Unsympathetic Magic - Laura Resnick [54]
“Well, that’s hypocritical,” Jeff said. “Although I mostly avoid it, I’ve been down in the basement of the foundation, where she does rituals, and I’ve seen her altar. There are dolls on it.”
Puma shook her head. “Dolls on Haitian altars represent the loa. They’re not poppets, and they’ve got nothing to do with black magic or cursing people.”
“Ah!” Max nodded vigorously. “Of course!”
Jeff muttered, “More of the ‘of course’ chorus.”
“I had forgotten!” Max told me, “It has been quite some time since I had the privilege of studying with a houngan.”
“You’ve studied with a houngan?” Puma asked with interest.
“Many years ago. And for less time than I would ideally have wished. So my knowledge is both limited and, er, rusty,” Max said. “But I do recall now that the voodoo doll and its associated dark magic is strictly a mainland practice.”
“Mainland?” I repeated.
Puma said, “The European poppet became the voodoo doll by way of New Orleans, not Haiti.”
“Is voodoo different in New Orleans?” I asked.
The mention of New Orleans voodoo made me think of another of the Big Easy’s famous features: food. Jambalaya, gumbo, red beans and rice . . . My empty stomach grumbled.
“Some of the customs are different, and the focus isn’t identical,” Puma said. “Traditional Haitian Vodou emphasizes religious ritual and spiritual connection, while New Orleans voodoo tends to emphasize magic. There are more similarities than differences, but the differences are there. I deal with both traditions here in the store, since there’s a lot of crossover.”
“Which is understandable!” Max was clearly enjoying talking shop, as it were, with a knowledgeable practitioner of Vodou. “After all, both traditions developed among West Africans enslaved in French Catholic societies in the New World.”
Puma nodded. “And there was contact between the two communities.”
“Well, if Celeste doesn’t like you having money-making voodoo dolls in the shop just because it’s not her brand of voodoo,” Jeff said, “why don’t you just tell her to mind her own damn business?”
“Because she’s a mambo. She has dedicated her life to interceding with the spirits and helping people, and she deserves my respect.” Puma added, “Also, she spends a lot of money here.”
“Ah.” Jeff nodded, obviously persuaded by the final reason. He held up the poppet of “me” again and contemplated it. “So I guess Celeste’s disapproval isn’t because these are tourist souvenirs? It sounds like she’d grumble even if you were selling real poppets.”
I had the impression he was thinking of buying the doll just so he could wave it around at the foundation and annoy the mambo.
“Well, you can’t exactly sell a real voodoo doll,” Puma said.
“Is it illegal or something?” he asked.
“No, it’s not that,” said Puma. “The real thing is very specific and personal. It’s not something you can just go into a shop and buy. For one thing, you need to incorporate physical items from your victim into the doll. Strands of the real person’s hair or their fingernail clippings. That kind of thing.”
“How the hell would you get hold of someone else’s fingernail clippings?” Jeff asked with revolted fascination. “Wait. Never mind. I don’t think I want to know.”
She smiled. “It probably requires some dedicated effort.” Giving him a flirtatious look, she added, “But that’s only if your intended victim if an enemy. If, instead, you’re creating a poppet to make someone fall in love with you, then incorporating some of their bodily fluids into the doll is your best bet. Sweat, saliva, semen, and so on.”
“You know, if someone’s collecting another person’s, uh, secretions and smearing them into a burlap doll,” Jeff said, “maybe it’s time to seek psychiatric help.”
I could not help but agree.
“Well, people do seek