Unsympathetic Magic - Laura Resnick [81]
“But—“
“If you’re imagining Mambo Celeste prowling a cemetery by night to dig up Darius Phelps’ body, well . . .” She shook her head. “No, it really is too ridiculous for words.”
I shrugged. “If you say so.”
“I do.” Her phone rang. She answered it, listened for a moment, and said, “No, I’ll come down for it.” She hung up and said to me, “There’s a delivery at the reception desk for me. Shall we walk down together?”
I said apologetically, “I’ve taken up too much of your time again.” I rose to my feet, figuring that fetching the package herself was her way of getting rid of me.
“Not at all.” She opened the office door and gestured for me to exit ahead of her. “I always enjoy discussing such interesting subjects.”
In the hallway, I looked at the pretty Vodou drapeaux that had attracted my attention yesterday. Today, thanks to the books Puma had given me, I recognized some of the printed names which had previously meant nothing to me.
“Legba,” I said, reading the name aloud.
“Papa Legba,” Catherine corrected me. “He guards the crossroads between the physical world and the spirit world, the intersection where the human and the divine can communicate—if Papa Legba allows it.”
“This pretty symbol that covers his flag . . .” I traced the shape of the design with my finger, seeing it more clearly now that she had defined it. “It’s a cross, isn’t it?”
Catherine nodded. “Representing the crossroads. It’s the vévé of Papa Legba.”
“The what?”
“The vévé—the symbolic design. Each loa has a unique one.” She explained, “To invoke a loa during a ritual, the practitioner draws the spirit’s vévé on the ground, using flour or ashes or perhaps colored chalk.”
Looking at an attractive vévé in bright colors on the next flag, I read the name aloud. “Ogoun.”
“Ah, yes.” Catherine stood beside me as I admired the drapeau. “Ogoun is the loa of fire, war, and male fertility.”
“He sounds aggressive,” I said.
“Like all the Vodou loa, his nature is complex,” she said. “Ogoun has a hot temper and can flare up angrily if aroused. He’s a patron of warriors and workers. He’s strong and masculine, and he fights for freedom and justice. On occasion, he can also be quite sexual.” She concluded with a smile, “And like many of the loa, he likes his rum.”
We moved on to the flag that had startled me yesterday, the one depicting a dagger piercing a heart.
“Erzulie Dantor,” said Catherine. “The Petro aspect of Erzulie.”
“That’s what Max said. I gather the Petro aspect is sort of a dark side?”
“Yes. The Rada are the benevolent family of loa to whom worshippers pray most of the time, to raise luck and invoke healing,” she said. “By contrast, the Petro loa are angry, violent, and dangerous. And just as we all have our dark sides, there is a Petro counterpart to most of the Rada loa.”
I followed her down the hallway and began descending the stairs with her. Thinking of Mama Brigitte, the loa whose name haunted young Shondolyn’s dreams, I asked about her more famous husband. “Is Baron Samedi a Petro spirit?”
“Ah, the Lord of Death.” She shook her head. “No, he’s a Gédé loa. They oversee the realm of death and watch over the deceased.”
The deceased—like Darius Phelps? As I continued walking down the stairs, I wondered if there was a connection between his zombie and the lady loa in Shondolyn’s dreams.
“And Baron Samedi’s wife, Mama Brigitte?” I asked. “Is she in the same line of work as her husband? Dealing in death?”
Catherine paused to look over her shoulder at me in evident surprise. Yesterday, I hadn’t even known what a loa was; now I was asking about a very specific one.
“I’ve been doing a little reading,” I said.
“Good for you!” There was a touch of condescension in her tone, though she seemed sincere. “Given your newfound interest in Vodou, do you plan to