“No, not WitchCraft, it’s…”
“What then?” he demanded, once again cutting me off before I could complete the sentence.
“Stop interrupting the man, Agent Drew,” Mandalay ordered.
“…Voodoo,” I finished. “Or like I was saying, a bastardized form of it.”
“Come on,” he groaned. “Voodoo isn’t real. It’s all just a bunch of Hollywood crap.”
“No, Agent Drew, it’s very real,” I replied. “Whether you want to believe it or not. Don’t they teach you anything about alternative religions at the FBI academy?”
“They teach us about cults.”
“Well, this isn’t a cult. It’s an actual religion.”
“Yeah, okay, whatever.”
I ignored his rebuke and pointed to the designs on the table once again, indicating toward the ornate cross with my index finger. “This veve here I’ve seen before. It represents Papa Legba. He’s what you would pretty much call the head Lwa. He stands at the crossroads between the material world and the spiritual world and facilitates communication between the living and the dead.
“The cigar and chicken bone are offerings to him… Gifts given in order to persuade him to open the gate between the worlds so that the practitioner can speak to the spirit of a departed loved one, or even another Lwa.”
“Well, whatever the reason, whoever did this is a hell of an artist,” Mandalay observed.
“That’s actually part of what marks this as real,” I told her. “The ability to properly and accurately draw veve is a basic but very important part of the religious practice.”
“You’re trying to tell us Voodoo is a religion?” Drew piped up.
“What did you think it was?” I asked.
“Like I said, bullshit,” he replied.
“Yeah, well, ya’ learn somethin’ new every day, don’tcha’,” Ben jibed.
“These had to take quite a bit of time,” Mandalay murmured as she continued scanning the tabletop with her eyes.
“Probably less than you would think for a skilled practitioner,” I offered. “But, yeah, they still took a little bit of time to make.”
“What is that? Sand?” she asked.
“Crime scene guys took a sample for the lab,” Ben offered.
“I think they’ll probably tell you it’s just plain cornmeal,” I explained. “That’s what is commonly used for this.”
“Cornmeal,” my friend repeated then paused.
I looked over and noticed that he was taking notes.
“Sometimes flour, ashes, chalk or some other such thing,” I added. “But, this definitely looks like cornmeal.”
“Okay,” he said, looking up from his notebook and nodding toward the table. “Does that mean anything?”
“It’s just another indicator that this was at least done by someone who is either a practitioner or has deeply studied Voodoo.”
“Okay, so you say the top one is for Poppa Whosits. What about the other two?”
“Papa Legba,” I corrected him then shrugged and pointed to the circle that had been divided into thirds. “This one looks for all the world like a triskele, which is a Celtic symbol that is commonly used in various forms of WitchCraft. But, given the nature of the ritual done here, I would guess that’s not what it’s meant to be. The other one, I don’t know. But, it definitely makes the connection with Wentworth.”
“Okay, so whaddaya mean, you don’t know?”
“I mean exactly that. I don’t know. We’ll have to look it up.”
“Why don’t you know it?” Drew asked, a hint of smugness returning to his voice. “I thought you were some kind of expert.”
“I never claimed to be an expert, and I’m also not a Voodoo practitioner. I’ve just read up on it a bit.” I replied. “Look, I’m perfectly willing to admit that I don’t know everything.”
“Okay, so then how do you know that you’re right about the other one?” he pressed.
“Because I’ve actually seen it pictured in a ritual context before. Like I said, I’ve read up on it some.”
“Apparently not enough.”
Mandalay opened her mouth to admonish him, and I immediately laid my hand on her forearm and shook my head.
“You’re Catholic, correct, Agent Drew?” I asked.
He cast a suspicious eye toward me. “Yeah, how did you know?”
“Nothing particularly esoteric on my part,” I replied. “Just your exclamation earlier, ‘ Holy Mary Mother of God ’. I’ve only heard that from Catholics.”
He relaxed noticeably then gave me a curt nod. “Yeah, okay. So what’s that got to do with anything?”
“I assume you went to a Catholic school?”
“Yeah.”
I continued. “Attended your religion classes like you were supposed to?”
“I still don’t see what this has to do with anything.”
“I’m just establishing that you are well educated in your faith.”
“Okay. So?”
“So, can you name the original seven archangels for me?”
“Michael, Gabriel, Raphael…” he began confidently but almost immediately tapered off into silence.
I waited a moment then finished the list for him. “Anael, Samael, Sachiel, and Caffiel.”
“Yeah.” He nodded in agreement. “It’s been awhile. So, how do you know them?”
“I’ve studied Judeo-Christian practices a little deeper than some other religions. In particular, Catholicism.”
“Why?”
“Self-preservation… Anyway, back to the archangels. I suppose that asking you to draw their sigils for me would be out of the question?”
“Their what?”
“The symbols that represent each of them,” I said then pointed at the table. “Like the veve for the Lwa.”
“Okay, fine,” he conceded. “I think I get your point.”
“If you wanna win an argument with Row, pick somethin’ he doesn’t know anything about,” Ben offered, taking pity on the younger man.
“I get it.” Drew nodded. “Don’t argue religion with Gant.”
“I’m still not claiming to be an expert,” I reminded them. “Voodoo definitely isn’t my area.”
“But, you’re sure this is Voodoo?” Ben asked, turning his attention to me and ignoring his own advice. “I mean, shouldn’t there be a doll with some pins in it or somethin’?”
“No. That would be a poppet, and then we’d be talking WitchCraft not Voodoo.”
“Fuck me,” he muttered as he shook his head. “I thought… No… Forget it… I don’t even wanna know.”
An urgent but muffled trill began warbling up the audible scale, and we all looked at one another out of reflex.
“Not mine,” Constance offered.
Ben’s voice fell in behind hers, “Me neither.”
The escalating tune ended on a high note, only to start anew a good measure louder.
“It sounds like mine,” I said aloud.
Out of reflex I reached into my jacket pocket at just about the same instant Agent Drew was announcing that it wasn’t his either; however, I found that the pocket was empty. At that moment the trilling tones started anew and were far louder.
“Crap,” Ben muttered, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “I’ve still got your phone.”
Pulling out one cell and glancing at it quickly, he shook his head; he reached back in and withdrew another
