Chapter Nineteen Fonsi
CHAPTER NINETEEN
FONSI
After two nonstop days hunched over his desk, poring over pages of Gran Libro, reading and rereading various sections about ghostly possession and demonic possession, cross-referencing each section with other books from his (formidable) library, annotating everything that he’d read in a separate file, Fonsi was about to keel over. He was dog-ass tired.
He glanced over at Matteo sprawled out in bed.
A light snore escaped his lips. Fonsi’s collection of orisha statuettes that he’d sculpted over the years rested on a shelf that overlooked his dude.
Oshun, Shango, Yemaya, Orunmila, Erinle…
all perched above slumbering Matteo with his fine bare-chested self.
As if they were his protectors. Or as if he were one of them, an orisha brought to life getting much-needed rest. With old DC memories floating in his noggin, Fonsi realized that glistening Matteo could’ve also easily been an oiled-up dancer at Secrets.
The type of guy he once thought he’d have to tip all night to give him any attention. And yet here he was.
For all his efforts, Fonsi still hadn’t found anything that would be useful to sussing out DC’s demon eyes.
And he hadn’t helped matters much by going on TV and trying to assuage public fears, though he did think it was the right thing to do, as did most other Guardianes.
No more hiding in the shadows for his order.
No more cryptic secrets about ghostly worlds.
At least business with the botanica had gone through the roof, even though people had no idea that Fonsi was an actual medium.
They were simply jazzed he’d been on TV.
Fonsi got up and stretched. He would shower, be nice and fresh. With any luck, he and Matteo could snuggle for the rest of the night uninterrupted. He glanced over at his phone, which he hadn’t looked at in hours. Linda had sent an early evening text.
Samuelson’s amulet. Call me, msg me, need intel on that ASAP ASAP ASAP.
Fuuuuuuck… Fonsi had completely forgotten about the object she’d photographed at Pastor Samuelson’s place.
He then noticed that Linda had sent two more photos, screenshots of someone named Rayo Courant both wearing the amulet and giving out what appeared to be replicas at public gatherings, exactly what they’d found in the pastor’s bedroom.
Fonsi pulled up the photo of Rayo wearing the amulet and took a close look.
He presumed it to be a ward of some sort.
He looked even more closely at the amulet’s face, surrounded by an artist’s rendition of sunrays.
Actually…
He had a revelation.
Fonsi flipped back open the pages of El Gran Libro, searched for the book’s section on nineteenth-century manifestations found on various islands in the Western Hemisphere.
He peered at the amulet again on his screen.
He was sure he’d seen something that looked like this…
maybe yesterday? Earlier today? Everything was a blur.
After several minutes, he stumbled upon it, the section he’d been looking for…
The dorlis of the Caribbean…
He dived into the passages, most of which he knew by heart from his yearslong devotion to the book.
The dorlis existed on islands like Martinique and Guadeloupe, were known to be malicious, degraded demonic entities that preyed on people for sex, feasting on desire.
Most of the world was familiar with the entities’ European counterparts, the incubi and succubi, but the dorlis were just as cunning, maybe even more dangerous.
Fonsi vaguely recalled first reading about the dorlis when he was a teenager, when he considered himself a Guardián in training.
The passages about what they could do—in a nutshell, spiritual and sexual predation—way too frightening for him to read late at night.
The violence of their assaults. The psychological trauma experienced by victims. To be violated by an entity whom you couldn’t reach, whom you couldn’t hold accountable in an earthly court of law.
Adolescent Fonsi wasn’t ready to handle that sort of intel about predatory spirits. Too frightening, later for that. But adult Fonsi was driven, knowing that he might be able to connect the dots by the next page, or the next.
He came across the passage…
From the mid-eighteenth to early twentieth centuries, some dorlis relied upon human accomplices in their quest to feast on flesh, memory, and desire, to further their goal of manifestation on the terrestrial plane.
These accomplices were believed to be mystics who received promises of power—elongated life, additional arcane gifts, easier access to spiritual realms—in exchange for distributing portals through which the dorlis could feast. Such portals could be disguised as talismans, amulets, or medallions but were, in fact, quite dangerous.
Fonsi peered at the image beneath the passage about dorlis portals. It was an amulet. Round features, eyes closed, shadowy, vacant mouth open… a look of ecstasy on the figure’s face.
He picked up his phone and scrutinized the photo of the amulet they’d spotted at Pastor Samuelson’s.
It was the same image.
He continued to read, becoming sick to his stomach the more he learned about the dorlis and this idea of there being portals. A darkness entered the room, entered his heart.
“Fonsi…”
He jumped from his chair, heart almost bursting from his body. Matteo stood behind him with a sheet wrapped around his waist.
Matteo pulled him close and planted Fonsi’s head against his chest. His underarms were rank. “Oh, bay-bee, this is what I was worried about. You’re working too hard. Skittish like a gafanhoto. Come to bed, rest.”
“This!” Fonsi waved the picture of the amulet in front of his man’s face. “This, Matteo! I’ve figured out what’s behind the Afflicted!”