Chapter Seven
Sweet Dreams Plantation
Luc watched Maymie dance a sidestep and neigh a protest at the chanting woman occupying the center of the plantation lane. Grace reined to an abrupt halt and, crooning, patted her mount’s neck. He’d been too focused on Grace and hadn’t noticed the old woman. Grace probably hadn’t either.
Age-bent, she faced the gate. All the same Luc knew what she looked like.
Tight white curls peeped out from beneath an elaborate tignon of red, purple and gold madras.
Gems, feathers, small bones decorated the headgear.
A deeply dark brown, her long, angular face wore a lifetime of wrinkles.
Eyes of the palest blue stared out over an aquiline nose.
A thin-lipped wide mouth moved as her craggy voice chanted.
As she spoke large teeth showed, yellowed cracked, and missing one lower incisor.
The long-fingered hands that moved to her chanting were oddly smooth and nimble.
A red and white gingham dress covered her thin body.
Bare, calloused feet peeped from beneath the ruched hem of her gown.
Reflected light bounced off toenails buffed to a gleaming shine.
What is Mambo Ayezan doing here?
With the horses calmed, Grace stared in fascinated silence.
Luc had been acquainted with the voodoo priestess for decades.
As a young woman, she’d come to Sweet Dreams during a full moon in search of him.
When he’d tried to frighten her she’d laughed in his face and announced that she’d wondered what all the fuss was about in her family over an ancestress cursing a pirate.
She was, he supposed, one of the few friendlier relationships he’d made.
Decades passed. Age stole her youthful beauty, but intelligence and wisdom still gleamed in her pale blue eyes. More often than not, a smile lingered amongst the wrinkles and age spots. However, she wasn’t laughing now.
The tiny aged woman facing one of the open gates continued to chant, undisturbed that a ton of horse had nearly trampled her.
“Papa Legba, bless please this that I do in your name and for your greatness. I place your symbol on this gate and make you this offering…” She tied an object onto the gate’s wrought iron.
The item resembled a cross inside an octagonal frame.
It was made from four long nails bound together with tightly coiled copper wire.
Despite the cursed evidence of his life, Luc did not, himself believe in the Loa or saints of the mambo’s faith. Normally, he had little patience with ritualistic nonsense. He’d met too many charlatans during his existence. This woman, however, was no false priestess.
“…so you will keep safe the woman here who resumes her spirit’s journey.” Mambo Ayezan drew a woven bag from within her loose robe, securing the bag to the emblem with a bright red ribbon. “To thank you, I add my gift. You like these pralines. Made them just for you.”
To get a better look at what she was doing, Luc shifted to the far side of the gates.
Silently, the old woman knelt at the foot of the gate.
There she lit three colored candles—white, red, and black.
From the flames, she set afire a bundle of twigs.
White smoke rose, as the woman stood. She lifted the incense bundle moving in and around the gates.
The vapor cloud grew and swirled, filling the twilight like a fog.
The odor of cigar smoke mixed with coconut, vanilla, and—what might be pyrite—assailed Luc’s nose. He held back a sneeze, waiting to learn the priestess’ purpose.
The mambo resumed chanting as she moved. “Guard her from evil, for she is one of yours. Guide her as she travels from this crossroad. I beg the holy spirits, Pierre, Lazar, Anton, lend you aid and strength. An evil tide pursues her, until the time comes to correct a great wrong.”
Abruptly the woman stopped moving. The mambo lay the bundle on the ground, bowing, her hands held in prayer.
“Amen to the most holy, amen to the guardians, amen to the army of good spirits.” With one hand she picked up the still-burning incense bundle then hoisted a long staff with the other and marched forward between the gates—and straight through Luc.
He backed away.
“Excuse me,” Grace called. He did not need hyper-sensitive hearing to garner the confusion in her voice.
The mambo marched on.
Grace kneed Maymie, giving her the office to follow. “Slow and steady girl. She’s an old lady and can’t hurt you.”
Luc raced ahead. He confronted the mambo in the shadow cast by one of the huge live oaks lining the drive.
In the absence of moonlight, a less powerful priestess, or nearly anyone else would, like Grace, have been unable to see him.
Mambo Ayezan’s connection with the spirit world was nearly the strongest he’d encountered.
“Why are you here, Mambo Ayezan?” he challenged, aiming his voice for her ears alone.
Grace reined to a halt and leaned in, as if she was peering hard into the shadows.
She must be mystified at this woman’s behavior.
“Excuse me,” Grace said, a tense edge to the words. “Who are you, and what are you doing here?”
The mambo remained focused on him, right where Luc wanted her.
“Thank you for not interrupting my call to Papa Legba.” The older woman looked him straight in the eye and waved the purifying incense bundle slowly before him.
His worry for Grace’s safety began to fade. Luc closed his mouth and refused to inhale. He would not permit the mambo to influence him. “We have known each other a long-time mon zanmi maudit, Lucien.” She smiled but ceased waving the incense.
Grace edged closer. Her brow furrowed as she studied her surroundings.
Spectral skills were not required to know she’d heard Mambo Ayezan call his name.
She has to be wondering how many men named Lucien lurk near Sweet Dreams, and where I am if this strange woman is talking to me.
“Aye, ‘our acquaintance’ is long,” he said quietly, “But you are descended from the woman who cursed me. You betray your ancestress when you call me friend.”
“Mawu Anaisa did not see your spirit. Because you never showed her your truth, she did not really know you.”
“She knew me well enough to curse me.” Tired of floating, Luc planted his feet on the ground, facing the mambo.
“A blood curse like Mawu’s is always strong.
Add the hate and anger she had at what she saw as your betrayal, and even a novice, could create a nearly unbreakable curse.
She was no novice, and did a great evil with her knowledge and power.
Nonetheless, I have always seen you clearly, zanmi. From the day I was born.”
“Yet, you call me friend. What kind of Mambo calls the cursed zanmi?”
She seemed to grow in size becoming straight, tall, much younger.
Luc stared as she changed. Had he never been cursed, he might’ve cowered. Instead, he laughed. His guffaws boomed and echoed among the trees.
Maymie’s ears flattened, her eyes bulged, and she bared her teeth before trumpeting her fear. The mare stomped her hooves. With a toss of her large head, she seized the bit and bolted, with the pack horse keeping pace in frightened flight.
“Whoa. Maymie, stop. Whoa, whoa.” Grace’s orders dwindled away as she dashed after the horses.
Mambo Ayezan ignored them, which Luc took as a sign that Grace would be fine.
“I call the cursed ‘friend’ because the Loa—Papa Legba, Ayezan, and all their kind—tell me the time is near.”
Yes, he was cursed. Luc was intimately familiar with the worst kind of curses. The gigantic youthful beauty before him was an illusion. He, too, could create illusions. All who lived close to the world of spirits had the power to some extent.
“What time is near?” he asked, still chuckling. She could not possibly mean the time for his curse to end.
Howls rose from the direction of the house, followed by the sound of running footsteps.
Damn, Grace is back. “Did you bring dogs, Mambo?”
“Papa Legba sent the hounds. I simply showed them the way.”
Two large dogs raced past Luc. Big as they were, he could tell they were still pups.
They’d not yet grown into their huge paws.
One had a white spot beside its nose. The entire left ear of the second animal was white.
Otherwise, their coats were a deep chocolate brown.
They settled one on each side of the mambo, tails thumping a tattoo on the dirt.
"Ah, there you are." Mambo Ayezan knelt to scratch, rub and stroke the furry heads. “Thank you, friends of Papa Legba, for watching over this spirit in his care.”
“What’s going on here?” Grace ran into the space under the oak branches. Spectral power made Luc fast. However, in that moment, he was not fast enough. Grace walked right through him.
Energy lanced into him, like lightning but magnified. The sensation disoriented him so much, he could do nothing but stare as Grace leveled her rifle at Mambo Ayezan, and his entire being—weary from a day resisting his cursed limits—was yanked away to the Only Love.
***
The dogs stood, slinking toward Grace.
“Mars, Mercury, heel,” the old woman ordered.
The canines froze but looked at Grace and whined. However, they remained where the wizened, bent woman could pet them.
“Go now, my friends, do as Papa Legba wants,” she said, with one final pat to each of their heads.
Together, the pups rose again, and trotted to sit beside Grace.
She refused to let them distract her.
The stranger watched, leaning heavily on the knobby, wooden staff that must’ve been half again as tall as she was.
“Who are you? What do you want at Sweet Dreams?” Grace demanded.
“My name is Mambo Erzuli Ayezan. I am here for you.”
“A Mambo? My aunt told me about Mambos and Hougans. Enough that I wanted to learn more and did some research when I was older.” Curiosity warred with suspicion and some fear at the woman’s invasion.
“I remember your Aunt Sarah well. As I do your Mama and Pa.”