Unsympathetic Magic - Laura Resnick [152]
Jeff said, “I wonder if we should try to get to the hospital tonight?”
“For what?” I asked blankly.
“To see Mike.”
I just didn’t have the heart to tell him that Nolan had refused to speak to the casting director about him. Let Jeff hear it directly from Nolan
“The hospital? No way,” I said. “D-Thirty bullied me into one hospital visit with that man, but that’s my limit. Anyhow, it’s too hard to get around the city tonight. Just getting home will be a challenge for me and Max.”
“Cabs are running along Fifth Avenue,” said Jeff. “If you walk down a few blocks from here, you can probably get one there and take it all the way downtown.”
“Thanks. We’ll do that.”
I couldn’t bring myself to go inside the foundation again; not until the lights were back on and I was sure nothing evil lurked in the building anymore. And certainly not until the cops got Mambo Celeste’s corpse out of the basement. On the other hand, this experience had certainly taught me the danger of being careless with personal possessions. So I asked Jeff to go get my purse and my duffle for me. After all, what are old boyfriends for?
Max and I walked slowly toward Fifth Avenue, both tired, and neither of us minding the soft summer drizzle that fell on us. I remembered that I had an umbrella in the duffle, but I didn’t bother to pull it out. Jilly C-Note’s costume was ruined, anyhow, and I’d just have to think of a plausible explanation for this when I called D30 to tell them so.
But it probably wouldn’t be, “An evil bokor tried to turn me into a human sacrifice for dark loa while I was wearing my hooker costume.”
“Max, I have a question.”
“Hmm?”
“I know that Catherine Livingston was a ruthless, evil, narcissistic liar, but she said something this evening that I believed.” I took a breath. “She and Mambo Celeste had nothing to do with my bed bursting into flames while Lopez and I were, um, in it together.”
“Oh?”
“So taking off the gris-gris pouch right before that happened was unrelated. A coincidence.”
“And so you’re wondering what made the bed explode?”
“Yes.”
“Well.” Max thought it over. “May one ask, without being too intrusive, what Detective Lopez’s mood, demeanor, or intent was at the time?”
“He was, er, agitated. He very angry with me. And also, I think, with himself. He was also very, uh . . .” I cleared my throat. “He felt a compelling urge to remain in my company, but clearly didn’t think it was necessarily wise to do so.” After a moment, I added, “Oh, and he was supposed to be on his way to work, and I think he felt conflicted about that, too.”
“I see. Hmm.”
“Max?” I prodded.
“I’m recalling that, at a moment when he feared for your life in Little Italy and wanted light, there was light. And at a moment when the local community needed reassurance from the Rada loa that there was protection at hand, the god of fire and war chose Detective Lopez as his vehicle for manifestation,” Max said. “Now you tell me that at a moment when he felt angry, conflicted, and, er, romantically volatile, there was a spontaneous combustion.”
“What does it mean?” I asked.
“I don’t know, Esther. But this incident does strengthen my suspicion that there is more to your young man than meets the eye, and that it behooves us to monitor him for signs of . . . interesting, albeit, unconscious talent.”
“He’s not my young man,” I muttered unhappily. “I don’t know what to do, Max. It’s no good. I’ve nearly gotten him killed twice, and . . . and . . .” I sighed, too tired even to continue following this depressing train of thought.
“My dear, if I may make a suggestion?”
“Yes?”
He raised his fist and made a little bumping motion. “Keep it real, dude.”
I smiled and bumped my fist with Max’s. “Peace out.”
Glossary
Vodou Terms
baka: an evil spirit in the form of a small monster
bokor: a sorcerer who practices black magic
cheval: a horse; one who is “ridden” by a loa during a possession trance
Creole: a dialect of French and one of the two official
languages