“Well!” Drake said, obviously affronted.
“It’s okay, Drake,” I crooned with a smile before turning to face Angharad again.
“Drake stays,” I told her and Angharad just shook her head, frowning.
“Your heart is too big, and it’ll be trampled someday. That’s the first lesson I learned in life.”
I didn’t want her to expound so I didn’t respond. Luckily, her attention shifted to her bag as she began sifting through it. She produced a few objects, which she placed on the table. Maggie and Lovie returned from the garden a few minutes later. Meanwhile, Angharad pulled a folded, white cloth out of her bag. She unfolded it to reveal a pair of red candles. The candles were shaped like serpents. In her other hand, she held a small, aged bottle of rum and a thick cigar. She immediately lit the cigar with just a stare and it started stinking up my whole kitchen. Maggie grabbed her nose while Daschel whined from the other room and I started breathing through my mouth. The only one who didn’t seem bothered was Drake.
“Ah, I have not smelled that scent in much too long,” he said as he eyed the cigar wistfully.
“Lucky for you,” I grumbled.
“What are you going to do with all that stuff?” Maggie asked.
“These candles will show me who enchanted Peyton,” Angharad answered. With that, she strode out of the house. I had to admit, it was a relief to have her, er the cigar, gone. But, when she came back, her expression was hard to read. She pulled Lovie aside and the two spoke in whispers for a few seconds.
When they broke away, Lovie was taking deep breaths. Her blank stare worried me.
“What, Lovie?” I asked.
She shook her head. “The candles revealed to Angharad Damballah, the Loa of the spirit.”
“Non,” Drake said, flustered by her announcement.
I even saw a flash of understanding on Maggie’s face. I, of course, had no clue what they were talking about.
“Damball who?”
“Damballah,” Maggie corrected me.
My gaze was locked on Lovie. “What does he do?” I asked, dreading her answer. The Loa were powerful voodoo spirits, capable of both good and evil. They were known for their mischievous, unpredictable natures, which I already witnessed in my experiences with Baron Samedi.
“Damballah is one of the most important of all the Loa in the Haitian an’ Louisiana voodoo traditions,” Lovie explained. “He is believed to be the creator of all life. He controls the mind, the intellect, an’ the balance o’ the cosmos.”
“And it’s said that if you summon him, you can wield power over the body, soul and spirit of someone else,” Angharad added.
“Wait, that means someone must have summoned him in order to wield control over me?” I asked, needing to be sure I understood.
Maggie nodded. “From what I read in one of my voodoo books, summoning Damballah is a way to make another person do anything you want them to.”
Images of the coffin on the bed, the woman with the veil, the wailing cries of a grieving widow, amplified by a microphone, and the snakes flashed in my mind. All of them gave me a headache. I took the last sip of Angharad’s tea, hoping it would help. It didn’t.
“Could the summoner make someone die?” I asked.
Lovie cocked her head to the side before she nodded. “’Spose so.”
With weakened arms, I pushed my chair back and blinked twice before taking a breath. “I’ve been having bad dreams,” I started as I glanced at Lovie.
“What kind o’ bad dreams?” she asked.
“I see a coffin and a woman with a veil smoking a cigar. In the dream, she tells me I’m going to die.”
Lovie shook her head with a knowing expression on her face. “Prophecy an’ dreams aren’t set in stone, Peyton. The future can be changed.”
I didn’t share her confidence but I didn’t say anymore about it.
“We don’t know what the woman in your dreams is, Peyton,” Lovie continued, apparently trying to make me feel better. “She could simply be a character, for all we know.”
“I’m sure she wasn’t,” I answered.
“If she came from a true vision, ya don’t know if ya can trust her words,” Lovie continued. “She could just be attemptin’ to scare you, just playin’ with your head,” she finished.
“And we still don’t know who is attempting to control you,” Angharad answered.
All of a sudden, more memories infiltrated my tired mind. Waking up with mud on my feet, standing on my balcony in the middle of the night and wanting to throw myself off, waking up in my garden for no apparent reason. I told all of them to Lovie and Angharad. Lovie’s expression of concern deepened.
“Do you think someone is trying to turn Peyton into a… zombi?” Maggie asked, frowning and whispering the word as she said it.
“A zombie?” I repeated, shaking my head as one of The Walking Dead appeared in my mind like a scary clown. “What are you talking about?”
“Just a second,” Maggie said as she turned on her heel. “I’m gonna get my book. Be right back.”
I had no idea what book she meant but I was so caught up in the possibility I could be a zombie that I didn’t really notice.
“Let’s assume someone has been trying to control you by summoning Damballah,” Lovie started, “that would make you a zombi.”
A rush of cold air spun around the table—Drake. He knocked over my mug, and I caught sight of his face—he was petrified. “NON!”
Just then, Maggie returned, holding a hardbound book in her hands. The title mentioned voodoo. It was open to the middle and Maggie was busily scanning the page, searching for something. She turned a few more pages before she began nodding.
“Found it,” she said. “The process of zombification begins when a powerful voodoo priest or witch selects a victim and gives them zombi powder. This powder can be made from various ingredients such as: pufferfish, marine toads, hyla tree frogs, and human remains.”
“The pufferfish is the only ingredient worth a damn,” Angharad interrupted. “It produces tetrodotoxin.”
“What’s that?” I asked, when it became clear Angharad wouldn’t explain.
She shrugged. “A toxin that creates paralysis and the appearance of death. There have been documented cases where people who have ingested tetrodotoxin appeared dead, but later recovered. But only after the voodoo priest who cursed them was killed, of course.
Maggie continued reading. “The zombi powder can be ingested or injected into the victim. Once the powder takes effect, the victim enters a state of death-like paralysis in which they are still conscious. But, to outsiders, they appear dead.”
“Well, no one… has given me… any powder,” I started.
Lovie shook her head. “Ya wouldn’t be aware of it.” Then she faced Maggie. “Continue please.”
Maggie nodded. “Once the body appears dead, it must be buried and dug up within eight hours of the burial. At this point, the zombi ritual begins. The witch or priest starts by capturing the soul of the victim, i.e., placing the body under his control. He then keeps the soul in a small clay jar. A day or two later, the witch revives the zombi using an hallucinogenic concoction. This concoction is periodically administered to keep the victim in a state of submissive confusion.”
A sickening feeling lodged in the pit of my stomach. “That’s how I feel,” I muttered.
Maggie continued. “The witch can easily control the zombi, and usually puts them to work. Only when the witch dies can the zombi return to its former self.”
I inhaled deeply. “It sounds… like a story you’d… read about in… a horror book.”
“It’s no story,” Lovie said with a deep sigh. “Have ya ever heard o’ Clairvius Narcisse?”
“No,” I answered as Maggie and Drake shook their heads.
“In 1980 in Haiti, a man approached a woman, claimin’ to be her brother. And the man looked just like her brother. The strange thing was that her brother died an’ she
buried him in 1962. The man claimed he was resurrected by a witch doctor an’ said he was enslaved on a sugar plantation for eighteen years. His name was Clairvius Narcisse.”
“And this was documented?” I asked.
Lovie nodded. “Prior to his death, Clairvius checked into the hospital, complainin’ of body aches, exhaustion an’ fever. His condition rapidly deteriorated an’ within a few days, he was pronounced dead. When he reappeared later, he said he remembered everything, includin’ the doctors pullin’ the sheet over his face. But, he wasn’t dead. Just paralyzed. He was still awake as he was bein’ nailed into his coffin an’ buried.”
“Oh, my God,” Maggie said, dropping open her mouth in horror.
“Clairvius’s identity was confirmed by his family an’ he could answer questions that only he would know,” Lovie continued.
“How was he freed?” Drake asked.
“After the witch doctor who turned him into a zombi died, he was released,” Lovie finished.
“Allegedly, if you feed a zombi a special form of salt, it will restore them to their original selves,” Angharad added.
“Then feed me some salt,” I said as I faced her imploringly. No, I wasn’t convinced that I was a zombi, but a lot of Maggie and Lovie’s descriptions hit close enough to home that I couldn’t rule the option out.
“Once ya take the salt, ya immediately have to kill the voodoo practitioner who placed ya under the curse,” Lovie answered. “And we still have no idea who did this to ya, so that’s not a possibility.”
“We don’t even know if that’s what’s wrong with you, for sure,” Angharad added.
“Right,” I said, but the expression on Lovie’s face told me she was pretty well convinced. I was quiet as I considered it. “Then the mud I found on my feet more than once,” I started.
“Coulda been because of ya bein’ exhumed from the grave after ya ingested or were injected with the zombi powder,” Lovie answered.
“And the fact… I feel the way Clairvius described,” I started, swallowing hard. “My muscles ache and this… exhaustion is like…nothing I ever experienced… before.”
Lovie nodded. “It could be that you’re goin’ through the final stages?”
“Which are what?” I asked. “Death?”
“The zombi will die only if its master chooses,” Angharad answered. “And I don’t see why anyone would go to the trouble of turning you into their slave, only to kill you immediately afterwards.”
“Then why do I feel this way?”
“Because o’ whatever Lafitte gave ya,” Lovie answered but Angharad shook her head.
“I don’t believe that’s it,” she said. “Lafitte had tricks up his sleeves, no doubt, but the zombification process is a lengthy one and you mentioned waking up with muddy feet long before you were introduced to Lafitte.”
“Right,” I said.
Angharad nodded. “I think this sickness you’re experiencing is simply the final stage of the ritual. I believe it’s the final step in turning you into a zombi.”
“Then you believe that’s what happened to me?” I asked Angharad.
She nodded at the same time Lovie did. “It seems the most likely explanation,” Angharad answered.
Perhaps it was the realization that I could be playing zombi to someone, but all of a sudden, I was taxed beyond exhaustion. I could no longer hold my head up. I started to slump in my chair and Lovie’s voice came from far away when she spoke.
“Help her up. All we can do now is make her comfortable.” Two arms reached under my shoulders, dragging me out of my chair.
“Should we take her to the hospital?” Maggie asked.
“No hospital can help her,” Angharad answered.
“Only we can,” Lovie agreed.
I was moved across the floor, my feet dragging as my head bobbed up and down.
Zombi…
The word danced in my head and I wondered if I’d become no more than a pawn of some great Loa, doomed to live as a subservient creature and forced to follow the whims of someone else…
Chapter Twenty
I’ve experienced prolonged moments of pain in my life. I broke my leg in high school, and I’ve had countless mishaps, which ended up with stitches. I’ve even had migraines that made me wish the end were near.
Nothing compared to the way I felt when I woke up. It wasn’t the light or the sound that nearly caused me to rip my hair out; it was simply existing. The knowledge that I was being controlled by someone else—and that my will was no longer my own gnawed at me.
I opened my eyes and wished I hadn’t. I was encased in darkness and the pressure behind my eyelids thrummed down my face and invaded the rest of my body.
I went to sit up and bashed my head on something. At the same time, I was overtaken by a sickening wave of nausea. I brought my hands up to touch whatever surrounded me. All I could feel was a soft fabric. Velvet maybe? My elbows brushed against it, making goosebumps rise on my skin as I perceived the cold material. It enveloped me, and I lay flat on my back, pointing my feet downwards.
It was then that I realized what I was encased in: a coffin.
The lid opened and I sat up. Now, I was back in the hotel room at the Place D’Armes. Less than five feet away from me was the veiled woman, a cigar illuminating the embroidery in the dark veil shielding her face. There was a stand with an attached microphone in front of her. I blinked to clear my vision, trying to understand where I was and how I got there. The woman looked over at me and released a cloud of smoke through her lips.
I noticed with irritation that I could not make out her features. They were always obscured by something—the cigar smoke, the veil…
When she opened her mouth, a loud wail issued forth. The sound careened through my head, banging inside my brain. I fought against the exhaustion that overtook my physical body and struggled to bring myself out of the vision.
I had to open my eyes.
For four whole seconds, I was forced to withstand the woman’s banshee cry, fearing my head would explode before I could leave the vision.
With a sharp, breathless gasp, I started searching the room—my room. My eyes caught the familiar headboard, and I lay back, my breath panting. Something swept across me, a gray veil of drowsiness. It drained my strength and left me so tired, I could barely breathe.
Then I saw the image of Lizzie, the doll. She began to push through the blackness. I could see her sitting on the couch in my living room and she smiled at me. I could hear her voice in my head, telling me everything would be okay.
Something scratched at the door, pounding on the frame, then came a dog bark.
Daschel.
I heard feet stamping and Maggie’s voice. “Do you think she’s awake?”
I blinked and found myself lying face down on my bed with my arms sprawled out, one hand hanging over the edge of the bed. A rush of cold pressed against my cheeks.
“Oui. I believe she is asleep.”
Drake.
I wanted to tell him I wasn’t asleep and that I could hear him but my mouth couldn’t form any words and my body couldn’t move.
“Ma minette, be brave for me,” he whispered into my ear. “I will see your health restored to you.” He paused and then whispered. “Je t’aime.” I love you.
And I loved him.
I let that thought fill me, feeling the truth of it all the way down to my toes.
And then my thoughts were filled with another face… Ryan’s.
Just like that, something snapped inside me and my body loosened. I opened my mouth and managed to groan out a word.
“Ryan...” I said.
“We are still looking for him, Peyton,” Maggie answered. “But don’t worry about him. He’s just fine, I’m sure. You need to worry about yourself!”
The dog ran towards me and started licking my face as I ran my hand through his satiny fur.
“Come on, Daschel,” Maggie said, rushing up to grab the dog’s collar.
When Daschel started howling, I forced myself to sit up to see what the matter was. He was struggling against Maggie and putting up a good fight by my observation. He kept twisting around, trying to wrench her hand away from his collar.
“Maggie, if he’s going to bark, just let him go. I can’t deal with the noise.”
Drake drifted to the foot of the bed as Maggie released the dog, and Daschel threw himself forward with the momentum of a cannon ball. He jumped up on the bed, but in my tired state, it felt like being struck by lightning.
The second his paws landed on my chest and stomach, his tongue darted out and my nose was drenched in smelly, canine saliva. He rolled onto his back, whined, and lifted his paws. “Warf!”
He wanted me to rub his stomach. I didn’t think I had the energy, but every pass across his fur was a little more rewarding than the next. The pain melted off my body, and my eyes fully opened as I felt my energy returning.
“I know this is going to… sound weird,” I started as I looked down at the dog. “But, petting Daschel is making me… feel better.”
“Ma minette, this is not by accident,” Drake said as he watched the scene unfolding before him.
“I think you’re right,” I answered as I glanced down at the dog and he stared up at me. It almost looked as if he were smiling?
“What does that mean?” Maggie asked.
“I don’t know,” I answered.
“It means there is a reason the canine is here,” Drake answered. “And I believe he possesses some magic.”
I continued to look at Daschel, and he stared back at me. “Are you here on purpose?” I asked. Daschel nodded his head up and down, keeping his eyes locked on mine. I looked up to see Drake drifting closer, watching him. Daschel began looking at Drake, and then at Maggie. He growled when Maggie stuck her tongue out at him.
“Ma minette, keep this dog with you at all times,” Drake said as he studied the dog who studied him right back with a pleased expression on his furry face.
Daschel looked at me and nodded again.
If You've Got It, Haunt It: A ghost romance (The Peyton Clark Series Book 4) Page 19