Robert Asprin's Dragons Run (21 page)

“Neither have I. Saints, but no angels. They usually avoid New Orleans.”

“I
suppose,” Detective Harrison said, staring down into the black depths of his coffee the next evening, “nothing ought to surprise me about this city anymore. Dragons playing cards. Faerie conventioneers. Dancing with . . . with ghosts. Now, zombies at a political rally.”

Harrison looked as if he could have used a stiff drink but said he was still on duty. Griffen, in sympathy with Harrison, drank his Diet Coke. He signed to the bartender to keep their beverages filled. Griffen fished another fried shrimp from the basket between them, avoiding the traces of cocktail sauce and grease staining the paper napkin liner under the discarded tails. He chewed the crisp morsel, letting the rich oil of the flesh spread over his tongue. He thought of his conversation with Rose weeks ago, but he could tell by the frown of concentration on Harrison’s face that now was not the time to mention it.

“As far as I know, there have been no physical threats since that car accident,” Griffen said. “I’m not even sure that came from the same source.”

“Uh-huh,” Harrison said gloomily. “Publicity stunts. Dammit, I hate election season. They pull us off our normal beats and expect us to babysit overprivileged prima donnas who think that the servant part of ‘public servant’ only applies to us. The place fills up with crackpots and freaks—no offense.”

“I don’t consider myself a freak,” Griffen said, evenly. “Though I’d have to agree with you about the . . . what Penny saw.”

“Well, we had to stay around for the cleanup,” Harrison said. “I didn’t find any sign of that thing, not on the ground or in the videotapes.”

“What were you expecting? A finger? A piece of nose?”

“Wish I had found something like that. Her campaign manager called up headquarters and read my captain the riot act on not keeping security tight enough. As if we’re supposed to do something about supernatural bullcrap.”

“Horsie doesn’t know what was out there,” Griffen assured him. “We’re looking after Penny. I’m exploring some possibilities. I can’t talk about them at the minute.”

“I don’t want to know!”

Griffen smiled. “I don’t, either, but I don’t have much of a choice.”

“Huh,” Harrison said, draining his cup and waving away a second refill. “I thought it was only in Chicago that the dead vote.”

“I don’t know if they do vote or not down here,” Griffen said. “Think of them as just another special-interest group.”

“Another pain in the ass,” Harrison said. He eyed Griffen. “I don’t like to ask favors.” Griffen waited, not wanting to jump the gun on Harrison’s thoughts. “You know what my city means to me. You just got here, but you’re in deeper than any newcomer ever was that I know about.”

“I’ll do what I can,” Griffen said. “It’s not even a favor to you. My uncle dragged me into this. I gave my promise to him.”

Harrison nodded, looking relieved. “All right. I’ll take your word for it. I’m out of here. Half an hour, and I can sign off for the day. Dammit, I hate this season. Thank God it’ll be over in November.”

He pushed his barstool back from the counter and stood up. With one broad hand, he delivered a powerful slap to Griffen’s shoulder.

“Stay out of trouble. I don’t want to have to drag you and your ‘employees’ in. I don’t feel like doing the paperwork.”

Griffen winced inwardly at both the blow and the thought, but he grinned. “Who’d notice me, Detective? I’m just an easygoing guy with friends who like to play cards.”

Harrison snorted and stalked out.

Ann Marie came up and put an arm around his shoulders from behind. “You free, or you have to take care of business now?”

He turned and gave her a grateful smile.

“I’m free. How’s Gris-gris?”

Ann Marie looked concerned. “That boy’s meddling in things he don’t know how to handle. Trying to do too much by himself. But his mental state is better. He’s back to normal, which means he’s bouncing off walls like a bat in a bottle.”

“Can I see him?”

The Creole woman looked relieved.

“I was going to ask you. I was going to drop in on him. You want to come with me?”

Griffen glanced at his watch. About midnight. The two games he had going were nothing special. Jerome was playing in one of them. Brenda was dealing at the other. If they had any problems, he would have heard by now.

“Yes. I’d like to.”

•   •   •

The
first thing that would go through a visitor’s mind when arriving at Gris-gris’s home was that it didn’t look as if it belonged to the head of a gambling organization. In fact, a little old lady from Pasadena could have moved in without changing a thing. The small, neat, painted wooden house had a lushly wild garden like one that might surround an English cottage. Two little glass lanterns with etched panels washed the painted front door with a warm golden glow. Griffen hung back on the concrete path and let Ann Marie reach the door first. From her pocket, she took a string of blackened sticks and shook them around the frame. Griffen realized that the sticks were human finger bones. He felt slightly sick.

The door opened from within. Griffen jumped back for a moment. A tall, lean woman peered out. It took Griffen a moment to recognize Estelle, the proprietor of the voodoo shop half a block off Bourbon Street. She met Griffen’s eyes and nodded.

“All is well. You can come in.”

On the other side of the threshold, Griffen sensed a presence, not of an intelligence but of a force. He had felt the same when Holly had warded her home to protect the sacred space from intrusion by malign energies. Ann Marie jangled the string of bones as she closed the door behind them. That sealed the entrance as tightly as an air lock. The air inside seemed warm and thick, and not just because of the candles he could smell burning. The sensation didn’t alarm Griffen. He felt enveloped and soothed. He wasn’t certain what he had expected, but the welcoming aura disarmed him.

Gris-gris sprang up from the blue-upholstered couch as Griffen entered. He stuck out a hand and grasped Griffen’s long fingers in his own. His grip was powerful enough to make Griffen wince.

“Man, I’m glad to see you,” Gris-gris said. “Sorry about the other night.”

“No problem,” Griffen said. He studied the smaller man. His nearly black skin had regained the healthy sheen that it usually had. The whites of his dark eyes were clear, not bloodshot and runny as they had been. Behind them, the quick, almost lightning-fast intelligence had returned. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine! This is worse than the hospital.” Gris-gris swept a hand around. “Least I was unconscious most of the time. Now I want to get out, but she don’t let me.”

Estelle shook her head. “It’s just like being in the hospital. You think you’re well, but you aren’t.” She pointed at a small plant in a blue container. “When that absorbs all your bad air, you can go anywhere you want.”

Griffen glanced at the plant, a broad-leaf ornamental of some kind. It leaned to the left in a sickly manner. He surveyed the room. Against one wall were three parson’s tables. On each were various esoteric-looking objects he couldn’t identify readily. Above each was a decorated, crudely carved cross that seemed to go with the artifacts below. Candles in tall, narrow glasses burned everywhere: on the floor, on every table, and on the windowsills. In the middle of the room was what looked a little like an open beach umbrella with designs painted in neon colors on the handle. It seemed as if the room had been furnished with about half the objects from the voodoo shop. Griffen tried to make sense of what he was seeing.

“Is this all part of the cure?” he asked.

Estelle snorted. “No! This is the problem.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look around you!” Estelle shrugged her shoulders. “This is a jumble. No honest practitioner would sell a worshipper all this junk. This is the kind of things that a tourist would buy.”

Gris-gris winced. “I needed help with a lot of things.”

“Consultation is free to those in need,” Estelle said. “If you had asked, I could have saved you a bundle of money, not to mention pestering the
lwa
so bad I had to call for help to pull you back.”

“What’s a lwa?” Griffen asked.

“Our gods,” Estelle said simply. “They rule different parts of our lives, but with love, like parents. Voodoo is a family, Griffen McCandles. You have lived here long enough to know that our religion is not all bones and potions and Baron Samedi. You know Rose.”

“But I haven’t studied your beliefs,” Griffen admitted.

Estelle shot an annoyed look at Gris-gris. “Neither has he.”

“That’s not true!” Gris-gris exclaimed. “I believe. I belong!”

“Then what’s all this crap?”

Gris-gris looked as sullen as a little boy. “I needed a lot of things. I thought I could ask by myself.”

“Of course you can ask by yourself. The
lwa
listen to all their children.”

Griffen was interested. “But aren’t you his priestess?”

“The role of a priest does not mean the same from religion to religion,” Ann Marie said. “Our mother and father guide us, but we are given the tools to achieve goals on our own. We can make our own mistakes, but we ought to know when we are in out of our depth.”

“Don’t say it!” Gris-gris said. “Don’t say it again! You both told me a hundred times. I get it.”

“But will it stick?”

“Ann Marie, I know Estelle,” Griffen said. “I met her before the conference last Halloween. Why did you say you couldn’t give me her name?”

Ann Marie and Estelle exchanged glances. “When I saw Gris-gris, I knew he needed special intervention. You’ve met only a few of our number. Our congregation came to your conference, as did a few others, but not all the local voodoo queens and priests attended.”

“I can understand that,” Griffen said. “I was the only dragon there. Since then I’ve met dozens who live in the area.”

Ann Marie smiled. “Some of those who follow voodoo don’t want to be identified outside the religion. We aren’t ashamed of our beliefs, but there are so many misconceptions. I had to go to one of the ones who stay in the closet, so to speak. I told Estelle, and she approved.”

“May I know his name? Or hers?”

“It’s not important right now,” Estelle said. Griffen realized from the flat expression in her eyes that she was not going to argue with him about it. “But if you ever chair another conference, he and many others will come. They didn’t realize that you were sincere in not promoting your own agenda.”

“I’m never running another conference,” Griffen said fervently. “I did a favor for Rose once. Someone else will have to step up next time. If I go, it’ll be as a participant, not the master of ceremonies.”

“Of those with great portion, great things are asked.”

“I’m not Spider-Man. I’m just a guy trying to run a business and live my life.”

“The important thing is that he came to help Gris-gris.” Ann Marie gestured to the other dealer, who was pacing impatiently like a tiger in a cage. “Together, we performed a new ritual, a sorting-out, to bring things back to normal.”

“What happened to Gris-gris?” Griffen asked.

“Voodoo is a family. This child tried to take the lead without knowing what he was doing. He did it with respect, but it’s like taking everything in your medicine cabinet if you have a cold. You need guidance.” Estelle shook her head.

“I told you why I did it,” Gris-gris said. “I thought I had a lead on Val. I’m still weak in the gut. I wanted to get healthy fast, so I could go after her. I talked to a man, a weird guy. And there was a lady with him. I met him at the Court of Two Sisters.”

“‘Weird’ is a relative term in the Quarter,” Ann Marie said, with a smile. “Define ‘weird.’”

Gris-gris gestured. “He had a face like leather and eyes on fire.”

Griffen’s eyebrows went up in alarm. “I think I know that man.”

“You do?” Ann Marie asked.

“His name’s Duvallier. He’s the one I wanted to talk to you about. The walking dead. What did he do to you, Gris-gris?”

“He only talked to me,” Gris-gris said. “Said he had a line to the people who took Val, but he doubted I could handle them by myself. I don’t take that from nobody. I went looking for what I needed. Next thing I know, I am in bed with my hands and feet tied together and a bunch of people chanting over me.”

“We had to tie him up. He kicks like a shotgun,” Ann Marie said. “But it’s part of the ritual. You don’t remember a lot of what happened in between, Gris-gris, because you were being reborn. Again.”

“That sounds interesting,” Griffen said, raising his eyebrows. “What else happens?”

Estelle made a gesture of impatience.

“If you’re really interested in finding out about voodoo, come into the shop when you have time,” she said. “I will lend you some books to read, and we will talk. I have no intention of setting another one like Gris-gris loose on the world with inadequate knowledge.”

“Fair enough,” Griffen said. “So, what is going on here?”

“A cleaning-out of the bad air this man made in trying to do good. You’ve met others who follow nature religions. Voodoo is similar.” Estelle pointed at the numerous candles. “These have to finish their work. You don’t ask the
lwa
to help, then turn your back on them. That’s impolite. That power that Gris-gris does not need is being redirected to people who do need it.”

“So, instead of being drained, he’s too charged up?”

Estelle smiled. “Yes, that’s a good way to define it. We have asked this rubber plant, as an analogue of this very energetic man, to take into it all the illness that he has suffered, absorb all his troubles. When it dies, then he is free to leave its presence.”

“When will that be?”

“Not soon enough!” Gris-gris exclaimed, throwing his hands up.

“Can I do anything to help?” Griffen asked.

“Bring a bottle of white rum and a few cigars next time you come,” Estelle suggested. “They will be offerings for the
lwa
.”

Gris-gris dug in his pocket and came up with a fat wad of money in a gold clip. “Here,” he said, peeling off a few bills. “Use this. Get good ones.”

“It’s okay,” Griffen said. “You can pay me back when I bring the stuff.”