. Madame Langlois confirmed this impression.
“Not worshippers,” she replied. “The most important loa himself.”
“The god?” Ben said, making sure he understood.
“It is so.”
“What is he doing?”
“You saw,” she replied. “Damballa, the serpent loa, the Sky Father, the creator of all that live—he sent his herald. His endless coils that fill the heavens—they are coming.”
“I saw lights inside the smoke,” Ben said. “I thought those were what you meant by ‘they.’ ”
“The loa’s skin will be shed again, not to create the seas but to create new living things,” she continued as if she had not heard. She blew smoke at the sky. It formed a sinuous shape before dissipating to the southeast. She cackled low in her throat. “He is gone. He must go to his job too.”
Ben was more confused than ever. He did need to go to work, not just to work but also to clear his head. He turned to Enok.
“I have to leave and you cannot stay up here,” he said.
“Why not?” Enok asked.
“Because Dr. O’Hara’s father is coming and he will not understand. Would you agree to go somewhere else?”
Enok deferred to his mother. She shrugged. “Okay. Loa knows me. He will find me wherever I am.”
Ben didn’t like that, and now he wasn’t sure he wanted to take them to his apartment. He did not believe his renter’s insurance would cover the kind of damage a giant Damballa made of smoke could inflict. He also wasn’t sure his neighbors would understand. But he suddenly had another idea.
Motioning them to come along, Madame Langlois carefully extinguished her cigar on the roof then tucked it back in her pocket. Then the Langloises followed Ben down the stairs, Enok hovering attentively by his mother as she descended between the two men. Ben stopped by the apartment to let Anita know he had found the couple and was taking them somewhere else. Then he texted Eilifir and told him to meet them at the front door of the brownstone at once. When Eilifir asked why, Ben said he would let him know when they got there.
Ben walked ahead of the mother and son. A brisk wind had kicked up while they were still on the roof, and even the bright sunlight could not dampen the chill. Eilifir was waiting by a tree just west of the door to Caitlin’s building. He remained there, his smartphone in his left hand, his right hand in his pocket. He kept it there even after Ben had emerged, followed by his guests. Ben approached the man, watching Eilifir as he would watch a diplomat at the United Nations: with innate mistrust.
“Have you ever seen these people?” Ben asked.
Eilifir peered over his sunglasses. “Only photographs taken by the individual I relieved,” he said. “Who are they?”
“Vodou practitioners from Haiti,” Ben said.
“You have made some interesting friends,” Eilifir remarked as Enok and his mother walked up.
Ben introduced them. Eilifir acknowledged them with a slight dip of his head.
“Caitlin met them there while working on . . . this matter,” Ben went on. “They came here because, according to Madame Langlois, they knew she’d be in danger.”
“Great danger,” the woman corrected him.
Eilifir smiled. Ben did not.
“The woman has some kind of connection with Caitlin O’Hara,” Ben went on, “though I’m not sure how that works: snakes seem to be a key. This woman says a snake god is coming.”
“Is coming,” she said with emphasis.
“Caitlin saw a snake in a vision,” Ben went on. “The madame invoked some kind of snake—a mirage, I guess you’d call it, upstairs.”
“A harbinger,” the woman gently corrected him again.
“That’s the foundation of—what word did you use? A ‘connection’?” Eilifir said mockingly.
Ben nodded. “I have to agree it’s not very impressive, except for one thing. The arm motions in Galderkhaani, the curlicue designs in their writing—they’re all very serpentine.”
“So are the movements of a ballet dancer, and the art form did not originate in Galderkhaan,” Eilifir remarked. “It is of fairly recent vintage. I have season tickets to the Kirov.”
“There’s more, but I can’t go into it now,” Ben said impatiently.
“I’m certain there is,” Eilifir remarked. “What would you suggest I do with this information—and them?”
“I can’t leave them here and I can’t take them with me to work,” Ben said. “I assume your people have a base somewhere, a headquarters.”
Eilifir regarded Ben. “Are you pumping me for information, Mr. Moss?”
“Jesus, no,” Ben said. “Friend, I don’t give a good damn about you and your associates. In fact, I’ve had it with cloak-and-dagger, and I certainly have no patience for it now.”
“You know, I believe you, Mr. Moss,” Eilifir said. “But I am supposed to watch this building. I can’t take charge of them. Anyway, I think you got what you wanted.”
“I don’t follow.”
Eilifir cocked his head toward the two. “Them, out of the house. Do you care if they stay here on the street?”
“I do,” Ben said. “I tell you, there’s something between them and Caitlin.”
Eilifir grinned. “I believe you. I just wanted to make sure.”
“God, can I just have my life back without the games?” Ben asked. “Listen, nothing will be happening here, I assure you. Do you think I’d be leaving if I thought Caitlin would be coming back for breakfast? All you’re going to see happening here is her parents arriving. That’s it. They’ll be coming to take Jacob O’Hara to school and they’ll be here when he gets back. You will also see an exhausted, frustrated psychiatrist named Anita Carter leaving.”
“Madame Langlois seems to believe something else will happen,” Eilifir pointed out. “Snakes.”
“Like Saint Patrick, the snakes will go where she goes,” Ben said. “I’m sure of that too. They’ve only appeared in her presence.”
“As far as you know,” Eilifir said.
“Yes. As far as I know.”
The shorter man gazed at the Haitian pair. Madame Langlois had gone back several paces to sit on the stoop of the building. Huddled in her sweater, she had resumed staring at the dying leaves of the trees. Enok stood at the foot of the steps and watched the two men with unflinching eyes. His face looked, just then, like a skull.
There was a ping. Ben’s eyes dropped to Eilifir’s phone. It had been dark. Now it was beaming with a text. Eilifir looked at it and then at Ben.
“All right,” Eilifir said. “I will take them to our sanctuary.”
“You had me on speakerphone?” Ben asked.
“I did.”
“Nice of you to let me know,” Ben said. “With whom?”
“My superior,” Eilifir said. “We host, but the two of them must go willingly. And they remain with us.”
“You have a deal,” Ben said, pushing his indignation far to the side. “Where—and what—is this sanctuary? Is it a religious institution? A fortress of some kind?”
“Nothing as formidable as that,” the man replied. “It’s an estate in Connecticut. Very large, very comfortable, very isolated. There is an SUV on Central Park West. I will call it to come and collect them.”
Ben exhaled. “So now I have to persuade them to take a ride outside the city.”
“All you have to do is persuade them to get in,” Eilifir said. “I won’t force them to do that.”
“No,” Ben said, “and you will definitely want their cooperation. Hers to get Enok’s. Where in Connecticut?”
“Right on the Long Island Sound, in Norwalk.”
“Water,” Ben said. “I think she’ll like that. All right, give me a moment to talk to them. And Eilifir? The intrigue aside, thank you.”
Eilifir grinned. “The intrigue is not even what makes this work intriguing,” he quipped.
Ben acknowledged that with a nod and Eilifir watched as he walked over to the Langloises. Enok’s eyes followed Ben like those of a predator watching prey. Conversely, Eilifir did not seem interested in Ben; Ben didn’t know whether he should be flattered that he seemed trustworthy or insulted that he suddenly seemed beside the point.
Ben stopped in front of Enok and his mother, took a moment to collect his thoughts.
“Madame Langlois, Enok—the gentleman behind me is a colleague who knows more about this situation than I do,” Ben said. “Would you consider staying with him outside of New York while I—”
Madame Langlois held up a hand and Ben stopped. She removed her necklace, aided by her son, and peered through it at Eilifir.
“I see him still,” she announced. “I feared he might be bokor. He is not. We will go.”
Enok placed a restraining hand on her shoulder. She lightly shrugged it off as she replaced the necklace.
“We came so far,” she said. “We must go farther.” She waved a hand above her. “And I am cold here.” She leaned around Ben. “Have you tea?” she yelled to Eilifir.
“I will make sure you get some,” he responded with a smile.
Ben stood there watching as Madame Langlois raised her elbow and, taking it, Enok carefully helped her to her feet. Together, they walked over to the man. As they did, Ben googled the word she had uttered on his phone.
He was not surprised. Bokor meant sorcerer. The woman might have her quirks and magick, but she was consistent. She really did seem to believe.
Eilifir texted the driver of the SUV, then told the pair a car would be there momentarily. Madame Langlois asked if she would be free to smoke. Eilifir said she would. He asked what she was smoking. She told him it was a Cuban cigar.
“We have not enough land to farm our own,” she informed him.
Enok said nothing.
Walking over, Ben said, “They must like you. Until now, they kept to themselves.”
“Not true,” Madame Langlois said, retrieving her cigar and addressing no one in particular. “Everyone knows us in Port-au-Prince. Everyone.”
Ben wanted to give up. He didn’t know whether Madame Langlois was being difficult or whether she was just that literal. It didn’t matter. In a moment, she would be Eilifir’s problem, at least for a while.
While they waited, Ben leaned close, facing away from the Langloises.
“She was afraid you were a sorcerer,” Ben said. “Why?”
“Shouldn’t you ask her?”
“I don’t have time for more riddles, from them or you,” he said. “Is there something in your past, from Galderkhaan, that she might have picked up on?”
“Probably,” Eilifir said.
That caught Ben off guard. “Care to explain?” he asked.
“I apologize, Mr. Moss,” Eilifir said. “But one must be authorized to divulge information to outsiders.”
“I freakin’ read Galderkhaani,” Ben said. “How am I an outsider?”
“Being a scholar does not make you of our blood,” Eilifir said.
“By ‘blood,’ you mean Galderkhaani?”
“You already know my heritage,” Eilifir said.
“Right. And I’m asking if that’s what you just meant. Or by ‘blood’ do you mean something else, something clannish?”
“I will request permission to tell you more. If it is granted, I will contact you.”
As they spoke, a white SUV pulled over and double-parked near the tree. Eilifir turned; Ben grabbed his arm gently.
“These two people are not bound by your rules of omertà,” Ben said. “I want—I would like to know if they say anything that could help Caitlin.”
“Of course,” the man replied as he turned to open the door.
“One more thing,” Ben said, still holding his arm. Eilifir turned back with less patience. “You said earlier that your ancestors once lived with the Group members, yet you don’t communicate with them now. I assume you’re rivals.”
“Our argument is not with the personnel of the Group as such, but—what you said would be somewhat accurate. And now, that’s all I can say.”
“So your dispute is with . . . their sponsors,” Ben continued to press.
The other man was silent.
Ben released his arm and took a step back. Without saying anything, the man had confirmed what Ben had already begun to suspect.
Excusing himself, Eilifir prepared to put Madame Langlois in the SUV while her son examined the inside. Only when he stepped back did she get in.
Eilifir shut the door, then went to the passenger’s side and climbed in. He nodded a farewell. Ben briefly saw himself reflected in the dark window as the vehicle pulled away. He looked like crap. He felt like crap.
Plus now he was truly frightened. The world as he knew it had suddenly ceased to be. Despite his silence, Eilifir and his c
ompanions were not just descended from any Galderkhaani. He didn’t know which was which, but they were descended from either the Priests or the Technologists.
And they were still at war.
CHAPTER 8
Hearing Caitlin’s claim that she was from the distant future, brought here by transcended souls, Standor Qala stopped so suddenly that she had to throw an arm across Vilu to keep him from slipping off her shoulder. A half-smile quickly settled on Qala’s face, as though she couldn’t decide whether what Caitlin had just told her was a joke or whether she was mad. It certainly couldn’t be the truth. Undecided, the air officer continued walking toward the tower.
“The idea is absurd,” Qala said.
“No less absurd than Candescence.”
“That is irreligious.”
“As your comment is ill-informed,” Caitlin replied.
Qala slowed, studied her as they continued toward the tower. Her eyes were suddenly like tiny machines, studying her . . . evaluating her.
“You are in earnest,” Qala said. It wasn’t a question. She wasn’t insulted by Caitlin’s remark. She wasn’t afraid that someone might overhear them questioning the foundation of Galderkhaan’s religious faith. The Standor was genuinely curious.
“I am quite serious,” Caitlin replied.
“Are you going to tell me you are Candescent?”
Caitlin had not been expecting that. She frowned. “No. I don’t think so. What I can tell you is that I am new to this culture, its language, its religion. Events here will occur that impact people I know, far from here in time and place.”
“In this future time. From which you say you come.”
“I am from the future.”
“And you have somehow dropped into the body of another.”
“That is correct, by means I don’t entirely understand.”
The Standor was quiet again, contemplative rather than doubtful. “The Drudaya were forbidden,” she said. “Do they return?”
There was no English word that matched. The closest would have been a phrase: the children of the earth.
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