Ella nodded. ‘Sure ting, Yous Holiness. Dat’s what it’s called when de bad baka take possession of a serviteur like me. But as ah’m up against a Daemon tonight ah need to conjure de Great Lord Bondye himself to help me and to do dat ah’ve gotta look mah best. De trouble with looking mah best is dat if a baka was to see me he might be liking a taste ov some ov what ah’ve got on offer. That’s why I need a hounfo to protect me.’
Crowley’s interest in the hounfo faltered: he eyed Ella carefully. ‘And what would happen if you were possessed by one of these baka?’
She dropped her eyes as though embarrassed. ‘Well, wit you being such a mighty mystic, Yous Holiness, yous know dat de most powerful incantations are made when dere is a lot of sexual energy in de air. Dat’s what ah’ve got to do tonight… rouse de desires of de Spirits.’
‘Why?’ asked Crowley, his voice having risen an octave or two.
Again the coy lowering of Ella’s gaze; the girl was such a tease. ‘WhoDoo magic is de magic ov sex. De union between de Spirit World and de Demi-Monde is best made when de body and de soul are conjoin at orgasm. To be a mambo you gotta search fo’ de constant, de unfailing, de eternal orgasm.’
Vanka pulled at his collar. By ABBA, it’s getting hot in here.
‘So yous see, Yous Holiness, iffn an evil baka was to take me… well, there’s no knowing what ah might do.’
‘And how do you intend to rouse the desires of the Spirits?’ There was more than a hint of excitement in Crowley’s voice.
Ella reached up and unhooked the tie that held her cloak. The cloak sighed to the floor, revealing Ella – or, more accurately, the mambo Marie Laveau – in all her glory.
The three men stood stock-still examining the vision of loveliness that stood before them. Vanka had seen such costumes when he’d been to some of the more risque revues in the Quartier Chaud but he’d never thought any woman in the ForthRight would be brave enough to wear one.
Ella’s costume was remarkable more for what it showed than for what it hid. The black chiffon material flowed over her long, stunning body like a dark mist. From what he could see in the half-light, the costume consisted of a loose dress gathered around Ella’s waist by a five-inch-thick black leather belt. That the chiffon was virtually transparent and that she seemed to be naked beneath it was unsettling enough, but the slits cut artfully into the dress meant that most of her legs and a considerable part of the rest of her body were uncovered. There was a lot of firm young flesh on display, flesh which Ella had decorated with strange symbols and images of snakes drawn in thick black ink.
The ephemeral fabric of the costume left no doubt as to the wonders concealed – partially concealed – beneath. For a moment Vanka wondered whether he should play the gentleman and avert his eyes.
Fuck that.
Crowley had no such reservations: he stepped closer in order to get a better look at Ella. ‘You are a remarkably beautiful woman, Miss Laveau,’ he oozed, his voice thick with lust, ‘and I can see why these baka of yours would try to possess you. You look positively… Lilithian.’
Lilith.
Crowley was right. When Vanka thought about it the way Ella was dressed did remind him of the pictures he’d seen of Lilith. Lilith was meant to have been the most powerful, the most evil woman who had ever walked the Demi-Monde and she’d been a Shade too. He wondered if Ella had adopted the guise of Lilith deliberately. That was when he remembered that she’d pretended to channel Lilith during their first seance.
Funny he’d never thought of it before.
Crowley edged nearer to Ella. ‘You confirm to me that your race, being more brutal and bestial than the Anglo-Slav people, is more closely in tune with the earthier appetites that DemiMondians are sometimes – unfortunately – prey to. And this pandering to these inclinations, as you so rightly say, is vital in the performance of magic. My own investigations have led me to the conclusion that magic is fuelled by sexual energy and I sense an enormous erotic potential in you, Miss Laveau.’ He stretched out a hand and drifted a finger across Ella’s right breast. ‘You have the Mann rune drawn here. Why?’
‘De Mann rune,’ breathed Ella, as Crowley’s fingers orbited her nipple, ‘is de sign ov sensual, erotic love and ov de wearer being one who indulges in de most dissolute sex. Tonight, to conjure de Great Lord Bondye, ah must show him ah am ready to pay for his services. And Great Lord Bondye always demands de use of mah body as payment.’
This Bondye’s no fool, decided Vanka.
Crowley swallowed hard. ‘Perhaps, after the performance, we might meet to discuss WhoDoo magic further?’
Ella curtsied. ‘Dat would be mah honour and mah pleasure, Your Holiness. A mambo like me is always ready to commune wit a powerful magician like yous.’
With that a very red-faced Crowley swept out of the ballroom.
When the door had shut behind him, Ella began to giggle. ‘By the Spirits, he had me worried there. He got a little too close to the hounfo for comfort.’ She giggled again. ‘But then it’s always so easy to distract men!’ She smiled at Vanka and Burlesque and gave them a twirl. ‘So guys, what do you think of my outfit?’
‘Nice tits,’ was Burlesque’s verdict.
The knock on the door of Trixie’s bedroom came just before eight o’clock. When she unlocked it and peeped outside she saw Captain Dabrowski standing there. He examined her.
‘Excellent. Maybe you’re not as stupid as I thought. The trousers are good and the boots look very practical.’ He handed her a cap. ‘If you would push your hair up under this, I think we will have a better chance of passing you off as a soldier.’
‘A soldier?’ asked Trixie as she quickly pinned her long hair up and covered it with the cap.
‘You’re very popular with my men, Miss Dashwood; they think you’re very good-looking. So to avoid you being recognised it’s best that we try to smuggle you out disguised as my batman. You’ll need this as well.’ The Captain handed Trixie a leather holster which, when she unbuckled its flap, she found to be holding a small Colt revolver.
‘I have no use for this,’ she announced.
‘This is no time for feminine niceties, Miss Trixie. You must learn to protect yourself.’
‘Oh, believe me, Captain, I understand that. It’s just that I have no use for such a small-calibre revolver.’ She pulled back her jacket to show the huge Mauser she had holstered on her belt. ‘When I shoot at the SS, Captain Dabrowski, I intend to kill them, not frighten them.’
‘Have you ever used a pistol before?’
With a deftness that belied her soft, delicate fingers Trixie pulled her revolver from its holster, snapped it open and checked that it was loaded. ‘Yes, I can fire a pistol, Captain. My father considers me quite the sharpshooter.’
‘Good. Just remember, if things go badly don’t hesitate to shoot. But if I were you, I’d be inclined to save the last bullet for myself. Now, if you’re ready…’
Vanka stood in front of the hounfo, waiting for the audience to arrive, desperately trying to calm himself, to still the trembling in his hands and stop himself conjuring up images of Checkya torture chambers. It was too late now for something to turn up. He was a dead man.
How could Vanka Maykov, the cat who always walked by himself, have got himself into such a dangerous muddle? It was all Ella’s fault. Everything had started to go wrong the moment she’d entered his life. He tried to stop thinking about her, to concentrate on the job in hand; the thought of her in that costume didn’t do anything for his peace of mind.
Ella.
Ella who was now crouched on the floor in the middle of the hounfo completely covered by her cloak. Boy, was the audience in for a surprise.
A wisp of acrid smoke tugged at his nostrils: it was a horrible smell that tickled at the back of his throat. Burlesque had lit the two braziers set up in the ballroom and heaped on dried leaves from a plant Ella called epimedium. Vanka had never heard of the stuff but it was making his head swim, as was the rhythm the drummers were beating out from up in the minstrels’ gallery. ABBA only knew where Burlesque had conjured these maniacs from but they were playing their drums VERY LOUDLY. Ella called the music – music? – she had written for them rada music and said it was a vital ingredient in WhoDoo rituals. Vanka had his own name for it.
