Unsympathetic Magic - Laura Resnick [47]
“Oh. Okay.” Jeff relaxed and smiled.
“But I think we’ll have to offer an animal sacrifice soon,” Puma said with a worried look.
“What?” Jeff blurted.
“Everything is out of balance. Angry loa have been set loose in Harlem,” Puma said. “We must propitiate the spirits and seek their protection with a generous offering and a major ritual. Or else we will all suffer the consequences of their wrath.”
9
“I can scarcely imagine how painful this subject must be for you,” Max said to Puma. “But may I ask you to recount how your dog met its fatal end?”
Jeff gave Max a warning glance, then said to Puma, “Unless it’s too upsetting for you.”
She smiled warmly at Jeff. He smiled back, his bald head shining like a new penny. I hoped the gladiator job was worth having shaved off all his hair.
“It’s all right,” she said. “After all, you’ve come here to help, haven’t you? And to figure out what to do about the strange things happening in this neighborhood?”
“Indeed,” said Max.
“Then you need to know. Things have been . . . out of balance lately,” Puma explained, “You see, Vodou seeks balance between opposing influences. Light and dark, good and evil, life and death. These things are all aspects of human nature and part of us, not separate or alien. So we have gods of death and vengeance, just as we have gods of life and love. We serve them all, because they all claim a place inside each one of us.”
“Very practical.” I thought it was unlikely that death or wrath would vanish from human experience, so I could see the sense in a religion that accepted these forces within its theology and sought balance between the extremes.
“But lately,” Puma said, “things seem all out of whack. When I perform my Vodou rituals at home each morning, asking for good luck and blessings, I feel that the spirits are distracted and agitated.”
Jeff’s expression was a visible struggle between trying to look politely interested in a pretty woman’s earnest comments and trying not to roll his eyes in open skepticism.
“The natural harmony . . .” Puma seemed to search for a more accurate word. “The . . . direction . . .”
“The flow?” Max suggested tentatively.
“Yes! The normal flow of spiritual energy seems . . . disrupted or . . .” Puma shook her head and frowned. “Out of balance. I don’t know how else to describe it.”
“You’re doing very well,” Max said.
Jeff flashed him an incredulous look but said nothing.
I met Max’s gaze, recalling what he had told me this morning about the flow of mystical energy being reversed or misdirected. He gave a little nod in response to my inquisitively raised brows.
“Anyhow, Biko stayed late the other night at the foundation, to do some extra training by himself,” Puma continued. “And when he was leaving, he heard someone in trouble across the street from the foundation, near the gates of the park, crying out in the dark. So he went to help, of course.”
“Of course,” said Max.
“The boy’s got more guts than sense,” said Jeff.
I imagined that the Garland siblings’ mother had raised them to be the sort of people who did indeed help without hesitation when they heard someone cry out in the dark. The woman had, after all, named her daughter after the bold and resourceful mountain lion and her son after the brave activist who had galvanized resistance to apartheid in South Africa before being slain by his enemies in the 1970s. Those names were a lot to live up to, and I thought that Puma and Biko came across as people who made the effort.
Puma said, “And there on the sidewalk, right outside the park, Biko saw . . . these growling creatures attacking a man.”
I drew in a sharp breath through my nostrils and looked at Max again.
“He described them to me.” Puma gave a shudder. “Horrible little monsters with fangs, claws, pointy ears, hairy legs, and greenish skin. They had glowing red eyes and foul breath.”
“That’s exactly what I saw!” I said.
Jeff gave me a censorious look, as if I were encouraging Puma in a warped delusion.
“Biko fought