The Seer Renee (10 page)

Fifteen minutes later there was a
knock at the door, and to my relief, it was Ellen.

"You knew," she said,
almost angrily as I stepped aside to let her pass. She walked directly in my
back room and sat. "I never suspected Allen was the one stalking me. We
were both being considered for the same position, a promotion, but he never did
anything for me to suspect he was undermining me or talking behind my back... Why
didn't you tell me!" Her voice rose with the sudden question.

"Assuming I knew who he was,
what would you have done?"

"Confronted him!"

"And accused him of what? With
what proof? A fortuneteller?" I asked. It sounded amusing to me as I said
it.
Oh, my fortuneteller said Allen was
stalking me and intended to kill me.
Ellen didn't reply as I poured her tea
and set the glass in front of her.

"You're right of course. I'm
assuming you knew who he was and exactly what he would do. My boss and the police
would have thought me insane. His stalking already had me acting
strangely." She played with the ring as she talked. "Did you?"

"I knew you were being stalked
and that it was driving you crazy. It felt like it was escalating. You needed
something to help you feel safe. The rings have always worked for me, so I
thought they might for you. And if it did escalate, the ring would help,"
I lied.
A pretty good one
, I thought.
Ellen stared at me and reluctantly removed the ring.

"I don't guess you'd like to
sell me this ring?"

"I'm sorry, but no. The drug
in the ring will evaporate and needs to be replaced periodically. Mixing your
own could result in someone's death or in having no effect depending upon what
you put in it. Besides, it could become a disabling crutch. You're a strong,
independent woman, Ellen, and don't need or want that."

She hesitantly handed me the ring.
"Thank you, Mambo Renee. You saved my life. Allen would have raped me and
then killed me, except for the ring. I took your advice and hit him in the head
with a glass paperweight afterward. I don't think the police would have been
receptive to poison. Allen might have been able to convince them I lured him to
my apartment for sex and then claimed rape to get the promotion. As it was,
they had lots of provocative questions when I claimed he was stalking me. They
searched his apartment and found evidence he had, so he's facing a number of
charges and has been suspended at work."

"I'm glad it worked out for
you."

"There were times when I
thought you were a fake and playing an elaborate scam on me, but fakes don't
refuse money. They get as much as they can get up front. I know you didn't help
me for the money, but I owe you. And I'm sure you can use the money," she
said, scanning the room. Then she took out an envelope, wrote something on a
piece of paper, placed it inside, and slid the envelope across the table to me.
"I'd like to schedule a regular fortunetelling session with
you—weekly?"

"Not necessary, Ellen. Every two
or three weeks is more than sufficient. And you must understand, I can't foresee
everything that will happen to you and then only generalities."

"And if my friends want a fortunetelling?"

"Only for their amusement and
only generalities."

"As you wish. I think I
understand," she said while staring at me like my face held the secret. We
spent another hour talking about her life growing up and in college. There was
no attempt to withhold information I might use in further sessions. I liked
her.

After she left, I opened the
envelope. It contained two thousand dollars and a small hand-written note.
"For caring and helping me. Ellen."

The next several days were a
continuation of the agony I suffered with Ellen. Now it was Monique and the
firebomb, not that Ken and Sheila and their mystery employers hadn't gone away.
I doubted it, but the two could be related in some way. Even if they weren't,
one could impact the other—without my help Monique would die and the
wrong help for Monique could result in providing them with the proof they
needed to know I had my grandmother's ability. The ideal solution would be to
solve the question of who, but I would need proof for the police to arrest the
people responsible.

It was midday and my headache was reaching
epic proportions, when Grace, Ron's wife, and another man entered my shop. He
was about her age, straight brown hair, and wore Raeburn sunglasses.

"Good morning, Ms.
Mathur," Grace said with a smile, "I'm Agent Casey, and my partner is
Agent Percy."

"Why so formal, Grace?" I
asked.

"I'm on the job, and I don't
want to set a bad example for my new partner." She winked. "Mike,
this is Mambo Renee, a friend of Ron and mine. Renee, this is Mike. He's new to
the bureau."

"Nice to meet you. Grace, are
you here to buy something or just looking," I quipped.

"I guess you haven't heard
about Mr. Bolade. He was killed two days ago during a break-in and robbery.
That normally isn't our responsibility; however, we've heard that several of
the Voodoo shop owners have had offers to buy their buildings and are looking
into whether the two are related. Have you had any offers lately?"

"Mr. Bolade was a houngan, a
Vodou priest, in addition to a Voodoo shop owner in case you weren't aware. And
yes, two million dollars."

"Wow. Are you going to take
it?"

"No. Even if there weren't
strings attached. It was made on the condition I refrain from selling Voodoo
material or practicing Vodou in the City of New Orleans."

"I can understand the
condition not to sell Voodoo related products. They wouldn't want the
competition if they intended to open a Voodoo-like store. But asking you to
stop practicing your religion does seem strange," Grace said. Mike raised
his eyebrows at her. "Yes, Mike. Voodoo is a religion practiced by tens of
millions of people, who believe in one God. Renee, any threats?"

"No. But I got the feeling
from his reactions that it didn't end the discussion, or rather, negotiations."

"He might want to offer you
more?" Mike asked.

"No. More like it didn't
matter what I said." I shrugged. "I couldn't prove that. It was more
his reaction. It wasn't like a threat so much as a private joke." Some
joke. Killing Houngan Bolade and firebombing Mambo Monique. Oh, and what do
they have planned for me? Shit, it could be sooner than that planned for
Monique, since I can't tell my own fortune.

 
"You look pale, Renee," Grace
said. "Did you think of something?"

"Someone wants us out of N’Orleans.
This isn't going to stop until you catch them or we've all gone."

"I wouldn't worry. The two
incidents are most likely a coincidence, although a convenient one for whoever
is trying to buy up property," Mike said, with a wave of his hand.
All right for him not to worry.

"Renee, do you know who
offered you the buyout?"

I nodded and retrieved from behind
the counter the card Harold had given me and handed it to her. She frowned at
the card, then dialed the number. "They aren't answering. I'll have the
number checked. I don't understand why there is no company name on the card, or
a secretary, or recording answering." She handed the card to Mike who took
out his cell and began dialing. "I hope you aren't right, Renee. If they
wanted to buy the building, we would at least have people we could investigate.
If they just want you out, no one will buy the property because they aren't
interested in it."

"The number is from a
disposable cell phone."

"That exceeds coincidence,
Mike. Renee, I'll kick this up the chain of command. I think you may be right.
You're welcome to stay at our place if you want. It may not be safe here alone,"
Grace said, concern evident in her voice.

"Thanks for the offer, but I'd
rather stay here. This shop is all I have, and I'd rather not leave it empty. I
feel better knowing the FBI is taking an interest. That alone may help scare
the hired help away."

"The offer stands, just give
me a call." She wrote a number on her agent's card and handed it to me.
"Day or night."

"Thank you, Grace, that's very
kind." They left discussing what they should do next. My list of things to
worry about was getting too long to concentrate on. I hadn't heard from or
about Ken and Sheila, which didn't mean they had gone away. In fact, it
probably meant they were up to something I wouldn't like—kidnapping
maybe. Would the people who wanted us gone attack Monique or me first? Oh, I
had forgotten about the Locos. They had been far too quiet lately. My head spun,
and I had to sit down. My peacock tickled. "Yes, Loa. You're right.
Monique is the priority, not me. I walked into my back room and removed several
jars from my shelf of herbs and returned to the counter in the shop. There, I
mixed a liquid solution of yew and another of moonseeds. Neither dose was
diluted. The yew would result in cardiac failure and moonseeds paralysis and
possible death, depending upon the person's physical condition. I put the yew
liquid into my onyx ring and slipped it onto my right hand, and the moonseeds
liquid into a ring with a jasper stone. In my opinion, the rings were better
than a gun since I didn't appear to be a threat and accuracy wasn't an issue. A
finger was as good a place as any.

* * *

I planned to go see Monique after
my Sunday evening ceremony, but to my surprise she showed up for my service.

"Good evening, Mambo Renee. I
hope you don't mind me attending your service."

"I'm honored, Mambo Asogwe
Monique. I'm glad you came. I had planned on visiting you after the service, so
we could talk. I've talked to Grace Casey from the FBI, and I think I've
convinced them Houngan Bolade wasn't a robbery gone bad, but rather a murder.
Even if they agree, that doesn't solve the more immediate problem, but maybe we
can use their participation to our advantage."

"That's a possibility. Go on
with your service. We will talk afterward," she said, waving me off to my
makeshift temple. I spent some time talking with my present congregation and
was introduced to several new people who were interested in observing and maybe
joining.

While everyone was milling around,
I began by drawing the symbol for Legba-Papa Labas with cornmeal to open the
gates of the guardian of the crossroads.
I only had one drummer at present, on the Maman, the tallest of the
traditional three drums, but hoped eventually to have my own three drummers. I
began singing a prayer in the traditional Haitian Creole to Bon Dieu while the
drum beat the distinctive rhythm of the Asagwe. Soon everyone was dancing and
singing. The serpent on my arm felt like it was moving, and I was consumed by
the Danh-Gbwe, the great serpent and intermediary of focus of divine power, and
lost myself in the beauty of Asagwe. I could somehow feel each of the
congregation's wants and needs and prayed to each Loa in their name and was
rewarded by their presence: Anaisa Pye, love and happiness, Ghede, miracles and
healing, Erzulie, protector of women and children, and others. I felt alive
beyond anything I had ever felt before as the Maman beat faster, and I spun,
dipped, and undulated in prayer with the Loa.

I woke on the floor with my head resting on Monique's lap and a cool rag
on my head.

"That was beautiful, Mambo Renee. I don't think I've witnessed a
more powerful connection with the divinity and the Loa. Everyone here
experienced a Loa of their need. I felt the love of Erzulie during your
dance." She carefully stroked the python tattoo that covered the
Ohene
rune on my forearm. "It seemed to come alive as you danced in
prayer."

I felt weak as a new born kitten as
Monique walked with me back to her house. Inside, she made tea.

"Monique, I need to see your
future again, so we can try and come up with something to do rather than just
keep you from being killed. I don't want to see your home destroyed," I
said hoping to find a solution in what I could see. She said nothing as she put
her hands on the table. I reluctantly placed my hands over hers, dreading what
I would see. Before closing my eyes, my eyes wandered over the tattoo on my
forearm. The serpent tattoo looked different—more real, almost alive. I
closed my eyes and watched Monique's future like one would watch a movie. But
it felt different this time, and I began to realize I could control the movie
like one could a DVD—fast, slow, reverse, stop. I stop just before the
bottle hit the floor, not wanting to see Monique burned to death again, and
backed up prior to the window being smashed. After reviewing the scene several
times, I realized they were on motorcycles. One smashed the window with a bat
and the second one tossed in the bottle. And the time was close to closing,
around six o'clock. I opened my eyes.

"Well?" Monique asked. I
explained what I had seen and my conclusions.

"What if the FBI got a tip
from an anonymous person? If they could be convinced to set a trap for the motorcycles,
that would stop... what I saw and possibly get them a step closer to the person
or persons behind the scheme."

"Can we count on them
responding to an anonymous 'tip,' catching the ones on the motorcycles, and
getting relevant information from them?" Monique asked with a grin.
"I think I should buy a very expensive fire extinguisher, effective
against gasoline, just in case."

"You're not planning on being
here when it happens?" I said in disbelief.

"Would you leave your home if
you knew it would be fire-bombed?"

"No," I said shuddering
at the image of my home being destroyed with its memories and irreplaceable
objects of Granny. "Of course not, buy two extinguishers. I'll help."