Restless Soul - Alex Archer [79]
She remembered that Papa Ghede was supposedly the first man who ever died in the world and that now he waited at the crossroads to escort the dying to the afterlife, a favorable counterpart to the striking and ominous Baron Samedi.
I want to study the symbols a little longer and do a little reading, but I believe the intent of the spell on your container is to trap the soul of a person, keeping it hidden from Kalfu, Legba and Papa Ghede. The person ensorcelled in effect never reaches the crossroads and dies for all eternity, experiencing the moment of his or her death over and over and never able to go beyond it. A horrendous torture…if such magical things are to be believed. Something intimate of the person—a finger, maybe, or a hank of hair—would have to be sealed inside. Very black magic.
Dog tags and blood would be intimate to a soldier, Annja thought.
I found the skull bowl in the mountains in Northern Thailand, Annja had written, believing it to be an Asian relic…not in her wildest imaginings to be something from New Orleans.
Amazing that such a thing got all the way over to a remote part of Thailand, Vaughan wrote in a second message. But then how do people get from one spot to the next—planes, trains, automobiles and ships. Maybe someone bought it at a flea market and sold it on eBay to a collector in Bangkok. Who knows? Are you going to bring it back to the States with you? I’d like to take a closer look. We could meet somewhere.
Annja didn’t reply to that last question, though she did email him an effusive thank-you note and told him the container had been broken and that she would stay in touch with him if she learned more about it.
The Ferguson CD ended and a classical piece started, a piano concerto that she guessed was Brahms. Annja groaned. She didn’t mind classical music, but at the moment she would have preferred something shrieking or at least livelier.
She looked at the business cards of the antiques dealers that she’d taken from the smugglers. Maybe the skull container had come to one of them. Maybe quite a bit of the treasure in the cavern had come through one or more of the antiques shops.
There were phone numbers on the back, different than the ones listed on the front with the business name and address. Annja downed the rest of the coffee and reached for two of the Twinkies Pete had dropped off. She ate them quickly, barely registering the taste and craving more. Then she stretched forward for the telephone.
But the next call wasn’t to one of the dealers, or to Luartaro. She glanced at the wall clock. It was 4:00 a.m., too early to disturb Luartaro or whoever was on duty at the lodge front desk. She dialed Doug Morrell and left a message on his voice mail.
“They’re called spirit caves,” she said. “They’re amazing, and I found one undisturbed, with real remains. None of the coffins previously discovered had any bodies in them.”
Annja took a deep breath, adopted her most persuasive voice and continued. “As for the monster rumored to be involved, I think you’ll be surprised at just how…grisly…it all is.”
She intended to start in on the antiques stores, calling the one in Chiang Mai first. But her body had other ideas. With the exception of the brief time she’d dozed after Doc had mended her leg, she’d been up for forty-eight hours. Annja slumped forward on the desk and fell asleep.
23
Someone nudged her gently. “Rose is here for work. And she’d, uh, like to use her desk.”
Annja got up with a start, her neck making a popping sound and a lengthy list of curse words stopping in her throat. She’d had so much to do! She hadn’t time for the luxury of a nap.
But she had to admit the sleep was necessary. She glanced at the clock—eight-thirty. She’d slept for four-and-a-half hours. No wonder she felt better, but at the same