The effect is different from ibogaine.”
“How?”
He settled back in his chair. “The hallucinations, for one thing. After iboga bark is chewed, the initiate falls into a deep sleep and has no real consciousness of the outside world. In his vision world, he’s faced with a series of obstacles that must be overcome before he can enter the spirit world. Once he’s allowed to pass through the barriers, a guide, usually a long-dead ancestor, will accompany him on his spiritual journey where he’ll witness many fantastical sights. Legions of the dead, typically with painted faces and open bellies from ritual autopsies. Here, he’s able to look upon the gods and speak with his deceased ancestors. When the effects of the iboga wear off, consciousness returns and he’s expected to recount his journey to the elders.”
“And gray dust?”
“Gray dust has nothing to do with hallucinogenic visions,” Dr. Shaw said. “It has a property that literally stops the heart. The initiate flatlines. In a medical environment, he would be considered clinically dead anywhere from seconds to minutes. During that interval, his spirit is able to leave the body and enter the realm of the dead, not through visions, but because his life in this world has ceased. And because he is dead, there are no obstacles to overcome. No barriers to cross. He can move through the spirit world as freely as his ancestors, traveling into realms unimaginable even through visions and hallucinations. The danger, of course, is wandering too far and becoming lost. After a certain amount of time passes, the physical body can’t be resuscitated. The shell withers and dies or, in some cases, is invaded by another spirit. At least…that’s the claim.”
I found myself shivering again. This whole conversation was bizarre and unsettling. Not that I didn’t believe it. I knew better than anyone that the spirit world existed as surely as the living world, but the notion of someone purposely traveling through the veil was unfathomable to me. I hadn’t yet thrown off the shackles of my father’s rules even though I had apparently embraced my arrangement with Robert Fremont. It was as though I once again found myself suspended between two worlds, only now the tug-of-war was being waged between my past and my future. Between the safety net of what I knew and feared, and my desire to attain a higher purpose. But I couldn’t remain in this limbo forever. The ghosts wouldn’t let me. Already they were seeking me out.
“What about the ones who make it back from the spirit world?” I asked. “The ones who are resuscitated. Do they suffer from any side effects?”
“Some report a spiritual enlightenment and feelings of euphoria, while others suffer from episodes akin to PTSD. And still others undergo drastic transformations both mentally and physically from what they saw on the other side. Or from what they brought back.”
“Brought back? You mean like ghosts?” I thought about Shani and Mariama. Had Devlin brought them back from the Gray? Was that what Shani seemed so desperate to tell him?
“If gray dust makes it easier for the living to enter the realm of the dead, it stands to reason the reverse would also be true, would it not?”
“Yes, I suppose so.”
Idly, he stirred his tea. “There are those among the Gullah even today who believe something as simple as an improper burial can allow the dead to come back and control the lives of the living. If a root doctor has enough power, he can enter the spirit world and bring back the dead himself. He can also attack his enemies in the dream realm, when they’re most vulnerable.”
Once again, I thought about Fremont’s insinuation that Dr. Shaw’s interest in rootwork stemmed from some evil intent. I still couldn’t buy it. Everything I knew of Rupert Shaw pointed to a man of good character. “Did rootwork originate in Gabon?”
“Like most of the Southern conjure arts, it’s based upon the beliefs and practices of a number of religions in west and central Africa. A sort of spiritual soup seasoned with Christianity. The foundation of rootwork, like
He seemed to drift off again, and I leaned toward him in concern. “Dr. Shaw? Are you okay?”
He roused from his lethargy and rose to claim another book from a nearby shelf. Blowing dust from the cover, he handed it to me. I glanced down at the title:
“That’ll get you started,” he said. “If you still have questions, come back and see me. I can even arrange a consultation with a root doctor, if you’d like.”
“Essie Goodwine?”
A brow lifted. “If you feel up to taking a drive. Otherwise, we can walk down the street and talk to my old friend, Primus—”
He swayed, and I laid the book aside as I jumped to my feet to take his arm. “Are you all right?”
“It’s nothing. Just a little dizziness,” he murmured.
He tottered again and my grip tightened. “What should I do?”
“Help me to my seat, if you would.” His voice sounded strained, and I could see the sheen of perspiration on his face. “It’ll pass in a moment.”
I led him back to his chair and waited until he was safely settled. The hand he lifted to cover his eyes trembled.
“Do you have these episodes often?” I asked worriedly.
“Every now and then.”
“It’s none of my business, but do you think it wise to climb ladders? Especially when you’re alone?”
“I usually have some warning before a spell comes on,” he said, dropping his hand from his eyes. “At any rate, it’s passing already. I feel fine now.”
“Are you sure I can’t get you something? Call someone?”
“Please, don’t trouble yourself. It really is nothing. But perhaps we could continue our conversation at another time?”
“Of course. I’ll get out of your hair.” I went around the desk to retrieve my bag.
“Before you go…” His voice lowered, and I saw his gaze dart to the French doors as though he were afraid someone lurked out in the garden. “There’s something I must tell you.”
I glanced down in alarm. “What is it?”
His blue eyes looked troubled and very intense. Frightened, I would say. “You must be very careful who you talk to about this. And don’t repeat any of what was said here today.”
My pulse quickened as my hand tightened around the strap of my bag. “Of course, but may I ask why?”
“Gray dust is an innocuous name for a sacred substance that is used sparingly even by the most powerful shamans and witch doctors. An unseemly interest by someone outside the sect might be taken as blasphemy and could put you at considerable risk.”
“At risk? You mean someone might try to harm me?”
“Not physically perhaps, but…tell me, my dear, do you keep bay leaves in the house? Citronella candles, perhaps? Or some eucalyptus? Dragon’s blood under your pillow would be even better.”
“Why do I need them?”
He didn’t seem to hear me. He’d drifted off yet again, and after a moment, I quietly slipped away.
Chapter Fifteen
As I exited the Institute, I heard my name called from across the street. It was the cautious hail of someone who thought she knew me but had some doubt. That still happened on occasion. I was sometimes recognized as The Graveyard Queen from an online ghost video that had gone viral months ago. Now that the clip had run its course, my notoriety was fading. More common were the puzzled glances from fellow taphophiles who recognized but couldn’t place me.
Clementine Perilloux had pulled up in front of the house next door and was just getting out of her car. She waved gaily when she had my attention and motioned for me to join her on the sidewalk. I walked down the drive and crossed the street to speak with her.
