Unsympathetic Magic - Laura Resnick [107]
“Has he ever done this before?” Jeff asked me.
“Of course not!” I snapped, panting with fear and panic.
When Lopez finally pulled the iron bar all the way out of his mouth, it was still glowing.
“How did he do that?” Jeff wondered.
Then Lopez held the rod like a spear and, with a guttural war cry, threw it across the room, over the heads of the worshippers. Flying straight as an arrow, it crashed into Napoleon’s cage, causing the glass to shatter. The breaking glass and startled cries of the nearby people were loud enough to make me look reflexively in that direction. The boa constrictor was unharmed, but it was frightened enough to move off its branch and tumble out of its cage.
“So now that snake’s on the loose in a room packed with people,” Jeff said. “Great. What was your friend thinking?”
“He’s not thinking! Can’t you see?” My heart was pounding so hard I felt dizzy, almost nauseated. “He’s possessed!”
“Seriously?”
I felt a hand grasp my arm and turned to see Max standing beside me, his gaze fixed on Lopez. “He has become a cheval.”
“A what?”
“A cheval—er, a horse. That’s how it’s described in Vodou. He has been mounted and is being ridden by Ogoun, the god of fire and war.” Max squeezed my arm reassuringly. “I know it looks frightening, but it’s a blessing. A sign of great favor.”
Jeff said, “It looks damned dangerous, if you ask me.”
Lopez accepted a bottle of rum from a smiling celebrant, raised it to his lips, and tilted his head back. Throat working rhythmically, dark golden skin gleaming, he didn’t even pause for breath, but simply drank the whole bottle, draining its contents. When he was done, he tossed the bottle aside, wiped his mouth with his forearm, and—speaking in Creole—demanded more rum. Someone gave him another bottle. He drained that one, too.
“Max,” I said desperately, “he’ll get alcohol poisoning!”
“Maybe the fire god can handle it?” Jeff said doubtfully.
“There usually aren’t any ill effects afterward from being ridden by a loa,” said Max.
“Usually?” I repeated.
I watched the mambo chanting loudly in Creole and waving her rattle around Lopez as he swayed and his eyes rolled back in his head. As she encouraged him to take yet another bottle of rum, I remembered that I thought she was an evil bokor and a murderess.
“I’m putting a stop to this!” I said.
“Esther, no!” Max grabbed my arm again as I tried to move forward. “That could be very dangerous!”
Jeff grabbed my other arm. “He’s right! A lot of people here are guzzling rum, not just your boyfriend. They seem happy and harmless, but do you really want to risk spoiling their ceremony now that they’ve had a few drinks?”
“You shouldn’t disturb someone who’s in the middle of a possession trance,” Max warned. “And insulting a loa who has mounted a celebrant is fraught with potential peril!”
“Would this thing hurt Lopez?” I asked anxiously.
“Ogoun has a fiery temper,” Max said. “Forcing him to dismount could be dangerous for you.”
The man dressed as Baron Samedi poured a bottle of rum all over Lopez’s arms and torso while the mambo, using a thin piece of burning wood, followed him around Lopez’s body, setting the rum alight so that Lopez’s flesh was covered with rum-soaked flames. His skin still glowing with fire, he seized the bottle from Baron Samedi and drank more rum.
The mambo rubbed fire and rum into his skin while he drank thirstily, her palms moving along his naked torso and over his shoulders while people around them danced and sang.
“Well, I don’t care if the loa is offended!” I told my companions. “I want that woman’s hands off Lopez. Right now!”
“Oh, crap,” Jeff said as I tore myself out of his restraining grasp and starting forcing my way through the crowd. The swinging gris-gris pouch made my eyes sting. I ignored the discomfort