Unsympathetic Magic - Laura Resnick [100]
“No, indeed,” said Max.
“Oh,” I said. “Well. Hmph.”
“So do I have your blessing or not?” Puma asked.
“My blessing and my condolences,” I assured her.
Biko said, “Spoken like an ex.”
As we entered Biko’s training room, which was spartan in its minimalist tidiness, Puma said to Max, “I guess you left Nelli at home?”
“Yes. After her severe reaction to the boa constrictor, she is not welcome at the foundation.” Max added worriedly, “However, I believe she would not have been able to attend today’s ritual, anyhow. She seems to be feeling under the weather.”
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“She’s very sluggish. To the point of being difficult to wake, let alone coax outside for a perambulation. Nor is she interested in her food dish, her water bowl, or any of her toys.”
“That doesn’t sound like Nelli,” I said with concern. “Maybe she needs to go back to the vet, Max.”
“Or maybe someone gave her too many treats again last night.” Biko’s accusing glance at Puma left us in no doubt of the probable culprit.
“I’m sorry if I made her sick,” Puma said to Max. “She just always seems to be so hungry.”
“I think it’s more likely that her injured paw has gotten infected,” I said, feeling guilty about being the one who had inadvertently wounded her.
“Well, if she is not back to her usual self by morning,” Max said, “I will definitely take her to the animal clinic.”
I told them all what I had learned from Lopez about the bodies that were missing from the same graveyard where Darius Phelps had been buried, confirming Max’s suspicions that additional zombies had been raised. I also said that I had explored the area of the stone steps at Mount Morris Park by day without finding anything.
Biko and Max thought they had spotted a baka in the park late Friday night, but it had quickly eluded them. And they had seen nothing since then.
“I’ve been reading the books you gave me, Puma,” I said. “And I’m wondering what we’re going to do about these zombies. According to my reading, we can’t, er, dezombify them without a lot of special ingredients that I think are going to be hard to find.” I read from a list that I had made during one of my breaks at the restaurant. “Human blood drained from the left foot. Powder from a ground-up human femur. A live chicken. A dead sea snake. The skin of a banana eaten by someone who’s recently recovered from a fever. And this is just a partial list!” I shook my head and concluded, “Harlem will be swarming in zombies by the time we manage to collect all the supplies we need.”
“Ah, the good news there,” said Max, “is that we can free the zombies from their enslavement simply by dispatching the bokor.”
“How simple do you really think dispatching a bokor will be?” Biko said skeptically.
“I mean to say, when the bokor falls, the zombies created by the bokor will fall, too.”
I said, “So stopping the bokor is the thing to focus on, then.” I tore up my shopping list with relief.
Puma asked, “Speaking of the bokor . . . Do we think Esther was targeted deliberately? Or is she just unlucky because her purse was stolen by the baka?”
“Excellent question. Unfortunately, without more information, either possibility is feasible.” Max added to me, “It is my hope that the gris-gris pouch will protect you. But you must notify us immediately if anything unusual happens, or if you start to feel peculiar.”
“I’ve felt peculiar ever since I met Darius’ zombie,” I said. “But I understand what you’re saying.”
Max said, “I think the most interesting thing that we have learned recently is simultaneously also the least surprising.”
“That I used to date Jeff?” I said.
They all looked at me.
“Never mind,” I said. “Go on, Max.”
“Under the influence of hypnosis—which had the unfortunate side effect, as Puma noticed, of making Nelli exceedingly hungry—Shondolyn recalled additional names from her troubled dreams.”
“Besides Mama Brigitte?” I said.
“Yes. Baron Samedi, for example. This was to be expected,” Max said. “The bokor must make offerings to the Lord of