I stiffened, taking offense. Since Catherine had seen us together on Friday, right after the chaos in the lobby, I supposed it was natural for her to assume that Lopez was the source of these love bites. But I scarcely knew this woman, and what had happened in my bedroom was private.
Catherine added, “Perhaps the spirit trance that he experienced at yesterday’s ritual unleashed something inside him?” Seeing my surprise, she smiled again. “Yes. I heard about it. How I wish I had been there to see it.”
“Why
weren’t
you there?” I asked baldly, trying to change the subject. I didn’t want to talk about Lopez with her, let alone discuss what had happened to him that evening. “It seemed like the sort of thing that interests you.”
“Other things needed my attention.”
Since she obviously didn’t intend to say more, I moved on to the reason I had sought her out. “Did Max—Dr. Zadok—speak to you about last night?”
Her face wrinkled with distaste. “Yes. His tale was quite extraordinary.”
“Where do you think Mambo Celeste is now?”
Catherine shrugged indifferently.
I found her casual attitude odd, given that a trusted employee had been found practicing black magic in her basement, as well as endangering innocent people. I wondered how much Max had told her. Considering Catherine’s academic approach to magic and mysticism, Max might have lost all credibility if he had talked about Celeste raising zombies from the grave.
“You and your friends left quite a mess downstairs,” Catherine said to me. “Still, it doesn’t matter now. The altar is no longer needed.”
I blinked. “You mean because the mambo has fled?”
“Because matters have progressed toward their inevitable climax, despite a number of discouraging set-backs. Some of which you caused.”
My heart started to beat more heavily. I remembered my first visit to this room, dressed as I was now. The mambo wasn’t the only Vodou expert at the foundation who’d become acquainted with me in these clothes.
“It’s strange about the poppet.” The words popped out of my mouth unbidden, surprising me. It was only in that moment that I realized it
was
strange. “I was told the mambo doesn’t approve of voodoo dolls being sold in Puma’s Vodou Emporium, where she buys her supplies.”
“She was a rigid woman,” said Catherine.
“Was?” I said.
“But rigidity can be its own kind of strength.”
“Why would someone so strict about Haitian tradition adopt a custom from another branch of voodoo?” I wondered. “A custom she thought gave the wrong impression of the religion? A custom she berated Puma for humoring?”
“That seems a minor deviation from her traditions, compared to the things Dr. Zadok described when he phoned me earlier,” Catherine pointed out dryly. “But all people have private desires and deep yearnings which can’t necessarily be met in the conventional ways they’re most comfortable following.”
“I’m wondering . . .” I felt uneasy. Anxious. “Those practices I saw last night, in that room.” I heard my phone ring, but my gaze remained locked with hers. “How could that have gone on in your own building without your knowing about it? You and Celeste were close. How it is possible that you didn’t—”
“Your phone is ringing,” Catherine said. “Aren’t you going to answer it?”
Feeling tension spread through me, I reminded myself that there were other people in the building. I didn’t really have any clear suspicions yet, just doubts. I tried to organize them rationally as I fumbled in my purse for my phone, glad for an excuse to get out of this room.
“I’ll take this outside,” I said.
“No need. Please stay seated.”
I looked at my phone and saw with relief that the caller was Lopez. “No, you’re busy. I’ll leave. I just wanted to apologize for . . . you know. Downstairs.” I flipped open the phone, as eagerly as if the static- filled communication with Lopez was a protective charm.
Catherine opened a drawer in her desk and reached inside. “Stay,” she said.
I tried to rise and found that my legs felt too weak to support me. My knees buckled. I sat back down with a thud.
“Esther?” Lopez said. “Are you there?”
“I’m here,” I said faintly, staring into Catherine’s cold, dispassionate eyes.
Out of the blue, I recalled that I had once heard evil described as an absence of empathy. Why had looking at her made me think of that?
“Please tell me you’re not still at the foundation,” Lopez said, his voice faint. “This is a bad connection. Can you hear me?”
“I’m
here,
” I said, anxiety welling up inside me.
“You left me a message asking about Celeste’s husband. He’s alive and well and running a plumbing supply store in Philadelphia. I checked on Friday.”
“I’m at the foundation,” I said to him.
“I want you to get out of there,” he said. “I’ve been checking on Catherine Livingston, too. When you told me she’d been sleeping with Darius, it got me to thinking. Two men dying of natural causes. Sure, it happens . . .”
I tried to rise again. My legs felt as if they didn’t belong to me.
“But three? And all within a decade?” Lopez said. “That’s just too much coincidence. Especially given their ages.”
“Three?” I said faintly.
Catherine smiled.
“Her first husband died not long after she met Martin Livingston. Same scenario as Martin and Darius. Unexpected death from sudden, catastrophic natural causes in a man previously thought to be in good health.” Lopez said, “It’s the sort of death that could be arranged by someone who’s an expert in exotic folk medicine and ritual poisons—and Dr. Livingston is exactly such an expert. It was the focus of her research before she started working at the foundation.”
“What?” I was shaking.
“Martin and her first husband were cremated, and Darius’ body is missing, which means I’ll never be able to prove anything,” Lopez said in frustration. “So you can’t repeat this to anyone. Do you understand me? But I’m telling you, Esther, she killed those three men. I
know
she did. I can see it in her face. She got away with it, and she’s gloating. So I don’t want you anywhere near her. She’s a dangerous woman.”
My lips where trembling. My throat felt swollen. My gaze was locked with Catherine’s.
“Esther?” Lopez said. “Esther?”
“I’m with—”
There was a deafening clap of thunder overhead, and a blinding bolt of lightning split the gray sky. The lights went out and the phone went dead as rain started pouring down heavily.
“Lopez?” I said into my phone. “Lopez!”
But he was gone. The connection had been lost.
“Oh, goodness,” said Catherine. “The city has lost power.”
I shook my head, wondering frantically why I couldn’t get up. Why couldn’t I make my own legs work? “It’s probably just this neighborhood.”
“No, it’s the whole city. It must be.” The window was behind her. Although it wasn’t yet evening, the sky was so dark, now that the lights were dead, that I couldn’t see her facial expression. But I heard a chilling satisfaction in her choice as she said, “Later, you’ll see for yourself.”
“Later?” My teeth chattered with fear. Why couldn’t I
move?
“When true darkness descends.”
“It’s you, isn’t it?” I was panting with terror now, like a trapped animal. “
You’re
the bokor, aren’t you? Celeste was just . . .”
“A tool,” she said. “In the end, a decoy. You and your friends are . . . dreadfully nosy, Esther. Darius goes missing one night, and the very next day, you, Dr. Zadok, and Detective Lopez all show up, full of detailed questions. Academics aren’t
children,
for goodness’ sake. I knew what you were after from the moment you arrived here.”
“Then why hire me?” I asked, trying with all my might to move my foot.
“I acted in accordance with a wise old saying: Keep your friends close, but keep your enemies closer.” In the dim light coming through the window, I could see Catherine shake her head. “You ask me questions about Mama Brigitte, and then—what a coincidence!—Shondolyn’s mother calls me the next day to say the girl is leaving town. Good God, did you really think I haven’t known every day since you came here what you were up to?”
“I’ve only been here a few days,” I pointed out. “What were you trying to do to Shondolyn anyway?”
“Ah! You still don’t know?” She sounded smug. “Well, well. What an interesting evening this will be for you.”
I didn’t like the sound of that.
“Celeste wouldn’t have explored these avenues on her own,” I said, breathing hard as I struggled to move my legs. “We should have realized that before now. She was too rigid. Too traditional. Her horizons were broadened by someone with a wider education. Someone who was knowledgeable about many traditions, not just the one. Black magic, ritual poisons, multiple religions, different branches of Vodou, the voodoo dolls that Celeste despised . . .” I nodded with certainty. “It all came from you, you syncretic slut!”
“I don’t think I like your tone,” said Catherine.
“And setting my bed on fire last night?” I said in outrage. “What was
that?
”
“Setting your bed on . . .” Catherine made a sound of amusement. “Someone set your
bed
on fire? My, what an interesting life you do lead.”
“That wasn’t you?” I said in surprise. “Then it must have been Celeste.”
“You overestimate her. Her skills were limited and, as you should recall, she was quite busy last night.”
“Why did she help you? Serve you?” I asked. “Whatever.”
“She wanted what everyone wants—influence, importance, respect.”
“She thought you could give her those things?”
“I encouraged her to think it. Celeste was never that well liked, you know. Not even by her own houngan. Her gifts were not well-suited to serving others. I was the one who showed her a better path to the recognition she craved.”
I heard the past tense again. The sense of finality, of a life story ended. “Where is she now?”
“What a tactless question. Especially when your tone implies you already know the answer.”
There were still people in the building. I would scream for help. I was opening my mouth to do so when my throat closed. I gasped for air, unable to breathe.
Catherine pulled her hand out of her desk drawer. I saw that she was holding a tiny little doll, crudely fashioned out of wax. Her fist squeezed its legs into immobility while her thumb and forefinger pinched its throat. Gasping futilely for air, I saw that the doll had a few strands of brown hair—
my
hair—on its little wax head.
There was also a Star of David drawn crudely on the doll’s stomach. I thought that was in questionable taste, and I wanted to say so—but I couldn’t speak.
“I made a second one,” Catherine said. “I believe in being prepared. It’s an essential ingredient for success.”
She let go of the poppet’s throat. Able to breathe again, I inhaled for a scream. Before the air could leave my lungs, Catherine banged the wax doll’s head against the desk, and I blacked out.
24
W
hen I regained consciousness, I was in the park, it was nighttime, and I was being carried by four zombies.
I had somehow wound up in Frank Johnson’s nightmare.
But unlike Frank, my legs were bound, as well as my hands. I supposed Catherine had learned her lesson after the one that got away.
I felt guilty about Frank’s near death experience at Biko’s hands as I realized that Catherine had known all along where he lived, but she had left him alone—until
I
started meddling and got Lopez to ask probing questions about him. Before that, Catherine had evidently considered Frank too minimal a threat to expend her attention on.
And what exactly did she need her attention
for,
anyhow? Where was all this leading us?
I had a horrible feeling I was about to find out. My body tilted at a precarious angle, and the zombies started ascending stairs. Moving carefully, since I didn’t want them to drop me at this juncture, I looked around and confirmed my suspicion. We were on the crumbling stone steps leading up to the old watchtower. Whatever had excited Nelli the night she had come here, it must have had something to do with this—the smell of zombies on these stairs.
The zombies held me aloft, high overhead, as we ascended. I remained very still, since they didn’t seem exactly steady on their feet, and I didn’t think I’d survive a tumble down these stairs. I practiced breathing evenly, grateful that I
could
breathe, and wondered how long I had been unconscious.
I guessed a few hours at least. It was nighttime now, the sky pitch-black overhead. The city must still be in the grip of the blackout; the park was completely dark, and as we rose higher through the trees, I could see that the surrounding buildings were also completely dark.