Author: C.R. Daems
Date: 2013-11-25 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy; Magic
Description: Renee has a near perfect life: A grandmother who raised her, and she loves like a mother and friend; her grandmother legacy--the gift of seeing an individual's future; and the prospect of following in her grandmother's footsteps and helping people as a Voodoo priestess. But her life is about to be turned upside-down and inside-out when her grandmother commits suicide, leaving her alone and vulnerable, confused and overwhelmed, and surrounded by danger. And her grandmother's wonderful gift maybe be a curse and the ruination of her life. The one future see can't see—her own.
Publisher: Talon Novels

THE SEER RENEE

By

C. R. Daems

The Seer Renee

Copyright © 2013 by C. R. Daems

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the permission in writing from C. R. Daems.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Edited by: Elisa Blaisdell - elisablaisdell (at) yahoo (dot) com

Cover by: Erin Lark http://erinlark.com/design/

Version 1 of The Seer Renee was first published in November 2013,

Version 2 of The Seer Renee was revised in July 2014

ISBN-13: 978-0-9911060-0-4

ISBN-10: 09911060-0-8

Check out all my novels at:

Talonnovels.com

CHAPTER ONE

Triple trouble

CHAPTER TWO

Ken and Sheila

CHAPTER THREE

Locos

CHAPTER FOUR

Grace and Ron

CHAPTER FIVE

MS666

CHAPTER SIX

Mr. Willis

CHAPTER SEVEN

Dilemma

CHAPTER EIGHT

Ellen Jeffery

CHAPTER NINE

The Committee

CHAPTER TEN

Firebombs

CHAPTER ELEVEN

FBI involvement

CHAPTER TWELVE

Revised plans

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

An anonymous tip

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The Committee

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Fire sale

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

An impossible situation

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Recovery

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The committee

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Conflicting thoughts

CHAPTER TWENTY

Sheila's plan.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Impossible decisions.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Revelations

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Now What?

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

The Wait.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

The Committee.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

The Test results.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Black's compromise

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

The Game

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

The game continues

CHAPTER THIRTY

Countermoves

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Sheila

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

The Hunt for Mister Black

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

End Game

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Conclusion

Novels by C.R. Daems & J.R. Tomlin

CHAPTER ONE

Triple trouble

When Hector opened the door, I knew it had gone from a slow day to a bad day. Hector was the leader of the Locos. As the gang's name suggested, they were all crazy. Hector was no taller than me, but he was twice as wide and double my weight. His broad smile exposed brown-stained teeth, which did nothing to make him look friendly. Nor did the tattoos, which covered every inch of his body not covered by his black cargo pants and sleeveless T-shirt with its multiple red skulls. His shaved head and neck were covered with gang tags, and Locos, a word which described Hector completely, was prominently tattooed across his forehead. He closed the door, twisted the knob that locked the deadbolt, and turned the Open sign around to read Closed.

"It's time you and I get to know each other since you're going to be Hector's squeeze." His smile got bigger, exposing his nicotine-stained teeth. As he made his way towards the small counter I was sitting behind, he weaved slightly—high on something. This was not the first time Hector and members of the Locos had visited my shop. They didn't come in to buy anything, only to test my interest in them. When I didn't show any, they would pick up an item and take it, to show me this was their turf, and they could take whatever they wanted. It appeared Hector had decided that extended to me.

As he approached the counter, his eyes were glued to my breasts, probably wishing they were bigger. That was too bad for Hector. I’m slender for my 5' 9" height and have long conceded my breasts were never going to be one of my standout features. I reached under the counter for one of the four rings there. Granny had a friend in Oregon make them, when she knew she didn’t have long to live. The four rings were plain-looking, each with a different stone and design, and each with a syringe mechanism. I slipped on the one with a tiger-eye stone. It was neither unique nor expensive. Since I always wore a couple of rings on each hand, another didn't appear strange. This ring contained an extract from the seeds of the rosary pea. The diluted drug caused vomiting, fever, stomach cramps, and diarrhea. A similar ring with an onyx stone on my right hand held an extract from the leaves and stems of yew, a cardiac depressant that had no antidote.

When he reached me, he grabbed my arm and jerked me off my chair. While squeezing my ass, he pushed me across the room towards the door that led to my small living quarters.

As his grip tightened on my arm, I knew exactly what would happen in the minutes, days, and weeks to come. As a seer, once I made contact with someone and concentrated, I could see their future for the next several weeks and sometimes longer. Hector's life over the next several weeks would be fairly routine for a Locos—selling drugs, sex with the gang's girls, and fights. However, he wasn't going to enjoy the next couple of days.

When he opened the door, I placed my leg between his, pushed with my shoulder, and made a half-hearted attempt to wrench free from the hand holding my arm. Twisting loose would be impossible. Hector had the strength of a professional tackle on the New Orleans Saints football team. But the object was to distract rather than to break free, like when a pickpocket bumps into you to misdirect your thoughts from any feeling you might have in the area he was working—like your pockets. As he stumbled into the door jamb, I struck him on the shoulder with my right hand. The impact drove the needle and several drops of rosary pea into his arm. Now I needed to play for time, and more importantly, effect. He smiled.

"That's not nice, Renee. You're Hector's pussy now. You make Hector happy, or after I'm through I'll have Locos tattooed across your forehead, and you'll be the Locos' pussy." He laughed and slapped me on my ass. In response, I rolled my eyes up under my eyelids, made my body rigid, and began to chant in a monotone.

"Dinclinsin Ge-rough, your servant, Renee, seeks your help.

Hector's attempting to violate your mambo.

Enter the belly of the beast.

Dinclinsin Ge-rough, …”

Hector's smile waned as he threw me down on the couch. I lay there rigid, chanting as he fumbled with my skirt to reach my panties. As he hooked his fingers into the elastic band, beads of sweat formed on his forehead, and his face turned pale. He retched as the drug began its attack. I continued to chant, and he stumbled off me and puked on my rug.

Bastard, I screamed silently as I rolled off the couch and followed him through the doorway into the shop, shouting so he could hear me over his retching and puking.

"Dinclinsin Ge-rouge, let him feel your displeasure
for attacking your faithful servant… "

He opened the door and fell to his knees onto the pavement. By now, the retching had become the dry heaves. When I reached the door, Betty Lou, a regular customer of mine, stood looking down at him. She turned to me with her eyes wide.

"Renee, can't you help him?" she said, her voice rising with each word. Meanwhile, Hector had managed to stagger to his feet.

"No, Betty Lou. I don't have any herbs that can cure stupidity. I'm afraid the shop's in a mess and stinks besides. It's going to take me the rest of the day to get it cleaned and smelling fresh." I shrugged. "Right now, only the Locos could stand to shop here."

She nodded but didn't move, her gaze fixed on Hector, staggering down the street. I closed and locked the door and sank to sit, trembling, with my back against the door. I'd been lucky. The Locos had been sniffing around me for months. Had several of them attacked me or had Hector beat me before he grabbed me, the result would have been far different.

When the shaking finally stopped, I staggered to my feet. Needing something to distract me, I fetched a mop, scrubbing brush, and bucket, which I filled with water and Pine-Sol detergent, and began working on my rug. Tears came to my eyes as I scrubbed Hector's stomach contents off my granny's rug. She had raised me because my mother, her daughter, was, as Granny put it, born with a destructive personality. As a result, I only saw my mother when the latest love of her life deserted her, and she had no place to sleep. She never stayed long because Granny wouldn't let her bring drugs into the house.

My tears stopped, and a small smile replaced my pout as my mind wandered back in time. Granny had begun teaching me about herbs and roots not long after I could read and write. Not just their names and descriptions. I had to know each by taste and smell as well as the effect of combining them with other herbs. Tasting proved a formidable teacher. I got to feel the effect first hand. Just a smear of rosary pea on my finger had made me sick for hours, and I had injected several drops into Hector's shoulder. He'd be lucky to recover in a couple of days. If I had played it right, he'd be convinced I'd called on a Loa—Voodoo spirit—to make him sick. He wouldn't be anxious to upset me again. With luck, his brother Locos would also be convinced I was a mambo to be avoided. Perception is everything in Voodoo, like all religions. It doesn't matter whether the Gods are interested or not, only that you believe they are. I believe they exist but don’t like to get involved.

* * *

It took me several hours to clean up Hector's mess. To get rid of the lingering stench, I opened the windows and lit several candles with a rain and island scent. Hopefully, the weather forecasters were right, and we would get some rain for the next twenty-four hours, not that rain was unusual for New Orleans.

I finished up around eight o'clock, too mentally and physically exhausted to prepare dinner for myself. Besides, I needed a distraction. I was still coming to grips with Granny's suicide and trying to understand the strange circumstances that precipitated it, learning all facets of running a small business, fighting for acceptance as a mambo, and having to deal with crazies like Hector. At times like this, it seemed overwhelming. I wanted to scream, "It's not fair. I'm only twenty-two and alone in the world."

Of course it wasn't fair, but so what. It wasn't fair that Granny felt it necessary to end her life, but she did. It wasn't fair that Hector felt it his right to force me to be his girl, but he did. Granny had the right of it. Life's neither fair nor unfair, since unfair only exists because of each person's perception of fair. Life's to live, not to judge. Realizing how fortunate I had been to have Granny in my life, I vowed to be the woman she would have wanted me to become.

Feeling better, I locked the door and headed towards Saint Peter Street and the Cajun Café. I deserved a good meal at a nice restaurant. As I strolled down Bourbon Street, jazz and blues drifted out from bars and clubs as the nightlife came alive. I began to relax, enjoying the familiar sounds and smells. People wandered the streets in small lively groups. It felt like a gigantic outdoor party. When I reached the Cajun Café, it looked crowded.

“Mambo Renee," Eloi said when he saw me enter. He was a tall rakish-looking man with curly dark-brown hair and a neatly trimmed mustache and goatee. His smile today seemed broader than usual. He normally called me Renee. Today he not only used my honorific but emphasized it. "Rumor is that you put a curse on Hector. More than a few people would like to see him suffer."

"I didn't curse Hector. I merely sought the help of a Loa. Much to everyone's disappointment, he'll recover. Next time, who knows?"

"We live for then. Patio, Renee?"

"Yes. That would be nice. I need the fresh air." Especially after breathing Hector's puke for half the day. Shortly after being seated at a small table off to the side, Alma, one of the regular waitresses, appeared.

"We're all taking up a collection for you for doing Hector. Every day he remains sick, we're adding to it." Alma gave me an evil grin, which didn’t come easy. Her round café-au-lait face, with its heart shaped lips, small pug nose, and chubby cheeks, just wasn’t made to look evil. Hector was feared, and the local women went out of their way to avoid him.

"Well, it should be at least two days, maybe three. If you really do have a collection, give it to someone Hector hurt, with my compliments." Knowing Hector, that would be a long list. I took a quick look at the menu while Alma stood, pencil poised above her pad, waiting. "Shrimp Creole and an espresso."

After Alma hurried off, I sat back and looked around the patio. It appeared a mixed crowd, a handful of tourists, a few regulars, and several couples that looked like hookups. It reminded me that I hadn't had much of a sex-life lately. I had a normal number of dates in high school, no sex but lots of heavy petting. In college, I didn't do hookups, but I did have two serious relationships. The first one ended amicably by mutual agreement. We had little in common except for college and sex. The second ended when I found Granny was being terrorized. I dropped out of school and ended the relationship. Today, I realized it wouldn't have lasted. He loved the excitement of New York and the thrill of trading stocks. I loved the heart of New Orleans and intended to follow in Granny's footsteps. I shook myself out of my musing when Alma appeared with my espresso.

"Sorry for the delay. It's crazy in the main room right now. Your dinner will only be a few minutes longer," Alma said with her ever present smile. I didn't care since I wasn't in a hurry to return to my shop. But true to her word, my dinner arrived shortly afterward. The shrimp was delicious as well as the crème bruleé for dessert. I ate slowly, enjoying people watching. Granny had taught me how to interpret people by their facial expressions and body language. Most didn't realize how much of themselves they displayed to a careful observer. Watching the hookups was the most fun, the ritual mating dance. After watching each couple for several minutes, I would have been willing to bet which couples would have sex tonight and which would be lucky to end it with a few kisses.

* * *

By the time I opened for business the next morning, only a slight sour smell lingered. I left the door open, hoping it would be all gone by the time customers began to arrive. I had few customers in the morning, but business picked up later in the afternoon. A small crowd milled around looking at the items displayed on the shelves and in glass cases, when a middle-aged woman approached me.

"Young woman, the price of your Voodoo dolls seems excessive. I can get a Voodoo doll at one of several shops for ten dollars less than yours." She stood there looking at the other customers. "And they are packaged in a nice box and have a sheet of instructions." She now had everyone's attention, and a smug smile appeared as she looked back to me.

"Ma'am, you're absolutely right, and they make excellent souvenirs and gifts from N’Orleans. But if you look into each box you will see they are identical. They were produced in some factory—maybe in China—as tourist souvenirs and the directions are written by someone who has never practiced Voodoo and contains a lot of rubbish." I gave a practiced sigh. "My dolls were made one at a time by a practicing mambo, a Voodoo priestess. When I sell one of the dolls, I explain what Voodoo dolls can and cannot do."

The woman stood silent. I could imagine her berating herself for buying one of those "fake" dolls from some other store.

Before she could speak, an elderly woman waved and pointed at one of the dolls I kept locked in a glass case. It made them appear important. “I’ll take that one," she said.

Before I opened the case, I'd made four sales. I collected the money and placed each purchase along with several pictures of Voodoo dolls and a list of my services in a gift bag with "The House of Mambo Eshe" on it.

"Gather around, y’all." I handed out sheets of paper and pencils for them to take notes before continuing. "To be effective, your Voodoo doll must contain the essence of the person you want it to represent. That could be hair, fingernail clipping, skin, semen, and even sweat. That must be attached or smeared onto the doll—the more essence the better. Voodoo works through the Loa, who are messengers to God. They also have powers of their own, but you cannot expect them to be sitting around waiting to carry out your wishes. You must petition them for their help..." I expected several were disappointed that they couldn't place a curse on someone and had to restrict their petitions to more minor aliments or accidents. If it didn't work, it wouldn't be my fault. It would be their lack of sincerity, the Loa’s unwillingness to grant the request, insufficient essence, etc. "From a practical standpoint, perception is crucial. The person must know you have a doll with his essence and believe you have the power to connect it to him or her. You never can depend on a Loa to grant your prayer, and even if he does, a little help doesn't hurt."

The sales made a good profit that afternoon, and it was fun talking with customers about Voodoo. Most were surprised to find that Voodoo, more accurately, Vodou, was a religion with similarities to Catholicism and was practiced by over eighty million people who believed in one God. For example, the Loa were the equivalent of saints, not gods.

* * *

That night I sat on my couch listening to a CD of Taoist music. It helped me to relax for my upcoming fortunetelling session with one of my regular clients. Fortunetelling for me felt like a refreshing swim in a river infested with crocodiles. A year before Granny committed suicide, she sat me down one night and told me a story.

"Renee, what I'm about to tell you is for you alone. Your life depends on it," she said. In that moment, she looked somehow older. "Our great, great grandmother received a gift from some Loa. She could see into the future of anyone she touched. When her daughters became of age, she selected one and passed on the gift. We'll never know why she selected the daughter she did. That daughter, my mother, passed the gift onto me. I should have passed it on to your mother, but I felt she'd have used it for evil. I'm willing to pass it on to you if you wish. I no longer know if it is a gift or a curse."

I didn't know what to think. She had taught me how to tell fortunes by making up stories based on an ability to read people and their reactions. Most people unintentionally gave you enough information about themselves to deduce what they wanted to know. You merely had to give them a fuzzy tale hinting at the possibility of good things happening. I not only enjoyed it, but with Granny's coaching I became so good, I had a few of my own clients. But the idea of actually knowing the future sounded intriguing and exciting.

"The minute someone knows you can actually tell the future and can in a sense change it, you become a prize worth more than money. When that happens, your life will no longer be yours. You would become a slave to someone and never be free again." She wiped tears from her eyes. I reached out and took her hand, wanting desperately to help but not knowing how.

"Some dangerous men have discovered my secret and are forcing me to help them. I'd just refuse and let them kill me, but they are threatening to kill you if I don't help. Fortunately, what they want help with is at least a year off. If you decide to accept our family legacy, that will give me enough time to help you understand the gift. You need not decide today or even tomorrow. It's not a trivial decision."

“What will we do about whoever is pressuring you?” I asked, frowning. “You can’t let someone do that. It’s horrible.”

She patted my hand. “Don’t you worry. I’m fixin’ to take care of that, but this has to come first.”

Granny and I discussed it for several days and nights before I gave her my answer. In truth, I knew I would say "yes" the minute she told me about the gift. A week later, she sat facing me with her arms bared. I'd seen her tattoos before but thought little about them, except they looked like works of art.

"They're beautiful, Granma. Why do you keep them covered?" I asked. She seldom wore clothes that revealed the tattoos.

"These tattoos cover runes from the Loa. When you are given one, you will be told its name and see the rune; however, it will soon be covered with some tattoo. The head of an owl on my right arm hides Ohene—the rune for foresight and wisdom. My mother transferred it to me as her mother did to her. The symbol looks like a small circle with eight arrow-like spokes. It's the only rune that can be handed down and only from mother to daughter.

"The other tattoos," she said, pointing to a mouse and an ox, hide Osrane ne nsoroma—the rune for wisdom and humility, and Gyawu—the rune for respect and leadership. They have appeared one at a time over the years. They're gifts from the Loa, which aid me in healing and ceremonies. Those have to be earned, but only the Loa know how."

As I sat staring at the tattoos, Granny gently took hold of my arm and began chanting. For several minutes I felt nothing, then I screamed as a searing pain shot up my arm. I tried to pull away but couldn't. I felt paralyzed. Through the blur of tears, I could see the Ohene rune on my forearm. It looked red and raw and although the pain had subsided, the skin smelled like burnt flesh. I watched in fascination as a tattoo took shape and slowly covered the scarred skin. It didn't take long to realize it would not be an owl. Granny gasped when a mottled python in yellows and greens appeared—the great serpent and focus of divine power. After a few minutes of silence, she spoke.

"One future you can never see is your own. Even when it's part of another person's, you must extrapolate it from what you see. Nor can you see those of your family—I cannot see yours. You'll probably never hear the conversations along with the images. Your great grandmother could, but I can't. I don't know why. It may be an additional gift a Loa gives for his or her own reason."

The doorbell thankfully interrupted my painful reflections of the past. When I answered the door, it was Oatha.

"Good evening. You look happy."

A smile lit her face and her brown eyes sparkled. "Yes, Remy and Bella both made the honor roll. I'm so proud of them."

"That's wonderful," I said and led her to the old, wooden table in the corner of the shop. She sat, and I shut off all the lights except for a small dim one over the table. The reduced lighting helped to keep the person focused on me rather than the contents of my shop. Oatha already had her hands stretched out on the table when I sat down. I placed my hands over hers and closed my eyes. When my hands touched hers, I felt an overwhelming euphoria as her future unfolded before my eyes. In the beginning, I couldn't stop or slow it down, but with months of practice I've been able to.

As I watched, I saw Oatha jumping up and down as her husband, Virgil, told her something. He had a small boat rigged for seine fishing and from their activities over the next couple of days, I was sure he had an exceptionally good month. I saw her buying new kitchen appliances several weeks later.

"Oatha, Virgil will have a highly profitable month, and you will benefit. You can enjoy the anticipation of good fortune, but don't jinx it by telling anyone what I've told you. It could change what I've seen." When I opened my eyes and looked at her, she was grinning.

The intriguing—and terrifying—aspect of my gift was that it allowed me to impact future events. If I saw the individual would be in a car accident and then told them not to drive on that day, the future would change if, and only if, the person decided to take my advice. In that event, I would see a different future unfold. So in a sense, I could change the future by convincing him or her to do something they would not have done otherwise. When Granny had explained that to me, it made my head spin. In theory, it sounded simple. In practice, it was far more complicated since changing one thing could and usually did cause a ripple effect of other changes—some more unpleasant than the original. Complicating matters more, I couldn't be specific without people beginning to realize that I did actually see the future—and worse—impact it. Even thinking about it gave me a migraine. But telling fortunes brought in extra income, and in truth, it was exhilarating and provided an opportunity to help people.

* * *

For the next several days, I averaged about fifteen to twenty customers a day and half of them usually bought something. Twice I got to use my little Voodoo doll spiel and sold eight dolls. It surprised me that Hector or some of his crazy friends hadn't stopped by the shop. I began to worry that they might be waiting for a more private visit. By the third day, I concluded all I could do was be prepared. Fortunately, when I was fourteen, Granny had insisted I learn some form of self-defense. I tried several styles the first year and finally settled on Bagua, an internal style of Kung Fu that focused on continuously changing positions in response to your opponents' attack. It succeeded through balance and skill, not strength or brute force.

No clients wanted a telling, so the evenings were quiet. I fixed dinner each night and afterward relaxed with one of Granny's hand-written books on herbs.

* * *

Late one afternoon, just before closing, Mambo Asogwe—high priestess—Monique, entered my shop. A Haitian in her sixties with a strong-boned face and high arched brows, today she wore a long loose-fitting purple gown with a matching head wrap. She said nothing as she strolled around the shop until she reached my counter.

"Bonjour, Renee. Your shop appears to be doing well. Your Voodoo dolls seem particularly popular." A small smile touched her lips.

"Thank you, Mambo Monique. Merely proof that perception is as important as truth."

"True, perception is important; however, it's truth that separates the true mambos and houngans from the fakes. Speaking of perception, your reputation has grown since the incident with Hector. Some mambos wonder whether it was white or black magic.”

"Granny Eshe would not permit me to use black magic. She would haunt me from the grave."

"True. Mambo Asogwe Eshe was a true high priestess of Vodou, and we should expect no less from her granddaughter." Monique nodded. "I'm satisfied. Nevertheless, the rumor will persist. Hector must retaliate for what you did to him or lose face. Black magic would provide him with a reasonable explanation."

"Thank you, Mambo Monique. Your opinion of me is crucial since I can't dispute the black magic without bringing the Locos down on me." I shuddered at the thought of what Hector and his whacko friends would do to me.

"Take care of yourself, Renee. You're welcome at my hounfour anytime." With that she left. I felt sure Monique had come to talk to me because of her strong friendship with Granny. There was a delicate balance in New Orleans and vicinity between the honest and fake mambos. We all had to make a living to survive, like any pastor of a church. We were, therefore, in competition for both tourists and followers of Vodou. On the other hand, Vodou was a religion that went far beyond money and our personal needs. The honest mambo and houngan hoped to provide their followers with a fuller life and prepare them for death. Of course, we also had to live in the real world with its Hectors and men like those who drove Granny to her grave.

* * *

The next couple of days were much like every other day, although business was a little slow. As I was getting ready to close for the night, a man and woman entered the shop. The man stood over six feet tall. He had an athletic build, walked with his shoulders back, and had dark-brown hair cut above the ears as though he might have had military training. He was dressed casually in an open sports shirt, Docker slacks, and loafers. The woman was a perfect match. She was only a few inches shorter than him, brunette hair cut above her ears, with not an ounce of fat. She wore light brown slacks and a cream silk blouse open at the neck. With her sleek frame and penetrating green eyes, she looked and walked like a predatory cat. They were looking at me rather than around the shop.

"Can I help you?"

"I'm looking for Mambo Eshe," the man said. It took me a moment before I could talk.

"No, sir. She died over a year ago. Can I maybe help you?"

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. We vacation here once every couple of years, and I always stop in for a telling. Mambo Eshe was the best I've ever encountered. You aren't related by any chance, are you?" He looked sincere; however, the woman looked like a cat watching a mouse.

"Yes, I'm her granddaughter. I've inherited her shop," I said with a smile I didn't feel. Damn it! I didn't want her shop. I wanted her.

"Are you also a fortuneteller?"

You know damn well I am. Warning sirens went off in my head. Could they somehow be related to Granny's death?

"Yes, sir. People think I'm as good as she was," I said straightening myself and pushing my chest out as if to challenge any doubt. But it hurt to even say it. If this were a game as I suspected, he would be suspicious if I said I wasn't. Fortunetellers don't claim to be less talented than someone else. They claim they're better.

"Excellent. Can you do it now? Sheila and I are leaving early tomorrow."

"No. I'd have to close the shop. Besides, I need time to prepare and to invoke the help of the Loa. I can do it later tonight if you want."

"You don't mind if Sheila comes along, do you?"

"Yes. You must be alone when I tell your fortune."

"Why?"

"In the event I reveal something that you wouldn't want her to hear."

"You can say anything in front of Sheila. I have no secrets from her." He turned to her and smiled. She said nothing but gave him a sweet smile before turning her attention back to me.

"No exceptions. Neither you nor I know what I'll see." I can handle one. I don't know about two.

He shrugged and began wandering around the shop examining the items I had on display. When he did, Sheila pulled me aside.

"Do you have a lotion to treat skin cancer? My dermatologist claims I have a patch on my leg that needs treatment." She leaned closer to me. "He's very expensive."

"No. I can make up a lotion for skin rashes but not cancer. If you had time, I could conduct a ritual to invoke the Loa to heal it. They have the power, not me." It was a test of some kind. Maybe she was trying to determine how much of a charlatan I was. My answer could be taken both ways. She shrugged and walked off. As she did, he returned. They're smooth.

"Mr....?" I said as I opened my appointment book.

"Mr. Rogers. You can call me Ken."

"I'll put you down for eight tonight if that will be convenient."

"That will be good. Thank you," he said. He joined Sheila and they left. I closed at my normal time and went about my nightly ritual of straightening the shelves and sweeping and mopping the floor. Then I set up the round table and two chairs I used for a fortunetelling and draped a dark-blue-velvet cloth over the table. When I finished, I went into the back and heated up a chicken gumbo I had made several days ago.

What did they want? Were they connected to Granny's death? I barely tasted the gumbo, as my mind spun with questions. If so, what did they want her to do and were they probing to see if I could replace her? Drugs were a possibility but seemed unlikely, since Granny had said the event wouldn't happen for a year, and I doubted they believed in magic. If they did, they would go to a high priestess like Mambo Monique. It had to be a one-time event and related to Granny's ability to see into the future. Whatever they wanted, I had to be careful. Except for their clothes and lack of tattoos, they were no different from Hector and the Locos.

I put on a long gown with a green and white pattern and matching headdress. Then I put on five rings: on the right, a mother of pearl, amethysts, and the spring loaded onyx with extract of castor beans; on the left hand, a gold snake ring and the tiger-eye loaded with a moonseeds mixture. Castor beans would kill within minutes whereas moonseeds would only cause paralysis in its currently diluted form. I'd never thought about killing someone before, even Hector, but what if… I didn't know and wouldn't unless it happened but better prepared than sorry afterward. I had to assume these people, whoever they were, were dangerous.

He knocked on the door exactly at eight. His eyes scanned my outfit, and he smiled. After an exchange of greetings, I led him to the table, and we sat. Even if Granny hadn't warned me, I knew I had to pretend to be your average phony psychic or fortuneteller. So, what would a reasonably good psychic conclude about the pair? They weren't married, since neither wore rings, said they were tourists, so they both worked, were unlikely to have children, athletic so they probably worked out. Time to start the game. May the best woman win.

"Please put your hands on the table," I said.

"Why?"

"I need to touch you. Mambo Eshe always said that the connection made the interpretation of what we see more accurate." I wanted him to believe I was just copying her. He gave a small frown but said nothing. Within a minute of touching his hands, I saw him and Sheila breaking into my house. They were extremely careful to place everything they touched back exactly the way it had been. They took out each book and flipped through the pages, looked inside each jar or container, opened the hide-a-bed couch, took out the drawers in my dresser, knocked on the walls, and went through all my clothing. When they finished, the place looked just like it had when they entered. They were definitely professionals. Sheila was particularly interested in my appointment book and took pictures of the pages. Afterward, Ken and Sheila went to the Windsor Court Hotel where they met two other men. One young man who looked similar to Ken, and an older man with gray-streaked hair. Both men were dressed in well-tailored suits. I sat in silence until I had witnessed several weeks—probably took a couple of minutes.

"Well, Ken. You have a nice surprise waiting for you when you return home. Your employer's pleased with you and you're going to be given a promotion or more responsibility. You will be involved with a woman who will bring you much happiness. The only potential problem I see is an accident tomorrow when driving on Canal Street. I would avoid that street altogether. Oh, you will have a minor accident when you're working out. I wouldn't worry about trying to avoid it. It'll only be minor, and you'd have to avoid exercising altogether which wouldn't be worth it." I think that's enough bullshit. I opened my eyes and looked at him. He remained silent for a minute.

"Can't you be a bit more specific, particularly around the woman and what will happen at work?"

"I can only see what the Loa permits me to see. Even then, they are snapshots of events, which require interpretation. The Loa seldom reveal when an event will happen, and I think they avoid going too far into the future because they don't feel we should know." He would drive down Canal Street without incident, which should establish me as a fake, if the other predictions didn't.

"What about Sheila?"

"I don't know. I can only see your future. The woman may be Sheila, or she might not be. Does it matter?"

He didn't ask any more questions. He paid me, and after an exchange of pleasantries, left.

* * *

Nothing new happened over the next few days. I worked, cooked my own meals, watched a few TV programs, and reviewed Granny's years of notes. I was tempted to hide the notebooks, since Ken and Sheila were going to break into my house. But removing them or trying to hide them could have unintended consequences since I didn't know what they were looking for or why they were interested in me. Besides, I knew from Ken's telling that they didn't take anything.

I decided to eat out and attend Mambo Monique's weekly ceremony afterward. I had to laugh when I realized it was the night Ken and Sheila would be visiting. I decided on the Cajun Café and closed the shop early.

Eloi wasn't at the door when I arrived. The hostess, Susan, seated me at a small table in the outdoor patio. Alma approached my table a few minutes later. The restaurant looked crowded tonight, and she seemed stressed. I ordered a cup of gumbo z'herbes and a blackened red snapper entrée. Midway through my gumbo, a small boy tripped, banged into me, and fell.

"Are you hurt?" I asked, standing to help. He jumped to his feet and ran off without saying a word. As he did, another boy ran past me, followed him into the main restaurant, and out the door. I returned to my seat, thinking it strange but not sure why. Still pondering the incident, I noticed what looked like white specks floating on the top of the gumbo. Pretending to sip the soup, I touched it cautiously with my tongue. It tasted bitter—strychnine probably. I pretended to take several spoons full of soup before putting my spoon down and wiping my lips as though I had finished. A few minutes later, Kweku, a local houngan who practiced black magic, appeared at the entrance to the patio with a rattle in one hand and a doll in the other. He stood there, with his arched nose raised like a Ethiopian prince, waiting for everyone to notice him and the noise to die down. Then he began shaking his rattle and waving a Voodoo doll, which had long silver pins stuck in its stomach and chest.

"I curse you Renee in the name of Ogoun Ge-Rougs for the pain you have caused a man who meant you no harm. For that evil, you will feel the fires of hell. So says Houngan Kweku," he shouted for everyone to hear. With his theatrics done, he turned and left. Now Kweku could pretend his curse made me sick. And strychnine would have made me very sick, possibly critically, depending upon the amount they sprinkled on the gumbo. Because Kweku practiced black magic, he was shunned by most houngans and mambos. The question remained, who paid him and why. I barely tasted my fish as I tried to make sense of it. It didn't help that most of the diners kept sneaking looks in my direction. I'd bet the tourists thought it had been an interesting show put on nightly for their benefit. I had to agree it would entertain them, but I thought it degrading to Vodou. After the restaurant returned to normal, Eloi joined me.

"What was that about, Renee?"

"I've no idea. Either someone paid him to curse me, or he thinks his little show will help his business."

"How so? You didn't fall off your chair or throw up. And I can't believe he thought you would."

"Do you remember the two boys who ran through here earlier? One dropped strychnine in my gumbo." I held up my hand before Eloi could speak. "Your gumbo is excellent without it."

"Strychnine! I had thought his act funny and good for business... He could have killed you."

"I wonder if Kweku knew how much strychnine would make me sick and how much could kill me," I said, wondering whether he's a fool or evil—a Bokor dealing in black magic. I left with a lot of questions and no answers. The walk to Monique's Serpent Temple didn't resolve my questions but helped me relegate them to a tomorrow problem. Today, the sounds of New Orleans and the evening ritual were to be enjoyed. As I entered the temple—a large cement platform covered by a cone-like thatched dome—Mambo Monique met me.

"Good evening, Renee. I'm glad you could attend." She grasped my hands. "Perhaps the healing ritual tonight will help. Problems are best addressed with a quiet mind."

"Yes, my mind's in turmoil… and I'm in need of healing. I can't expect the Loa to solve my problems, but I would seek their comfort tonight."

"Together, we'll seek their help."

Fifteen men and woman were gathered under the roof of the temple, and another five strolled around the perimeter. Monique began the ceremony by drawing the ve've for Legba-Papa Labas with cornmeal to open the gates of the guardian of the crossroads. The drummers and the healing ritual helped release me from my turmoil, and I returned home feeling refreshed.

CHAPTER TWO

Ken and Sheila

Ken and Sheila stood, with another man, watching Renee lock the door to her shop and stroll down Bourbon Street in the direction of Canal Street.

"Harold, follow her and let us know if she decides to return here before we've finished," Ken said. Harold was a small, chubby, nondescript man with a receding hairline, and a round clean-shaved face. Dressed in plain, everyday clothes, he could be only feet away from you all day, and you would be unlikely to remember seeing him, much less realize he had been following you. He nodded and began strolling after Renee.

"Ready?" Ken asked. Sheila nodded, and they worked their way around to the back of the shop. There she examined the two locks on the door before reaching into her pocket and retrieving a small leather case. Within minutes, she reached down, turned the doorknob, and the door opened. Ken shook his head and grinned. He had worked with Sheila for years, and she never ceased to amaze him. She could fight like a tiger, was an excellent shot, could open any lock, never got rattled, and was dependable. As hired problem-solvers went, she was a perfect business partner and good in bed.

Once inside, they began a systematic search of the living area. Ken looked on each shelf, in each drawer, and examined every item, making sure it was returned to its original position. Books were opened to ensure nothing was hidden inside, and titles noted. Sheila followed Ken, taking pictures of everything for later review, and doing her own second check. When they finished, they moved into the shop, examined locked cases, and looked for potential hiding places. Sheila went through Renee's appointment book, taking a picture of each page. After assuring themselves nothing was out of place, they exited and relocked the door. It had taken less than an hour.

"What do you think, Sheila?" Ken asked as they strolled down Royal Street towards their car.

"I saw nothing to indicate that she was aware of her grandmother's involvement with us. Of course, we haven't proved she isn't aware of us, only that we didn't prove she is," Sheila replied.

They walked two blocks in silence until they reached a late model BMW. Ken unlocked the door, and they drove to the Windsor Court Hotel where they let the valet take the car.

"Mr. Smith said they would be in room 1601. I doubt he's our real client, probably some kind of intermediary," Ken said after the elevator door closed.

"Does it matter? The money's the same." Sheila smiled, running her hand over her hips as if to smooth her skirt. Ken gave a small shudder. How could a woman who looked so beautiful be so dangerous? He'd bet she had a red hourglass on her stomach.

"Yes, the money is the same, except this time the payoff's big, which means we're playing in the major leagues. Eshe didn't kill herself because they want to know the price of some stock or which horse is going to win the Derby, although I wouldn't mind knowing." When the elevator opened, they made their way to 1601 and knocked. A young man, Tony, who always accompanied the older man, opened the door. Ken assumed he was a bodyguard or personal secretary, or most likely both, since he didn't fit the thug profile. Although he had a slight lump under his arm, he wore an expensive tailored dark gray suit, was clean shaved, and had neatly trimmed hair.

The older man they knew as Mr. Willis looked to be in his late fifties judging by his gray-streaked hair, slightly lined face, and veined hands. But he appeared more than paid help judging by the way he carried himself and the decisive way he conducted business. He sat relaxing in an overstuffed chair with a drink on a small table next to his elbow and a cigar between his fingers. Ken and Sheila had met with him several times. Willis and his associates were playing this close to the vest. Ken and Sheila knew that Willis and his group had identified Renee's grandmother, Eshe, as having the ability to tell the future, and she subsequently committed suicide. So whatever they wanted, it had major consequences. Ken thought Willis might be government, in which case it could have international consequences. Sheila agreed and wondered which government.

"Well, Ken, what have you determined about Eshe's granddaughter, Renee?" he asked as he exhaled a cloud of smoke. He waved towards the couch, probably so they didn't have the advantage of height.

"She claims to be a fortuneteller, so I had her give me a reading. The things she told me were based on observations that most competent fakes could deduce from looking at Sheila and me—we exercise, not married, tourists with good paying jobs, etc. The only dangerous prediction she made was saying we'd have an accident if we drove down Canal Street tomorrow. Now if we believe she can tell the future, we won't drive down Canal Street, so we'd never know if she was right or not. Of course, if we're going home tomorrow like we said and drove down Canal Street and nothing happened, so what? We searched her home and business but found nothing that indicated she knew why Eshe committed suicide or that she could tell the future. Conversely, we found nothing that indicated she couldn't."

"Sheila?"

"The only thing I thought might be strange was her insistence Ken be alone. I thought it a bit overly cautious, given Ken said he didn't mind me being there. And the prediction of an accident could be relying on us believing her or at least not wanting to test faith… or a clever way of proving she's a fake if she was being cautious with us for some reason. I copied her appointment book. Ken and I plan to talk to her clients. They will be a far better indication of her ability to tell the future. I wouldn't make a wager one way or the other at this point."

"We… I," Willis took a puff of his cigar, waving at Tony as if he meant to include him, "need to know for certain within the next several months, sooner if possible. There will be a bonus if things work out well." He took another puff of his cigar and exhaled with obvious pleasure. "A very nice bonus."

Tony moved towards the door indicating the meeting was over.

"What do you think, Sheila?" Ken asked as they left the apartment.

"We need to be cautious. I have a feeling we are working for powerful people. Unless I'm wrong, that 'We' includes people we may recognize who don't want to be recognized. I'd like that bonus to be in money—not lead."

CHAPTER THREE

Locos

The next day, when I left the shop at lunchtime to do some grocery shopping, Hector was standing outside. When he saw me, he backed up against the wall and raised his hands as if to keep me away.

"Hello, Hector. Why are you looking so pale? Are you still sick?" I thought he would be wary of me, but this seemed excessive.

"Kweku said—" He sputtered and tried to press closer to the building. I think he expected to be struck dead. I understood now. He had paid Kweku to curse me for what I did to him. Perception… he thought I cursed him, so he had someone curse me. But obviously, I was stronger than Kweku. I almost laughed.

"Hector, walk with me," I said with a small smile. Very slowly he inched away from the wall but kept his distance. "Next to me, Hector. I won't bite."

I started walking slowly and eventually he caught up with me but continued to remain a couple of feet away.

"Hector, what did you tell the Locos about our little disagreement?" I thought that was nicely put. After several seconds, he answered in a whisper although there was no one close to us.

"I haven't said anything. They are beginning to whisper behind my back."

"I have a solution that will benefit both of us. Tell your brothers that you've been suffering from pain all over your body for months. It had gotten so bad you couldn't sleep. You decided to ask me if I had any drugs that could help." I paused to make sure he was following the story. When he nodded, I continued. "I gave you some herbs, which made you violently sick. You thought I had cursed you, so you went to Kweku. Now you realize you were wrong. The herbs purged you of the sickness, and you feel great. Us walking together will confirm you and I aren't fighting. You also realize that Bokor Kweku's magic isn't as great as Mambo Renee's."

Hector stopped and stared at me for several minutes. Finally, he smiled. "Yes, Mambo Renee. That is exactly what happened. Thank you," he said and gave a small bob of his head before walking off. I hoped Hector would take my solution. I didn't need any more trouble.

* * *

Things returned to normal over the next week. I should have enjoyed it, but I kept expecting something to happen. Mid-week an elderly man, somewhere in his fifties, entered the shop and came directly to me rather than looking around. He looked to be a local.

"Are you Mambo Renee?" His face was brown and craggy from long days in the sun, and his voice was raspy. I nodded.

"Oatha tells me that you're good at telling the future. Would you do one for me?"

"Of course. Would tonight be all right? If not, we can arrange for another day."

"I'm free tonight."

"Either seven or eight."

"Seven would be good."

I pulled out my appointment book and looked up at him with my pen poised over the page.

"Oh, Samuel. Thank you, Mambo," he said, while scanning the shop. He walked around for a few minutes, then left without a word. I had conflicting emotions about fortunetelling. I love doing them, but I couldn't really help my clients too much without attracting unwanted attention from the unscrupulous, as Granny had. Yet, what was the purpose of seeing the future if I couldn't help those in need? It was very frustrating. I decided to try to help in small ways, which could build me a reputation as a psychic rather than a seer. I planned to develop guidelines that would keep me from exposing the true extent of my gift.

* * *

Samuel showed ten minutes early, but I let him in anyway and got him settled at the table. For some reason he looked nervous like someone in a doctor's office waiting for the results of some test.

"Relax, Samuel. I don't bite, and this doesn't hurt. Is there something you particularly want to know or are concerned about?"

"Yes, Mambo Renee. My sister is in the hospital for an operation on her heart. She needs the operation, but it's a risky procedure. She could die or need a heart transplant if it isn't successful."

I hated this kind of scenario. Who wanted to hear a loved one was going to die. One came to a fortuneteller to hear good news. And, I could only see through the person at the table; therefore, I had to interpret his or her actions relative to the other person. Making it more complicated, I had to couch it in vague terms or get a reputation I didn't want.

"Samuel, place your hands on the table," I asked as I sat down. When he did, I placed my hands over his. He flinched but didn't move his hands. I watched as his life over the next month and a half scrolled before my eyes. His sister lived and appeared well judging from his visits with her while in the hospital and at her home afterward. However, Samuel was going to be in a terrible accident which would leave him crippled. I desperately needed to develop a set of guidelines—soon.

"Samuel, both you and your sister have a dark cloud of sickness hanging over you. I see your sister's cloud leaving with the operation. But you must seek help or face dire consequences."

"Who should I seek help from, Mambo? You?"

"Tell me how you have been feeling lately," I said. A fake would have made up some illness and then charged him for herbs he didn't need.

"Oh, nothing much. A few headaches, a little dizziness sometimes, and I've been feeling nausea a lot. I think I've been too worried about my sister. Now that you said she'll be all right, it will probably go away." He smiled like I had just solved all his problems including the black cloud I had told him I had seen. I reached up and held his face between my hands. As I suspected, his pupils were dilated.

"Samuel, have you had a head injury recently?"

"Yeah, a couple of weeks ago. We hit a small storm, and the gulf was a bit rough. I slipped, pulling in the net. and was thrown against the rail. I hit it headfirst. Lucky I've got a thick head." He tapped his head with a closed fist for effect.

"I can't help you, Samuel. You have a head injury which needs attention. It may not be serious, but you need it looked at. Promise me you won't drive for any reason until a doctor says it's all right. Promise me, Samuel." I put steel into my voice.

"Yes, Mambo. I won't drive until you tell me… I mean the doctor."

I reached out and grabbed his hands. Again, I watched the next few weeks unravel. This time he went to a doctor and didn't drive for the next month. His future had changed because he had made up his mind to take my advice. It was somewhat ironic. This session would prevent a terrible accident, yet the only way to prove I could see the future was for him to ignore my advice. The scenario sounded much like all the other fortunetellers.

* * *

Two days later, Oatha visited my shop. She seemed very pleased with herself.

"Samuel was very impressed with you, Mambo Renee. I told him he would be. He thanked me many times for suggesting you. He said he had scheduled an appointment with a doctor and promised he wouldn't drive before he talked to you again."

"I'm glad. I believe everything will work out well for him." Certainly better than if he hadn't.

"I've talked Samuel into attending your celebrations and learn more about Vodou. He liked the idea of you being available for counsel and medical treatment."

She had become a one-woman crusader for Mambo Renee. As of today, she had recruited three of the ten members in my congregation. I felt pretty good by the end of the day. My fortunetelling clients were growing as well as my congregation, and my shop was showing a modest profit. My gut still ached when I thought about Granny, but I was doing my best to move on as she would have wished. I was ready to celebrate her life rather than mourn her death.

I closed early and wandered aimlessly down Bourbon Street enjoying being out, watching the people, visiting with other shop owners, and talking with people I knew. As I approached an alleyway, I heard someone pleading and crying. When I looked, two older boys were pulling at a young girl. Without thinking, I shouted and ran towards them. Suddenly, the girl jumped up and disappeared down the alleyway. It had been a ruse, and it was too late to reverse course with the two boys only a few feet from me. Their foreheads identified them as Locos.

"It's the bitch that has Hector by the balls," the lead youth shouted as he threw all his weight behind a right hand punch to my face. From years of Bagua training, I automatically threw my right forearm up as I turned clockwise. That let his punch whoosh harmlessly by my face. As I rotated, my left fist smashed into his temple. His head jerked left while his body tried unsuccessfully to follow. Like a wound up spring, my body uncoiled counter clockwise, and my right elbow met his face at his jaw line. Something cracked as pain shot down my forearm from the impact. He flew backward into the other boy.

"Well, mumbo jumbo. We were each going to fuck you before we passed you around the Locos, but Teo doesn't seem up to it, so I guess I'll have to do it twice." He laughed as he took a knife from an ankle sheath, and his face turned into a sneer. He was no longer a youth; he was a psychopath reeking of ugliness. Master Jing had always said I should expect to get cut in a knife fight. The key to winning was to accept that and concentrate on your attack. My attacker was throwing his knife from hand to hand as he slowly inched towards me. I wasn't a knife fighter, but that didn't seem like a good technique. What if you dropped it...or... I focused on the throws, subconsciously timing the grab, release, and time in the air. As the knife left his right hand, I moved. By the time it hit his left hand my knee was waist high. And as the knife left his hand, my foot drove towards his chest. I could see by his eyes what I was doing had registered—a bit too late. My foot grazed the knife causing it to spin away as my heel smashed into his solar plexus.

I'd been kicked there several times over the years, and each time it felt like my lungs had collapsed. He staggered back against the wall fighting for air, and I kicked him in the groin. When he doubled over, I grabbed his head and drove it into my knee. I could feel his nose cave in and blood gushed over my pants. When I let go, he fell backward against the wall. In the silence of the alley, I stood trembling for several minutes. I had been lucky.

I returned home using as many back streets and shadows as I could find. My outfit would have been perfect on Halloween as my shirt and pants were soaked with blood. Today it probably would have brought out the SWAT team and got me arrested for causing a riot.

At home, I lay on the bed, trying to understand why two Locos had attacked me. I thought I had made peace with Hector and therefore the Locos. And I doubted Hector could send Locos after me without looking weak. Maybe those two were trying to show Hector how weak he was, or maybe someone hired them. Kweku was certainly mad enough at me to want revenge. Ken and Sheila would have hired professionals, but I didn't see that they had a reason. Life had gotten very complicated. I went to bed with a sore fist, elbow, knee, and a migraine headache.

* * *

The next two days were slow. It appeared that the tourists had all gone home. The few who came in the store mostly looked without buying. I answered the usual questions.

"Can you do some kind of ceremony to curse someone?" a small gray-haired lady asked. If I could have conjured a curse for her, I'd bet she would have been a regular customer.

"No, madam. Trying would be considered black magic. It would be comparable to paying a criminal to do something bad to someone." I explained. Judging by the look in her eyes, I think the idea appealed to her. She poked around the shop for a while and then left. Then there was the short, elderly man with thinning hair and round plump face.

"Miss, are you a mumbo...priestess? Can you make...lov...attraction potions?" he said in a whisper, while his eyes scanned the area. There were a few ladies in the shop, but they were at the far end and busily talking about something on the shelf with my custom necklaces.

"I can, but you would be better off by being interested in the person and listening rather than trying to impress her or him," I said and smiled. He gave me a hard look.

"You aren't going to make a lot of money with advice like that. I thought all you people who have shops sell various potions and... Voodoo dolls and concoctions for...whatever." He seemed almost mad. Probably at being told he was under a misconception when he knew better. He was right. I could have sold him something, pretending it would gain him everlasting love from every woman he met. It wouldn't work, but it wouldn't matter because he'd be back whatever he lived.

"That's true, sir, but I sleep a lot better. I do make healing potions with natural herbs and roots to correct or relieve a condition, or to slow or stop its progression. Those do work."

"Are you a doctor?" He sneered.

"I've studied natural remedies and their power years longer than any doctor. These compounds have been proven effective over hundreds of years. Many of the drugs the pharmaceutical companies make have adverse side effects. And the doctors only have the pharmaceutical's biased word on the drug’s effectiveness, based on limited testing." Over half the population thought that we were all charlatans that threw a bunch of weeds in a jar and claimed it would cure every disease known to modern man. I did have to admit some self-called Voodoo priests and priestesses did, not unlike the snake oil salesmen of the old west. And the scams were not limited to Voodoo. The Internet was filled with miraculous cures. Then there were the know-it-all college kids. After wandering around the shop for a while snickering, one came up to the counter.

"You don't expect anyone to believe this mumble-jumble Voodoo magic, do you?"

"Are you a Christian, by any chance?" I asked casually. The supercilious smile left his face for a moment and then returned full force.

“Yes, I am. You're not trying to claim Voodoo is real?"

"If you mean all the nonsense that the uninformed claim…” I bit my lip to keep from saying ‘like you. “I certainly don't. If you mean Vodou, a religion practiced by some eighty million people around the world and having a number of beliefs similar to Catholicism, then yes, I do believe in Vodou." I gave a slight nod to punctuate my statement.

"Oh," he mumbled. The smile was gone. His buddies had joined us after they heard his opening salvo and were now clustered around us.

"Yes, we have ceremonies much like your services or masses; we have messengers to God similar to your saints or prophets; and we've all sorts of different ways of asking God for favors which are no different from praying."

The young man got a lot of ribbing from his buddies on the way out. The questions helped pass the time and hopefully got people interested in buying something, if only a book on some aspect of Vodou. I'm not trying to convert anyone to Vodou, but to inform them and dispel any Hollywood characterizations of Voodoo, which does not exist in reality. But realistically, I know it's easier to convince someone that a Voodoo doll has power than to change a person's strongly held perceptions, even though they are based on rumors or works of fantasy.

* * *

A lot had happened over the past couple of weeks. I wasn't sure how it was being received by the senior Asogwes, so I decided to visit Mambo Monique. Although Vodou had no hierarchical structure except to the Asogwe who consecrated him or her, I respected Mambo Monique and valued her counsel. She was as close as could be to the old Voodoo queens that existed in Louisiana over the years. So, I closed early on Tuesday and walked down Bourbon Street in the direction of Toulouse Street and Monique's shop, the Serpent House of Voodoo. On the way, I considered the number of incidents that had occurred, beginning with Hector, and the rumors they had spawned. Like Voodoo, people would assume they were real and would form an opinion of me based on those beliefs. That would have consequences which would impact me directly. I had only hoped to create a following and to pass on the wisdom that Granny, Mambo Asogwe Eshe, had shared with me.

When I reached Monique's shop my mind was in turmoil, and I stood there debating whether to go in or not. Finally, logic won out. Monique had been a close friend of Granny and the only person I knew to turn to.

"Good day, Renee. It's early in the day for you to be out," Monique said as I entered the shop. The only other person in her shop looked like a tourist, judging from her clothes and shopping bags from several other shops in the area. She had several objects in her arms from Monique's shop. I decided to leave and turned towards the door.

"Don't go, Renee. I will close after the young lady has finished her shopping. Go in the back and make yourself comfortable." She waved towards the curtain that led to her living quarters. That she would close her shop to talk to me was a shock. I had been right to seek her out. Her house was no larger than Granny's...mine. The kitchen area was small, and the only appliances were a small refrigerator and stove that were almost as old as me. A round table with two kitchen chairs formed the dining area. A single cot lay against the wall on the opposite side of the room. Next to it, there was a night table and lamp. Closer to the door stood a dresser and bookcase loaded to capacity. A recliner sat nearby with another small table and a tall lamp. The door on the opposite side near the kitchen was open and looked to contain jars of herbs and other things. Next to that I assumed was a closet. I chose one of the kitchen chairs and sat. On the window in the back hung a beautiful curtain of Haitian design in blues, greens, and oranges. In the center of the room was a faded tree-of-life rug in shades of brown—camel, bronze, golden brown, and taupe. It looked old, but the intricate design was breathtaking. And the walls were filled with Haitian art I had seen only in books. It was a very comfortable room and captured the essence of Monique perfectly. Not too long afterward, I heard the woman leaving and the door being locked.

"Well, Renee, I'm glad you came to visit. I hear your name mentioned more and more, and the rumors are disturbing. It will be nice to hear the facts around those rumors." She walked over to the sink and ran some water into a pot. "Would you like some sweet tea and maybe some leftover pastalaya?" She obviously planned to spend the time to hear the details and to offer her counsel. I desperately needed someone I could go to for advice.

"Yes, thank you. That sounds wonderful." I relaxed somewhat as I watched her heating our meal. I missed Granny's counsel and Monique could never replace her, but it felt right being here. After she laid the food on the table, I began.

"I guess it started with—"

"Renee, relax and eat. How else are you going to enjoy my good food?" She smiled. Monique did most of the talking while we ate—small talk about everything and nothing. When we finished eating, she cleaned up and made tea. Then she sat.

"Now you can tell me what is on your mind, if you still feel you need to." She relaxed back in her chair and appeared content to wait. Like Granny, she was a wise woman. I had come with my mind in turmoil not knowing what I wanted except that I needed someone to talk to. She had taken the time and effort to let me know she cared and wanted to help.

"Granny...Mambo Eshe's death shattered my life. I loved her with all my heart and expected her to live for many years. I miss her wisdom and counsel." A tear slowly trickled down my cheek. I didn't bother to wipe it away. It was honest sorrow.

"All who knew Mambo Eshe will miss her greatly. I'll miss her more than many. To me, she felt more like a sister than a friend. And to you she was a loving mother and your only family. You have a right to feel the way you do, but we must all move on or stagnate, destroying our lives and those around us. Mambos have a special obligation not to get caught up in self-pity or to seek other paths, because of the lives they impact. It has been difficult for you, but I believe you have adjusted well since Eshe died—until now. The events over the past couple of weeks have everyone talking. Although rumors, they affect people’s perception whether accurate or not."

From what she said, it was clear that she would provide me the support Granny would have but only if I honored Mambo Eshe's teaching.

"Yes, the last two weeks has been a nightmare. It started with Hector deciding to make me his girl. If he had succeeded, soon I would have been selling drugs out of my shop, and when he eventually got tired of me, I'd become the Locos' girl. Although I may have had the right to kill him, I couldn't without causing more trouble with the Locos and destroying myself. As I told you, I didn't use magic of any kind, only drugs, but the perception of magic was necessary to keep Hector and the Locos away."

"You were right; however, there is a thin line between white and black magic in the eyes of most. People tend to perceive violent results like what happened to Hector as black, whereas they perceive gentle results as white. Therefore, what happened to Hector was black. Although, if the rumors are correct, Hector claims you cured him of a crippling disease," she said with a smile which said she knew I didn't.

"I wanted to make peace with Hector and, therefore, the Locos. So I proposed a compromise with Hector. He would claim he went to me because he was in terrible pain, and I gave him medicine that made him extremely sick. He was mad at me until he realized it had cured him. He agreed because he hadn't told the Locos anything about our encounter, and they were beginning to think him weak. In fact, two of his wacko friends attacked me several nights ago, to prove it. They set a trap using a small girl. They planned to rape me and then pass me around to their Loco friends."

"You, a girl won, therefore, black magic."

"No. Although I did mumble words of help to the Loa, years of Bagua saved me."

"Eshe planned well for your future, Renee. And Kweku?"

"Hector paid Kweku to curse me. He used two young boys. One boy distracted me while the other dropped strychnine into my cup of gumbo soup. Since it hadn't dissolved completely, I noticed it before I drank any and pretended to finish. When Kweku saw me drinking the soup, he put on his little show planning to take credit for cursing me."

"Most might consider that white magic over black," she said after a pause. "But you can see that you have become a very controversial mambo, and you will attract good and evil until these issues are resolved by you. I'm convinced you are not using or inclined towards black magic." Monique said nothing more. She got up and poured us another cup of tea.

"I'd be interested in hearing about Samuel. Eshe was very perceptive and understood people; however, I believe her insights were a gift from the Loa. That gift could be interpreted as white or black magic depending upon one's perception of the mambo. I don't know if you are perceptive or have Eshe's gift, but I would question whether you would want to follow in Eshe's footsteps after what happened to her. I have heard there have been people talking to your clients and asking questions about you. I'm afraid there is too much to hear."

That's what Sheila wanted with my appointment book. "You're right. The people who were responsible for Granny's death are still hanging around. I don't know what they want, but they are connected to power. I should run away, but I can't. Granny raised me to be a mambo, not to follow in her footsteps but because I love the Vodou religion, the Loa, the ceremonies, and want to help as many people as I can. "

"I would not counsel you to run. You're a serpent not a rabbit, but I would counsel caution. You find yourself swimming among sharks and cannot afford to get cut." Monique reached out and took my hand. "You may come to me anytime to talk or for whatever help that is within my power to give."

I felt a sense of relief as I walked slowly back to my shop. I hadn't solved any of my problems but talking with Monique had helped me put things in perspective. More importantly, I now had someone I respected that I could turn to in times of need.

CHAPTER FOUR

Grace and Ron

"Renee!" a young, well-dressed man shouted as he came through the doorway and ran towards me with his arms spread wide. He was tall, over six feet, lean physique, sandy-blond hair, and a long angular face with an outdoors complexion. For a second, I didn’t recognize him and had been preparing to defend myself.

"Ron Casey—" I managed as he raised me off the ground in a bear hug. I had met Ron at Loyola University. At the time, I was a freshman enrolled in the Department of Philosophy, and he was in his second year of Law School. We met by accident at a special series of lectures on the history of New Orleans put on by the University's Center for the Study of New Orleans. We happened to be sitting next to each other, and a few comments led to coffee afterward and many subsequent talks about Voodoo and Hoodoo—superstition. We never dated since he and I had steadies at the time, but we became good friends.

A woman in a tailored pants suit stood behind him. She was a few inches shorter than Ron with a nice figure, if a little on the thin side, auburn-colored hair, a few faded freckles, straight nose, and full lips. She stood evaluating us with a slight smile on her lips.

I left school prior to my junior year when Granny passed on her gift, and unbeknown to me, began preparing me for her death. It had been a little over two years since we had seen each other. "Ron, who's the very attractive young lady behind you? She seems to be debating whether to strangle you or me," I said when I could breathe again. Ron half-turned and put his arm around her and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

"This beautiful woman is my wife, Grace. Grace, this is the infamous Mambo Renee, a Voodoo Priestess. I've told you about her. She taught me the difference between Voodoo, Hoodoo, and mumble-jumble."

"It's nice to finally meet you, Renee. Ron's talked about you a lot. You impressed him… intellectually and personally. Fortunately, I already had him in my clutches."

"We had some interesting conversations. Voodoo is my favorite subject and Ron has an inquisitive mind and loves to take the counter argument. I'd certainly call on him if I ever needed a lawyer."

"I'm right here, you two. Renee, if you aren't too busy, why don't you have dinner with us tonight?" Ron said and Grace nodded agreement.

"Would seven be all right?" I asked. Ron looked to Grace who nodded. "I'll call for reservations at Cajun Café on Saint Peter Street. The food's good, and it has a cozy, relaxed atmosphere."

"That sounds good. We'll see you at seven." Ron took Grace's hand, and they wandered around the shop, while I answered an elderly man's questions about herbs for treating colds. I eventually sold him a root and herb mixture. Ron and Grace left while I was talking with my customer.

* * *

Eloi was at the door to greet us when we arrived, and treated me like I was a visiting dignitary.

"Mambo Renee, your table is ready. I've seated you on the patio. Is that all right?"

"That's good, Eloi. Thank you."

Eloi personally showed us to our table, and Alma stood ready to get us drinks.

"Grace and I would like a red wine. What do you suggest, Renee?" Ron asked.

"What do you suggest, Alma?" I certainly wasn't an expert on wines.

"I understand the house red is pretty good, and it's reasonably priced."

Ron looked to me. I didn't normally have wine with my meals, but this felt like a special occasion, so I nodded.

"Three glasses, please," Ron said, and Alma took off.

"Y’all certainly have been busy," I said. "I'd bet beginning married life and a new job is a real challenge."

"You're right. Ron's position with the law firm of Fontaine, Bousquet, and Allstott has him putting in lots of overtime. It's a prestigious firm and will require hard work if he's to have a chance at making partner. And the FBI keeps me busy. It's not a nine-to-five type of environment. We just make the most of the time we have together," Grace said, giving Ron a warm smile. "What about you, Renee? Your grandmother's death can't have been easy."

"No. My grandmother raised me. She was all I had… it's like a part of me died along with her. I don't know what would have happened if I hadn't had to take over her shop. I think it saved me. I wasn't prepared to run her shop, and it's helped keep me from dwelling on her death. She was more than my grandmother. She was my mentor and friend."

The time with Ron and Grace was more enjoyable than I had anticipated. I hadn't done much—any—socializing over the past two years. It had been two years of work and worry. Eloi treated us like royalty. We had lingered over coffee and three orders of pecan pie and ice cream catching up on what had happened over the past two years. I was sorry to see the evening end and hoped I would see them now and then. I refused a ride home since it was only a short distance to the shop, and the weather was clear and pleasantly cool. On the way home, I decided it would be nice to have a boyfriend—or two. To find one, however, I would have to get out and socialize. Wishing and getting were not the same.

* * *

The next day, a few minutes after I had opened for business, Hector appeared in the doorway. He looked like the doorway was the entrance to the underworld. I took pity on him, smiled, and waved him into the shop.

"Hector, don't just stand there, come in." I didn't know what he could want, but he didn't look like he wanted trouble—just the reverse. He slowly made his way to the counter I was sitting behind and stood quietly for a minute.

"Mambo Renee, I want you to know I didn't have anything to do with Knife and his friend Banger. They weren't there when I told the Locos about the drug you gave me to cure my disease." He grinned. "You were right. The boys thought I was getting weak. Knife and Banger planned to make you the Locos' pussy after they had their fun with you. No Loco is going to mess with Mambo Renee. You're bad medicine," he said and looked at the floor.

"Rumor is you can see the future. I want a reading. I'll pay," he said in a rush. I almost felt sorry for Hector. He was like a pit bull which had been beaten into submission. How many of the Locos' girls felt that way—neither Hector nor any of the Locos deserved pity. I would never like Hector; however, it was in my best interest to not only keep him and the Locos in fear of me, but also not to give them reason to test my strength. Hector foresaw some problem or other. If I could help, it might give the Locos another reason to leave me alone.

"Tonight at seven. Come alone."

"Yes, Mambo Renee. Tonight at seven."

* * *

Ten minutes before seven, Hector was standing outside my shop. I saw no reason—except pure meanness—to leave him standing there like a kid waiting to see the principal. I was prepared for trouble, although I didn't anticipate any. I had a tiger-eye ring with pure ricin, derived from the castor beans, on each hand. Making him sick twice might make him suspicious. If he got aggressive tonight, he would die, although I hated the thought and the consequences.

"Hector, come sit here and put your hands on the table." When he did, I sat and placed my hands over his. His hands tightened for a moment then relaxed. Abstractly, I realized putting my hands over someone's hands kept me safe while I closed my eyes since he couldn't reach or strike me without moving his hand. I relaxed and watched as Hector's life over the next several weeks scrolled before my eyes. Yes, the Locos were in big trouble. A week from now they would be in a fight. Outnumbered and outgunned, they would lose their territory to a Salvadoran gang, MS666—the symbol for the devil.

"Hector, I see another gang wants your territory. If you meet them, you will lose. They have more weapons than you. Your only chance is to hunt them in their territory, on your terms not theirs," I said and remained quiet as Hector sorted through what I had told him and began thinking about how he could take the fight to them. As he did, his future changed. He had decided not to meet them in an all-out fight as he had apparently agreed. Now that I had seen what he planned and the results, I could make another prediction. "If you take the fight to them, a few Locos will get killed, a few injured, but you'll hold onto your territory."

"Thank you, Mambo Renee," he whispered, looking deep in thought. He stood eyes downcast as he fished in his pocket and pulled out a single bill. Placing it on the table, he gave me a sheepish look, "Is this enough?"

I nodded more in surprise than agreement, and before I could say anything, he was out the door. The face of Benjamin Franklin stared up at me—a hundred dollar bill. Usually, I charged fifty for a session, which could last anywhere from a half hour to an hour depending upon the amount of small talk. I was surprised but didn't plan on refunding Hector any money. The advice I had given him saved his life and territory. I rationalized it benefited everyone—the neighborhood, the Locos, and me—because the rival gang had a more violent reputation than the Locos. I concluded life can be very complicated.

CHAPTER FIVE

MS666

What's wrong, Hector? You gone pussy! Maybe, I should lead the Locos against the 666," Scab said grinning, which resembled a gargoyle's expression, as the left side of his face didn't match the right. The scar had damaged the nerves and couldn't respond to match the other side. The Locos stepped back, giving Scab and Hector room. Hector smiled.

"I'll tell you what, Scab. I'll give you a chance to lead the Locos if I'm wrong. I say we'll lose if we meet the MS666 as planned." He held up his hand to stop comments. "Banger and Knife will go to Louis Armstrong Park midday tomorrow. Banger will find someplace on St. Ann Street. Knife, you'll find someplace on St. Phillips Street."

"Why so early?" Banger asked.

"So that we know if they are setting up a trap and to see what we will be facing. If it's the twenty-five they claimed and they have no heavy guns, Scab can lead the Locos."

"If not?" Scab asked.

"Then you'll know why Hector leads the Locos." Hector knew it was a risk, but Mambo Renee was a powerful priestess. She had cursed him, used magic to beat Banner and Knife, which saved his position in the Locos, and overcame Kweku's black magic. Hector grinned, "Everyone be here at six. We'll be meeting the 666 but not when they or Scab think."

The next day, Locos wandered in and out of the Barracks Street gang house. For a change, the drinking was light in anticipation of the coming rumble that night. But the bedroom remained busy all day, and the gang's girls looked exhausted by the time night descended on the house.

Around ten the gangs' members began playing with their guns, loading clips, pointing them at objects, stroking them. At nine, the phone rang. Hector picked it up.

"Yeah?" He stood there for several minutes, then smiled. "Stay with them, I want to know where they go."

Hector went to the refrigerator and opened a beer before coming out and sitting down next to the phone. He ignored the fact that everyone was staring at him. Two hours later the phone rang again.

"Yeah?" Hector listened. "Stay with them."

When he hung up, everyone was standing, looking ready to go. Hector laughed long and hard.

"Well, Scab. The 666 number around forty. Twenty of them came early and hid. They had automatic weapons and vests. The ones arriving now look to have only guns, but Knife said they looked like they had vests on."

"We'd all be dead meat, if..." Little Al, almost the size of a bison, looked at Scab, whose eyes searched the room finding only hostile eyes staring back. Hector sat back and took a swig of beer reveling in the victory. Renee had saved his life and cemented his position in the Locos. He owed her.

Early the next morning the Locos struck. They killed fifteen, wounded another ten, and confiscated many of their weapons and drugs. Only three Locos were killed and four wounded. The French Quarter remained Loco territory.

* * *

Business remained slow over the next week. Only my fortunetelling kept the store from going in the red. At Granny's insistence, I had taken several basic accounting and business courses, although, at the time, I hadn't seen the necessity. Now I realized that without them, the business wouldn't have survived. The store operated on a small profit if managed properly. There was little margin for error. Too much inventory and I'd be running a debt I couldn't afford, and with too little I wouldn't have enough to turn a profit. Basically, the store broke even or turned a small profit each month selling commercial things such as candles, knick-knacks, books on Voodoo and New Orleans, voodoo dolls, gris-gris bags and charms I made. The real profit came from selling herbs and fortunetelling.

But I was content with my life. My congregation was growing again. I had lost several when Granny died, but some had returned and four new individuals had joined. The new members gave me the most satisfaction. I believe in God and thought Vodou a good way to honor him—or her—and it felt wonderful helping others find comfort and peace in their lives. For now, I used the Woldenberg Park on the river but hoped someday I could have a dedicated place of my own like Monique.

When I looked up at my small, battery driven clock on the wall, it was nearly eight p.m., and my new client would be due any minute. I put away my ledgers and went into the store just in time to hear a knock at the door. The woman had said she heard about me indirectly from one of my clients, a Mr. Harry Bishop, who ran a small nightclub in the French Quarter called the Blue Sax. She gave her name as Ms. Ellen Jeffery and looked to be in her early thirties. I didn't need to press for details about her jobs, where she lived, etc., since I didn't need any hints about the person as a fake would. On the surface, she was a professional of some kind, judging by her neat appearance and expensive clothes, and single since she wasn't wearing a ring. Her dark brown hair was neck length and curly, which made her angular face look narrower. Her figure was trim but nicely curved.

"Good evening, Ms. Jeffery," I said as she entered. She had an attractive smile that seemed a bit practiced.

"You can call me Ellen, Renee." She paused to give me an appraising look, then nodded. "You're very young for a mambo."

"In age but not for the length of time I've spent preparing and the Asogwe I've had for a mentor and teacher."

She nodded, evaluating me against some criteria.

"Yes, like most professions, it's not age but talent that determines a person's worth. I wouldn't normally go to a fortuneteller, since I think most are...entertainers selling us what we all want—to know the future. But you come highly recommended." She produced a hundred dollar bill and handed it to me. "This is yours unconditionally whether you're an entertainer or real." She held up her hand to stop me from replying, although I hadn't intended to say anything. "I know you can't say you're an entertainer without ruining your business, but I would rather not waste my time hearing stories. So I'll leave and say nothing, unless you tell me not to.

I couldn't help but wonder what a fake would do now. Would she let the woman walk out the door or would she try to convince her she wasn't? Worse yet, what should I do? I'm walking through a mine field with Ken and Sheila sniffing around. Oh, shit! I pointed to the table.

"There are many possible futures. I can only tell you the one I see." There that should do it for a real or fake fortuneteller.

"That's very clever. That works for both," Ellen said, repeating my thoughts. But she proceeded to the table and sat. "All right, I'll play."

"Please place your hands on the table, palms down." When she did, I sat placing mine over hers. Her eyes narrowed, but she didn't say anything. I sat watching the days spin by. Ellen worked in an office, with a door, good furniture, and a window with a view of New Orleans, which meant she worked in the business district. She also lived in a very expensive apartment. No accidents occurred, nothing seemed wrong at work, but she seemed to be upset at almost random times. Then it clicked—she was being stalked.

"I can't tell who, I can only see you, and nothing will happen over the next several weeks." I said, deep in thought about what I had seen, and how it had affected her. When she jerked her hands free of mine, I snapped back to the present.

"You saw! Tell me more!"

"I'm sorry. I can't affect what I see. I see what I see." I'd had probably said too much already. I wanted to help, but too much would get me noticed by the wrong people. I didn't think Ellen was associated with Ken or Sheila's crowd based on what I saw, but... Ellen sat quietly staring at me with those beautiful green eyes, her hands folded just under her chin.

"How long...safe?"

"Four weeks," I said, thinking I had seen at least six to seven weeks out.

"If you’re a fake, you're good. But I can't take the chance you aren't." She rose deep in thought, trance-like, and headed for the door. There she stopped with the door open. "Make me another appointment for four weeks from today."

After she left, I sat thinking for the hundredth time that I needed a set of rules or guidelines for fortunetelling. I wanted to help people with my gift, but I didn't want it misused. Maybe fortunetelling wouldn't be too bad if I could convince people I didn't see everything. It was the ability to change the future that would be the real problem. I needed rules, but I couldn't write them down because of Ken and others poking around. Just when I thought I was getting my life back on track, Hector, Locos, Ken, Sheila, and who knew what else were threatening to derail it.

* * *

The following week, Hector entered my shop as I opened, which confirmed once again that my life had gotten complicated.

"Mambo Renee," he said placing a hundred dollar bill on my counter, "You saved the Locos. You bad...powerful mambo. If you need anything, the Locos will help."

I hoped he wasn't going to spread that around--Locos helping me! The residents would probably run me out of town. I didn't want to be friends with the Locos, just to keep them from hurting me. And if he spreads the story about the MS666... My head felt like a hundred people were playing handball inside and using my skull as a wall. What next? I was glad I couldn't tell my future. The present was bad enough. The rest of the day crept by. Without a steady flow of customers, I had too much time to think and nothing good to think about. I did manage to sell a few good-luck charms and closed a half hour early in anticipation of my biweekly client, Oatha. I defrosted some leftover Chicken Jambalaya and dressed in a long gown and headdress. I know Oatha didn't care, but it put me in the right mood. I found it amusing because it was exactly what I'd expect a fake to do.

A few minutes to seven, Oatha arrived. As usual, her round face was smiling, and her eyes sparkling. As long as I had known her, she always seemed happy and enjoyed people. Although she loved to talk, she didn't gossip.

"Good evening, Renee. I like you in that blue pattern dress and head wrap. It helps to fill you out a bit. You need more meat on you if you don't mind me saying."

"I wouldn't mind a little extra in the right places, but I'm afraid it would settle in all the wrong ones."

"You have a point. Just have to accept what God gave you. I've good news. My sister is planning on getting married. She asked me if you would conduct a wedding ceremony. Will you?" she said, taking my hand in hers and staring at me with big, brown puppy eyes. For a moment, I was speechless. Although I knew how to conduct the ceremony, I had never done one. Worse, I've never been married but would have to counsel the couple prior to the ceremony. Although priests who were celibate did it all the time, that didn't help to make me feel any more confident. All I could do was to do my best.

"I'd be happy to. You know they will have to have several sessions with me, prior to the ceremony?"

"Yes, thank you, Renee. I'll send Elva around to make the necessary arrangements with you. She's been talking about joining your congregation for months. Her fiancée, Gualter, belongs to another group, but he has heard a lot about you and wants them to join your group."

"Tell her to come around anytime." The more I thought about it, the more I was looking forward to the experience. I wanted to help people, and this seemed like an ideal opportunity. As I considered the idea, she sat down preparing for our session.

"Funny thing happened yesterday. A woman came by asking about fortunetellers. She said she was having marital problems and heard I visited a local one. She said most she had visited over the years were fakes, telling you what you wanted to hear. When I mentioned you, she asked all sorts of questions about what you had told me and how it had worked out. I told her I thought you were real and told her about you seeing Virgil having a good month and how I would benefit. That was all right, wasn't it?"

"Of course." What else could I say? I wanted new customers, just not certain customers. "I think I met her the other day. What did she look like?"

"A little shorter than you, thin, short light brown hair, and dressed casually."

As I thought—Sheila. And I'd bet Ken was talking with my male clients. I could only hope the information they got was inconclusive in determining whether I was real or a fake. Unfortunately, I doubted it proved me a fake. Shit. I sat and placed my hands over Oatha's and watched as the next few weeks scrolled past, with little of interest happening.

"I'm happy to say your life looks good for the next several weeks. You probably won't win the lottery, but there won't be any major problems."

"I don't play the lottery— you know that, don't you." She laughed and produced a big smile. "I'll send Elva around to see you. Thank you, Renee."

* * *

True to her word, two days later Elva stopped in just after noon. She was a petite young woman, with Oatha's round face and warm smile.

"Mambo Renee?" she said, as she approached the counter. I nodded. "I'm Oatha's baby sister. She said you agreed to conduct a wedding ceremony for me and Gualter. He's heard a lot about you."

"I'd be happy to do a wedding ceremony for you and your fiancée. Do you understand that I will require you and Gualter to meet with me a couple of times before the ceremony?" Granny had emphasized that it was a religious ceremony; therefore, a mambo had a responsibility to ensure the participants understood the commitment they were making.

"Yes, Mambo. Can we meet with you later this week?" She sounded like a little girl in a candy store asking for her favorite sweets. I got out my appointment book and arranged for a seven p.m. appointment on Friday. She bounced out the door, smiling.

Later that day, I sold several gris-gris bags. I kept several cloth bags of various colors and a chart showing the ingredients for each effect the buyer wanted. For example:

For luck—four leaf clovers and herbs such as daffodil, Devil's shoestring, galangal, grains of Paradise, holly, huckleberry, Irish moss, and ivy.

For spirituality—crosses, saints' medals, and herbs such as cinnamon, iris, yerba santa, and wood aloes.

And, for prophetic dreams (used in your sleep pillow), herbs such as chamomile, jasmine, lavender, marigold, nutmeg, peppermint, St. John's wort, and clary sage.

By keeping herbs and items such as crosses, the customer could use the chart to fill his or her bag with the appropriate items. Most customers didn't take it seriously but thought of it as an interesting souvenir from New Orleans. It frequently resulted in selling herbs to help with some condition or other.

* * *

Elva and Gualter arrived a few minutes early.

"Mambo Renee, this is my fiancée Gualter. Gualter, this is Mambo Renee," Elva said as I opened the door.

"It's nice to meet you, Gualter. Y’all come on in and have a seat at the table." Before I could advise the couple, I had to find out a little about them. "How long have y’all known each other?"

With my encouragement, they spent the next hour talking about themselves. They had met three years ago at Elva's high school graduation. Gualter had come with a friend who had a sister who was graduating from the same class. Over the next two years they only saw each other a few times a week, mostly on Saturday and Sunday. They had only started going steady the past year and had been having frequent sex for the past six months. Gualter had a job at a packing plant and was a regular member of Houngan Olabisi's congregation. Elva hadn't been a regular attendee of any services, but had gotten interested since she met Gualter.

"Alright, I think that is enough for tonight. I'd like you to attend my biweekly ceremonies, so I can get to know you better and for you to know if Vodou is for you and whether you want to belong to my congregation. We'll meet next Friday at the same time."

"What do you charge, Mambo?" Gualter asked.

"I don't charge for counseling you or the wedding ceremony. If you want, you can give me a donation either at the biweekly meetings or before or after the wedding ceremony." It wasn't the Vodou way to charge for our services. A true mambo existed to help people, not to make money. Of course, we needed money to help pay for the expense connected with conducting some of the services. I felt good about our first meeting. I had learned a lot about them, which would help me guide them to understand marriage was more than sex.

* * *

I met with the couple several times over the next six weeks. They planned to have a baby soon after they married, so I asked them to prepare a budget. They were to calculate their current salaries separately, then estimate the amount for rent, food, transportation, clothes, etc. The first time I reviewed it, I had them add items they had overlooked and revise some of the estimates that were obviously way too low. The last time we met the budget looked reasonable if they could stick to it and no emergencies occurred. So we added a small amount as saving for emergencies.

"I think your budget is a close approximation of your monthly expenses. With both your current salaries, you could get by. But if Elva stops work, y’all will lose her income, and there is little you can cut out of your budget to compensate," I said, running my finger down the sheet of paper containing the itemized list. "Even if Elva has the baby and is able to continue working, where are you going to get the money for a babysitter, food, and clothing for the baby?"

"I don't know?" Gualter shrugged and looked at Elva as if she might have the answer.

"Life is simpler when you're single. You have nothing to worry about except yourself, and you are both still living at home and have lots of extra money, thanks to your parents. I'm not suggesting you don't get married nor have children. I'm trying to help prepare you for your new life. Getting adjusted to living together will require compromises on both your parts and will be stressful without money problems."

Gualter looked at Elva, smiled, and shook his head negatively.

"I know the sex seems attractive, and I'm sure it will be. But there are many other things you haven't considered because you don't see each other more than a few hours a day," I said realizing I had no experience living with another person full time. "How long does it take you to get ready in the bathroom in the morning, what do you like to eat and when, which programs do you like to watch, when do you like to go to bed… The list is long and complicated, and many compromises will have to be made. Adding money worries to the list could be more than you can handle. One more session, and I'll conduct the marriage ceremony. I want you each to make a separate list of your current daily activities and sit down and discuss them. Don't forget your ideas on how to bring up your child when you have one, how many would you like, concerns about Vodou, potential conflict with your in-laws. Bring your list with you next time. I want to see them and hear any concerns you've discovered. Be honest. You can avoid a lot of future problems if you address any concerns now rather than later."

They had been smiling when they had entered but not when they left. I hated to be so pragmatic, but they would get enough glowing optimism from everyone else. Better they approach the marriage with realistic expectations. Gualter was looking at the frequent sex, and Elva the children she'd have. But too soon they would find marriage was a bit more complicated.

* * *

"Good Morning, Mambo Renee," Harry Bishop said as he entered the shop. He was a big, heavyset man with an ever-present smile on his ebony face that softened the intimidating impression from his size and shaved head. “Have you seen Ellen yet? She was looking for a good fortuneteller, and I recommended you. She seems very worried, which is unusual for her."

"Yes, I did. Thank you for recommending me." I think. Life was getting complicated since Granny's suicide. But what was I to do? I had no intention of giving up Vodou or giving up being a mambo. And a mambo has a God-given responsibility to help people whether they believe in Vodou or not.

"I also recommend you to a fellow named… Ken, I think it was. He was asking around for a good fortuneteller. He claimed someone had mentioned my name to him. Asked a lot of questions… almost like he was investigating you." He gave me a hard look, before shaking his head like he'd just woke up. "I wonder if you could do a reading for me?"

"Let me get my calendar." I had nothing scheduled for the next two days. "I'm free tonight and tomorrow if that's all right or next week if it isn't."

"Tomorrow night would be good. Seven OK?"

After I nodded, he turned and left, seemingly deep in thought. I had been right. Ken and Sheila were using my client list to check me out, trying to determine whether I could really tell the future or not. I could only hope it proved inconclusive.

Later that day, two Locos entered the store. I recognized Banger. I had heard his friend, Knife, had been injured in the fight with MS666.

"No trouble, Mambo," Banger said as he entered. They wandered around the store for a few minutes, picking up things but to my surprise putting them back. I wasn't sure what to expect. I thought I was on Hector's good side, which hopefully carried over to the other members of his gang.

"Mambo Renee, would you make up a gris-gris bag for me and Madman?" Banger said when the pair made their way to the counter. Madman didn't look sinister. He had a vacant, open mouth stare you would expect from a mentally challenged or insane person. I doubted he had normal feelings about anyone including himself. Not someone you would want to antagonize. I removed a tray of colored bags from my locked case.

"Pick a bag you like, and tell me what you'd like the bag to do." I was glad the gris-gris bags didn't have my shop's name on them.

"Protection… from evil," Banger said, nodding.

"Evil spell," Madman said, smiling.

"I don't do black magic… Madman. How about strength?" I asked in desperation. He smiled and nodded. At least I thought that twist of his lips substituted for a smile, that or maybe he had a toothache. "If you will return tomorrow, I'll have your gris-gris bags ready. Fifty dollars each."

They nodded and left. I normally charged twenty-five for most gris-gris bags, but I thought I deserved more having to deal with the Locos, especially Banger for trying to rape me.

That night I selected beans, cinnamon, dogwood, ebony, wolf's bane, and wormwood and placed them in Banger's bag and painted Odenkyem—the rune for defense and protection—a turtle looking symbol on the outside of the bag. In Madman's bag I put nettle, St. John's wort, tea, and a bat wing. I thought he'd like that. I painted on the outside the symbol Wawa aba—the rune for overcoming barriers—an oblong circle with a line through it which split into three parts at the ends.

* * *

They both appeared right after I had opened for business, approached the counter, and each laid down fifty dollars.

"Banger, this is your bag." I handed him a red colored bag. "And Madman, this is yours." I handed him his black bag. "This is important. There is an even number of articles in each of your bags. There must be an odd number. I want you to take some part of your essence, hair, a small piece of cloth soaked in your sweat, finger nail clippings, skin… and add it to your bag. I have carefully prepared each bag for you, but remember unless you believe in the power of your gris-gris it won't help." While I was talking, Madman opened his bag, poked a finger in it, smiled, closed it, and hung it around his neck with the string I had attached. They left with their heads close together, whispering.

The rest of the day dragged on with few customers. I sold a few candles, good luck souvenirs, and a book on Vodou. About enough money to pay for my home-cooked meal. I closed a few minutes early to eat and prepare for Harry Bishop. I defrosted the other half of my Cajun meatloaf I had prepared last week. I didn't mind spending the time making homemade dishes, and usually made enough for two or three days. That way I had a tasty, quick meal when I needed it. My meatloaf had a combination of onions, celery, bell pepper, green onions, garlic, Tabasco, Worcestershire, an egg, and seasoning mix in addition to beef and pork. As I sat savoring the meal, I couldn't help wondering what Harry wanted to know. He had looked a bit worried when he asked for an appointment. As far as I knew, his business was doing all right. Well, I'd find out soon enough. That prompted me to think about establishing a set of rules for what I would and wouldn't tell people when I told their fortune. I pulled out a sheet of paper and grabbed a pencil, which hovered over the paper ready to write. Nothing. I drew a blank. Obviously, I couldn't tell everything I saw or my secret would be out within the week. But which part must I withhold? I wanted to help people with my gift, but I didn't want to be a pawn for someone who would keep me locked up and be looking after his own interest exclusively. Or maybe worse, kidnapped by the government. Ken and Sheila could be working for either, which made a solution to the problem urgent. But all I had managed to do was give myself a headache without getting any closer to a solution. I put the pencil down in defeat.

* * *

Harry showed up a few minutes late and smelled like he'd been drinking, although he showed no outward signs.

"Evening, Mambo Renee," he said as he walked toward my table and took a seat.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes, I've had a few drinks, and I'm sorry. I'll leave if you want." He looked down at his large hands resting on the table. Harry was a giant of a man with a large personality which could be overwhelming.

"No. You have something that is bothering you. Let’s see if I can help. Running away or drinking won't," I said. As I sat, he stretched his hands out, palms down ready for me to start. I placed mine over his and closed my eyes. Although I couldn't hear what was going on, it appeared he was getting more and more animated—angry?—both at work and at home. The following week an older woman came to stay, and Harry seemed to get worse and spent less time at home. Then he began sleeping in their daughter's bedroom. She was attending college and lived out of state. Several weeks later the woman died. For the remainder of the time I could see, Harry continued to sleep in the spare bedroom. He didn't realize how much of a problem he had. I suspected his mother-in-law was sick and coming to live with them, and he didn't get along with her. His wife was also stressed with worry over her mother. It made for an explosive situation.

"Harry, you’re under immense stress, and if you aren't careful, you are going to lose everything you love," I said, for the thousandth time, trying to decide how much of the truth I dared tell. He nodded in resignation, his dark eyes shiny with tears.

"What can I do? My wife…" he started, and his hand contracted into fists. His head jerked up. "Sorry, Mambo."

"I see your wife losing everything she loves," I paused waiting to see his reaction to that. It could mean her mother or him or both. After a few minutes of silence, he seemed to understand, and he looked up. "If you love her, you can help her. If you do, I see you gaining much. Otherwise…"

Now came the interesting part, as I watched Harry work through what I had said. As he did, I could watch the future change. But, I had to make sure he maintained his resolve.

'Harry, your future depends on helping your wife through this stressful period."

"What's going to happen?"

"I don't know, Harry. I only know she is under enormous stress, and only you can help her get through it. Without your help…"

"Thank you, Mambo Renee. Thank you," he said and dropped a wad of bills on the table. "Thank you." And he wandered out the door like a man in a trance. I hoped he could keep his resolve to help. It would certainly be stressful for him given his personality and dislike of his mother-in-law. When I picked up the bills, there were five twenties. I planned to give him half of that back when I saw him next. I did what I could. No matter what happened, it would be impossible to determine if what I suggested meant I saw the future. I could know from another source that his wife's mother was sick and coming to visit or stay.

* * *

The next day—no, it must have been night since I was having a nightmare—I had six Locos enter my shop and order gris-gris bags. If this got out, I'd soon be accused of protecting the Locos. Their money wouldn't make up for the loss of business or worse being treated as a piranha. If this kept up, I planned to buy stock in whoever made Tylenol. I wish I had a fortuneteller I could go to. Maybe she could find a future that had less stress. Oh, shit. I didn't want to change my life. I loved Vodou and helping people—so I guess I didn't need a fortuneteller, I just needed another couple of Tylenol.

It was a good thing I looked at my appointment calendar because I was in the mood to go to bed and pull the covers over my head. Ms. Jeffery was due at eight p.m. I think I needed a gris-gris bag. Maybe I need three: one for Wisdom, one for Luck, and one for Courage. I had a feeling Ms. Jeffery was going to again test what I should and shouldn't tell my customers.

* * *

Naturally, she was early, and I hadn't changed into my "fortuneteller" garb. I could've asked her to wait while I changed, but that seemed ridiculous.

"I know I'm early…"

"It's not a problem, Ms. Jeffery… Ellen. Would you like something to drink? Maybe sweet tea or coffee." I guess I was tired, because creating a semi-false illusion suddenly seemed foolish.

"Yes, I'd like that Renee… Mambo?"

"Mambo is like saying, 'father' to a Catholic priest. I'm an ordained priestess in the Vodou religion—Voodoo to most. And it's a religion just like any of the major religions—different but the same in many ways. And millions of people around the world practice it, and we believe in one God like all Christians. Our ceremonies are like many other religious ceremonies which include singing and dancing. Unfortunately, the movies and the uninformed have portrayed Voodoo as some kind of ridiculous cult. Sorry. I'm tired." I retreated to the kitchen, made a pot of coffee, and put together a small tray of crackers.

"Yes, it must be frustrating having to dress up to be taken seriously. I don't know if you can really tell the future—" she held up her hand before I could respond, which, of course, I hadn't planned to. "But I believe you do your best to help people. I didn't come to you without doing some research first, so I know that to be fact." While she sipped her coffee and nibbled on a cracker, she told me a little about herself. She had graduated from Yale with a MBA. Since then, she had managed to claw her way into a senior management position with Hibernia Corporation and felt she was in line for a Vice President position. She carefully refrained from mentioning her current problem. I couldn't blame her—no sense giving a fortuneteller too much information. Actually, she shrewdly gave me enough to concentrate my fortunetelling on her career rather than her real problem, which had little if anything to do with her career. I cleared the table and sat down.

"Put your hands on the table, palms down, please," I said. She gave me a strange look but complied. I placed my hands over her and watched as she went through her normal routine, which proved highly paranoid. It happened several weeks later. A man broke into her apartment and raped her. It was so violent I couldn't help but jerk my hands away. In response, she stood quickly and knocked over her chair.

"WHAT?" She looked pale, and her hands were shaking. Mine were shaking too, so I put them in my lap out of sight under the table.

"I apologize, Ellen. Please sit."

"If this is an act, I don't appreciate it."

"Please sit." I had to think. What do I tell her and more importantly how do I stop the rape without disclosing what I see. Granny, if you’re listening, I need help. "The future is complicated because there are so many factors that affect each individual. Sometimes it's hard to interpret what I see." And can tell you. "I'm sorry I scared you. I'm not sure how to interpret what I saw and need time to think about it, but I can tell you I see nothing to worry about for the next two weeks. I want no money for tonight since I haven't helped; in fact, I've caused you more worries. I'd ask you to forgive me, and come back in two weeks. You needn't pay for that session either."

"You say I have nothing to worry about. Are you sure?" She stood, staring down at me.

"Sit down and place your hands back on the table, please." When she did, I placed my hands over hers and watched the next three weeks. Nothing changed.

"Yes, I'm sure. I'm concerned about further out, which isn't clear to me." What wasn't clear was what I could do about it. Doing nothing wasn't an option. Some color had returned to her face as she sat thinking.

"I don't know what to think about you, Mambo Renee. But I do believe you want to help. It's written all over your face and in your body language. I just hope you can. I'm slowly losing my mind." She stood, dropped a hundred dollar bill on the table and left. I hoped so too. I think the rapist kills her.

CHAPTER SIX

Mr. Willis

"Well, what have you found out about the Renee girl?" Mr. Willis asked as Ken and Sheila settled on the brown corduroy couch. He sat in a beige-striped lounge chair to their left. Tony stood off to the side. The view of New Orleans out the floor-to-ceiling window was spectacular. The suite must have cost at least a thousand a night.

"We discovered a lot, but nothing to prove whether she's a fake or can really tell the future. Everyone I talked to said she could tell the future, but when I pushed for details, the examples they gave were ambiguous. If she says good things are going to happen, and they do, is that because she saw the future or just telling them what they want to hear or based on what that person let slip or…? There was one case where she told the man not to drive or he'd have an accident. She told him to see a doctor before he drove again. But there again, everyone agrees she knows medicine so she could've detected something in his behavior. She also told him his sister would come through a serious operation all right. But would a fake tell you she was going to die? The odds favor the patient at least surviving the operation." Ken shrugged in frustration.

"What about you, Sheila?" Willis asked, blowing out a cloud of smoke and pointing his cigar in her direction.

"Pretty much the same results. Some of what she predicted could be extrapolated from general knowledge. Like the fishing has been good, so there will be extra money to spend. Some of her clients certainly give away information when they are talking. And most of the woman I talked to are regular clients, so she knows a lot about them—family, friends, work, money, etc." Sheila paused to take a sip of the Pinot Noir she had selected from the wines on the counter. "She's very intelligent, knows her herbs, and studied under Eshe for many years. Consequently, she would make a convincing fake. Conversely, she would also be able to hide the fact she could really predict the future."

"In other words, you don't know." Willis rose and walked over to the window and stood looking out while puffing on his cigar. "There's still time. Perhaps we should create a little test. What if we target one of her clients? If she warns them, we will know. Of course, we have to carry through on the threat, or it wouldn't be a future event. I leave it to you and Sheila to arrange." He pointed his cigar at Ken. "A serious event, or she may choose to ignore it."

Willis nodded at Tony who grabbed a briefcase and opened the door. Tony turned back to them after Willis exited the door. "The room is yours tonight if you wish."

* * *

"What do you think, Sheila?" Ken asked as he made himself a seven-and-seven from the assortment of liquors on the counter. Sheila sat on the couch with her legs curled under her, sipping a new glass of wine.

"It has to be one of her current clients who sees her regularly. What's going to happen to him or her must be something Renee can't ignore. We must go through with it regardless of whether she tries to stop it, or she wouldn't be able to see it in the person's future."

"What if she can't see the future?"

"Then her client is going to have a very bad day, and she can blame Renee."

"What if she can, but chooses not to intervene?"

"Then she can blame us." Sheila smiled. "We know she genuinely tries to help people, so—shit! If she can see the future, she knows we tossed her place, and we aren't what we claimed. And she most likely suspects it's related to her granny's suicide. If that's true, it can't be a simple robbery or mugging. The incident must be serious enough that she can't in good conscience ignore it, and we can't be seen as a part of it. The person or his or her family must be crippled or killed."

"I agree with your reasoning, but… is it worth it to us?"

"What's it worth, Ken?"

"I'm not a killer, Sheila!"

"Maybe you should back out now—if you can." Sheila shrugged and took a sip of her wine, watching him over the top of her glass.

"What do you mean? What do you think Willis would do?"

"Willis will report your decision to whoever is pulling his strings. He's a middleman, and his sidekick, Tony, is an errand boy with a gun. The puppet-master may consider us loose ends. I would. Unless I'm wrong, this isn't about money. It's about power."

"We could be a loose end whether she turns out to be real or fake." Ken downed his drink and poured his empty glass half-full of Seagram's.

"I suggest we design a situation that will determine if she's real or a fake, and a way to ensure it's worth the risk—both the reward and our health."

"We don't seem to have any other choice."

CHAPTER SEVEN

Dilemma

I slept poorly after my session with Ms. Jeffery. How could I stop the rape… murder… without giving away my secret? I didn't mind my clients thinking I could predict generalities about the future; otherwise, why come to me? But I didn't want them to know the clarity with which I could see the future. That would surely get me more attention than I wanted. Worse yet, that I could change the future. I tossed and turned all night considering one option after another.

By morning, I was exhausted, had a wicked headache, and no solution. I made myself a strong cup of coffee hoping it would help. It didn't. My mind was in too much turmoil to think straight. I decided to take Mambo Monique's offer of help and visit her after I closed the shop for the day.

With only a few customers, each minute felt like an hour. I considered putting a sign outside offering a free something or other, just to get people in to distract me from watching the clock, thinking about Ellen, or Granny's warning. I closed a half-hour early, freshened up, and changed clothes. Feeling better, I locked up and made my way down Bourbon Street towards Mambo Monique's shop with mixed feelings. I couldn't expect her to solve my problems, but I needed someone else's perspective. I was too close to the problem—much too close. Ironically, I wanted Monique's advice, but I couldn't give her the crucial details. My head ached by the time I reached her shop. It was still open, so I entered. Monique looked up from behind one of the glass cases she was cleaning.

"Good evening, Renee. You look tired."

"Good evening, Mambo Monique. I didn't sleep well last night," I said with a weak smile. Or the few nights before that. "Sometimes life seems overwhelming."

"And you need someone to talk to." She nodded, walked to the door and turned the sign from Open to Closed. "You’re always welcome here, to talk or just to visit. Sometimes just visiting friends helps."

"It feels like I'm on a speeding train. I can't stop it, and I can't get off."

"In a sense, you are being tested, Renee. Many would claim it's the Loa testing your faith. Maybe. Maybe it's just the capriciousness of life striking when you're most vulnerable. Not because it knows you're vulnerable but because life can be complicated. Some people make it complicated, like your mother; others are merely caught in a storm, like you. It doesn't matter which. You must face it or run. If you face it, it will either make you strong or destroy you. If you run, you will forever give up who you are. Friends can help, but they can't solve it for you." She put her arm around me, holding me tight while she spoke. "You're a mambo. Seek the guidance of the Loa, just don't expect them to solve the problem."

Monique sounded like Granny—I will help, but you must face the problem. You cannot depend on others to solve your problems.

"Thank you, Mambo Monique, for reminding me that getting off the train is not an acceptable option no matter where the train is headed."

"You’re welcome. I hear the Locos now consider you a powerful mambo and are buying gris-gris bags from you."

"It's true. I just want them to leave me alone, but it seems there is no middle ground. I must either be on their side or against them. I can't afford to fight them, but I don't want to be associated with them."

"You do have a problem. Giving Hector a telling and selling gris-gris bags to Locos does make it look like you are part of their clique. Of course, having Loco tattooed on your face or neck won't be good either." She held me at arm’s length. "However you kept the MS666 out of this area, you did us all a favor. Unfortunately, few will know you are paying the cost alone. I believe you are good and will do my best to support you, but I cannot solve your problems."

"I know. With Granny gone… I just needed someone to tell me what she would have if she had been here." Somehow, I felt better even though none of my problems had been solved. Well that wasn't entirely true. I had Mambo Monique's support to offset the impression that I was delving in the black arts because of my apparent association with the Locos. That had certainly been a major concern. Monique made us a rose mint tea, and we sat around talking about my upcoming wedding ceremony. I felt better or maybe just determined when I left.

* * *

The next morning I called Granny's friend in Oregon.

"Mr. Waldoff, my name is Renee. My grandmother, Mambo Eshe, commissioned several rings from you last year. I was wondering if you could make one or two for me?"

"How is your grandmother? I haven't talked to her for a long time."

"She...she died a year ago. I'm sorry I didn't let you know. I remember now, Granny telling me that you had been close friends since she was a young girl."

"I am sorry to hear that, and I understand. Her sudden death must have been terribly hard on you. I know you and she were very close, more like a mother and daughter. I hope she didn't suffer."

"No, she didn't suffer. Could you make me two rings."

"Of course, just like before?"

"Yes and no. This time I would like them dressier. Perhaps one a nice looking Indian-like ring I could wear as a good-luck piece or souvenir. The band should be gold."

"I can do that. When do you need them?"

"I know I'm being unreasonable, but I need at least one as soon as you can get it to me. I will pay whatever you ask," I said, crossing my fingers—a silly gesture. The rings weren't illegal, but he didn't know how I intended to use them.

"Eshe talked about you a great deal, so I feel I know you and can trust the rings won't be abused. I can have one ready in a few days, and ship it overnight if you want."

"Thank you, Mr. Waldoff. I appreciate your help and promise I won't misuse the ring."

"Harry, please. Call me anytime. Eshe was a dear friend. And if you are up this way, stop in. I'd love to meet you face to face."

"Thank you, again." I hung up and sat back somewhat relieved—somewhat because there was still the matter of what I could or should tell Ms. Jeffery, what poison to use, and the police. I suspected there would be lots of questions and possible charges depending upon the outcome. Being the victim didn't guarantee some district attorney wouldn’t take issue with the way you defended yourself. It wouldn’t be the first time the criminal was viewed as the victim. My head pounded. It would be easier to just let the future be the future.

* * *

I entered the pavilion thirty minutes early intending to spend time talking with the wedding couple and any friends and relatives that might attend. I spotted Elva and Gualter standing with several people off to the side.

"Good evening, Elva, Gualter."

"Good evening, Mambo Renee. I'd like you to meet my mother, Cezelia, Aunt Arilla, Uncle Clovis, Gualter's father, Betrand, and mother, Alma, and our friends, Remy and Eula,” Elva said, going around the circle of people, each nodding or smiling when their name was mentioned. “Some of our other relatives should be arriving soon."

"We heard a lot about you, Mambo Renee," Elva's mother said. "Mambo Monique speaks highly of you. Arilla, Clovis, and I are members of Houngan Amedee's congregation, and Betrand and Alma Mambo Heloise's."

"I had concerns when Gualter and Elva decided to join your congregation. You're very young, but I like what you did to prepare them for marriage. You've helped them understand there is more to marriage than sex and kids. Many other priests tend to be more concerned with the ceremony."

"Thank you, Cezelia. Mambo Asogwe Eshe, my grandmother, would have been disappointed if I'd done anything less." I excused myself and wandered around talking with the gathered people. Most of the members of my congregation were there as well as a few new people. A few were there just to observe a wedding ceremony. A few came with a friend but were new to Vodou. I spent a few minutes talking about the ceremony and Vodou—my favorite topic—before entering the pavilion.

I began the ceremony by drawing the ve-ve for Legba-Papa Labas on the floor with brick chalk to open the gates. Then I asked Elva to read her personal vows to Gualter, and then Gualter to Elva. I gave each a gris-gris bag mixed for love and happiness, then transferred the four-foot corn snake from around my neck and draped it over them. Many outsiders wouldn't understand, but Vodou is a danced religion, where the sound is a magic all of its own which heals and creates the energy to invoke the Loa. Jermain began beating a rhythm on the drum, his mahogany face slick with sweat as he swayed with the rhythm, while I chanted to Loa Anaisa Pye—the Loa of love, money, happiness—to bless them. The dancing began. Lost in the dance I could feel the python on my arm move and felt the presence of the Loa. I knew Elva and Gualter felt it too.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Ellen Jeffery

All week I had been worrying over my upcoming Telling with Ellen Jeffery. It would be a relief if I could just tell her who and what was going to happen. Well I didn't really know who, but I knew he worked with her because I had seen him at work with her. Of course, I couldn't without putting myself in jeopardy, especially with Ken and Sheila snooping around.

One of the rings had arrived on Tuesday and the second on Friday. I had been agonizing over what to put in them all week. Finally, I decided using anything lethal would get us in more trouble than it was worth—well almost. Some smart-ass district attorney might decide the attacker was the victim and Jeffery the criminal, and me an accessory before or after the fact. Or he might decide I was the criminal and Jeffery the accessory. So I chose a diluted form of moonseeds, which should cause paralysis. I still hadn't resolved what to tell her when I heard the knock at the door and knew it was Jeffery before I opened it.

"Good evening, Ms. Jeffery. Come in and have a seat. Would you like something to drink—tea, ginger ale?" Personally, I needed a Long Island iced tea with a triple Zombie chaser. Ellen looked like she had been on a week's bender, shadows under her eyes, complexion pale, and no makeup or fingernail polish. A stark difference to the woman I had first met a month ago.

"Tea would be lovely, thank you...Mambo Renee," she said while her eyes darted around the room like someone was hiding there.

"Please sit, and try to relax. We're alone, and you're safe. Look around the shop while I make some tea, you don't have to buy anything. Better yet, join me in the back." I went to the front door and locked it, then waved for her to follow me into my living area. That seemed to help a little. Before sitting, she surveyed the room.

"It's small but a very comfortable room. A person's home says a lot about them. You're conservative, well-read, honest, and a true mambo. What I mean to say is that you believe in your religion and take it seriously." She gave me a small smile. "Sorry, I can't help evaluating people. It comes in handy in my work. I'm a marketing director."

"Yes, I do. It may appear a strange religion more so because of the nonsense portrayed in the Voodoo movies that have been made over the years and because our ceremonies are more animated than most people are used to. But we believe in one God, pray, have saints called Loa, and try to live our lives in accordance with our interpretation of God's wishes." I put two glasses of sweet tea on the table along with slices of lemon and sat. We sat in silence while we sipped our tea. I could tell she wanted to start the session but dreaded it.

"Ms. Jeffery—"

"Call me Ellen...Renee."

"Ellen, put your hands on the table, palms down. Here is as good a place as any," I said, clearing the table. When she did, I placed mine over hers. I hadn't expected anything to change, and it didn't, so I was left with the original problem. It would happen next Friday night, and the attacker would first rape Ellen and then beat her to death. I almost gagged while watching.

"What!" she shouted and pulled her hand from under mine. She had gone almost white as the blood drained from her face. She must have been watching my face or felt the tension in my hands.

"Relax, Ellen. I believe your stalker is going to get physical, soon. Please relax, I may have a solution if it comes to pass." I rose and collected the two rings I had made for her and sat, placing the rings on the table. Holding my hand out, I said, "See this onyx ring?" When she nodded, I continued. "I wear this all the time. If you look very closely, you will see a tiny hole in the middle. If I strike something with it, a thin hypodermic needle comes out and delivers a dose of whatever is inside." While I talked, she took my hand in hers and lowered her head to examine the ring. When she nodded, I continued. "I had these two made for you. Take the one you like. Both have a drug that will cause a temporary paralysis."

"What do they cost?" The look she gave me was suspicious. I couldn't blame her. A fake would use the threat of danger to sell the ring and charge her triple what it cost.

"Nothing. I expect you to return it to me the next time you see me. I'm loaning it to you as a precaution. But, you must wear it day and night until we meet again—two weeks from today. If you use it, I would ask you to hit the person in the head with something to explain how you knocked him out. The police may not be receptive to using poison."

"What did you see?" She picked up the Zuni looking ring and examined it closely, running her finger over the Sleeping Beauty turquoise.

"Trouble. Place your hands on the table again, please."

She gave me a strange look but complied. When I looked again, the man attacked her, ripped her clothes, and beat her to the floor before she used the ring. When she did, it had the desired effect.

"I know this is a stressful time for you. Maybe nothing will happen, but if it does, try to remember a relaxed person thinks better than a stressed one and more likely to survive."

"You know something. Tell me! You had those rings made especially for me... And you're not asking for money."

"Trust me." I'd already said too much, and telling her more might in fact cause more harm than good. She studied me for a long time, clenching her hands with the ring against her chest.

"This all sounds and looks like an elaborate fake, but...what do I owe you?"

"Nothing. See me two weeks from today to return my ring. If you are satisfied, you can pay me for this session and the next. If not, you owe me nothing." If I saved her life, that would be payment enough. That was far more important than the money. She stood, put on the ring, mumbled "Thanks," and left in obvious turmoil. I sat there trembling. I walked an extremely narrow path paved with good, but evil lurked on one side and temptation on the other—the tantalizing lure to play God.

Suddenly my arm began to burn, and as I watch the symbol Nkontim—the rune for loyalty and readiness to serve—appeared. I understood the message, loyalty to Vodou and a readiness to help regardless of the danger. With that, my thoughts were no longer troubled. I had done what I could to help. It would have been wrong not to regardless of the risk. As I watched, a tattoo of a peacock, the symbol of integrity and the beauty that can be achieved when we endeavor to better ourselves, slowly appeared. Granny had said the ancient symbols and tattoos were gifts from the Loa and each gave you some additional power. The message the Loa had given me, but I wondered what new ability I might have gained.

CHAPTER NINE

The Committee

Willis sat staring at the nineteen-inch monitor screen. At present it was split into six boxes of equal size, but each with a different background color: blue, brown, green, violet, orange, and black. In the center of each was a yellow smiley-face with dark sunglasses. When one spoke, the smiley-face's mouth moved to match the sounds. At present the face in the blue box was speaking.

"Good evening, Mr. Willis. I hope you have something good to report," the mechanical, bass-sounding voice said.

"No, I'm afraid not." He held up his hand before the speaker could interrupt. "My two operatives have been unable to prove whether Eshe's granddaughter can see the future or not. She's definitely very intelligent and capable of convincing people she can see the future even if she can't. Conversely, she's equally capable of pretending she can only see snap-shots of the future when she can see it clearly." He took another drag on his cigar and blew a perfect smoke ring.

"We need to know within the next three to six months at the latest," the face in the brown square said in a stern, alto-sounding voice.

"Mr. Brown is right, Willis. You didn't disappoint us last time. Eshe exceeded our expectations. We admit the team that we sent in to persuade her to help us failed. We take responsibility for that failure," the face in the blue square said.

"Rather spectacularly, I'd say." Willis pointed his cigar at the screen. He continued before anyone could comment. "The fifty million you are offering is more than enough incentive, gentlemen and ladies if appropriate. I believe I sent my operatives out with the wrong instructions, when I tasked them to find out if she had her grandmother’s ability."

"Why?" several smiley faces asked together. Willis smiled.

"Because they have wasted time trying to determine if she's a fake. We must assume she is a seer. I should have told them to prove it."

"Seems as though it's two sides of the same coin. If you prove she's a fake you have your answer; otherwise, a seer if she isn't," the face in the orange square said.

"It's the approach that makes the difference. If she is a seer, then my operative gave her the advantage when he asked for a telling. She now knows his future and who he has come in contact with. Maybe even what he and his partner are planning. If they had assumed she was a seer, they would never have gone near her." Willis sat back and let the smiley faces digest what he had said.

"True," the face in the Black square said. "Let us hope that wasn't a... What were your words?" The smiley face actually frowned. "Oh, yes. A spectacular blunder that will result in our failure. The team assigned to Eshe failed and were justly rewarded." The tone of the voice made Willis pale. The smiley face in the black box had made the options clear—rich or dead.

"A false start, not a blunder, Mr. Black." With that, the screen went blank. Damn that team the committee had assigned to assure Eshe's cooperation. He had been paid twenty-five million, and everyone was happy. Now they had suckered him with an additional fifty million if he could prove Renee had her grandmother's ability and ten if he proved her a fake. He had foreseen the possibility that proving her a fake could be considered failing.

* * *

Willis was surprised when Sheila called him the next day.

"Mr. Willis, it's Sheila."

"Sheila, what can I do for you."

"I think we made a mistake."

"What kind of mistake?"

"If Renee is a seer, then Ken's visit to her has alerted her to our presence and purpose. She will have seen Ken's activities for many days, weeks, or even months from the time of his fortunetelling session. He has to be terminated...from the project. Renee will know everything he will be involved in."

"Have dinner with me tonight. Say seven o'clock at the Windsor Court Hotel, room number 1201." He hung up. He had been considering terminating both Ken and Sheila, but Sheila was the right person to move to plan B. She was cold-blooded and already acquainted with the problem. What better person to prove Renee was a seer. He smiled and inhaled deeply from his cigar—problem solved.

CHAPTER TEN

Firebombs

The next few days felt like months, and I had to keep reminding myself what day it was while hoping I was wrong, and the week had flown by. It hadn't. The customers were few, I had no fortunetelling sessions, and none scheduled for the next three days. Given I had nothing to do at night, I should have been out socializing and looking for a date, but I wouldn't be good company and would turn off anyone worth keeping. The others would persist no matter my mood. I even had trouble reading Granny's journals and didn't even consider working on inventories or finances. So, I sat drinking sweet tea and worrying about everything—Ellen, Ken and Sheila, Locos—and even tried making up a few new ones which turned out easy in my present mood.

It was close to closing when an elderly man in a white suit, carrying a brown leather briefcase, entered the store. He walked around the shop looking at each counter and shelf, and occasionally picking up an item to examine closer. Slowly he made his way to my counter.

"Can I help you with anything," I asked, hoping he had lots of questions that would last hours into the night. Of course, he didn't.

"I hope so. Are you Renee Mathur, the owner of The House of Mambo Eshe?" he asked. His clean-shaven, narrow face had a slight smile like he knew a secret I didn't and didn't plan on telling me.

"Yes," I replied, not sure what else to say. It was his turn.

"Are you interested in selling your business? My employers are ready to make you an exceptionally nice offer, well above what it's currently worth on the present market."

"No, I’m not interested in selling."

"They are offering two million dollars." He smiled like that settled the discussion. Couldn't honestly blame him.

I stood there with my mouth open, jaw working, but no sound. I doubt the building, even with its good location, was worth more than four hundred thousand dollars. Two million was a lot of money, enough to buy another place with room to build a small temple of my own. Before my mind could come to grips with the consequences of selling my grandmother's home, he continued. "The only condition is that you can't open another Voodoo store or business or practice in the City of New Orleans."

"Thank you for the offer. It is very generous, but I'm not interested." That was easy. It would have been hard selling the home I grew up in, but I couldn't and wouldn't give up practicing Vodou. The burning peacock on my arm reinforced my decision. I almost laughed at the thought that the Loa agreed with me, but I did smile, which turned his smile to a frown. He recovered quickly. Again, that funny smile which said he had a secret I didn't know. It made me shudder.

"Yes, very generous. If you change your mind, you can reach me at this number." He handed me a card with the name Harold and a telephone number—strange—no last name or business name. He nodded and left the store.

I laughed. I was hoping for something to pass the time and distract me and that certainly qualified. Why would anyone offer a million dollars for this building? It was too small for a reasonable sized bar, nightclub or restaurant. Probably large enough for a jewelry or other high-end merchandise shop, but if that were the case, why the condition that I not practice Voodoo in the city. It couldn't be because of competition since there were several other Voodoo shops in the immediate vicinity. Rather than a diversion, it was quickly becoming another thing to worry about.

Two more days passed in slow motion, and I decided to visit Mambo Monique. Maybe she would have some information about Harold or some idea as to why he'd want the property. When I arrived, she looked to be getting ready to close for the day.

"Good evening, Renee. Come in, child and I'll make you a cup of tea, and we can talk if you wish. You look worried," she said as she closed and locked the door. She reached out and took my hands in hers. "Come with me—"

I screamed in horror as I watched Monique's life scroll before me in fast-forward and her shop exploded in fire and engulfed her in flames. She looked to be screaming as her clothes became a mass of flame. Then she fell onto the burning floor.

I fell to my knees, gagging, acid rising in my throat until I threw up, again and again. Monique knelt holding me around the shoulders. I cried, moaned, and tears streaked down my face, dripping onto the mess on the floor.

"Poison? Have you eaten or drunk anything recently?" she asked with a sense of urgency and concern in her voice.

"No!" I shouted as the scene replayed itself in slow motion. I saw the store window break, glass flying inward around the room. A bottle with a flaming rag stuffed in its neck hit the floor and shattered only a few feet from Monique. The liquid sprayed onto her as it burst into flames. In an instant, her clothes were blazing, and she was screaming as she tried to rip them off. But it didn't matter. By then, the entire room was ablaze. She collapsed, and mercifully, the images stopped.

"Come, child." She lifted me to my feet and helped carry me into the back room and laid me on her couch.

"Your couch, I'm..." Covered in puke I wanted to say, but my throat was scorched raw, and I suddenly felt too weak to talk. She ignored me.

"Don't talk, child. Just lay there and rest." She sat on the floor with her arm around me. I must have mercifully fallen asleep because when I returned to consciousness the room was bathed in gray shadows from the street lights and passing cars. Monique must have sensed I had woken because she felt my head as she rose.

"Stay there and rest. I'll make some hot tea with herbs to settle your stomach."

"I need to clean—"

"No, Renee. Clean yourself up if you want. It may make you feel better. Go in my closet and get yourself something to change into." She pointed towards an adjoining room with a multi-colored cloth hanging in the doorway. I rose, feeling unsteady, and slowly made my way to her small bathroom, stripped, and cleaned myself. My mind felt dead. Then I walked into her bedroom and found a narrow closet and stood staring at the articles hanging there, not sure what I was seeing or looking for. I shook my head to clear it and tried to focus. Eventually, I selected a green and orange muumuu, which went to my ankles, and returned to the living room.

"Feel better?" she asked, waving me to a chair next to a table where a cup of steaming tea sat. When I looked around, the couch had been cleaned.

"I don't stink anymore. I'm sorry about..."

"The floor and things can be clean. It's you we must worry about. It does not appear you were poisoned, and you don't look or feel feverish. Can you tell me what's wrong?" She wasn't insisting, just asking if I wanted to talk about it. I did and I didn't. What was I going to say? You're going to be burned to death. How do I know? I'm a seer, which whoever is planning this will know when you're not. I felt the peacock heating up. Yes, I know, I mentally said to the Loa—if it wasn't just my over-active imagination. I couldn't do anything, and Monique wasn’t going to buy into "I see a black cloud over you on such-and-such a date, and you need to leave town" crap.

"I had a man come into my shop a few days ago and offer to buy it for a million dollars." Maybe this wasn't related to Ken and Sheila. I don't do fortunetelling for mambos, so how would I know what would happen to her. And no one has threatened to hurt anyone I know if I didn't cooperate.

"That's a lot of money. Would you consider selling?"

"I don't think I could sell Granny's home."

"And he had conditions," she said. When I nodded, she continued. "Yes, several of us have had similar offers. I think a few of the fakes will accept, and others might, except for the condition that they stop practicing Vodou. But that's not what upset you." A statement, not a question. I needed time to think, although it wasn’t going to change anything. I had to tell her something.

"No." That was all I could manage, still struggling with the problem.

"They want the Voodoo people gone from their city, and this is their first attempt. Some will leave, but the real mambos and houngans are unlikely to leave. So threats will come next, and then what you saw."

My head jerked up. She knew.

"I suspected you had inherited or was given your grandmother's gift. Although we were extremely close friends, Eshe never told me the exact nature of that gift, but I knew she could see into the future with some clarity. You saw an attack on me. And judging from your reaction, it wasn't nice." Her eyes were sad. I'd bet more for me than her.

"Yes."

"Enough, drink your tea. You need time to think about what you can or wish to tell me, and now is not the time to make such a decision. I imagine it can wait a few days."

"Yes." I was numb. I had to tell her something but what? She was right. I needed time to think, not only about Monique but my life. "Thank you, Mambo Monique. I'm sorry, but you are right. I do need time to think." I had reached a crossroad and must choose a direction.

* * *

I didn't open for business for the next two days. I spent the days cleaning my shop: taking items off the shelves, washing, and rearranging them, taking inventory, and making gris-gris bags and Voodoo dolls. In the evenings, I wandered the streets enjoying the sights, sounds, and smells of the French Quarter where I had grown up and which I loved. Later, I found myself near Jackson Square and spent hours in Saint Louis Cathedral, sometimes praying and sometimes seeking the peace of a quiet mind free of conflict.

The morning of the third day, I opened the shop on time, not free of worry but resolved to meet my problems head on. I believed in God and his messengers, the Loa, who had given me a gift to use. So long as I lived, I would not abuse it by permitting it to be used to commit acts of evil or by refusing to use it to help people. The thought made the area of peacock tattoo tingle as if in agreement or maybe I hadn't gotten enough sleep lately. I laughed. It didn't matter which.

The shop was busy, the day went by quickly, and I made a good profit. After closing, I washed and dressed all in white, a tignon on my head, a blouse and flared skirt with a red wrap at the waist. I felt free. A half hour later I knocked at Monique's door. A few minutes later she opened the door and stood appraising me.

"You look rested...and at peace. Come in, Mambo Renee, and join me for a meal if you wish." She smiled and stepped back for me to enter.

"I'd like that, Mambo Asogwe Monique," I replied, acknowledging her seniority.

"I've some crawfish étouffée heating on the stove."

"If it isn't too much trouble. What I have to say will take time," I said, still not sure what I was going to say, only knowing she had to know she would die unless... While we ate, Monique made small talk about Vodou and the balance between being a priestess and having to support one's self. After we finished and she made some tea, I knew it was time.

"Yes, I have Mambo Eshe's gift for seeing the future of anyone I come in physical contact with. She died because of that gift. An unknown group was trying to force her to do something. I don't know what they wanted her to do." My eyes misted and my heart sped up at the thought of her having to die because of someone's attempt to play God.

"She was a great Mambo Asogwe, and a true Voodoo Queen," Monique said, her voice cracking. "So, when I grabbed your hands..."

"Yes, I saw you burned to death."

"There are worse ways to go, Renee. I assume it's related to the people who offered to buy me out and want us all gone. But is that related to Eshe?" She seemed resigned to her fate. I had told her what would happen, so that was that. "What are you going to do?"

"You don't have to die!" I screamed. Now tears flowed freely.

"I see," she said quietly. "That is why Eshe had to die. She could change the future, and that is why they stalk you. To find out if you can. Yes, both a gift and a curse from the Loa. What do you intend to do?"

"Save you!"

"Dangerous, is it not?"

"I don't care. Granny trusted me with the gift. I will not dishonor her or her memory."

"Ah, passed along the female bloodline. The Loa chose well." She nodded as if agreeing with herself or the Loa. "Again, what do you want to do?"

"I know when and how but not who. If possible, I would like to be able to catch whoever is behind the treachery, without them knowing how we did it. But stopping them is more important than keeping my secret."

"No, keeping your secret is more important than my life." She held up her hand to stop me from replying. "Let us not waste the Loa's gift unnecessarily. Let us see what we can work on over the next...?"

"Eleven days."

"Good, we have time and need not rush to a hasty decision. If I'm not the first, maybe the police will get involved and give us a chance to help them in their investigation." She smiled and patted my hand. "Age teaches patience, my child. Maybe the Loa will decide to help." This time she laughed.

* * *

I woke with a start, realizing today was the day Ms. Jeffery was scheduled to meet with me. I laughed, careful what you wish for, you may get it. I had wanted a distraction to stop worrying about Ellen and what would happen, got it, and wished I hadn't. It was the trouble with my gift. I could cause the future to change, but did it result in a better future for everyone? I could see some of the consequences but certainly not the entire ripple effect.

Fortunately, it was another busy day and time passed quickly. When Ellen was late, I began to worry that something had gone wrong. Ellen had taken some unexpected action that changed the future I had seen—like not wearing the ring when her stalker arrived, or...

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."

CHAPTER ELEVEN

FBI involvement

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."

CHAPTER TWELVE

Revised plans

Sheila quietly strode down the Windsor Court Hotel hallway and stopped at the door marked 1201. She gave the hallway one last look and knocked. A few seconds later, Tony answered the door and smiled.

"Right on time, Ms. Sheila. Come in." He stepped back, and she entered the room, which looked exactly the same as the previous time. Mr. Willis even sat in the same looking chair with a cigar.

"Sheila, get whatever you want from the bar and join me. I'm interested in what you have to say. She walked to the small bar, poured herself a ginger ale, and returned to the couch.

"As I told you the other day, if Renee is a seer, then Ken has been compromised along with you and me. We don't know how far out she can see, or if she can hear us, but we have to assume she could have seen everything Ken saw and did. Consequently, our plan to test her has to be changed. It can't have our fingerprints on it, or she will most likely let it happen."

"I agree. You and I have come to the same conclusion. We must assume she can see into the future and act accordingly. Therefore, the object is to prove she has her grandmother's ability. Given that, what do you suggest?"

"I have a contact who fronts for an anonymous assassin. This assassin is expensive but one hundred percent reliable. He's an artist and can make the killing look like whatever the client wants—accident, revenge, road rage, mugger, stalker..."

"Yes, and I can send you and Ken on separate assignments, just in case Renee could see this far ahead. Give the illusion you're still snooping." He took a deep drag on his cigar and exhaled with obvious pleasure. "How long?"

"I'd think at least three weeks. One to arrange a contract with his intermediate and one or two weeks for him to scout the person, their environment, and decide on when and where."

"Arrange it. When you've arranged the contract, tell Tony, and he'll see you get the money you need. If this works, there will be a generous bonus for you." He sat quietly for several minutes before speaking. "Tell Ken I want him to find her mother. She's an addict and can be made to tell him everything about her daughter. Tell him I'm sending you to her old college to track down anyone she was close to."

"The mother sounds like a good idea."

"It isn't. I contacted her over a year ago. She's a true addict. She birthed Renee and gave her over to her mother to care for. I doubt she's seen her daughter more than two months in the past twenty years. She'd be lucky to remember the color of her daughter's eyes or hair."

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

An anonymous tip

The next day, I called the number Grace had on her agent's card.

"Agent Casey, speaking." A confident soprano voice answered.

"Good morning, Grace. This is Renee, I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"No, we’re just sitting around drinking coffee hoping someone will call and give us something to do." She laughed. "Sorry, Renee, I couldn't resist, although we are sitting here drinking coffee. And we're discussing the situation in the French Quarter, hoping someone will give us a lead." She laughed again. "I think I've had too much coffee. What can I do for you?"

"Then I may be able to help. I have some information. Could y’all come down and see me?"

"Right away. Are you at your shop?"

"Yes, I'll be here all day. I'm sitting here hoping customers will come and buy something so I can afford to buy food." I laughed.

"Be there in an hour," she said and hung up. Several customers did come in, and a couple bought some small souvenirs. I was in the process of talking to one older man about herbs for headaches when Grace arrived with Mike. She nodded towards me and then began walking around looking at the merchandise. Mike stood looking at the books on Voodoo and herbs.

"Sir, I can mix up some herbs that will help, and they aren't addictive."

"How much," he asked, looking suspicious. I didn't take it personally. There were enough scams even from respectable firms to justify people's paranoia.

"Ten dollars. A spoon full in a cup of hot tea is best, but you can mix it with water. There will be about thirty or so spoon fills in the bag."

"That's a lot cheaper than the pharmacy. Does it work? Hell, at that price, what do I have to lose? If it works, you’re my new druggist. I assume you have a website?" He smiled.

"No, sir. I don't, but that is an excellent idea. I'll give you my card. If you want more, drop me a line. Just ask for headache herbs and enclose a check."

He nodded, took his bag, and left. When he did Mike was first to the counter.

"I'll take some of that, given it's not illegal," he said with a lopsided grin as Grace joined us.

"No, just old fashioned remedies before the pharmaceutical companies turned them into pills and added chemicals to ruin your liver, kidneys, and stomach." I grinned back. "Give me a minute," I said as I went to the door and turned the sign to Closed. "Come in the back. Have some sweet tea or a Coke while we talk." They nodded, so I got the tea pitcher out as they surveyed the room.

"I don't know if it's an advantage or disadvantage to have your work and living space together. Hard to get away from work," Mike said, looking around the room. "And it is small...and cozy," he quickly added.

"How much rent or mortgage do you pay, Mike?"

"There is that. Probably more than you pay for this building." He laughed. After I placed the tea and glasses of ice and lemon slices on the table, I sat. "I have information collected from several sources that indicates Mambo Monique's place will be firebombed later this week," I began.

"From whom?" Mike asked, while Grace studied me. "We need to talk to them."

"They don't want to be directly involved. Too many times people get involved and it results in them being hurt. Not your fault," I added quickly. "The law is complex, and the guilty are not always punished, and the government can't protect everyone they should forever. I'd like to ask you to trust me, but I know you don't know me well enough." I shrugged, waiting for some feedback from Grace, as she was the senior agent and would be responsible. She said nothing for a while.

"What have you learned," Grace asked with a slight frown.

"Most people ignore the 'help' like they don't exist and are not careful around them. And even in a restaurant, everyone is talking so no one is listening, unless you mention the word mambo or houngan. We have a large population who practice Vodou and anything concerning a priest or priestess is worth hearing. When it's someone like Mambo Asogwe Monique, everyone listens." I stopped to take a sip of tea, waiting to see her reaction as I built up a plausible explanation for what I was about to tell them. "Collectively, it indicates someone is going to firebomb Mambo Monique's shop after she closes. Most likely towards the weekend, and most likely on motorcycles."

"Do you have their names and addresses," Mike blurted out and gave a sheepish smile.

"That is a lot of information and highly specific from overhearing conversations. We would obviously like to talk to the same people and see if we draw the same conclusions," Grace said, giving me a hard look. "But you say that's impossible?"

"Yes."

"Why not contact the police?"

"I suspect they would patrol the area, which would be relying on luck. I don't want to trust Mambo Monique's life to luck."

"If it's after hours, Mambo Monique's life shouldn't be in danger," Mike said.

"Like me, she lives in the back of her shop. Where will the Molotov cocktail land? Where will she be at that time? How fast will fire spread?"

"So, you’re suggesting a stakeout that is capable of stopping the incident," Grace said.

"Do you have a better idea?"

"No, I don't, but committing resources on vague rumors..."

"Well, I'd wager my store on that vague rumor rather than chance Mambo Monique losing her home and maybe her life," I said in frustration, tears clouding my eyes.

"I'll talk to the area director and see if he'll approve it."

* * *

I felt relieved after they left. Maybe if they caught the paid help, it might lead to information that would get the FBI closer to the people responsible. Probably not, I conceded in frustration. The rest of the day dragged by as I waited to close my shop and go see Monique to see if her future had changed. I closed on time, washed, and hurried out the door towards the Serpent House of Voodoo. It seemed to take forever, longer because Harry Bishop stopped me to tell me that Ms. Jeffery had thanked him for recommending me. Jeffery, judging by Bishop's remarks, had been extremely discreet, in fact, had lied, saying she had been concerned about a friend.

When I reached Monique's shop, it was still open with two customers talking with her. I walked around the shop while I waited for them to leave. The most notable thing was the absence of things "made in China" and abundance of hand-made and Haitian items. When they left, I couldn't wait. I walked over to her and held out my hands. As she held mine, her new future scrolled by.

"Damn. Damn," I growled, my face twisting in anger.

"What's wrong, Renee? Not the result you hoped for?" She took me by the shoulder and walked me into the back room, sat me down, and then went about heating up something. I was too upset to care.

"I talked to the FBI agent investigating the incident with Houngan Bolade. She's the wife of an old friend of mine, and we've had dinner together, so she knows me. I made up a plausible story about how I obtained information about a possible firebombing here. She said she'd talk to her director about a stakeout. She obviously did." I shook my head, still angry.

"That's good, isn't it?"

"No. Whoever she told or they told has gotten back to the people responsible, and the firebombing has been called off. They are going to bomb the House of Eshe."

"How do you know? I thought you told me you couldn't see your future."

"I can't. I saw you standing in front of my burnt out shop, crying."

"Oh, no! You've shifted the danger from me to you." She patted my hand, clearly distressed. "Were you killed?"

I didn't say anything. I pulled out my cell and dialed the number Grace had given me for their home. After a few rings, Grace answered. "Yes?"

"Grace, it's Renee."

"Good, I was just about to call you, the director—"

"I know," I interrupted. "And whoever he talked to has called off the attack on Mambo Monique. They have a new target." No sense saying it was me. She had gone out on a limb for me, and it had backfired in her face. Even if she believed me, the people responsible had a strong connection to the FBI bureau here in New Orleans. There was a long silence.

"How do you know—so quickly?"

"I'm sorry I got you involved, Grace. You tried to help, and you will suffer for it. You can't trust me anymore, and I can't trust the bureau. I'm sorry and hope in time you'll forgive me." I hung up.

"What do you plan to do now?" Monique asked.

"I don't know. Buy a darned good fire extinguisher." I laughed. Changing the future wasn't as simple as it sounded. But I had saved Monique's life, and it was worth it no matter what happened. Monique fed me and although concerned couldn't really do or say anything to help. On the way home, I walked slowly trying to think but unable. My mind felt numb. I passed two Locos, who looked my way but said nothing. Normally, they would have at the very least made all sorts of vulgar remarks and might even have approached and groped me. I seemed to be in a cycle of solving one problem and getting a new one in exchange. I wished I could take the million dollars, if the offer was real, and leave. No, I don't, I quickly conceded. I love New Orleans, being a mambo, helping people, and living in the home where I grew up. Young or old, I knew I would die here.

* * *

I had two days until the firebomb incident would occur, so I kept the shop closed the next day, and went shopping. Thank the Loa for the money Jeffery had given me. I purchased three, ten pound, ABC fire extinguishers, five rolls of fiberglass insulation, and rented something close to a fireman's outfit. I brought my purchases in the back door to avoid any talk. The next day I opened for business as usual, with slightly less inventory. I had moved half of my more expensive inventory to the back room. The rest I would move when I closed, which would be two hours early. I had determined the approximate time of the attack by watching Monique's future and observing the gathered people as she stood in front of the broken window of my shop. I estimated it was an hour or so from the time I normally closed—around six, so I'd close around four to give me extra time to setup.

It was a slow day, so around two I began moving some stuff to the back and storing them in the cardboard boxes I had purchased. Last night I had packed Granny's books and notes, and anything I considered irreplaceable into two boxes, which if necessary I could drag out the back door to safety.

Around three thirty, Grace walked into the shop, without Mike.

"Hello, Renee. I informed the director that my informant had heard the attack would be called off. He didn't blame me, so you didn't get me in any sort of trouble, and I'm not upset with you. Mambo Monique is an important person in your life. How did you find out...what are you doing? Are you going somewhere?" she said, looking into the backroom through the half open door.

"No, just rearranging things," I replied, trying to sound casual. She strode to the door and opened it. The shock on her face was priceless. I guess it was the fire extinguishers or the fireman-like suit.

"What's going on, Renee? It looks like... You think...know... They’ve switched targets from Monique to you. How? Why didn't you tell me?" She shook her head like a dog out of water. "Of course, you couldn't. You knew I wouldn't take you seriously, and even if I did, you feel there is a leak in the bureau."

I nodded agreement. "Sorry. You did what you could, and it's saved Monique. That's what was important."

"But you? How can you be so certain?" she asked, sticking her head into the room.

"Grace, you trusted me and did everything you could to help, so I wish I could tell you, but I can't. I'm sorry." I liked Grace and was truly sorry I had pulled her into this mess. I might be able to change the future, but I couldn't change the past.

"I can't call the bureau." She laughed. "They can't respond this fast even if I had the authority, and if you are right. It would negate all your careful planning. I'm staying. If for no other reason than curiosity and to help if I can."

"Please, no. I'll never forgive myself if you were injured. You don't have the proper clothing."

"I'll help you prepare, and I'll stay out of the way. Promise."

"All right." What else could I say? It might help in the future if she saw the threat was real, and she could trust my rumors.

Around four, I hung a sign on the window "closed for inventory." And with Grace's help, began moving merchandise to the back and packing them in boxes. By five we had all the valuables removed from the shelves, and I began laying fiberglass along the walls, thinking to keep any gasoline that splashed from igniting the cabinets or walls. Then I covered the floor.

"Why the floor?" Grace asked after we had finished, and I had warmed up some leftover chicken gumbo.

"Maybe, if I'm lucky, the bottle won't break. If it does, the gas won't spread as much, and it should reduce the intensity of the flames." I carried the food into the shop, and we ate off the counter. I wanted to be prepared, since I didn't know the exact time. Grace was discussing how she decided to join the FBI, and her initial training at Quantico, when the window shattered, and seconds later a bottle with a flaming rag flew through the window, hit the floor, and burst into flames. I already had my fire extinguisher spraying the area.

"Grace, get in the back," I yelled. She didn't. Instead, she grabbed the other extinguisher and began spraying. With the two of us, it was out in less than a minute and, except for the floor and the window, with no other damage.

"I didn’t honestly believe you, Renee. I stayed for support." She put her arm around me, and I could see her future. Since the last ceremony, my gift had gotten stronger, and I could see Grace in charge of a taskforce. I had zoomed past her time at home—the bedroom activity and such.

"Quick, let's get this fiberglass insulation in the back room. The police are going to be here soon, and I don't want anyone to know I was prepared for this. It was fortunate you were here to interview me when the firebomb came through the window. Thanks to you, there is little damage, and I didn’t get hurt."

"You want me to take credit—"

"Yes, please. I'll explain later." I grabbed several pieces of the fiberglass cloth as I fled into the back to change out of my outfit and help clear the rest. Sirens were wailing in the distance as we finished removing the fiberglass, and not long afterward, people began collecting in front of the broken window.

"Anyone hurt in there," a man's voice called. Before I could answer the door opened, and two firemen followed by a policeman rushed in.

"Y’all all right?" the oldest fireman, asked looking around. "Looks like we're too late. You seem to have everything under control. Lucky, judging by the broken bottle on the floor."

"Someone threw that through your window?" the policeman asked. Two others were peering through the door.

"Yes, I was fortunate. FBI Agent Casey had stopped by to ask me some questions. Her quick thinking saved my life and my shop."

"FBI?"

"Yes, I believe the FBI will be taking over this case as this appears to be an organized operation against shop owners in the French Quarter." Grace did most of the talking to the policemen, and it didn't take long to get rid of them. She called her director to tell him what happened, reluctantly taking credit for saving me. By then Monique entered through the back entrance. Grace then called her husband.

"Ron, we're having a party at Renee's shop. A working party. Put on some work clothes, pick up a thick four-by-eight plywood board, po-boys, beignets, and coffee for four, and come on down." She laughed and hung up. "I'm terrible."

Ron showed up about an hour later with everything Grace had asked for. She spent an hour assuring him she was all right and that it was her idea to stay, not mine. I think it was the first time Ron had come to grips with the realization that his wife, unlike him, whose most confrontational day would be a heated discussion, would have confrontations with criminals who used guns. We finished around three a.m. I went to bed knowing I had made the right decisions.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The Committee

Willis sat watching his monitor screen as the boxes slowly appeared. Black was last.

"Good evening. I'm sure most if not all of you have heard the latest news. If not, the group who is attempting to remove the Voodoo shops, mambos, and houngans from New Orleans almost killed your golden goose." Willis took a long inhale of his cigar as he waited for a response. Red's smiley face was first to respond.

"She wasn't hurt. Even her shop looked to have sustained only minor damage."

"That is true, Mr. Red. But what would have happened if another person hadn't been there to help, or if she hadn't happened to have fire extinguishers in her shop and home, or if the bottle had exploded at her feet, or if it had landed behind her and she couldn't reach her back door, or if she decides to leave town and doesn't leave a forwarding address?" Willis sat back and took a satisfying drag on his cigar.

"This project is far more important than the local yokels' petty concerns. Black can you correct the problem—quickly?" Blue's smiley face said, sounding angry.

"Consider it done," Black's smiley face responded.

"Wait. I might be able to stop any further action until...it's safe to proceed," Red said. "But you may already have your proof. Didn’t she contact the FBI about an attack on that Monique woman. And she was prepared for the attack on her own shop? Isn't that proof enough to take her into custody...for safekeeping?

"I'm not sure," Orange sounded confused. "She claimed she had heard rumors from several people which indicated a firebombing after hours on the weekend. Our yokels hired some gang, so it's possible. Or it could have been another mambo or houngan who told her. Her grandmother had the ability. Isn't it possible another Voodoo priest or priestess does, also? And there is no indication she knew the attack was coming. The FBI agent stopped in to question her as part of the investigation of the robbery-murder. She was taking an inventory at the time. Doesn't seem to fit with preparing for a firebombing since there was only one FBI agent in the shop and none outside."

"What if I can persuade them to leave her alone?" Red asked.

"The yokels hired some biker gang to shoot the houngan and to do the firebombing. What if she is with the next victim? Do they know the Renee woman, or can they recognize her? Do you think they care who gets injured or killed in the process of carrying out the yokel’s terror tactics? These aren't professionals they've hired. They are thugs, addicts, and don't-give-a-damn kids," Willis said, unable to contain himself.

"Willis is correct. In addition, we need to be certain before we grab her. If we act prematurely, we may expose us and our project. Red, we will give you one day to stop the yokels altogether. You will report back tomorrow evening with a decisive yes or no. In the meantime, Black, you should prepare to fix the problem tomorrow if Red hasn't resolved it by the time we meet," Blue snapped.

"I may not—"

Blue cut him off, "Tomorrow, Black."

"Tomorrow," Black agreed.

"When will we know?" Blue asked.

"Given that someone doesn't kill Renee or put her in the hospital, within three weeks."

"One way or the other, the yokel problem is solved. We will meet again at eight p.m. tomorrow, and we'll want an update from you in two weeks from today." The Blue's smiley face laughed, and the boxes blanked out one at a time. Willis wondered again for the hundredth time who was behind the smiley faces. He was sure Black was in the business of killing and had the resources to find anyone. Could be FBI, CIA, or some black ops group. Blue was clearly the group leader, someone already in a position of power. Red was an idealist. Some right wing group and had links to the group wanting the Voodoo image eliminated. Orange was probably linked to government security since he knew the specifics of Renee's injuries or lack thereof. Brown was hard to figure as he or she said little. Probably the master mind, willing to sit back and watch the others implement his scheme.

The most intriguing question was: what was the scheme they intended to hatch? It was unlikely to be a money motive, more likely power, but for what purpose? They had an agenda, that he was sure of. But what? Maybe an attack against America? He shrugged. He didn't really care. His agenda was the comfortable life that their money would provide. And this project would provide enough to last a lifetime—given he could keep from becoming a loose end for Black.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Fire sale

Thankfully, the next several days were busy, which gave me little time to worry. I painted "House of Eshe - Fire Sale" on the plywood board covering the broken window and had tagged most everything in the shop with a sale tag, reducing the price somewhere between five and ten percent. Ironically, I had constant traffic all day and sales were excellent. At this rate, I'd run out of inventory in a week. That was good because replacing the window wasn't cheap, and I'd spent several hundred preparing for the firebombing. In addition, I was having a website developed through a friend of Mr. Bishop. Of course, problems seldom resolve themselves, or go away because you aren't paying attention, or wait until you're ready to deal with them.

It was near noon when Hector entered the shop and my collection of worries returned.

"Mambo Renee, the Locos had nothing to do with the firebombing," he said somewhat nervously. When I nodded, he continued. "Could you give me a telling, maybe tonight?"

"Seven o'clock?" What could I say? I walked a knife's edge with the Locos. I didn't want to be their friend, and I didn't want to be their enemy. I was shooting for neutral, but that seemed impossible. I closed on time, had a quick dinner of leftovers, and changed into more traditional dress, not to impress Hector but to remind him I was a powerful Mambo. I also added two rings with mixtures that would end our relationship permanently. Hector showed right on time and was alone, which I took as a good sign.

"Come in and have a seat." I waved to the table in the corner. He nodded, took a seat, and put his hands on the table.

"Mambo, the Locos didn't firebomb your shop," he said in a rush. "It was a biker group out of Westwego, The Damned. We'll go visit them, if you want."

"No, Hector. I know it wasn't you or any of your gang. The FBI is conducting an investigation, so you don't want to get involved."

"No, Mambo." He nodded and looked relieved. With that resolved, I put my hands over his and closed my eyes. My new power had me fascinated. I could speed up through the uninteresting parts, like Hector and his gang drinking and screwing and passing out, slow down where I was interested, even stop and back up. I almost forgot Hector was there and probably turning pale as time passed. I had lingered over a fight between Hector and Madman. It had lasted what seemed like an eternity, with the gang members and girls screaming and cheering them on. They were both bloody and their clothes torn. Hector was favoring his right side. Madman had probably broken a rib or two in addition to his nose and maybe knocked loose some teeth. Eventually, Hector went to his knees. Madman grabbed him by the neck and hit him over and over again. Eventually, he let go and encouraged the gang to kick and stomp Hector as he lay unconscious on the floor. Hector lay in bed for the next five days, until Madman forced him up and used him to fetch and carry. Through Hector I could see the mayhem Madman was causing, kidnapping girls and having them gang raped, stealing from merchants, and vandalizing those who wouldn't give him what he demanded. It seemed everyone was too terrified to even get the police involved. Eventually they would, but in the meantime lives were being destroyed.

"Looks pretty normal couple of weeks: drugs, girls, and good drug sales." The police would like to know what I know. "I know you're a good fighter, but I see this really big guy maybe picking a fight with you. If you aren't careful, you'll lose...everything." I could feel Hector's hands begin to tighten into fists and then relax. We sat in silence. Over the next few minutes, I saw the fight scene change as Hector slipped something solid into each hand and the blows to Madman seemed to be having more impact, then suddenly two punches with the side of the fist to Madman's temple caused him to collapse like a wet rag. Slowing down the action, I saw the objects in Hector's hands, which were obscured by his fists. They extended out an inch or so from his fists and were what made the contact with Madman's temple. When I removed my hands, Hector had a slight smile.

"Thank you, Mambo Renee," he said, dropping a hundred dollar bill on the table, and left. I felt justified in helping Hector only because Madman would be worse for everyone—he was insane.

* * *

Around noon the next day, Grace and Mike entered, and I decided to take a break.

"Hi, if y’all will make yourselves comfortable in the back, I'll close for lunch as soon as I get a chance." About thirty minutes later the last customer left, and I locked the door and hung an "Out for lunch - Back at 1:30" sign in the window.

"Sorry, it took so long, but my fire sale has brought in a lot of customers," I said, taking a seat in front of the sweet tea Grace had poured for me while they waited. "Business or other?"

"Grace is not only a hero, but she's gotten a promotion. She's now the lead agent on the taskforce looking into organized crime in the French Quarter."

"Congratulations. That's wonderful," I said. Having her as the lead would make it easier to involve the FBI—I hoped.

"Thank you." She gave me a wry smile. She obviously wasn't comfortable taking credit for saving me. She'd done it reluctantly not only because I had insisted, but because she sensed I would be in danger otherwise. "Ron and I would like to invite you for dinner tomorrow...if you’re free." The hesitation meant it was more than a social invitation, more like a polite insistence.

"I would enjoy that. Tomorrow night at…?"

"How about seven?" She took out a card, wrote something on the back and handed it to me. "Here is our address. Do you need a ride? I know you don't have a car."

"No, but thank you. It's not far from here. Tomorrow at seven," I said scanning the address. 1201 Canal Street was an upscale condo complex and only a little over a mile away. I was sure my behavior lately had raised many unanswered questions. Asking me to dinner would allow her to question me without another agent present, who might cause me to be less than truthful—lie. They left shortly afterward.

* * *

When I knocked, Ron answered the door. "Renee, I'm glad you could come. I was hoping we could meet for dinner sooner, but the new job has made me unsure when I'll be home. Grace's invitation forced me to make time, and I'm glad. She's in the kitchen preparing something. While we're waiting, why don't I show you around?" he said, and proceeded to give me a tour of their two bedroom condo. It was on the fourth floor and had a beautiful view in the direction of the French Quarter. The Canal condos were an up-scale complex with concierge and valet service. Grace was still in the kitchen when we finished, but she had drinks and snacks on the granite counter separating the kitchen and living area.

"I hope you don't mind the informal dress?" When I shook my head, she pointed to the counter. She had on an oversized, white T-shirt with a dragon design in the front, black workout pants, and slippers. "What would you like to drink?"

I couldn’t help but wonder if that were on purpose: we’re all friends here or just her natural unpretentious way. Ron was dressed in beige Docker slacks, brown loafers, and a green, short-sleeved Polo shirt. .

"Coke," I said and picked up a cracker and spread a creamy cheese dip on it.

"You don't drink alcohol? I thought you had wine last time we ate out."

"Now and then, mostly so I don't make anyone uncomfortable," I said, deciding to be truthful. I suspected a lot of that would be required tonight.

During dinner, Ron talked about his job and responsibilities at the new firm. His area of expertise was criminal law, and he already had several clients: one embezzlement, one drunk driving, and one manslaughter. He couldn't talk about his clients but could talk about the organization within the firm.

"I know people get upset with defense lawyers because we get criminals off and let them run loose on our streets," Ron said, after describing some of the cases the firm was currently handling. "That may be true. But the same people would be happy we are there if they were in trouble. We can't just sentence people based on what we think, assume, or believe. The law needs to convince a jury of our peers beyond a reasonable doubt. Yes, some bad guys go free, but there are fewer innocent people in jail or on death row."

I nodded thoughtfully. "But you have to admit the rich get better lawyers, like you, and therefore are more likely to get off or do less time," I said, thinking about those who drove Granny to kill herself.

"That's true. It certainly isn't a perfect system, but it's what we have and better than many other countries."

"Sorry, Ron. It's not your fault, and your job is to make sure each person gets a fair trial, not to help criminals." I smiled, hoping he didn't take my earlier remarks personally. Before he could respond, Grace stood.

"Let's take our coffee and go sit in the living room." When we were seated, she continued. "Well, Renee. You know I had a motive for inviting you here." She held up her hand. "Ron and I want to continue our relationship with you and have been planning to ask you over, but our new jobs have kept us hopping. Ron's having to work overtime to make a good impression with his new firm, and me with the incidents in the French Quarter. Since I sensed you wouldn't say anything with another agent present, I thought this an excellent opportunity to have you over as a friend and to talk to you privately about what is happening in the French Quarter—off the record. I know this is a little unfair, but..."

"You're right. I wouldn't talk about the situation in front of Mike or any other agent. The problem is that it raises more questions than I can answer truthfully—how did I know, what did I hear, who were they, and where can we find them, etc. A good example is my information about the firebombing of Mambo Monique," I said and waited. Grace looked like she was dying to say something but didn't. "I’ll help as much as I can, but you cannot expect me to divulge the source of my information. If pressed, I will either avoid the question or lie. For example, how did I know Mambo Monique was going to be firebombed, or that it was called off, or that I was the next target, or how I know the motorcycle gang called 'The Damned' are responsible for killing Houngan Bolade and the firebombing?"

"You know who committed the robbery and fire..." Grace stared at me. I'd bet her mind was racing with options, accusations, threats, and pleas. "We can protect you, Renee."

I couldn't help it. I laughed, which didn't go over well. "Grace, I know you mean it and believe that you can. But the FBI couldn't even keep the stakeout a secret, so how could I expect them to keep my name, involvement, or location a secret? The problem isn't what you believe it to be. You want the truth, Grace? The truth is that what I know and how I know it is my death sentence. Even the Loa couldn't and wouldn't stop it." They didn't stop Granny. Tears formed in my eyes at the thought. A long unnatural silence followed.

"I will try to help you with the French Quarter problem, when I can. It's where I live, and I have dear friends there. I'd be willing to risk my life to save them, but, ironically, risking my life won't help."

"But..." Grace started, shook her head, and decided to take a sip of coffee. Ron sat staring at me deep in thought—lawyer mode. Grace put her cup down.

"You have my head spinning. I thought you were protecting people who didn't want to get involved. It’s certainly common enough in certain communities. Or were afraid to say for fear of your life, and I hoped you would share, at least, more details about what you or they heard, where, and when. But I seemed to have stereotyped you and the problem."

"Yes, I think so, Grace," Ron said, looking amused. "My friend is like her beloved Voodoo, not what one's first impression tells you."

"Renee, I think I owe you an apology. No more questions. I'll trust you will tell me what and when you can."

"Thank you, both of you. Sometimes I wish I could run away, get lost, disappear. But I can't without abandoning Vodou. And I won't do that regardless of the consequences.

* * *

The following week I was flooded with fortunetelling appointments. Oatha had her regular bi-weekly appointment and looked her normal cheerful self when she arrived.

"Good evening, Oatha. You look well," I said as I opened the door.

"I am. I guess I shouldn't say that and jinx it. But I have a good husband and two lovely children and my health seems good except for a normal cold or allergy," she said as she took off the light rain jacket she was wearing. It had rained heavy early in the day, but now it had become a drizzle.

"Do you have time for tea?" I asked. I always suspected Oatha liked to sit and tell me about her life as much as she wanted her fortune told. The water was already hot in anticipation, and it only took a few minutes to make the tea.

"Thank you," she said, taking a small sip. "It's terrible what’s been happening. Houngan Bolade killed, and you firebombed. I heard someone has been trying to buy you out. And I guess scare you if you won't sell. Are you leaving?"

"No. This is not only my shop but my home."

"I hear you've been having a fire sale, but it doesn't look like you suffered much damage," she said, surveying the shop.

"I was lucky. I had a couple of fire extinguishers lying around, and an agent was here when it happened. Between the two of us, we put the fire out before it could do much damage." We spent another half hour talking before she smiled and put her hands palm down on the table.

"Thank you, Renee. I always enjoy talking with you. It's been interesting learning about Vodou since its roots are in Catholicism. I'm ready for all the good news."

I put my hands over hers hoping she was right. I usually only told people about the next couple of weeks, although I could see more. In the beginning, I could only see three to four weeks and thought two was enough. Now I saw it as an advantage with Ken and Sheila sniffing around. I suspected whoever wanted Granny's ability needed far more than a couple of weeks. Maybe I could use that to thwart whatever they had planned. Of course, seeing two weeks into the future would be tremendously beneficial to anyone, especially those in power.

Oatha's life was pretty normal for the next two weeks, with the exception of the whole family coming down with what looked like a cold. However, her close friend was in a car accident. Oatha, as usual, was a good friend and drove her around while her car was being fixed.

"Well, I'm afraid you may have jinxed it a bit. I think you and the family maybe are in for that seasonal cold. One of your friends isn't quite so lucky. I think she'll need your help. Nothing really serious."

She had several questions about what I had seen, which I intentionally kept vague. I didn't want anyone to know how clearly I saw the future, just enough to believe in me so I could help when the occasion arose. Of course, the income was appreciated—I had to eat and pay the bills.

The next evening, Harry Bishop entered the shop, smiling. He looked like the old Harry, generous in size and personality. Last time, he had looked shrunken and defeated.

"You saved me and my marriage. I can't thank you enough, Mambo Renee. I've always disliked my mother-in-law and the thought of her coming to live with us put a wedge between my wife and me. But I took your advice, and it brought Mary and me closer together. It also helped me to get to know my mother-in-law. I guess we both got off on the wrong foot years ago and could never recover. She was pretty nice once I got to know her and understood her concerns and worries. She died two weeks ago."

"I hope she didn't suffer too much."

"I think it helped being with her daughter, and I think Mary is more at peace with her death knowing her mother died among family." He sat and put his hands on the table. "I've never had much belief in fortunetelling, but you're different. You not only saw the problem but helped me see what needed to be done. So if you don't mind, I'd like to stop in on a regular basis."

"I'm glad what I saw helped. I'll set you up with a regular appointment. Monthly or every couple of months?"

"Monthly, I think."

"Before you leave," I said, placing my hands on his, and the weeks flowed by. I actually stopped it around two months. I was stunned. I had never reached two months before, and this time I knew I could have gone further, but I chose to stop. "You look happy, Mr. Bishop, and I see nothing to disturb that."

He laughed. "I like that. No sugar coated stories. Thank you, Mambo Renee," he said, standing. When he reached into his pocket, I shook my head.

"You don't owe me anything. You overpaid me last time."

He left smiling. I was smiling too. My fortunetelling was not only helping people but bringing in extra money.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

An impossible situation

I started early the next morning removing the fire-sale signs as the new window was being delivered and installed today. The sale had been a good idea, and I had made three months’ worth of profit, and my website was beginning to get some attention, although I was still working with the developer to understand how to manage it: add, delete, and change prices. It looked like it would take several hours work a week but could increase my income by as much as twenty percent. My needs were small, and I could manage on what I was earning, but it would be nice to have money in the bank for a rainy day. As they had promised, the glass people arrived at eight a.m. and had the window installed in twenty minutes.

I was standing outside admiring my new window when a police officer I didn't recognize approached.

"That's a mighty nice window, Mambo Renee. I'm Officer Banks. If you don't mind, I'd like to ask you a few questions about the incident last week."

"Are you new to the French Quarter?” I asked as I led him into the shop. I thought it a bit strange when he closed the door behind him and knew it wasn't going to be a good day when he locked it. I went directly to the counter and sat. As he opened the door to my private quarters, I reached into the drawer and grabbed two rings, promising myself I was never again going without one night or day. I slipped the rings on, not sure what I selected.

"I see you live alone," he said as he drew his gun and waved it towards my room. I got up and preceded him into my living area. "Open the back door." When I did, two men wearing Halloween masks slipped inside.

"Hold out your hands," the policeman said. When I did he handcuffed me.

"Am I under arrest?" I asked. A silly question since the policeman was accompanied by two men in masks. But the policeman looked real—a uniform complete with badge and NOPD arm patch, gun, radio, and baton.

"Yes. We are taking you in for questioning." The two men grabbed me by the arms and led me out the back and into a black Chrysler sedan. They dragged me into the back with one sitting on either side of me. The police officer entered the passenger side. Another man was already in the driver’s seat. As they closed the doors, one of the men holding me shoved a rag in my mouth and the other dragged a cloth bag over my head.

I had no idea where we went. It seemed to take at least an hour, and the vehicle must have made fifty turns. For all I knew, they might have been driving in circles. Eventually we stopped, and I was pulled out of the car. Judging by the relative lack of traffic noise we must have been in the suburbs or the country. I was half-carried and half-dragged downstairs, probably into a basement from the musty smell. When we reached the bottom of the stairs, someone handcuffed my ankles. Then a rope or something was attached to the chain linking the handcuffs, and my arms were hoisted over my head. I screamed as pain shot through my shoulders as my feet left the ground.

"Not so tight," a man's gravelly voice said.

"They aren't going to like this, Bea—They wanted us to stop. They didn't want her hurt," a woman’s voice murmured, barely above a whisper.

"Why would we hurt Ms. Mathur? I sure she intends to cooperate, in which case she can leave here financially secure and in fine health."

"They won't like it if she disappears," the same woman said again, her soprano voice louder.

"I don't give a damn what they like or don't like. This is my turf. Besides, whoever leaked the firebombing plans to her is a threat to us all. A loose end we can't afford." He stopped talking and approached close enough that I could smell his cigarette breath. Then his hand touched my neck, slowly slid down my chest, lingered at my breasts, and continued to my groin, which he patted. "This can be over in minutes, Renee," he whispered. "Tell me the name of the person who told you Monique would be firebombed and that you would be. Please don't deny it. I know about the stakeout, the phony rumors, and that you were prepared. After that, you sign over your shop, I give you a half million dollars, and you can leave."

"Someone else offered me two million," I said, trying to shake the fear that had me trembling. Staying quiet had me thinking too much. I'm not sure what I hoped to learn, or how it was going to get me clear of this situation. My options seemed rather limited at the moment.

"You refused that offer. I'm afraid that group is no longer interested. You also have to realize the value of your property has dropped, what with murders and firebombing. The neighborhood is no longer safe. In fact, I fear for your safety, which is why this is such a good offer."

"No one told me anything, I have a lot of friends—" A shock convulsed my whole body. I tried to scream as every muscle contracted and agony exploded through me, but every muscle was locked. My bowels released as shit and urine gushed into my pants and dripped down my legs. I hung there jerking as spasms racked my body again and again.

"Not only will lying not work but each time the value of your property decreases, since you are obviously hiding things from me. The offer is now four hundred fifty thousand," the man said, his voice tinged with amusement. The bastard was enjoying himself.

"I'm not lying—" I started to say just before my whole body contracted like a giant hand had closed around me and squeezed tight. Mercifully, I passed out. When I woke, the room was quiet. I wanted to curl into a fetal position, but I still hung like a side of beef. I couldn't see anything as the bag still covered my head, making it hard to breathe. My entire body throbbed with pain, and my shoulders felt like they had been dislocated. I must have thrown up because my mouth had a sour taste, and I smelled puke in addition to piss and shit. God, if you or one of the Loa isn’t too busy, I could use a little help...please...even a little, I prayed. I didn't expect God or a Loa to interfere, but it brought a small sense of comfort to think they saw and maybe felt sorry for me, even if He or they chose not to intercede. I was hot, probably feverish, and hallucinating, but I thought I could feel the python tattoo moving. Whether it did or not, it felt comforting, and I passed out.

* * *

"Well, Renee, have you had a nice rest? I hope it's helped you realize that resisting giving me the name is not only painful but costing you a great deal of money." The man's voice jerked me awake. Yes, I had time to think and decided I was in a no-win situation. I couldn't give him what he wanted even if I wanted and couldn't convince him I wasn't lying, so the pain would continue. I also decided he was using a Taser of some kind. The electrodes were probably still attached, since I hadn't felt him press anything against me. Perhaps my reprieve was so he could charge the batteries.

"Y’all might as well kill me. I don't have the answer you want, and if I did, I doubt you are the kind of people I could trust to do what you say."

"I can see your point of view, so let's restate the argument. Wouldn't you rather die quickly or endure a week or two more of this agony?"

"As I said, I don't have the answer you want. I'd like to live longer to help those in need and bring them closer to God—"

"The devil, you mean," an older sounding man shouted. A short laugh exploded from me, which I regretted immediately as I jerked and my body jerked and thrashed from the jolts of pain.

"Before you kill me, your uninformed friend will want to perform an exorcism. I'm afraid neither of you are going to get what you want."

"You may be right, but I have to try," he said, but the amusement was gone. The cycle continued: body-racking pain, blackout, quiet, body-racking pain...

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Recovery

I woke slowly, my head fuzzy and my body numb, which was a huge relief. I wondered if God gave us new bodies. Since I was lying in a bed, perhaps God had reclaimed the old ones. Maybe He was fixing the old one; it had certainly been misused. Then I felt someone holding my hand. I squeezed to make sure.

"Renee, you're awake," Monique's voice sounded far away, but when I opened my eyes, she stood holding my hand and looking down at me.

"You're safe," Grace said from the other side of the bed. She looked tired. Just then a gray-haired nurse entered the room.

"I know you want to question her, but she's heavily sedated right now. She’ll be more coherent after she's rested. Besides, the doctor wants to examine her." She nodded to a young looking man in a white doctor's jacket and a stethoscope hanging around his neck. Monique gave me a kiss on the cheek and left with Grace following.

"Well... Ms. Mathur," he said after looking at the clip-board in his hand. "The good news is the emergency team didn't find any indication of rape." He proceeded to conduct a thorough examination of me from head to foot.

"Those look like Taser electrodes wounds on your chest," he said when he finished.

"I think so. They had my head covered, so I couldn't see, and my hands were strung over my head, so I couldn't be sure."

"That explains the bruising on your wrists and discomfort in your shoulders. I don't think you will suffer any permanent physical damage, but it will take time to recover. Right now your body needs rest. I'm prescribing a drip to reduce the pain and help you to sleep. I'll check back tomorrow." He smiled and left. I noticed a police officer at the door and almost screamed in terror. I lay shaking for some time before I managed to fall asleep.

The next two days were a blur. I had visitors, Monique, Ron, Grace, and others, but I don't remember what they or I said, if anything. The third morning, the nurse helped me to have a sponge bath, and I had the first meal I fed myself. Afterward, the doctor appeared.

"Good morning, Mambo Renee," he said with a smile. "Your friends have told me a bit about you. You're rather young for a mambo, aren't you?"

"You're rather young for a doctor, aren't you?" I smiled back. "Doctor…?"

"Douglas. Touché."

"My grandmother was a high priestess and began teaching me about Vodou when I was quite young. I'd bet I've spent at least as many years studying herbs and Vodou as you did studying to be a doctor."

"Your visitors are very impressed with you," he said as he drew the curtain around the bed and began his examination. "I'll want some x-rays of your wrist and shoulders just to be on the safe side. I think it's only torn muscle and maybe tendons, both will heal without surgery. I'd think we should keep you for a few more days. You will get more rest here than at home."

"I agree." It was true, and in truth, I wasn't anxious to be alone. When he left I turned on the television and lay clicking through the stations. I stopped at the local news broadcast, deciding to catch up on what had been happening for the past several days. The big story was the murder of the New Orleans chief of police. He had been found in his home, yesterday. They went on for some time talking about his distinguished career and his no-nonsense approach. His assistant talked for a few minutes about him, saying, he considered New Orleans "his turf." My chaotic thoughts were interrupted when Grace appeared at the door.

"How are you feeling, Renee?" she asked as she neared the bed and took my hand. "You look better."

"Who found me and where?" I asked. "I didn't think my abductor intended to let me go with or without the name he sought."

"Off Terry Parkway near the Belle Chasse Highway intersection. 9-1-1 got a call saying there was a girl lying on the side of the road, who looked like she had been beaten. The person sounded like a man and hung up immediately afterward. The call came from a disposable cellphone." Grace paused, waiting for me to say something, judging by her look. I shrugged. I didn't have a clue how I got there. "What do you remember?"

"Far too much," I said, shutting my eyes, which was the wrong thing to do as it made me feel like I was back in that room. "I was standing outside my shop admiring my new window when..." I went on to explain what I remembered. She had a thousand questions I couldn't answer. "I'm sorry, Grace. I had a bag over my head, and the man wasn't a big talker. He wanted a name. If you want me to guess, he was part of the group who killed Houngan Bolade and firebombed my shop. He thought someone from his group had warned me and wanted the name."

"Did someone?"

"No. So I couldn't give him a name, and he wouldn't accept that as an answer."

"Why did he let you go then?"

"I don't think he did. I think he was the Chief of Police."

"But he was just found murdered... Oh, but why?" she said and sat, eyes downcast, and deep in thought.

Because I'm the golden goose.

"If I'm right, you have a tip which may lead you to the other members of the group. Maybe they have the answer," I said to avoid any more questions. Grace sat there for a long time saying nothing. Fortunately, Monique arrived not too long afterward.

"How are you feeling. You look better," she said as she held my chin and looked into my eyes. "Seek the Loa's help, my child. They will give you strength." I knew she wasn't talking about my physical injuries. It was the memories and what I should do. "And I'm always available should you need anything."

"Thank you, Mambo Monique. I feel lost," I said as tears trickled down my face. Maybe Granny’s solution was my only choice. They wouldn’t leave me alone and eventually they would get desperate and resort to more torture.

* * *

I returned to my home two days later. The sign on the door said: Closed until March 7, which ironically was today's date. Obviously, my abductor thought the issue would be resolved within a week. I opened the door and stared, for the first time in my life afraid of entering my home—Hector, Ken and Sheila, and the policeman had desecrated it. As I stood frozen, I felt the python tattoo move, easing all my fears. Then a searing pain on my left arm. When I pulled back my sleeve the rune Mpuannum—the symbol of priestly office—appeared. Five circles or tufts, the traditional hairstyle of a priestess. The message from the Loa was clear—they acknowledged my service to God's people and their support for my loyalty. As I watched, the beautiful tattoo of a horse's head began to cover it.

Feeling better, I walked around and found nothing out of place or missing. It was midafternoon and too late to open for business. Besides, I felt too weak. I needed food and rest, so I heated up some leftovers and went to bed.

* * *

I opened the shop on time the next day. I was still weak, but I couldn't afford to keep the shop closed since bills didn't stop coming. Besides, light exercise would probably help speed up my recovery. There were few customers; however, a lot of people who knew me stopped in either because they had heard I was in the hospital or because I left without letting them know.

"I thought it strange you left without canceling our biweekly session," Oatha said. "It's strange you can't tell your own fortune. You could have avoided... Are you all right? What happened?"

"Maybe the Loa don't want me to know my future. It would distract me from what's important—my work as a mambo. And yes, I'm fine, but I'm afraid I can't tell you anything. The police don't want me talking about it as it's part of a larger ongoing investigation." Since talking about what happened would raise more questions than I could answer, it was best to avoid the topic entirely. That seemed to appease her. She confirmed an appointment for next week and left. To my relief, none of the Locos stopped in to wish me well.

The next few days were slow, and I had plenty of time to think. I came to the conclusion that the Chief of Police and his group had nothing to do with Ken and Sheila's group. The woman who was present when the chief first talked to me had said "they aren't going to like this." At the time, I thought it was the group he was associated with. But I think she was referring to the Ken and Sheila group. They want me alive and within reach. The chief didn't care. He wanted the name of the person who he felt was a danger to him. So the ordeal hadn't solved the real problem—Granny's killers were still interested in me.

On Saturday, Grace called to invite me to dinner on Sunday. Although it was partly business, I felt we were friends, and they were concerned about me, so I accepted. I arrived a little after one p.m., and Ron answered the door and gave me a gentle hug.

"You had us scared, Renee. You didn't look good in the hospital."

"Actually, I felt a lot better lying in bed than hanging from the ceiling like a side of beef."

"You were lucky," Ron said, leading me into the kitchen where Grace was busy putting together snacks and drinks.

"Hi. What would you like to drink?"

"I'll have a glass of wine, whatever you're drinking," I said.

Ron poured me a glass of wine as Grace carried a tray of crackers and spreads into the living room.

"Ron's right. You look much better, but how are you feeling? I want to update you on the case and hopefully assure you that you don't have to worry about those people anymore. You were right about the Chief of Police. Based on what you said, I obtained a warrant and searched his house. We found emails on his personal computer and other documents in his home office linking him to several other influential people and a plot to clean up the city. We are still gathering information, but they know they’re under investigation and will be lying low."

"Grace has gotten a promotion and major recognition, thanks to you, Renee. But we would prefer you led a less active life. No more firebombs or abductions." Ron gave me a wry smile.

"Ron's right. I'm hoping this case will stop the troubles you've been having," Grace said. I couldn't help an involuntary laugh, which I instantly regretted. Ron misinterpreted the laugh, but Grace gave me an inquiring look.

"Grace will get them all, Renee. She's a pit-bull...a beautiful one," he amended with a loving look at her.

"I won't press you, Renee, but I'm here if you need me—officially or unofficially," Grace said and changed the topic to Ron's new responsibilities. He had been given a high-profile client to defend in a criminal liability case.

It was a pleasant evening with friends who cared.

* * *

The next few days were busy. I entertained customers during the day, and spent the evenings reviewing my inventory, analyzing what was and wasn't selling well, making out orders, and reviewing my website. The latter turned out to be interesting. I found the items that sold well in the shop weren't the best sellers online. Herbal remedies were particularly popular, and I decided to expand the number of prepackaged compounds to address a variety of aliments—ones reputable herbalists have been treating for centuries. I kept busy and relegated my problems to the back seat.

I was preparing to close for the week, when a good looking man entered and wandered around the shop appearing interested in everything. He dressed casually in beige slacks, a short-sleeved polo sport-shirt, and loafers. When he reached the counter, he smiled.

"A very interesting shop, Mambo Renee, especially your collection of herbs," he said as our eyes met. He looked familiar.

I breathed a soft laugh. "Doctor Douglas?" I realized how mentally disoriented I must have been after my ordeal. He was tall, good-looking, and had a warm expression, someone I would normally have noticed and remembered.

"Yes. Jim, please," he said. “Although many of those herbs are probably much better to treat a lot of ailments, I have to admit I came here to see you. I hope you don't mind."

"No, I don't, but it wasn't necessary. I'm doing well."

"I'm glad to hear that, but to be honest, I was hoping to talk you into having dinner with me if you aren't already seeing someone. It wasn't appropriate to ask while you were a patient." He seemed a bit nervous and ready to run. "Just say 'No' and I'll leave, or I'll give you my number if you want to think about it. After your experience, you may want to run a background check on every man you meet."

I laughed. "Jim, I'd love to have dinner with you. I think I can skip the background check, as the hospital probably has your history back to grammar school. Tonight?" I almost blushed. Talk about being forward.

"Yes, that would be perfect. I waited until I had a few days off, just in case you might be interested. Any place special?"

"No. You pick," I said. I suddenly felt tired of worrying and making decisions. "Tell me what time you want me ready."

He stood speechless for a moment, then a huge grin appeared. "Eight o'clock, here?"

"I'll be ready," I said, smiling. Watching him leave, I wasn't sure what I had in common with a doctor, but he was just the diversion I needed.

* * *

Exactly at eight, there was a knock at the door. When I opened it, Jim stood there with a small bouquet of purple irises and a puppy-dog look.

"Thank you. Come in while I find a vase to put these in. They're beautiful."

He followed me into my back room when I waved, and I found a vase Granny used to keep fresh flowers. After arranging them to my satisfaction, I placed them in the center of my table.

"A very comfortable room," he said while looking around.

"It was my grandmother's home and where I was raised." I shut off the lights and locked the door as we left. He was driving a two or three year old silver Acura, which looked like new inside and out. I was pleasantly surprised when he stopped in front of the Court of Two Sisters restaurant, which was only a few blocks away on Royal Street. He had reservations, and the hostess led us to a table in the courtyard. It was beautiful with the green canopy of leaves from the trees, fairy lights twisted around the trunks and branches, the tables covered with white tablecloths, and well separated from each other.

"It's lovely," I said surveying the courtyard. For hors d'oeuvres, we shared an order of corn-fried Louisiana oysters, while he talked about growing up in a small town in Texas. He came from a middle-class family, who owned a small grocery store, and had to work his way through college. He was the youngest child and had two sisters. They tended to be tomboys, and he kept me laughing with stories about them.

For dinner, I had a seafood-stuffed filet of trout; Jim had a beef filet with mashed potatoes. Afterward, we lingered over coffee and shared an order of bananas Foster. By the end of the evening, I felt my age again instead of a thousand years old.

When he pulled up in front of the shop, he slid his arm around me and pressed a light kiss on my mouth that I was happy to return. He pulled back for a moment and smiled into my eyes before we kissed again, this time deeper, our lips and tongues exploring and tasting. After a few more kisses, he sat back. “You’re a lovely woman.”

"Thank you. This has been a wonderful evening. It's been a while since I'd been out on a date." I smiled at him over my shoulder as I opened the car door.

"I've enjoyed myself. You're wonderful company. Working my way through med school and internship did kill my social life, but that’s behind me. I'd like to see you again if you're interested," he said, looking like an expectant father.

"Yes, I'd like that." To my relief he didn't push to see me into the house. I had enjoyed his company but wanted to take it a bit slow for now. I wasn't sure if that were for his or my sake. "Call when you get free time."

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The committee

Willis sat relaxing in an oversized, leather office chair with his feet resting on a double pedestal desk as he waited for the clock to strike ten. Smoke from his La Corona filled the air. He smiled. Smokers thought the price of cigarettes was expensive. One puff of his 1937 La Corona cost more than a carton. He liked expensive things, and acting as a go-between for the wealthy and the crime world was how he afforded them. His clients had the money, and he had the connections.

As the hour hand ticked onto the twelve, a Big Ben chime from the antique clock began to sound the hour, and the monitor on the desk lit. One by one, colored boxes with smiley faces began to appear. When all six were lit, the Blue smiley face spoke.

"Well, Mr. Willis, have you set up the test case that will determine if Renee Mathur has her grandmother’s talent?"

"I had it set up for next week, but had to cancel when Ms. Mathur disappeared." Mr. Bishop was lucky Sheila had been able to cancel the contract. "Those kinds of arrangements may not work twice and are expensive to cancel. Professionals don't like dealing with amateurs who don't know what they want."

"That was unfortunate timing, and we will pay you whatever is necessary to ensure the person is well compensated for his inconvenience. The issue has been resolved, and you should continue with the test," Blue said.

"I'd like to wait for four or five weeks. I think a new development may provide a more reliable test than the previous one we had arranged. But it needs time to develop." The money the committee was offering would keep him in luxuries for life, and he wanted no mistakes. A botched test could alert the Renee woman and blow his chances of earning the commission. Worse yet, it could make him a loose end for Black.

"I think that is a wise decision. Time is running out, so we don't have time to experiment. Besides, this Renee isn't stupid. If she figures out we are testing her, she may leave town," Orange's smiley face said.

"I agree," Blue said, sounding determined. "You will have a definitive answer for us in five weeks."

"What if there is another—"

"Mr. Black will be available each night at ten. He will assist you in the event you need help, and he will keep us advised of your progress," Blue’s smiley face interrupted. "Mr. Black is adept at solving problems." Blue sounded amused. Mr. Willis wasn't. The message was clear. He would have a solution in five weeks, or he would become Mr. Black’s problem.

"I'm sure the situation will be resolved in five weeks, especially with Mr. Black's help if an unforeseen problem like the sheriff arises," he said, smiling a smile he didn't feel. The damn delays weren't his fault. The committee had screwed up with Mambo Eshe, and the yokels had been responsible for the latest problems. But of course that didn't matter. They would see failure as his fault, and he would be the target of their disappointment. As he watched, the colored boxes disappeared one by one, except for Black.

"Tomorrow at ten, Mr. Willis," Black’s smiley face said and then blinked out. Willis sat sweating for a long time. Mr. Black’s message seemed clear. He could replace him if necessary.

* * *

Sheila had been up for some time. She had woken early in anticipation of Willis's call. She knew his masters would be pressuring him to take action, although the latest delay wasn't his fault. But that wouldn't matter. He was paid help so delays were his problem to solve. She had gone to breakfast when the hotel dining room opened at six a.m., and now she sat in her room drinking coffee. She smiled when her disposable cell rang.

"Good morning, Mr. Willis. You're up early," she said cheerfully.

"We need to meet, this afternoon. The situation has changed."

"I hope you were able to resolve the problem with my contact." Sheila frowned. She had arranged for Mr. Bishop to be killed during the course of a robbery of his nightclub after it closed. The details had been worked out and everything set when Ms. Mathur disappeared. Sheila had called her contact, but he was unable to contact his operative once the details had been arranged. Her only alternative was to intervene personally, which was a lousy idea. She would have to stake out the nightclub and intercept the operative in person. The worse situation she could imagine—she would learn his identity, and he was unlikely to be happy. Even if she didn't get killed, he would know her identity. With little choice, she staked out the nightclub's back entrance, hoping he wasn't going to use the front. The club closed around one a.m., and around one thirty she noticed a man wearing dark clothes enter the alley. When he reached the dumpster she stood behind, she stepped out, gun drawn.

"I'm afraid our date for tonight has been called off. I'll make sure you get everything you were expecting plus extra for disappointing you." They stood eyes locked, evaluating each other. He wasn't happy, and she was sure he was debating trying to kill her. Although she stood ready to kill him, she actually didn't blame him. "I wouldn't blame you if you didn't want another date, but it will be worth your while, I promise."

She—Sheila suddenly realized it was a woman—stood deathly still while she evaluated Sheila and the surrounding area. After several minutes, she nodded, turned, and exited the alley. Sheila didn't relax until she was in her car and driving away. The operative had felt as cold as ice and had dead-eyes devoid of emotion—a scary woman.

"Yes. We will make things right with him. But the situation has changed, and we need to meet today. I'll have Tony call you with a time and location."

* * *

Tony called thirty minutes later. "Sheila, one o'clock at the Maison Dupuy hotel, room 201."

"I know where it is. One o'clock," I confirmed and hung up. Since Willis wanted to meet so quickly, she knew his employers were putting pressure on him, which meant pressure on her. She'd have to be careful as it was likely his employers would consider the same fate for her as him if things didn't go right.

* * *

Exactly at one o'clock she knocked on the door tagged 201, and seconds later Tony opened the door. He nodded and waved her in. The room was smaller than the last one, more a junior suite. Willis sat at a small table looking uncomfortable.

"Sheila, what do we need to make it right with your contact?"

"And me," Sheila said. "I had to stop the contract personally. People like that prize their anonymity. They are not happy with me."

"Pay whatever will put you and him on good terms again. I've had Harold watching the Renee woman. She's friendly with that FBI woman who saved her shop from that firebomb, and her husband, Ron. Harold did some checking and found Renee and Ron are friends from their college days. And she has begun dating a doctor. If it gets serious over the next couple of weeks, I think that he may be the ideal target. If not, then her college friend." Willis paused to get a cigar from his pocket. He looked at it for a while like he was considering lighting it but returned it to his pocket reluctantly. "We're only going to get one chance at this, and it has to be decisive. Our bonus and reputation will hang on it."

The meaning was clear. If this deal gets blown, powerful people were going to be terribly unhappy, and that unhappiness would spill over onto Willis and her.

"Work with Harold. Let's determine who Ms. Mathur will miss the most and what kind of scenario we can create to test her ability to see the future. We may not be able to give your contact a lot of advance notice so you might have to help with the details—time, location, environment, etc."

Willis arranged for an every-other-day status update, which drove home his nervousness and the seriousness of the assignment. She sighed—big rewards involved big risks. The question in Sheila's mind was how the Mathur woman was going to know the future of the three people they were watching if they didn't request a fortunetelling. They didn't appear to be the kind of individuals who believed in fortunetelling, and Renee certainly wasn't advertising she could see the future. According to Ken, Renee placed her hands over his. Maybe she needed substantial contact for a period of time. How long did she need it and how far into the future could she see? And could she turn it on or off at will—like during love making? Necessary answers to determine who would be the ideal lab rat. Renee wasn't going to stop a killing if she didn't know it was going to happen.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Conflicting thoughts

"Renee, it's Jim. If you aren't busy Saturday night, I have some time off. We could have dinner or go to a show or both," he said in a rush.

I smiled at the image of him holding his cell and his breath and with his fingers crossed. In truth, I had my fingers crossed for the past few days hoping he would call for another date. Besides his being handsome, I had enjoyed his company. He was a good conversationalist and had a great sense of humor. He seemed interested in my life, but I didn't get the feeling he was rushing me.

"I'd like that. Eight o'clock?" I said, wanting him to decide where to go and what to do.

"I guess that means you made enough decisions for the week." He gave a short laugh.

"Good guess. I'm looking forward to a night out. It doesn't matter where."

"See you tomorrow evening at eight."

When he hung up, I smiled. I was a modern woman, running my own business, and a priestess, but every now and then it felt good to let someone pamper me. Just the thought of seeing Jim and a night out made my life feel a little normal, and I found myself quietly humming and singing throughout the day.

* * *

Jim was right on time and came bearing flowers—a bouquet of red alstroemerias, purple asters, yellow tulips, and sunflowers.

"They’re beautiful. Come in while I get them into water," I said, waving him into the back where I retrieved Granny's vase. I felt like a young girl going to her first prom, and it felt fantastic. When I finished I gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you. If you are trying to spoil me, you're succeeding."

"Good. That's the plan. If you're ready for dinner, your carriage awaits you." We drove in a relaxed silence. I imagined he was savoring my reaction, and his surprise restaurant, while I sat pleased with being pampered and looking forward to being surprised. He had again picked a restaurant in the French Quarter and ironically another one I hadn't visited—Café Amelie.

"Jim, it's beautiful," I said, as the hostess led us into the Princess of Monaco courtyard with its sculptured spiral spruce, shrubs, ferns, and six-foot, two-tiered water fountain. The nice part was the tables weren't crammed together as too often happens inside even good restaurants. We started with a glass of Riesling, shared a plate of the café's specialty, Satsuma pepper-glazed shrimp, for an appetizer, and we both ordered the oven-roasted chicken breast.

"Are you free tomorrow? I'm new to New Orleans, and there looks like there’s a lot to do and see," Jim said, as we sat sipping our wine after finishing the shrimp.

"Yes and no," I said, a little apprehensive about the "No" part. There were many differences couples could compromise around, but politics, sex, and religion were usually show stoppers. "I'm free in the morning and most of the afternoon, but I'm scheduled to conduct services in the evening from six to around eight."

"Where?"

"Someday I hope I can have a dedicated place of my own like Mambo Monique, but for now, I use Woldenberg Park on the river."

"Would you mind if I attended?" he asked. "I'd be interested in watching a service and having the advantage of someone to explain the ceremony. I was raised a Catholic, sort of. I went to public school, but I attended church and received instruction. I can just imagine attending a Mass without someone to explain what's going on. Our priest was very old-school. He even occasionally celebrated the Mass in Latin."

I couldn't help but laugh. "I'd love for you to attend. Vodou has been heavily influenced by Catholicism, and they have much in common. For one thing, we don't try to convert people to our religion. Like Catholics, we don't believe our religion is the only path to God."

"I think I'm like many individuals in scientific fields. I believe in God but I’m not sure He's as interested in our daily lives as most religions preach." He gave a wry smile.

"I believe his direct intermediates, who the Catholics call saints and we call Loa, are hard to interest and get personally involved. But I'd like to believe that some of us are called to help in human ways." Yes, I was sure of that. People like Eshe, Monique, and, hopefully, me.

"I hope that means I can watch Mambo Renee at work." He took my hand and gave me a warm look.

"Yes. It not like a service in a church or meeting hall. We meet outdoors. There will be my regular congregation who will be participating, friends of those in the congregation there to watch, people who have heard about me and may be thinking of joining, and tourists who were just passing by and stop to watch."

"Can we make a day of it? I'll pick you up in the morning, and we can do some sightseeing before the evening service."

"I'd like that." We left the café after ten and strolled down Bourdon Street and stopped in a few clubs to listen to music and dance. He dropped me home around two in the morning. I was still reluctant to invite him in, and to his credit, he didn't suggest it.

* * *

I had just finished dressing when he knocked at the door. He stood there smiling with one hand full of tourist brochures.

"Unless you already know where you want to go, I thought we could look these over."

"I had nowhere in mind. Come in and I'll make some coffee, and we can decide." As I put on a pot of coffee, he spread out the pamphlets on the table and sat.

"I had a great time last night, Renee. You're a comfortable person to be with."

"It was a nice evening. You made me feel young again."

"You are young. You're still in your early twenties."

"In years, that's true. But with everything that has been happening... Sorry."

"Don't be. I'd love to know more about you, and I'm a decent listener if you ever want a shoulder to lean on."

"Thank you, Jim, but you don't want to listen to me whine."

"Whining can be good. Putting your thoughts and concerns into words sometimes helps to put them in perspective. I'll bet you do that with people in your congregation when they have problems."

"Are you offering to be my therapist?"

"No, but I'm offering to listen because I'd like to get to know you better."

"That's sweet." I put a cup of coffee in front of him and kissed him on the cheek and gave him a quick hug. "My granny dying was a horrible shock. She was more like a mother and friend. Her death left me alone with the responsibility to manage this shop and become a mambo with a congregation. I should have had years to get ready." I sat fighting back tears. "I'm sorry."

Jim leaned over and put an arm around me and pulled me close. "I don't know if your granny can see you, but I'll bet if she can she is very proud of the woman she raised." He handed me his pristine handkerchief.

"Thank you," I said while wiping my eyes. "All right, you pick three, and I'll pick three. If any are the same, we can do those first."

"And if not?" He grinned.

"We can put them in a hat and draw one at a time." I handed him one of the two sheets I had retrieved from a notebook. "Write your selections on this."

We spent the next fifteen minutes looking over the pamphlets. When I finished and looked to Jim, he had his three selections. When I showed him mine: St. Louis Cathedral, New Orleans Museum of Art, and Aquarium of the Americas, he laughed and produced his: New Orleans Museum of Art, Aquarium of the Americas, Saint Louis Cemetery. "I know visiting the cemetery is really a cliché, but it’s so unusual, I’d love to get a close look. You can sure see why they call it the City of the Dead with all the elaborate crypts and mausoleums. I thought it would be interesting to do more than drive by."

I laughed. "I agree. I debated putting it on my list but hesitated because...you being a doctor."

"We don't win them all, and a lot of those people made it to ripe old ages because of good doctors." He tore off four pieces of paper, wrote an attraction on each sheet, and rolled them into balls. Then he picked them up and threw them into the air. When they settled onto the table, he nodded at them. "Pick one."

I did, then him, and finally me. "Seems appropriate for a Sunday," I said, looking at the order of the list: Saint Louis Cemetery, St. Louis Cathedral, Museum of Art, and the Aquarium of Americas. "We won't make them all so it’s a good excuse for another date," I said and felt my cheeks heat. He nodded with a smile.

"An excellent list for that reason if none other."

* * *

I took a flower with me from the bouquet he had brought me, for a special purpose. When we paused at the huge tomb of Vodou priestess Marie Laveau, I laid my modest flower alongside a statue of a monkey, a wedding cake couple circled in honey, and a candle. I doubted Marie was interested in my current trials, but it couldn’t hurt. The rest of the cemetery was interesting, and we spent several hours wandering around reading the epitaphs and admiring the hundreds of statues and above-ground crypts that looked like small houses. Then we visited the St. Louis Cathedral. When we arrived there were no services, and the church was relatively empty, a few people in the pews and a few like us walking around admiring the stained-glass windows and architecture. Afterward, he and I spent a while kneeling in silent prayer. To me, any church is a good place to reflect on your life and seek the comfort of God, or his saints if He's busy.

My life had gotten more complicated since I met Jim. I should have been ecstatic at having finally met someone as nice as him and at having a social life again, but I couldn't help feeling guilty dragging him into my dangerous world. I certainly couldn't explain the real problem and let him decide. I should just send him packing before he got hurt. Loa, if you are listening, I could use some help. I waited in silence. Nothing. Maybe tonight's ceremony would convince him I'm a nut case, and he'd decide to drop me. I wanted him to stay for my sake; I wanted him to leave for his sake.

We decided to leave the museum for another day. After a quick tour of the gift shop, we stopped in at the Gumbo Shop where we had a leisurely afternoon brunch. Jim ordered a roast beef po-boy, and I ordered a blackened chicken po-boy.

"It's been a wonderful day, Renee. I'll drop you at the shop. I need to freshen up and change clothes. I can pick you up and drive you to the ceremony, if you like."

"No, I'll meet you there if you're still interested. The ceremony will start at seven. People usually start gathering around six," I said, giving him an out if he wanted it. After he dropped me off, I washed and dressed—a white blouse and flared skirt, a white tignon wrapped in elaborate folds around my head, and a red scarf around my waist. I felt whole and would have sworn the horsehead tattoo moved in agreement.

I received some smiles and looks from the tourists as I made my way down St. Louis Street to Woldenberg Park. I arrived a little before six-thirty and began greeting people and answering questions,

"Do you mind if we watch?"

"Can we take pictures?"

"What kind of a ceremony is this?"

I didn't mind people watching or taking pictures and let everyone know I'd be glad to answer any questions after the ceremony. By six-forty-five, my regulars were arriving, and I spent time greeting them, so it was well after seven when I entered the pavilion and began drawing the ve've for Legba-Papa Labas with cornmeal. Thanks to my Maman drummer, I now had a Segon and Boula drummer, giving me a complete set. By the time I finished, my congregation had all entered the pavilion, and I began the opening prayer. Next, I drew the ve've for Dhamballah and lit a large candle, for he was known to speak through flame when he appeared. When I finished, the drummers began beating a rhythm, and the dancing began while I chanted to Loa Dhamballah— considered the father of all Loa—to bless them. As happened last time, I became lost in the dance, feeling a connection through the flame to the Loa and from the Loa to my congregation who felt his presence. Some time into the dance, I collapsed. I woke with my head in Jim's lap.

"All you all right?" he asked, looking pale.

"Yes, just tired. Vodou is a danced religion, where the sound is a magic all of its own, which heals and creates the energy to invoke the Loa. It's the mambo or houngan's function to create that energy. Sometimes, it becomes overwhelming, and you feel a Loa is within you. When that happens, it can be exhausting." I was sure he now thought I was crazy, Vodou was Hoodoo, and that was the last I’d see of him. I'd miss him although I thought it best for him.

"Do you want me to take you home?" he asked as he played doctor, feeling my head, looking into my eyes, and taking my pulse.

"You don't think I'm crazy?" I asked. Vodou was a strange religion, especially for people whose services tended to be very structured and solemn.

"Passionate, devoted, genuine, but definitely not crazy—"

"Jim, you're crazy," I said and put my arms around him, pulled him tightly to me, and gave him a long, deep kiss. "Help me up, please. You can hold my hand to keep me steady while I talk with those who have questions."

He helped me to my feet and got a good grip on my arm as we began walking. As I suspected, most of the congregation and some of the spectators felt the presence of the Loa. Some were even deeply moved by what they felt.

"Mambo Renee, I know I saw the serpent on your arm moving, and I felt the Loa's presence. It was the most beautiful feeling I've ever had—like I had been washed clean..."

"Mambo Renee, I've never been to a service where there was so much energy..."

"Mambo Renee, for an instance you looked like you became a flame..."

By the time we left, I was feeling normal. From my discussions with people I might have added a few new members to my congregation. Best or worst of all, I hadn't scared off Jim.

"Do you want to go home or someplace else?" he asked. I guess he had decided I had recovered from whatever had caused me to collapse. "We could go for a drink, and you can tell me more about Vodou."

"You're interested?"

"I'd like to get to know more about the woman I intend to marry," Jim said, giving me a lopsided grin. I laughed, then smiled, then stared open-mouthed. He looked serious. "I didn't mean to scare you. I'm not asking for a commitment from you. Anytime you want to break it off, I'll go, and I won't bother you again. I'm twenty-six years old, and I've had my fair share of relationships over the years. But I've never met anyone that I've felt such a connection with."

"Damn. I think going for a drink is a good idea," I said and laughed while grabbing his hand. "I'm not sure whether it's you or me that needs that drink more."

We stopped at the Crescent City Brewhouse, which was close to Woldenberg Park, and ordered a five beer sampler along with two orders of Brewhouse Ribs. We spent most of the time sampling the beers and looking at each other.

"Your Vodou ceremony was interesting. A lot more...engaging than a Catholic Mass." He took my hand in his. "The people I talked to have a lot of respect for you. I admit I didn't understand what was going on, but it was obvious people came away...changed. I think even the spectators and I felt something."

"Yes, sometimes the energy is more intense and participants feel a connection to one of the Loa, creating a sense of euphoria. The drummers help generate that energy—"

"And Mambo Renee," Jim said. "According to a few of the people I talked to, it's a fascinating comparison between a Catholic Mass and a Vodou service. The sermon is the same, but in Vodou it seems the mambo or...houngan is responsible for helping the congregation connect to God."

"We probably rely more on the Loa...saints to help connect to God. But your observation is at least partly true. The mambo and houngan are responsible for more than just conducting a ceremony. Like a sermon, it can be dull and boring, or exciting and full of life."

"Well, I can attest to the fact that the ceremony, like Mambo Renee, was exciting and full of life."

"Your place or mine?" I asked and smiled at the momentary blank look on his face. "That remark was almost as good as the, I'd like to get to know more about the woman I intend to marry, remark. So in case you're really serious, I need to get to know more about you."

Jim's face turned to a smile, "Yes, I meant both remarks, and I'm serious. My place, as I've seen yours."

To his credit, he didn't rush through dinner and even stayed over coffee to listen to a three-man band playing jazz and blues. We left a little after midnight and drove in the direction of the Tulane Medical Center where Jim worked. I laughed when we reached his condo unit—1201 Canal.

"You don't like it?" he asked as we entered the elevator.

"It's very nice. I was laughing at the coincidence. My friend Ron and his wife Grace live here. They are on the fourth floor."

"Grace... She's the FBI agent who visited you."

"Yes, and her husband is a defense attorney," I said as he opened the door. Like Ron and Grace's unit, you entered into an open floor plan past the kitchen and bathroom into the living room. The single bedroom was off to the right. The kitchen was clean with no clutter, and the living room comfortable with a three-seat beige leather couch, a matching recliner, a couple of tables, and a forty-something LED television. He opened the bedroom door, and I entered. Again, comfortable and no clutter. I turned and put my arms around his neck and kissed him, my tongue probing his. Before long we fell backward on his double bed and slowly began removing pieces of clothing. I was used to men in a rush to get my bra and pants off, so Jim was a pleasant surprise. He seemed intent on exploring every inch with his hands and lips. First, my blouse came off, and he roamed, kissing and stroking my neck, shoulders, and upper chest. Then my bra, where he worked on my breasts and nipples. Then my skirt, where he massaged my hips and thighs, and his lips worked on my stomach. When my pants came off, I was past ready and panting as I finished stripping him. Lost in the magic, we rolled over and over—Jim on top then me... We reached climaxes within minutes and lay panting side-by-side.

"Wow!" he finally said as he looked into my eyes.

"I'll second that thought," I said kissing him on the nose and snuggling closer.

* * *

I jerked awake, hearing an unfamiliar noise, and began to panic as I looked around the strange room, not sure where I was or how I got there. Then I smiled, remembering the love making last night. I was preparing to get up when the door opened, and Jim came in with a mug of coffee and a large smile.

"Is this what I can expect if I give in and marry you?" I asked, trying to look serious.

"If that's what it takes, then yes." He sat the mug down on the side table. "I'm afraid all I can offer for breakfast is cereal, but if you tell me what you like, I'll make sure I have it here."

I shook my head as if to wake up from a dream, or was it a nightmare? I had wanted to get out and socialize and hopefully find a meaningful relationship, and Jim turned up. He was certainly what I was looking for, but the timing was terrible. The Ken and Sheila group made my future uncertain, and being around me wasn't safe for him. They could decide he was leverage, as they had with me and Granny.

"Jim, you're crazy wonderful..."

"But?"

"I'm a dangerous person to be around...firebombing, kidnapping, and..."

"I thought your friend in the FBI... Grace, has identified the group responsible for the firebombing and the kidnapping," Jim said as he sat on the edge of the bed and handed me the mug.

"She has, but the mystery man that freed me must also have an agenda," I said, trying to imply more potential danger without giving him the real reason.

"That woman, I think her name was Oatha, said that you can tell the future. And she believes you can. I thought that strange at the time. It didn't seem to fit your character. You are so...honest." He held up his hand to stop me responding. "I understand you have to make a living and everyone wants to know the future—even me. I’d like to know if you are going to marry me, how many kids..." His grin faded when I didn't respond to his apparent humor, and he saw something in my face or eyes. "Oh...you believe you can see the future."

For once in my life, I would like to be able to see my future. What would happen to Jim if I let him stay? If I could see, would it help me avoid whatever they had planned? My head throbbed like my heart was inside it.

"Jim..." A tear slid down my cheek. I didn't want to chase him off, but I couldn't tell him the truth and didn't want him hurt. "You wanted to find out more about me. Do you want to marry a cheat or a crazy person?"

He surprised me when he rose and walked into the other room. Knowing it was best, I dressed while I finished my coffee. When I entered the room, Jim sat at the counter separating the kitchen and living room, drinking his coffee. He walked over and held my face between his hands looking into my eyes.

"I’ve been sitting here trying to figure things out. I don't understand what is going on, but I know with certainty that you are not a cheat or crazy. Unless you tell me to go, I'm willing to wait for you to tell me the problem or for it to be resolved." He kissed one eye then the other, which were filled with tears. I wanted to scream. I wanted him to stay. I wanted him to leave.

"There is something going on that I can't share with you. It makes me a dangerous person to be around and could well mean there is no future with me. For those reasons, I should refuse to see you again, but I can't seem to do it, although it's the right thing to do. May God forgive me." I wrapped my arms around his neck and stood for a long time clinging to him as if I let go I'd fall into an abyss. He gently stroked my back and held me. "Don't call me...for at least three or four days. We both need time to think." I untangled myself from him and left.

As I walked back to my shop, I could understand how a person could go on a week, month, or even a year's drinking binge, hoping to forget or avoid the problem. When I entered the shop, it felt particularly empty. That damn man had me thinking about a life with him. I spent the rest of the day rearranging things on display, working on my website, and reviewing my inventories. After a quick dinner of leftovers, I retired early and tossed and turned all night.

* * *

I opened the shop a half-hour early for something to do. Of course, it didn't help as no customers came in. The good news was I had two fortunes scheduled: Oatha and Ellen. The morning was slow, but the afternoon was busy and the sales good. Oatha showed right on time that night.

"Good evening, Oatha. Would you like some tea?"

"That would be nice, Thank you," she said as she followed me into the back room and took a seat at my table. "I think someone has been watching me."

"A man or a woman?" Was it Ken or Sheila and, if so, what could they want?

"A man, but I couldn't describe him. I only know because I didn't recognize him from the neighborhood. Kind of nondescript, if you know what I mean," she said, looking off blankly as if trying to remember what he looked like. After a minute, she updated me on her children's school and sports activities, her husband’s fishing, and her own daily activities since I'd seen her last. I didn't mind. She was part of my congregation, and it gave me a chance to know her better and help with any concerns she was having. Finally, she rose and walked out in the shop and sat at the table we used for fortunetelling. "Thank you. You’re a good listener, and I value your advice."

"I'm here for you anytime you need someone to talk to," I said, placing my hands over hers. For several minutes, I watched her next few weeks scroll by, stopping, and rewinding. She was right. The man was easy to miss. He appeared as average as it was possible to look. The only way to describe him was average looking. But it was clear he was in her area too much to be a coincidence. "Looks like a pretty normal week in paradise." I smiled, which elicited a giggle. "I wouldn't concern yourself about being followed since I don't see any one bothering you."

"That's a relief," she said as she prepared to leave. "I'm glad you're back safe. You're well liked, and a lot of people have come to depend on you with Mambo Eshe gone." She gave me a hug and left.

* * *

The next day business seemed to oscillate between dead and hectic. Around closing time a young woman walked in and came directly to me.

"Are you Mambo Renee?" She looked to be in her late twenties, five foot eight, good figure, and dressed provocatively in tight, white shorts and t-shirt with Miss Fabulous in red script on the front, and sandals.

"Yes. How can I help you?"

"I'm here on a sort of business-vacation. While I was at the Blue Sax last night, someone said you were a real fortuneteller. I would kind of like to know how my business was going to turn out." She grinned. I occasionally got tourists asking for a telling, but after Ken and Sheila, non-locals raised alarm-bells. What she said sounded reasonable since Mr. Bishop was a client, and the people at his club would have heard of me.

"I'm free tonight and Friday night."

"Tonight would be great. I'm only planning on being in town for the next three to four weeks."

"Is seven or eight convenient? Miss…?"

"Angel...Angela. Let's make it seven. It's the early bird who gets the worm if you know what I mean." She winked, and her smile left little doubt as to what she meant—she was here to party. Not unusual for New Orleans.

"I'll see you at seven, Angela. The shop will be closed. Just knock on the door, I'll be here." I watched as she swayed out the door. I'd wager her future was going to be XXX rated.

* * *

I closed the shop at five, made myself a corn maque coux, a spicy corn and tomato staple, added crawfish and served it over rice, washed, and was dressed by six-forty-five. I assumed "Angel" wanted to be entertained, so I dressed in traditional mambo attire with a purple tignon. Angela knocked right on time. She had changed into a red silk sleeveless blouse which showed her unrestrained nipples clearly, a very short white skirt, and red shoes with stiletto heels. With her long wavy blond hair, she would have men walking into walls.

"Come in and have a seat at the table. You look dressed to kill," I said and received a killer smile.

"The first rule in business is to get the customer's attention." She laughed and sat.

"I’m sure you’ll be successful at that.” I grinned. “Is there anything specific you would like to know?"

She pursed her lips for a second then laughed.

"Whether it's going to be a great vacation or a fantastic one. I don't often get the chance to mix business and pleasure."

"All right. Let's look. Place your hands on the table, palms down." I mimicked the position I wanted. When she did, I placed mine over hers. I was confused as to what she considered vacation, pleasure, and business after just a few days. As I had suspected, she had frequent sex—two and occasionally three times a night—for money. During the day, she did a little sightseeing, ate at good restaurants, had her hair and nails done, and had a massage twice during the week. Good to her word, she left four weeks later. The only strange part was she was staying at the Canal Street condos where Jim, Ron, and Grace lived. Probably a friend's condo, but I never saw anyone there when she was there with a customer or alone. "Well, it looks like you are going to party long and hard, relax in the day, win a few bucks at Harrah's, and overall have a really good time. I don't see you meeting anyone you'd want to bring home to mother," I said absently mindedly. She choked, then roared with laughter.

"Fat chance. The ones worth having are already taken; the ones available aren't worth having." She laughed again and dropped two twenties and a ten on the table. I couldn't help but like her. Besides her stunning figure, I could see why men would be instantly attracted.

"Can I have another appointment for the next couple of Tuesdays?" she asked as she was getting ready to leave. "This was fun."

"Sure. Same time next week and the week after if you want." I wasn't sure why she wanted another telling. It hardly seemed worth the fifty dollars, but if she thought it worthwhile, who was I to look a gift horse in the mouth—strange saying.

* * *

Wednesday and Thursday dragged by as there were few customers. Fortunately, my website was doing well with the new packaged herbal remedies I had added. I sat pushing my sausage gumbo dinner around the plate, hoping Jim would call and then that he wouldn't. If I hadn't become fond of him, I would have ended it cleanly. But I was fond of him, too fond, and had taken the coward's way out by pushing the decision onto him. It was a good thing that Ellen had a seven o'clock appointment tonight because I had to drag myself out of my swamp of self-pity and get ready for her.

She arrived a few minutes early and looked in good spirits, dressed in expensive looking beige slacks, an orange silk blouse, and sandals, when I opened the door for her.

"Good evening, Mambo Renee. You look well. I heard some rumors about trouble in the French Quarters, involving some of the Voodoo shop owners and someone being kidnapped. Were you involved?"

"Yes. Do you have time for something to drink? You look like you're headed somewhere."

"I am, but I have time and would like to hear what happened. Coffee, if you don't mind," she said following me back into my living area.

"Apparently, there was a group who decided the Voodoo shops were not the image they wanted for the French Quarter and hired some bikers to cause trouble..." I went on to tell her about the murder and firebombing and kidnapping, although I left out a lot of the details. I normally wouldn't have told her anything except what she could have found in the newspapers, but I felt a strange connection with her.

"It's funny. Before meeting you, I would have sympathized with that group thinking Voodoo a lot of cult fantasy. But I've done a lot of reading. You’re actually a misunderstood minority that has been slandered by the movie industry. And I got to know you, who I would stake up against any clergy of any religion."

"Thank you. That is very kind. And thank you for the money you left me. It wasn't necessary, but thank you."

"You got me a promotion. I'm now a vice-president and in charge of marketing," she quipped. "You saved my life. I don't totally understand, but I think it involved great risk on your part. If you ever need anything—money, connections, help—don't hesitate to call me. If it's within my power, it's yours."

"Thank you again. Well, let's see what good things are in store for you in the future, although a promotion to Vice-president is going to be hard to top," I said as I cleared the table, and she repositioned her hands, palms down. I covered them and watched the days fly by. She enjoyed her new position and went on several trips out of state. She looked like her bosses were pleased with her trips. She went out a couple of time with girlfriends, but seemed to be avoiding dates she could easily have had. "Looks like you are doing well in your new job, your bosses seem pleased, and you’re traveling more out of state. And the opera tonight looks like fun."

"Simple and straightforward." She smiled. "I'll bet you could describe the women I'm going to the opera with down to what they will be wearing." She held up a hand. "I prefer not to know the details. I don't really want to know about the future, unless it is something bad I can avoid. Can you see your future?"

"No. Not one minute ahead."

"A dangerous gift from the Loa...God, Mambo Renee," she said as she rose. I nodded.

* * *

Thankfully, Friday was a reasonably busy day and I didn't bother closing for lunch. I had just locked the door at five o'clock, when the phone rang.

"Mambo Eshe's," I answered.

"You asked I not call you for at least three to four days. It has been four days eight hours and ten minutes, but who's counting?” His voice seemed to mix laughter with a little insecurity. “Having demonstrated super-human will power in not calling sooner, I was hoping you’d like to reward me with your presence when you're free."

"Well, I've learned something about the crazy man who is interested in marrying me—he has super-human will power, and you learned something about me—I'm selfish and have no will power. I should have told you never to call me again. But to answer your question, I'm free tonight and tomorrow after five, and all day Sunday and Monday."

"I'll be right over," he said, and the phone connection ended with a click.

I sat looking at the phone trying to decide whether I was ecstatic or depressed now that he had decided to keep pursuing me. I decided I would make the most of whatever time I had left. Maybe it was a good thing I couldn't see my future. For now, I would enjoy Jim and my friends' company and continue to help those I could. That decided, I washed and dressed, although that turned out unnecessary, as we spent the evening in bed making love—several times.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Sheila's plan.

"Good evening, Mr. Willis," Sheila said, sounding pleased. She felt like a cat with a fat mouse under her paw.

"Well, what is the latest on the people you and Harold are watching? We have to make a decision within the next couple of weeks. The client is getting...anxious. That could force us to act prematurely and—"

"And that could have unpleasant consequences. Yes, I understand. I have taken some rather expensive steps to preclude that undesirable outcome," Sheila said, enjoying the intrigue. Necessary, if she were to increase her reward for her participation.

"What kind of steps?" Willis asked hesitantly.

"I've had Harold watching Oatha and Bishop, although her new boyfriend, and old friend Ron and his wife, are potentially better targets. Especially, Jim Douglas, who has become her lover. The problem is the target must be someone whose future she is likely to know. Oatha and Bishop qualify as they have regular fortunetelling sessions with her. Oatha is a good candidate as Renee has known her for a long time, and she's a member of her congregation. But they don't see her every week, so it could take a month or more to set something up." Sheila intentionally paused, awaiting a reaction.

"Yes, I understand the problem that our time constraints are causing."

"And of course, there are the unknowns," Sheila said. "We believe she has to have physical contact to see the person's future. Can she control that reaction? For example, while Jim is fucking her can she see his future? Can she see her own? The answer to those questions could determine the success or failure of the test."

"And you have a solution?" Willis's voice held a slight hint of amusement. "For which you would like to be compensated."

"Yes. I've hired a woman who is paying Mambo Renee to tell her fortune once each week—"

"Won't Renee get suspicious, especially if she sees this woman talking to you? She knows you."

"I'm not stupid, Mr. Willis. I hired the woman through a friend. The woman is pretending to be in town on a business vacation, which she is. She's being paid to be in New Orleans explicitly to have Mambo Renee tell her fortune and is otherwise free to do whatever she wants on a very generous expense account."

"I don't see how that helps us."

"The first two sessions, Renee will only see her activities, which, knowing this woman, will be XXX rated. The third week she will witness three murders on consecutive days: Jim Douglas, Ron Casey, and Grace Casey." Sheila smiled at the silence on the other end. Eventually Willis spoke.

"Yes. That is very creative and a test only a psychopath could ignore. You've earned a bonus. How does three million plus expenses sound?"

"Like someone who appreciates good help. I’ll make the necessary arrangements."

"Call me when you have them made."

* * *

Willis sat back feeling relaxed for the first time in weeks. Nightly calls from Mr. Black were stressful, especially since he had more questions than answers until tonight. He had to pretend the situation was under control, but he hadn't fooled Black. He was looking forward to tonight's call. In anticipation, he opened a three thousand dollar bottle of Vosne Romanee and lit a five and a half La Corona cigar. Taking a long satisfying drag, he could imagine himself on one of the Hawaii islands, maybe Oahu, sitting on a lanai with a private beach but close to the city nightlife. Or maybe... His thoughts were interrupted when his monitor lit with a smiley face inside a black square.

"Good evening, Mr. Willis. You appear to have good news. That's good. I'm afraid this venture is like Evel Knievel jumping the Snake River Canyon. A one-time proposition—success or failure.

Willis shuddered. As he recollected, Evel failed to make the jump. Although he survived, Willis was sure that didn't apply to this one time proposition. "Yes, my agent has designed a test that will provide the absolute proof we are looking for."

"Which one of her friends have you selected?"

"That is the beauty of it, Mr. Black. Jim's her lover," Willis said and intentionally paused savoring the exchange.

"What if she chooses to ignore the threat?"

"Then her college friend, Ron Casey."

"And?" Black laughed.

"His FBI wife, Grace, who is also a friend of Renee."

"That is creative, Mr. Willis. But how are you going to ensure she knows they are in danger without alerting her to our involvement? You’re not grasping at straws, hoping she will know one of their futures."

"Renee has a fortunetelling session with the witness to all three murders." Willis gave Black a brief salute with his glass before taking a satisfying sniff and a drink. Black was quiet for several minutes.

"Clever, but... Once she realizes all three are going to die if she chooses to do nothing, she will realize we are involved. A simple solution is to kill herself, which is not a successful conclusion for us." Black's voice held a dangerous tone.

"No. Her three friends will die in that event. Given she can see the future, she will know suicide won't save her friends. She must take action to stop us and provide you with an opportunity to...talk to her."

"For her friends' sake, let's hope she can see the future." Black laughed. "I congratulate you and your people. The plan sounds workable. I want you and your people to allow her to stop each of the attempts on her friends’ lives, but under no circumstances are you to approach her. She will be my responsibility."

"What if she attempts to commit suicide afterward?"

"The fools took the wrong approach with her grandmother. Your involvement will end after she has passed or failed the test. The sheriff has given me a unique insight into Mambo Renee." Black's smiley face disappeared.

Willis sat for a long time thinking about the exchange with Black. He shuddered at the thought of Black tasked with getting information from him. He pitied Renee and her friends.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Impossible decisions.

I woke to a kiss on the cheek, then the neck, then the breast...then passionate love making...then a joint shower and more kisses...

"I have a shop to open for business and don't you have patients or rounds, or..." I asked as we dressed.

"Unfortunately, I do. But time with you is more important than breakfast—"

"You mean sex—"

"Wasn't that spending time with you?" He laughed. "I'll eat a big lunch. When can I see you again?" he asked as he buttoned his shirt and buckled his belt.

"Call or come over anytime you want," I said. Why pretend? My noble intentions had gone out the window. He wasn't interested in leaving, and I had given up trying to push him away.

"I want to see a lot of you, Renee, but I'll give you all the space you need." He kissed my nose and hurried out the door. I stood shaking my head, hoping my selfishness didn't bring harm to him. He was a kind, gentle man and deserved a good life. I wanted to scream, break things, stick pins in one of my dolls. Of course, I didn't have any essences of the people who were causing my problems, and if I did, I doubted the Loa would approve. I sat, emptying my mind in quiet prayer. When I opened my eyes, I felt better, made a cup of coffee, and sat with a bowl of cereal. I couldn't control the actions of the men after me; I could only control my actions—and those would not help them achieve their goal.

* * *

It was a good day, with a fair number of customers to keep me busy and provide sufficient sales to justify opening for business. Around four, my cell rang. I smiled, thinking it Jim, but was surprised to see it was Ellen's number.

"Ellen, how are you?"

"I'm fine, but... I know you don't want me recommending you for fortunetelling, but... I have a longtime friend... She's not in the kind of trouble I had, but she has been depressed for months, and it’s getting worse. I thought maybe..."

"I'm not a psychologist. She may well have a good reason to be depressed."

"I know. And I know I shouldn't be asking you to risk..."

"It's alright. Pay for a session with me and tell her it's for her amusement. Tell her that I made you feel good. But understand, I won't tell you what I see or don't see," I said, feeling my arm tingle as if the Loa agreed with my decision. I had pursued being a mambo because I wanted to help people. That help shouldn't be restricted to my congregation or people's beliefs or...

"Thank you. I trust you will do what you can. That's all I ask. If it's all right, I'll bring her over but won’t stay. It'll be part of a girls’ night out. I'll call you back to set up a day and time. Thank you." She cut the connection.

Jim called two hours later. "Would you be interested in dinner, tonight?"

"I might be if I don't have to dress up, and it isn't too expensive. I'd enjoy the company and not having to cook. How about the Cajun Café. It's close, reasonable prices, and good food.”

"Pick you up around seven-thirty or eight?"

"Whenever you can make it."

* * *

"Well, Doctor Douglas, how was your day?" I asked, as we shared a crème bruleé for dessert over coffee.

"A rather slow day at the ER even for a day-time shift—a few cuts and sprains, a couple of stomach viruses, and a whiplash from a car accident. How about your day, Mambo Renee?"

"A typical Friday in a Voodoo shop. Mostly tourists from out of state looking for souvenirs from N’Orleans, and a few looking for herbal remedies. In fact, my website is doing very well with them. I think I should advertise that more in my shop."

"A perfect day then," Jim said to my surprise. "We helped a few people, are healthy, and together."

I took his hand in mind and squeezed. "Yes. Perfect." Like me, he was dedicated to helping people, and when he did, that made it a good day.

* * *

Ellen called the next morning as Jim was at the door getting ready to leave. I stopped him with a shake of my head, anticipating she wanted to arrange for a session with her friend, and I couldn't have Jim present any more than he could have me in a room with one of his patients.

"Could you do it tonight? I know—"

"It's all right, Ellen. I understand. What time?"

"Between seven and eight?"

"Yes, I will see you then," I said, and heard her sigh with obvious relief.

"Complications?" Jim asked, looking concerned.

"Kind of like if you got called in on an emergency. A woman who I helped a while back is concerned about her friend and would like me to talk to her...under the pretense of a fortunetelling session. She's very concerned for her friend."

"I understand, Renee. Doctors and priests have an obligation that takes priority." He walked over and kissed me on the cheek. "What time?"

"Tonight between seven and eight. It shouldn't be longer than an hour, probably less," I said with a shrug.

"I could pick you up afterward, or you could have a free night. I'm free Sunday, if you are."

"What if I call you when I'm done? Then we can decide."

"Good idea. It's Saturday and I may not be able to get away when my shift ends." He gave me a long tender kiss before waving goodbye. I finished cleaning up the breakfast dishes, dressing, and preparing to open the shop. Thankfully, the day was busy, and it was closing time before I realized it. I stayed open another half hour to accommodate a few last minute shoppers. Since I didn't know when Ellen and her friend would show, I quickly heated a can of soup, washed, and dressed in a white head wrap and long flared gown, which gave me the traditional mambo and fortuneteller look most expected.

It was near eight when there was a knock at the door. When I answered, it was Ellen and a woman a couple of inches shorter, dressed casually in light brown slacks and a short-sleeved orange pullover top.

"Vicky, this is Mambo Renee. A real priestess of the Vodou religion," Ellen said as they entered, and I closed the door. Vicky looked to have had a couple of drinks, and she gave a shy giggle.

"Please to meet you...Mambo Renee. Can you really tell fortunes?"

"No"—Ellen frowned—"But together we can ask the Loa...the equivalent of saints in the Catholic religion. Sometimes they let me have a peek into the near future."

"How near?" She suddenly looked interested.

"Come, let's find out." I looked to Ellen.

"I'll come back in an hour, Vicky. Fortunes are personal."

"No. Stay. Please," Vicky grabbed Ellen’s hand to stop her from leaving.

"Mambo Renee insists her clients be alone since she doesn't know what she will see," Ellen said.

"I don't have any secrets from...you, Ellen," she said with a slight pause.

"Vicky, we all have secrets. That's not a bad thing. Many things are private and must be guarded until the time is right. Come. Let’s see what the Loa feel like revealing tonight. You can always tell Ellen all about it afterward." I took her hand and led her to my table, as Ellen quietly left. "Place your hands on the table palms down like this," I said, indicating the position. Reluctantly, she did.

"Ellen thinks very highly of you. And she's worried about me." Her eyes misted at the words. I placed my hands over hers and watched the days, weeks, and months roll by. It was immediately obvious that Vicky had breast cancer. Every night she would stand in front of the mirror examining her breast. Afterward, she would take to drinking which grew worse as time sped by. As I watched, her home business began to fail, and she turned to prescription drugs. Unfortunately, I couldn't see into the past which was certainly relevant to the current behavior. Then it dawned on me. Like me, Vicky was self-employed and probably couldn't afford health insurance. So, no mammograms, no yearly physicals, no time off work for hospitals, no money for expensive medical treatments, etc. Not seeing a way out, she was now frozen into inaction and a world of despair. Vicky jerked me back from my thoughts.

"What's wrong!" Her voice rose and tears appeared in her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Vicky. I was thinking about what I saw. Put your hands back, please." When she did I covered them again. "You have a very dark cloud hanging over you. I see you frozen under it. If you do not move, the storm's winds, rain, and lighting will continue to pound on you until you are nothing."

"What can I do? I have nowhere to go!" she said, her voice near hysteria. She tried to pull her hands away, but I held firm.

"Your secret is keeping you frozen. Share it and you will be able to move. It won't make the storm go away, but you may survive." I was gambling that Ellen would help if she knew Vicky's problem. She sat quiet for a long time, and I could feel her future shifting chaotically as she worked through alternatives. Finally, she decided to tell Ellen. When she did, her future steadied, and I watched Ellen take charge. I stopped around three months as Vicky's life came under control, and she was getting treatment. My Loa gifts felt like they had come alive, and I could have gone further. But then what if I saw something else bad happening? I could get lost in Vicky's life trying to make it perfect. No. My gift was to help, not to play God.

Feeling that Ellen was probably waiting nearby, I rose and went and opened the door leading to the street, while Vicky composed herself. I laughed. Ellen was standing talking to Jim.

"We're done, so you two can come in," I said, smiling. But before they could get to the door, Vicky joined me.

"Thank you, Mambo Renee," she said. "You're right. We all have secrets that we guard until the time is right, and maybe that time is now." She surprised me by giving me a hug and turned to Ellen. "Well, my tour guide, where to now?"

Ellen stood there in shock for a moment before she grabbed Vicky’s hand. "I know this club where the men are hot...and rich," she said. "Mambo Renee has already landed the good looking Doctor Douglas. Nice to have met you, Jim. Thank you, Mambo Renee." She waved as the two walked off arm-in-arm talking.

"That's a classy lady," Jim said, watching them walk away.

"Classy, huh?" I put my hands on my hips, trying to look angry.

"Yes, and almost as gorgeous as you." He grabbed me in a bear hug and lifted me off my feet. "What would my dazzling companion like to do? Late dinner? Movie? Watch TV?"

"Let's go to your place. I don't have a TV." I laughed. "Let me change. We can pick up a pizza or something on the way there."

* * *

"Ellen said her friend was very depressed, and she was worried about her as it seemed to be getting worse. So she had coerced her into a girls-night out and thought a fortunetelling session would be good fun for her since she had never gone to one before," I explained as we sat on the couch listing to love songs of the seventies.

"Sounded plausible...except, why would you bring a person who was depressed to a fortuneteller unless you expected that person to make up a bright future. That person would be a fake and not you. And I'd wager Ellen has been to see you. She doesn't impress me as the kind of woman who visits fortunetellers and certainly not for amusement."

"You’re very suspicious, Doctor Douglas." I punched him on the arm.

"I know you've said you can't talk about what you see when you tell someone’s fortune. I’m just trying to understand the woman I'm in love with."

"Yes. Ellen has been to see me before, and she felt what I saw helped her. She was hoping I could see something that would help her friend."

"Does knowing about the future, help someone?" he asked, eyes looking down deep in thought. "If you knew you were going to die in six months, I guess knowing may help you get things in place for your loved ones or spend it all in one last luxury trip around the world." He laughed, then sobered. "Now if you knew you had a choice, X or Y, and you knew the consequences of X and Y..." He looked hard at me for a long time, then shook his head as if that would clear it of the thought.

"I think I remember a science fiction book like that once," I said, wanting to change the subject. He was getting dangerously close to things I didn't want to discuss, and I didn't want to lie to him—of course, I would.

"That's an interesting question. Is the future predetermined? Is there nothing we can do to change it, or is it determined by our actions? I hope the later. I tell smokers all the time to quit or they’ll develop lung cancer. Are those who get lung cancer predetermined to get it no matter what they do? If so, I'm wasting my breath." He laughed. I decided we needed to get off the current subject so I threw my arms around his neck, pushed him backward onto the couch, and began serious kissing and rubbing. It had the desired effect. Men were so easily distracted.

* * *

We spent Sunday at the Museum of Art, eating out, and getting to know each other. On Monday, we visited the Aquarium of Americas, ate lunch out, but had to end the day short as Jim had the evening shift. It was a pleasant two days and, we had a chance to get to know each other better. I was sure the bad men hadn't forgotten me, but I was in a meaningful relationship that was helping me keep from falling into the same dark place Vicky had retreated. I sought the comfort of the Loa and fell asleep at peace.

The next three days were a blissful normal. Opened the shop at nine a.m., talked with customers, cooked my own dinner, read some of Granny's notes, listened to music, and retired to bed. I was glad Jim hadn't called. True to his word, he was giving me space—or maybe being sneaky and giving me time to miss him. I smiled.

I was getting dressed for my fortunetelling session with Angel, when my phone rang.

"Renee, it's Ellen. I don't know how you did it, but thank you. I've known Vicky since high school, and she's a dear friend. But over the past several months, she had become reclusive and taken to drinking...anyway I've been concerned and couldn't get her to talk to me. But after her session with you she shared her...problems with me. I've set her up with a specialist. Thanks to you, I think the situation is manageable." She was silent for a moment. "If you ever need anything...anything, call me." The line went dead.

Angel was right on time, and dressed for a hot time on the old town tonight as the song went. "Good evening, Angela. You looked dressed to turn heads," I said, admiring the figure-strangling white skirt well above the knees and the semi-transparent pale-green blouse which displayed her impressive breasts.

"Good evening, Mambo Renee. While I've got it, I'm going to flaunt it. It ain't going to last forever. There'll come a day when strutting around naked won't turn heads." She laughed. "But not today."

I couldn't help but laugh with her. I could understand men being drawn to her like bees to flowers and not just for her killer figure. "Let hope I'm half as entertaining as I'm sure you will be tonight," I said as I led her to the table, got her settled, and put my hands over hers. Watching Angel's future was like watching an XXX movie. Ironically, it was more enjoyable. She must have had a hundred quaint or humorous sayings, judging from her male companions' reactions in and out of the bedroom. I couldn't help an accessional snort at her antics.

"Well, Angel, it appears you are in for another fun week..." I paused as one of her pickups next Wednesday robbed her after having sex. She gave him what she had in her purse without an argument—smart woman—but he gave the condo a brief search and found a pile of bills in a bedside table, then left. "Some of the boys don't mind robbing party girls because the police won't spend a lot of time looking for them. I think you might stumble on one of them in your rounds. They would search purses and obvious places like table drawers."

She stared at me for a long time. "Yes, I've been having so much fun, and the local boys are so sweet I forgot they can get greedy in the candy store. Thanks. See you next Thursday.”

* * *

Friday morning around eight, my phone rang.

"Good morning, Mambo Renee. This is Jim Douglas. I'm a doctor at the Tulane Medical Center," he said.

I grinned. "Yes, I vaguely remember meeting you. You're that lecherous doctor who does house calls.”

"I thought I should make a follow up visit. I might have missed something."

"Well, I do have an itch—"

"I'll be right over." He laughed. "Would you like to do something tonight?"

"Why don't we eat out? It doesn't have to be fancy. Whenever you can make it, Doctor Douglas."

"About seven p.m.?"

"I'll be ready."

* * *

Life seemed normal. I hadn't heard or seen the Locos nor Ken and Sheila. My injuries had healed. My only reminder was a few aches and pains when I raised my arms to reach for something above my head. And I was in a serious relationship—very serious. Jim was the kind of man you could take home to mother, if you had one. My eyes were misty as I thought of Granny and how she would have liked him. I hadn't given any thought to marriage over the past couple of years or how being a mambo would impact the eligible men. Vodou—Voodoo—had a cult-like reputation which would make me someone interesting to take to bed but not to marry. And if the strange religion—to most—wasn't enough, running a Voodoo store would be the final straw. Jim had managed to see "me" the person. Best of all, he liked what he saw.

Sunday was almost like being married. Discussing the newspaper articles over coffee and beignets—after a morning delight. We went grocery shopping so I could cook us a mid-day dinner, and Jim accompanied me to my evening service. He seemed to enjoy talking with my congregation and the bystanders. Monday we spent some time at the park, went to the movies and saw The Hunger Games, and ate an early dinner at the Red Fish Grill. Jim chose a grilled swordfish, and I had flamed catfish. Afterward, he dropped me at home and left to change for a night shift at the hospital.

The week went by slowly, or it seemed that way. In fact, it was a pretty normal week. Customers came in waves. One hour I was busy with a store full of people and thirty minutes later the store was empty. I had Oatha on Tuesday night and Mr. Bishop on Wednesday. They were good customers and were content to hear "everything looks good for the next couple of weeks." They didn't expect or want little details fortunetellers throw in to show they can see the future. They knew if I saw something important I'd tell them. I think it felt extra slow because I was looking forward to seeing Jim. He did call once to ask if I would enjoy seeing an opera, Marschner's Der Vampyr.. He had been true to his word about not crowding me—too good. I was falling in love with the man and missed him during the week. On reflection, maybe that was his plan, and he was too clever by half.

I prepared for my Thursday evening session with Angel and her upcoming XXX movie. The woman was a sex machine. The thought made me wish it were Friday and Jim would be free. Angel appeared right on time, dressed to turn men's mind to mush in a very short, tight black shirt and a black sleeveless silk blouse open nearly to her navel. Her long curly hair hung over her left shoulder nearly to her breast.

"Good evening, Angela. You're looking particularly stunning tonight."

"Good evening," she said as she entered. Rather than head for the table, she stood staring at me for several minutes. "You're not so phony."

"Pardon me?" The statement took me by surprise. I had never been sure why she wanted weekly sessions as I felt she didn't take fortunetelling seriously.

"One of my men friends raped me."

"Rape?" I hadn't seen that. How could that be, unless she decided to do something unexpected after she left me last Thursday.

"What else would you call it when you give a man fantastic sex then he robs you!" she said indignantly. "Fortunately, I took your good advice, and he only got away with a few dollars. And he will find that two of those bills are counterfeit." She laughed in amusement. "But what you said wasn't just good advice, yeah? You saw."

"I thought I saw you being robbed, but not the details," I said. A fake would take credit for any lucky guesses.

"Then you know what I do," she said more as a statement than a question.

"You're a very talented and successful working girl." I smiled.

"Yes. Because I enjoy my work." She laughed and took a seat, hands on the table. I had to admit I liked Angel. What she did was against the law and many considered it immoral. But it was consensual. Her men customers wouldn't usually be treated as criminals, and normal consensual sex between unmarried couples wasn't a crime. I think it was a case of the lowest person on the food-chain taking all the blame. I shook myself out of my musing and sat.

Mentally smiling, I followed Angel's adventures through the weekend and into the week. I screamed, standing so abruptly I knocked over my chair and slammed into the wall behind me. I stood trembling. Angel's face had turned a ghostly white as she jumped to her feet.

"Are you all right? Can I help?" she asked, coming around the table to stand near me. Even through my panicked mind, I realized why I liked Angela. Most customers would be concerned about what would happen to them—not me. Slowly, I got control of my panic.

"I'm sorry, Angela. You will witness a terrible...accident and it shocked me. I'm sorry if it scared you. It just happened so suddenly. Please, sit. Let me make sure you have no reason for concern." When she sat, I had to control my urge to grab her hands. I fast forwarded to Wednesday and then slowed down the scene. It was early morning, and Jim was just leaving his condo complex and heading towards his car. Angela was standing out front apparently waiting for someone, when I 'heard' gunshots and Jim was thrown backward and fell holding his chest. Angela rushed to Jim while calling 9-1-1. I continued to watch through her eyes as the emergency vehicle arrived and a man and a woman jumped out. After a couple of minutes the woman shook her head. They loaded him onto a stretcher with his head covered. There was no doubt that he had died.

I spent a minute deciding how I could get Jim to come over here for the night, and then slowly went through Angela's week beginning at today. She visited me again on Thursday, but on the following Wednesday she was standing in the same place when Ron was shot. I took my hand off her and forced a smile I didn't feel.

"Sorry, Angela. You're going to have another fantastic week, with no...rapes. You might witness an accident but from afar."

"I'm warned, so I will be prepared. Unlike some, I do not like to see others’ misery. I would help if I could, but staring isn't helping." She smiled and left humming.

After locking the door, I sat trembling. The men who hired Ken and Sheila hadn't gone anywhere. They had just designed a test of unbelievable evil. I decided Angela was completely innocent. Someone had hired her to come to New Orleans. They were paying her to have a fortunetelling session with me once each week—and—to be in position to witness Jim, Ron, and Grace being killed. If I could see the future, I would see Jim being shot. If I could change the future I would do something so that Jim would not be coming home at that time. If I did, then Ron would be the next target. I guess they reasoned that I might be willing to let Jim get killed but not Jim, Ron, and Grace. If I hadn't bothered to make an excuse to keep Ron away, Grace would be next. Whoever they were, they had done their homework and knew the people close to me. The real evil was that if I couldn't tell the future or change it, three people would die. They intended to go through with it or else it wouldn't be her future.

I managed to grind up a mixture of passion flower extract, valerian root, and lemon balm which I took with a cup of black tea. I couldn't decide anything with my mind in turmoil like it was now. Maybe after a good night's sleep I could decide what I should do. Evil had won.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Revelations

It was hardly surprising I woke with a splitting headache. This time I didn't bother with herbs and took two Tylenol. I didn't need to be sedated; I just needed to get rid of my headache so I could begin to think. Three cups of coffee and an hour later, I felt like throwing up, but my headache was under control.

The evil men had found me and had devised a test that would prove I had my granny's ability to see and change the future. Committing suicide wasn't an option, since it wouldn't guarantee that Jim, Ron, and Grace wouldn't be killed. My antagonists might not be able to call it off, and if they could, what guarantee did I have that they would? They were evil and might kill my friends out of spite.

I couldn't call the police. I would have to tell them the truth. After I convinced them, the world would know my secret, and I wouldn't be safe anywhere. Who wouldn't want to know their future or what would happen tomorrow, so they could capitalize on it today. I didn't think that was why I had been gifted with the ability to see the future. Of course, I could help far more people if people knew I could, but how could I sort through the millions of requests for help and determine those I should, while avoiding those who would like to put me in a cage. My headache was back, and I took two more Tylenol.

I kept the shop closed while my mind searched for a solution. The morning dragged into the afternoon. One thing was for sure, I didn't have a lot of time to come up with an answer. I had to stop Jim from being killed. Right on cue, the phone rang. When I looked up, it was four o'clock, and I knew it was Jim.

"Yes?" I said while trying to make up my mind what to tell him.

"It's the doctor who is hoping to be the man of your dreams, offering to take you anywhere your heart desires," he said. I couldn't help the tears or the sobs. My enemies had made that an impossible dream just like they had destroyed Granny's dream of watching her granddaughter mature, and her great-grandchildren become adults.

"What's wrong, Renee?"

"Nothing... Everything..."

"I'll come right over—"

"No. If you are going to be home tonight, I'll come over. I need to talk."

"What me to pick you up?"

"No. I need time to... The walk will be good. I'll see you later," I said and hung up. I had no choice but to tell him the truth...some of the truth...something. He was involved whether he wanted to be or not, and it was my fault. My selfishness. Thoughtlessness. I reached for the Tylenol bottle and found it empty. I laid my head on the table and cried. When I jerked awake, it was dark. I had a quick shower, dressed, and left for Canal Street. As I walked, I began watching the people coming and going. They knew a lot about me. Was I being followed? Would they kidnap me—like now? I stopped walking and turned in circles looking for...something, someone. Of course, some people were looking at me. I was standing in one spot turning in circles. I began running. By the time I reached Jim's complex, I was panting and my heart racing. When I entered the lobby, the man on duty recognized me.

"Good evening, Ms. Mathur. Can I get you something? Maybe you should sit for a moment," he said, looking concerned. Looking into the mirrored surface behind him, it was no wonder. I was gasping like a fish out of water, and all the color had drained from my face. And I felt light headed and probably was none too steady on my feet.

"No, thank you. I probably overdid my run. I'll be fine," I said as I stepped into the elevator. I was a bit steadier when I stepped out of the elevator. I shouldn't have been surprised to find Jim was in the hallway. The man in the lobby probably called him.

"What's wrong?" He put his arm around me for support as we made our way to his unit. Once inside, he led me to the couch and spent a few minutes examining me—my eyes, pulse, and general inspection for injuries. "Are you feeling sick? You've been running. Did something frighten you... My God, did someone attack you?" He sat down next to me and pulled me close.

"No. There are some people after me, and I let my imagination get the better of me while walking here and panicked."

"I thought you told me your FBI friend, Grace, had the group under investigation. Certainly, that will stop them. They aren't going to be active while an investigation is ongoing."

"No, not that group. Another group. One far worse. That group wanted to close all of the Voodoo shops and chase the practicing mambos and houngans out of N’Orleans. This group wants me!"

"Why you?" Jim said with concern in his voice. "What did you do to them?"

"I can tell the future. They want me for something they are planning," I said, grabbing his hand in desperation.

"Love, I think your kidnapping has had more of a psychological impact then we realized. It's not surprising considering what that maniac put you through. You just need time."

"No. There is another group, and they are going to kill you unless I help them."

"No one is going to kill me. I think your past kidnapping and torture has developed into a frightening hallucination. You need to talk this out with a professional."

I laughed, which didn't help my credibility. "I'll prove it," I said, trying to gain a little composure. "Give me your hands."

Jim loosened his grip on me and reluctantly held out his hands. I grasped them like a drowning woman would grasp at a lifesaver ring. I closed my eyes—nothing. Nothing. Not one picture. "No!" I screamed.

"What's wrong?"

"Granny couldn't tell her own fortune or mine, because I was family. I can't tell my fortune and... I can't tell yours because I'm in love with you," I said.

"That's good, isn't it?" He forced a smile.

"Jim, I'm not crazy," I pleaded.

"I know. You're in shock. A delayed reaction," he said as he helped me to my feet while dialing. "I'm Doctor Douglas, please send an ambulance to 1201 Canal Street. I have a patient that needs transportation to Tulane Medical Center.” I didn't need to go to a hospital. I needed him to listen to me. I tried several times to explain, but he wasn't listening. Downstairs, I was strapped onto a stretcher and whisked away in an ambulance. At the hospital, I was injected with something and soon didn't care.

* * *

When I woke, I was in a bed and could smell antiseptics. I lay with my eyes closed trying to put the events of last night into perspective. I had been hysterical, and Jim in his concern for me had me rushed to the hospital and sedated. I opened my eyes, to find Jim curled, half asleep in an uncomfortable looking chair with my hand in his. I squeezed his hand. The man was a gem. After last night he should be running away from me as fast as he could.

"You're awake. How do you feel? You had me worried last night." He rose and kissed me lightly on the lips. "I've talked to a respected—"

"My love, I'm sorry I scared you last night. You were right to be concerned. I panicked. And"—I laughed—"when I discovered how much I loved you, it made it worse—"

"Why? How is loving me...causing a problem?"

"Jim, get me released from here. You did the right thing last night, but I've calmed down. I want to hold services tonight, for my congregation and me. Would you do a favor for the woman who loves you?"

"... For her I'd do anything." He smiled. "You've got me twisted around your little finger."

"Arrange for a get together with you, me, Ron, and Grace. I'd like to meet tonight after my service. Grace will understand it relates to questions she has had and will know it's important. And I promise you the woman you think you want to marry isn't crazy, although she did act like that last night. You wanted to know everything about me, well tonight you will get to see it all." I put my hand to his lips before he could respond. "Please, trust me."

* * *

Jim got me released in the early afternoon and took me to for an early dinner. The poor man was treating me like a fragile piece of antique china. "I called Grace Casey and introduced myself as your...steady...you did say you loved me." He paused waiting my response.

"Yes. I did and I meant it. And you're stuck with me for so long as you are interested," I said, kissing his cheek.

"You were right. She did appear to understand and agreed she and her husband would meet with us after your service. I hope you don't mind, but I told her a little about last night."

"No. I don't mind. It must have been scary, and you are right to still be concerned."

"Anyway, she surprised me. She and Ron are coming to your service tonight. She said it would give us a chance to get to know each other before whatever you wanted to discuss. And she and Ron had never seen a Voodoo service."

"That's great. It doesn't matter to me that people think Vodou a cult. My friends and those I love know I believe in one God, in Vodou being a reasonable way to honor that one God, and in helping people in God's name." I smiled. "I didn't say he or she because I don’t know which and seriously doubt God has a sex."

Jim laughed. "A valid point. I hope you don't think you are going to scare me off. I've caught you, and I'm not letting go. You're a keeper."

* * *

Jim dropped me off at home so I could wash, dress, and give some thought to my evening service. He came back in time to take me to the service with time to talk to those attending the service or there just to watch. When we arrived, Grace and Ron were already there.

"Mambo Renee," Grace said as we approached. "You look well." She gave me a hug.

"You look spectacular," Ron said, giving me a hug and kiss on the cheek.

"Grace, Ron, this is Jim. The man who insists he wants to marry me," I said, wishing it would come true but knowing it wouldn't—couldn't. "I'm glad y’all decided to come watch. It will be different from what you are probably accustomed, but Jim knows enough to outline what is happening. Afterward, I'll answer any questions. Vodou is one of my favorite topics."

I left them talking and wandered around talking to my congregation, their guests, and those spectators who seemed interested. As a result, it was well past seven when I finally began to draw the ve've for Legba-Papa Labas to open the gates between the Loa and those attending the ceremony. Then I drew the ve've for Papa Loko. Tonight, I would seek Papa Loko, the father of all mambos and houngans and known as a just judge. I felt the need to be judged for my actions tonight and those to come.

As I danced and sang, I could feel Papa Loko's presence, and although he was known to be harsh when things were not done properly, I felt nothing. Energy filled me and everything seemed to get quiet and butterflies fluttered around my head—Loko's symbol. And although I spun and undulated in response to the energy that filled me, I felt at peace, serenity so deep it spread into every molecule of my body. When I stopped, several people had collapsed onto the floor, others appeared dazed, and butterflies had landed on me.

* * *

I spent another hour talking with people about their experiences, about the ceremony, and Vodou. Everyone was quiet in the car on the way back. Jim stopped to pick up two large pizzas. When we arrived, we retired to Jim's unit.

Grace was first to speak, "The butterflies...?" A question rather than a statement.

"I don't know, Grace. I would tell you I prayed to the Loa...saint who is a judge of right and wrong. I prayed for guidance for tonight and what is to come. Butterflies are his symbol. Before you jump to conclusion about trickery." I held up my hand to stop any comments. "I need to explain why I asked you all here tonight. It will answer many of your questions."

"Yes, it did seem like trickery. And now you say you prayed to a Loa whose symbol is a butterfly, it screams trickery, but that would be so unlike you," Ron said and Jim nodded agreement.

"You don't have to, Renee. I believed you when you said it would be a death sentence," Grace said. Jim's eyes darted between Grace and me.

"Death sentence?" He stuttered. I took his hand in mine.

"Yes. And now you three have become involved. I scared my love to death last night because I panicked and became incoherent. So let me start at the beginning." I picked up a piece of pizza and took a bite, which prompted everyone to start eating. Jim put a couple of bottles of wine on the table, and I poured myself a glass. Everyone was going to need several by the time I finished.

"My granny could see the future and to some degree change it. A gift, or a curse as it turned out, from the Loa to her mother who passed it to her. Granny should have passed it to my mother but didn't because she felt my mother would have abused the gift. She felt it was meant to be used to help people but had always been very careful not to let people know the clarity with which she could see the future and the degree to which she could influence it."

"But if the future is set—"

"Please. Let me finish. Somehow, someone discovered that she had the gift. They approached Granny and wanted her to use the gift to do something she considered evil. Not merely an abuse of the gift, but evil. When she refused, they threatened to kill me if she didn't cooperate. Somehow she convinced them she would. She spent the time getting me ready for her death and then committed suicide." I stopped for a couple of bites out of my pizza and a couple of sips of wine.

"I know your granny's death must have been hard—" Grace started but I put up my hand.

"Shortly afterward, a man named Ken and a woman named Sheila showed up pretending to be tourists. Ken paid for a fortunetelling session. Ironically, that gave everything away. I saw their subsequent search of my home and their meeting with another man to report progress. Then using the information from my scheduling book, they interviewed each of my regular clients. But like Granny, I had been careful in what I said and the results proved inconclusive. But they have devised the perfect test. One that will prove conclusively I have Granny's gift."

"That's impossible. You would have to tell someone the specifics of some future event and they would have to wait to see if it happened. How are they going to get you to tell them the future...if you would know what they were up to because you can see their future... It's giving me a headache just thinking about it," Ron said taking a drink of his wine.

"They are both malevolent and clever. They have paid someone who knows nothing except she is being paid to have me tell her future once a week. She is to be present when a given event will occur. Thus, I will know it is going to occur. If I let it happen, then there is a chance I can't tell the future. If I change it then it's likely I can not only see the event, but I can influence it."

"Well, just ignore the event," Jim said frowning. Grace was shaking her head ever so slightly.

"How can you change the future?" Ron asked.

"If I saw you in an accident tomorrow driving to work, and I could convince you to stay home tomorrow, you wouldn't have the accident."

"Well, convince the lab rat to avoid the test," Jim said. "I assume it involves us."

"Yes. That is the beauty of the test. If I influence the test then they have the proof."

"Well, don't influence it," Ron said.

"Then I'd be a worse monster than they are." I finished my wine and filled the glass again.

* * *

Jim and Ron spent the next hour discussing the problem academically. Grace sat quietly watching me. Finally, Grace spoke.

"So what is the test?"

"No. Right now, I doubt any of you really believes I can tell the future with any clarity or that I can influence it. Jim believes I'm suffering from a kind of Post Traumatic Shock Syndrome from my previous kidnapping. Ron is wrapped up in the problem academically as an interesting argument on whether the future can be changed or not. You are the only one wrestling with whether I might be able to glimpse snapshots into the future like a psychic but only because of my involvement in the firebombing. I don't blame you. But I need to prove that I can; otherwise, you aren't going to take any of this seriously."

"How are you going to prove it?" Grace asked.

"Jim, get me some paper, envelope, and pencil. Grace, put your hands on the table palms down," I said moving my chair so I could place my hands over hers. She smiled.

"This won't work unless something significant—"

"Quiet, please." As I closed my eyes, the future began with such clarity it surprised me. I watched as the rest of the evening unfolded, her return with Ron to their apartment, and work the next day. I stopped as they returned to Jim's unit tomorrow night. I grabbed the paper Jim was holding and began writing. When I thought I had enough details, I folded the paper and placed it in one of the envelopes, sealed it, and wrote Grace on it. "Will you trust Jim to hold it until tomorrow?"

"Yes," Grace said. "You're right. Jim is concerned about you and will want this test to be tightly controlled." She took the envelope, turned it over and signed her name across the flap. "Extra insurance."

"Ron," I said, pointing to Grace's chair. He smiled and sat when Grace moved. I placed my hands over his and watched as his day unfolded. I couldn't help smiling as I wrote down the main things I had witnessed. After the envelope was sealed and Ron had signed it, Grace looked to Jim.

"What about Jim?"

"That's what caused part of the problem last night. When I went to see his future, I couldn't and panicked. That reinforced his diagnostic that I was in shock. I've come to the realization that the gift was supposed to be used to help others. It was not meant for one's own benefit. Granny couldn't see her future or mine; otherwise, she might have acted differently. I can't see my future nor Jim's because he wormed his way into my heart." I smiled at him. "I'm in love with him, so in a sense it’s as though we were married."

"I can't wait for tomorrow evening. Here tomorrow after work?" Ron asked.

"What about we meet for dinner? Say seven o'clock? I'll make reservations at the Three Sisters. The patio is fairly quiet and the tables are well spaced apart," Jim said. We agreed and Ron and Grace left, as it was already well past midnight and everyone had work in the morning. I decided to stay the night, much to Jim's relief.

"Yes, I'm worried about you," Jim said after Ron and Grace left. "I don't think you're crazy, but I know what you went through was easily equivalent to battlefield trauma. Do I believe you can see the future? I don't know. I'm not even sure if I’d be happier if you could or if you couldn't. I know you believe you can, and you wouldn't lie. I'm scared."

"Me too," I grabbed his hand and dragged him towards the bedroom. "Let see if we can't do something to distract ourselves."

Jim's face lit with the first real smile in the past two days.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Now What?

Jim dropped me at my shop on his way to the hospital. I debated on whether to open the shop, which was normally closed on Mondays. I wasn't in the mood for customers, but on the other hand, the thought of sitting around brooding about tonight wasn't appealing. I wasn't sure what would be happening over the next couple of days so I decided I needed something to keep me busy and opened at my normal time.

Business was brisk, and I wondered if it was because many of the other businesses closed on Mondays or just happenstance. Not being hungry, I stayed open through lunch, nibbling on some dried apple slices. I closed late due to several customers who were interested in my packaged herbal remedies. It had been a good day—I had kept busy and made a nice profit. I had a quick wash and stood debating what to wear. I discarded anything black as depressing although that was the way I was feeling. I finally chose a mid-length, crinkle-textured skirt with a vibrant Aztec design, a white three-quarter-sleeve tunic with a rounded neckline, and white wedge sandals. I added a string of turquoise nuggets around my neck which showed nicely inside the rounded neckline of the blouse. I was dressed for a party but felt like I was going to a wake.

* * *

Jim appeared just as I had finished dressing. He too was dressed for a party in light grey slacks, a bright-blue with white stripes Polo sports shirt, and white-grey boat shoes.

"You look gorgeous," we both said simultaneously and laughed.

"I love you," he said, giving me a kiss. "I'm looking forward to tonight and learning more about the woman I'm going to marry."

"You are incorrigible. That brings a Chinese proverb to mind," I said.

"Patience is a virtue?"

"No. Careful what you wish for. You may get it."

"Better a diamond with a flaw, than a pebble without one." He took my head in his hand and kissed my eyes, nose, and lips.

"Do you have the envelopes?" I asked.

"In the car," he said dragging me out and into his car. It was a short drive to the restaurant. When we arrived Ron and Grace were already seated.

"This is lovely, Jim. You were right; it is private for a restaurant." Ron said. "And romantic." He squeezed Grace's hand.

"I suggest we eat first and then discuss what's in the envelopes over coffee and dessert...or a couple of Black Russians," Grace said with a wry smile. Everyone seemed reluctant to open the envelopes, and we had a leisurely dinner. When the waitress returned there was silence.

"Are you ready for coffee and dessert? We have some amazing selections," she said, looking at Grace and me.

Grace looked to me. "Well, Mambo Renee, which should it be?"

"Let's start with coffee. Then we'll see if you prefer desserts or Black Russians."

"Coffee," everyone said as the waitress looked at each person. Jim produced the envelopes and laid them on the table.

"Who's first?" Jim asked. Ron and Grace stared at the envelopes for a long time. Eventually, Ron reached over and picked up the one with his name on it, turned it over and showed everyone his signature, and handed it back to Jim.

"Jim, why don't you read it to us? I'll comment when appropriate."

Jim tore open the envelope, scanned the list, and turned to give me a strange look. Then he began. "You had a bowl of cereal, Frosted Cheerios, while you studied some papers that looked like work. Grace left a good hour before you. On the way to work, you were checking your iPhone when you noticed the light at Canal and Basin turn red. You slammed on your brakes and a silver Lexus rear-ended you—"

"Oh, my God," Grace said staring at Ron, who had his mouth open, staring at me. "Did that happen, Ron?"

"Exactly like she said." Ron nodded. "Read on, Jim, just in case Renee paid someone in a silver Lexus to rear-end me." He laughed.

"The damage was minor, a broken left-rear light. In court, you were defending an elderly man with silver-grey hair, shorter than you, who needed a cane. Afterward, you went to lunch with a very attractive red-head—"

"That's my insurance agent. Tell her, Renee," Ron said rather loudly.

"Jim, open mine. And I think it may be Black Russian time," Grace said, looking at Ron who had taken my list from Jim and was reading it. When Jim showed Grace both sides of her envelope, she nodded. He opened it and began to read.

"Grace, you got out of bed and had a shower before Ron rose. You had two slices of toast with strawberry jam and coffee. You left while Ron was getting his cereal. When you arrived at the office three men and one woman were already there. You met with the two men, one named Mike, in a conference room. You three were there all morning going over files. An older man joined you just before lunch..." Jim stopped and handed Grace my list when she put out her hand. She sat reading it and nodding. Finally she folded it and put in back into the envelope.

"I'd suggest we order dessert and have our waitress put them in doggy bags so we can take them home. I think this is going to be a long night, and this is no place to discuss the issue," Grace said, looking at each of us. There was little conversation as we ordered and waited for our desserts to be boxed. Jim took my hand in his.

"I'm sorry I doubted you, my love," he said, looking on the verge of tears.

"I was hardly coherent, and I'm not your average date." I choked out a short laugh. "Voodoo, fortunetelling, suicide, kidnapping, firebombing... I must look like the world’s number one screwball."

"No. I saw the real you, and that is why I should have believed you." He pulled me to him.

"He's a keeper, Renee," Grace said as we rose to leave. "I've got an extra set of handcuffs if you need them." A smile appeared, the first one since they opened the envelopes. We went back to Ron and Grace's condo, where she prepared coffee and set the table for our dessert.

"So you knew Mambo Monique was going to be fire-bombed because you saw her future," Grace said as we sat. "You need contact, correct?"

"Yes."

"But how did you know those people had changed the target from Monique to you, when you can't see your future?"

"I have to interpret it from what is happening. I saw Mambo Monique standing in front of my burnt-out shop, crying."

"Wasn't that enough proof for whomever is testing you?"

"No. They have lots of circumstantial evidence, but they don't have proof enough to make a move against me. All of their evidence could be explained by a talented fake and happenstance. When my shop got firebombed, I could have been taking inventory as I said, and if I had involved the police there would have been more than just you, Grace, as there would have been when I warned you about Mambo Monique. And I could have known that through rumor or a leak as the Sheriff thought. They are walking on a knife's edge. Kidnapping me before they are certain has risks without rewards, and they would never know if I were lying. And they have to be careful I don't choose Granny's solution."

"You wouldn't, would you?" Jim whispered barely loud enough to be heard.

"Yes, I would before I'd help them if what they want is so bad that it drove my granny to kill herself. Granny thought the sacrifice worth it, although she had much to live for and would have helped many in her lifetime. And it wouldn't be one event. No. I'd be caged and at their will."

"What's this test you believe they have devised using us? Maybe we can continue to keep the results ambiguous," Grace said as she sat down next to me on the couch and took my hand. Jim had my other hand clutched in a death grip.

"That would certainly be ideal," I said, closing my eyes. "This young woman who is being paid to have her fortune told every week will be instructed to stand outside your condo entrance Wednesday morning within an hour of Jim leaving for his shift at the hospital. When she can see him, someone will shoot him twice." Tears ran down my cheeks as the scene repeated itself behind my closed eyes.

"Damn. Bastards," Ron half shouted.

"I won't show. I'll sleep over at your place," Jim said. "They won't be able to prove you didn't see me being shot."

"Yes. That is the beauty of their test. Angela will come for a fortunetelling session the next night, and I will see her witnessing Ron being shot as he leaves the building."

"But how do you know that?" Grace asked.

"I know because I can influence the future I see by persuading the person to do something different. I asked Angela to see me on Wednesday night. When she agreed, I saw the future where Ron was murdered."

"And me?"

"That's a supposition based on the fact Angela is living in this building—"

"Here?" Ron shouted.

"At 1201 Canal?" Jim's voice rose hysterically. "We could have her arrested. That would end it."

"On what charges?" Ron asked, shaking his head. "It sounds as though she’s done nothing wrong, and no one has been hurt."

"And who is going to believe Renee can see the future. I doubt you could have her arrested even after the murder. She'd be a witness, not an accomplice, even if they believed Renee," Grace said. "Whoever they are, they’re clever."

Silence descended on the room. Yes, they were clever and their test perfect. Once could have nothing to do with my ability to see the future, twice a coincidence, but not three times.

"You aren't thinking of committing suicide, are you?" Jim asked. His eyes were teary and his voice shaky.

"No, otherwise I never would have told y’all what I have. That is also the cleverness of their test. They have to be committed to doing the murders; otherwise, I couldn't see it as a potential future. Therefore, me committing suicide wouldn't keep you from being murdered. They intend to kill you whether I’m alive or not."

"Certainly, they would call it off?" Jim said, and then shook his head violently. "I don't mean—"

"Of course, you don't," I said quickly. "But you don't know the arrangements with the killer. They don't know how my gift works and would have to assume the arrangement to murder you had to be irrevocable."

"Renee's right. We are dealing with a very well-funded and Machiavellian group. Not only Ken and Sheila, but they knew about the Sheriff, his group, and the kidnapping. It makes me wonder what they wanted from your granny and from you," Grace said frowning.

"I have no idea. Granny only said what they wanted was evil." I could think of many evil things but doubted I was in the same league as them.

"I'm torn in so many ways. I'm dying to get the FBI involved. This group has got to be planning something that the Bureau would be interested in, but I can't without subjecting Renee to the government...and imprisonment."

"She's done nothing wrong," Jim said.

"You don't think the government wouldn't want to know the future? They slap her in witness protection. Except it wouldn't be witness protection. It would be government security. Besides her life being in constant danger, she would be subjected to the demands of government in control. That could be as bad as any other group."

"The courts..."

Ron’s face was grim. "She’d never see a court or lawyer, Jim. Since 9/11 and the Patriot Act, the government has unprecedented legal powers and a hundred ways to justify their illegal ones. Grace is right. I wouldn't trust those in power to be any less evil. We have hundreds of examples over the years. Imagine if they could influence the future. Scares the shit out of me. I'd rather Renee let all three of us die." He took a deep breath. "Sorry."

"That's not necessary," I said, freeing my hands and cutting a slice of my almond cake with lemon cream. "I didn't expect a solution, but you needed to know the danger you’re in and help me avoid it—for your sakes. I'm not going to help them, but they are obviously going to use you as leverage against me."

"I think we can stop that," Ron said. "If we document what we know and keep it where it will be sent to the FBI in the event of our death..."

"Might work. What about the immediate problem...their test?"

"That's easy to avoid. Their objective is to prove I have the ability and not to kill any of you."

"If you were as evil as them, you could let them kill the three of us, and they would let you alone," Ron said.

"If she were that evil, the test wouldn't be necessary." Jim kissed my cheek.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

The Wait.

All we could do was wait. I had at least three weeks before anything would happen. That was how long it would take for the test to be concluded with no deaths—murders. Wednesday was a fairly normal business day with alternating periods of busy and slow. I had stopped thinking of the test; they had won—whoever they were. What I had to decide was what I was going to do after the test. First, I would refuse to have any more fortunetelling sessions with Angela. That would stop further indirect contact with them. They would have to contact me directly, or more likely, kidnap me. My options then would be to disappear or commit suicide. Two really bad alternatives. In a sense disappearing was close to committing suicide since it would mean giving up Jim, and my life as a mambo. I couldn't bring him along, even if he were willing. He would be too easy to trace as a registered doctor, and I couldn't ask him to give up his calling. I'd have to talk to Grace. I'd imagine disappearing wasn't as easy as it sounded, unless the government was involved or I became homeless. People had to have a previous life when applying for anything. And there was the money issue. I couldn't sell the shop without alerting them, and if I put it in a realtor's hands, how would they get me the money?

I closed the shop on time and began preparing dinner for Jim and me. He had offered to take me to dinner, but I had refused. In the back of my mind, I knew I was going to lose him and wanted to spend as much quality time with him until then. Besides, it occupied my mind to be doing something. I had decided Country Chicken Jambalaya and bought a whole chicken so I could use the gizzard, heart, and liver along with the sausage, and I bought a medium-priced Merlot the clerk suggested, which he said was medium-bodied and had a juicy fruit flavor. I took his word on it since I seldom drank wine and usually took the waiter or waitress's suggestion. Jim arrived around six-thirty, which was good timing as the dinner still needed to cook, and we could relax with a glass of wine.

"How are you holding up?" Jim said as he came through the door. He looked tired.

"I'm not sure. I think I'm numb. Not much is going to happen until the test finishes, and my options are limited."

"Our options," he said as he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me to him.

"I'm willing to listen, but I can't see how that would work. We aren't dealing with the Locos. Unless I'm wrong, these are men with money, power, and a long reach. The government could possibly make us disappear. They have the connections; we don't. But they aren't an acceptable alternative."

"No. I suspect Ron is right. They would be as bad as the group who is tracking you. We will have to come up with something on our own."

"Jim, I've fallen in love with you, but I can't ask you to give up everything you've worked so hard to achieve. Besides if they did track us down, you'd be the perfect leverage to make me do their bidding."

"Not true. I won't expect you to help them. I'm willing to take the risk we live free or die," he said, wiping tears from my eyes. I hated my weakness. I need the Loa's strength to push him away. My selfishness was risking his life for no good reason.

"I'll consider it if you and I can come up with a plan that has a chance of working. I should not have let you get close to me. That was wrong of me. I knew they were after me and might determine I had my granny's gift. But I won't endanger your life on our hope or luck that we can escape them. It has got to be a concrete plan that appears to have a chance of success, and one where you realize the cost of running away with me." My voice sounded harsh as I delivered my ultimatum.

"Deal," he said and sat as I poured two glasses of wine.

"Let's enjoy today because ironically this great fortune teller cannot predict what will happen tomorrow." I laughed. "Maybe my cooking will convince you to leave."

Unfortunately, he fancied the dinner and the love making afterward.

* * *

I opened the shop shortly after Jim had left for the hospital. What was the alternative? Sit around and brood all day or get drunk? Better to keep occupied and maybe a chance to help someone while I still could. Just before noon, Grace entered the shop. She wandered around looking at things until the shop emptied, and I closed for lunch.

"How are you holding up, Renee?"

"I'm brain dead to tell the truth," I said.

"Ron and I want you to know we are willing to help in any way we can. He's a lawyer, and I'm in the FBI. The information we have and have access to may be helpful."

"Thank you," I said giving her a tight hug. "I wish you, Ron, and Jim could disassociate yourselves from me. But it's too late. I've put your lives in danger."

"No, Renee. Those people have put our lives in danger and personally, I'm mad as hell. I joined the FBI to stop people like that. I hate that Ron is involved as I'm sure you hate that Jim is involved, but that just has me madder. We will find a way to stop them without you having to commit suicide. No matter what happens to any of us, they are responsible, not you." She held me at arm’s length and shook me until I nodded. "We are going to meet regularly to discuss the problem. I hope they are watching. I want them to know you aren't alone, and we know what they are planning and have a plan of our own. That should make them more cautious and give us more time."

"I don't know what I've done to deserve friends like you."

* * *

I sat dressed and ready for Angela. I should hate the woman, but I couldn't. She was an unwilling participant, and I had the feeling she wouldn't have participated if she knew what they were planning. She arrived on time.

"Hi, Angela. You look gorgeous as usual and ready to conquer the male population of N’Orleans. They don't stand a chance."

"As you can imagine, my productive years are few in my profession. Best to make the most of them, so I can retire before they become hard work and...embarrassing." She laughed and made her way to my table. "Any warning this week?"

I sat and put my hands over her, knowing what to expect. As I suspected, next Wednesday she stood outside the condo apparently waiting for something, when Ron appeared and, half way to his car, he was shot. Although it was unpleasant to watch, I didn't react, as it wasn't going to happen, and it changed as I watched. I scrolled backward and watched as a man produced a badge and arrested Angela on Monday.

"Interesting week, Angela. Wouldn't surprise me if on Monday a policeman offered to pay you for sex," I said. Angela didn't react at first.

"Monday?"

"Evening, maybe," I said. As I watched her actions on Monday change subtly. When she met the policemen, it surprised me when she took him back to the condo as usual, but then wouldn't take the money he offered. It became hysterical as he tried to give her money and wouldn't have the sex she offered. I couldn't help smiling. When I opened my eyes, she was smiling back at me.

"Thank you, Mambo Renee. Police stations are dull and boring and expensive." She stared at me for a few minutes. As she was leaving, she turned and gave me a hug. "Careful, Mambo Renee, someone with money is playing a game with you."

As I suspected, she wasn't part of the game, and her remark pretty well confirmed she wouldn't have participated if she understood what they had planned.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

The Committee.

"Well, Mr. Willis. What happen this evening with phase one of your test?" Black's smiley face said.

"Doctor Douglas failed to show at his regular time. He stayed at Renee's shop on Tuesday night and left to work from there," Willis said.

"Exciting. Is she or isn't she? His failure to arrive for his murder is easily explained away as a coincidence, since they are lovers. But what will she do in phase two? If Ron doesn't show, her solution will tell us a lot about Mambo Renee. Of course, his death would be even more exciting."

"Why?" Willis asked.

"I would ask you what you would do under similar circumstances, but you would be a willing seller of your gift, so it would never come down to a test. If he shows and dies, does that prove she doesn't have the gift? Might she be willing to sacrifice a friend rather than be caged for the rest of her life?"

"Yes, that would complicate the results; however, all the background we have on her indicates she would rather commit suicide like her grandmother did rather than let someone die because of her," Willis said, although the thought had crossed his mind. "She will let the test continue because she must assume the killing will occur whether she's alive or dead. It's afterward that would concern me—suicide or a vanishing act."

"I can't wait for phase two. Like watching a trapped mouse, but even mice bite." Black was laughing as his smiley face faded out. Black made Willis nervous even when things were going well.

* * *

Sheila sat relaxing in the Grill Room of the Winsor Court Hotel. The rooms and the restaurant, five-stars and expensive, were far enough from the French Quarter to avoid running into Renee by accident, but close enough to supervise the participants in her test. She was pleased with phase one. It had gone well she concluded, as she sipped the expensive glass of French Bordeaux she had ordered to finish off a delicious quail dinner. She had earned it. Angela and Sheila's contract killer had been in place at the time Doctor Douglas had been expected to leave his condo. When he had failed to show during the designated two-hour window, the contract killer and Angela had left. The killer didn't mind, she got paid whether she killed the doctor, or he failed to show. Angela didn't know why she was being paid to stand in front of the condo entrance and didn't care. The money was good, and she was free to do what she pleased before and afterward. A call to Harold confirmed that Douglas had gone directly to Renee's shop from work on Tuesday.

The time and place to kill Jim and Ron had been set after their schedules had been carefully monitored for over a week. Jim and Ron were very consistent in the mornings, and nothing had happened to change Ron's scheduled event. Consequently, when Angela went for her fortunetelling session, Mambo Renee would see Ron's future murder. Grace's schedule was more unpredictable, so Sheila would have to monitor her activities and set the time and place for Angela with a telephone call.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

The Test results.

The next two weeks alternated between heaven and hell. Jim called more often, and we managed to see each other once or twice during the week when I didn't have fortunetelling sessions. Usually I visited his place and stayed the night. That satisfied Grace's wish that I keep her up to date. Jim and I spent all our off time together. The hell was knowing this was going to end, and not nicely with marriage and children.

"Well, what is the plan for tomorrow?" Grace asked as the four of us sat snacking on cheese and wine in their apartment.

"The shooting took place around Ron's normal time to leave for work—eight-thirty or so. Angela was in place about a half hour before Ron appeared. She has to be in place, or I couldn't see it so I suggest it would be safe to leave a couple of hours early, say six o'clock."

"Lawyers work late, not early," Jim said, followed by a strained laugh.

"We'll go together. We can stop and get breakfast. I'd like to return to the scene of the planned crime to see what I can learn. Might come in handy for my planned killing. You are going to let me know when and where, aren't you, Renee?" She smiled.

"That's the movie for Thursday evening."

"From the notes you made of our sessions with you, it must be just like watching a movie. You said you couldn't see the future before your...gift," Ron said as if unsure.

"No. Close your eyes and rub your hand along my arm over the serpent."

Carefully, he rubbed his fingertips along the serpent tattoo. "Yes, I feel a scar of some sort. Almost feels like a...snowflake," he said after some hesitation. I motioned for Grace to do the same. When she did, she nodded agreement.

"It's the symbol Ohene, which stands for wisdom and foresight. It was the Loa's gift to Granny's grandmother and the only one I know of that can be passed along. It's burned into the skin then covered with a tattoo of the Loa's choosing."

"Then those two other tattoos cover two other symbols...gifts?" Grace asked.

"Yes. Mpuannum, the symbol of priestly office, and Nkontim, the symbol of loyalty and willingness to serve."

"What do they permit you to do?"

"Nothing new. I appear to have better control when watching a person's future and seem to see further. The other I took as a confirmation of my commitment to God."

"Won't the Loa protect you then?" Jim asked. He had been quiet until then as I had told him about the gifts as he explored my body the other night and felt the scars.

"I don't think so; otherwise, they would have helped Granny. I believe the Loa and God takes an interest in us but aren't there to cater to our whims or to make life easier for us. They may be willing to give us moral support, but expect us to find our own solutions."

* * *

Angela was right on time as usual, smiling and dressed to snare traffic and turn men into swivel-head dolls.

"You're amazing, Mambo Renee. That poor policeman must have had a case of blue-balls when I stripped, offered sex, but wouldn't accept money. He had a hard-on that almost ripped his pants and couldn't do anything to satisfy the itch without owing me." She laughed as she sat and put her hands on the table. "Men can be very entertaining. Most men," she amended and her smile faded.

"Yes." I agreed as I put my hands over hers. I watched as Angela partied her way through the week: eating out at good restaurants, sightseeing, and sex. It was obvious she was being paid well to see me and stand around and watch on Wednesdays. It surprised me when she wasn't standing outside the condo complex next Wednesday. Around two o'clock she received a phone on her cell and hurried out, caught a cab, and was dropped off on Moss Street. Across the canal was a park-like area where several police cars and a group of people were gathered by the water. About thirty minutes later, Grace returned to her car with Mike. They had driven only a few yards when the car exploded. I shuddered and removed my hands.

"Something bad."

"An accident," I said and put my hands back over hers and the scene changed. This time Angela’s day was like every other day. That was good, I hoped. There would be no reason to kill her where I couldn't see it happen. "Well, Angela, another fun week. You might even meet someone you like."

"You mean out of bed?" she asked with genuine interest.

"Yes."

"The question is will he like me?"

"As you said, it's a short-lived profession," I said. I could see the problem in her eyes. Of the men willing to marry a prostitute, those that were available weren't worth having, and those worth having weren't available.

"A wonderful dream, Mambo. If I find him, will you marry us?"

"I'd be honored."

* * *

It was Saturday night before the four of us could get together, since I had Mr. Bishop for a fortunetelling session on Friday. All I could tell him was that his marriage and business were doing well. A fake would have felt the need to make up something.

"Thank you, Mambo Renee. A perfect telling, and just the way I like it—sweet and short," he said and all but skipped out the door.

By the time I arrived at Jim's condo on Saturday, everyone was there having a big platter of quartered muffuletta sandwiches filled with olive salad, mortadella, salami, mozzarella, ham, and provolone, awaiting the news.

"Well, Renee. No scrumptious muffuletta until we hear the news. How is he planning to kill me?" Grace asked, and appeared more interested than nervous.

"Boom," I said reaching for a quarter of a sandwich. I could hear myself chewing, the room was so quiet.

"That was dramatic, Renee," Grace said. "I hope you have some details. Bombs are ugly weapons, especially if they are linked to a cell phone."

"I can only tell you what Angela sees; therefore, I can't tell you when or where the bomb was attached. You must have been called to some incident on Wisner Boulevard sometime in the early afternoon because there were three police cars there. They sent Angela to an address on Moss Street which was on the other side of the canal from where you and the police were on Wisner. I believe Mike was with you. When you and he returned to your car and drove off, it exploded."

"Nice people," Ron said, giving Grace a worried look. "I hope you saw the scene change."

"Yes, and Grace was alright, so I imagine you caught the person who planted the bomb or at least disarmed it."

"It's time we took the initiative. Unfortunately it's unlikely to help your problem since the person planting the bomb will be a professional and won't know who hired him. But maybe we'll get lucky. If nothing else, it may make them more cautious and will make me feel good."

"And smarter," Jim muttered.

"That's true, Jim. We have to take the initiative if there is any chance of discovering who they are."

"Grace is right. If nothing else, we put one killer behind bars," I said.

Grace decided she would get Mike and another agent to stake out her car after she returned home, thinking that the killer would have installed the bomb that night then followed her until she was called to Wisner Boulevard. Then she called Angela or her contact who called Angela. Jim and I left early.

* * *

"What do you think will happen now, my love?" Jim asked as we stopped panting from a satisfying session of love making later that night. I didn't want to think because every scenario had the same ending, only who died varied.

"They will soon know I have my granny's gift. They will be careful for fear I'll commit suicide like her, so they must act soon. Granny said the event was at least a year off which would mean it must be soon."

"You can't commit suicide. I don't want to lose you."

"What alternative do I have?" I asked feeling sorry for Jim. I would die, but he would be left behind to mourn.

* * *

The week went slowly, as I waited to hear the outcome of the Tuesday night stakeout. We had agreed to meet Wednesday after work. When I arrived, everyone was there and looked to have been celebrating for a while.

"We got the bomber," Grace said handing me a glass of wine as I came through the door. "Jerry alerted me around two a.m. that someone had entered the garage, so Mike and I were alert when someone came walking down the ramp towards my car a couple of minutes later. We arrested her just after she had finished placing a bomb in the back seat of my car. She claims to be Cailin Dahmer, a United States citizen, but she had no identification on her when we took her into custody. We found the rental car she came in, which had a Texas license. She has no record that we can find under that name, and her finger prints aren't in the system. Judging by the description, we think she might be wanted by Interpol under the name Collette Faivre. It's going to take a while to discover who she really is, but my money says she's a professional assassin with multiple aliases. She's as cold as dry ice. Except to give us a name, she hasn't said a word except to ask for a lawyer. We don't know where she was staying here in town, where her permanent address is, or even the state she claims residence.”

"My associates say the lawyer she has retained is one of the best criminal lawyers in the country—well known and expensive," Ron said.

"The bad news, she's a professional, and I doubt we'll find any connection to who hired her. If we're lucky, we may locate the intermediate but that will take time."

"How did you explain the stakeout?" I asked out of curiosity.

"Lied." Grace smiled. "I said I thought someone had been following my car for the past several days and thought I saw someone around my car when I went back to retrieve a package I forgot in the back seat. I asked Jerry and Mike for a favor. Told them I'd pay one hundred a night for a couple of night stakeouts. I doubt they believed me then or now. The district agent-in-charge believes it's related to the group I'm investigating. No mention of you, Renee."

"Thanks, Grace. I don't need the FBI investigating me too," I laughed.

"I wish we could get you into the Witness Protection Program under some false pretenses. It would be the perfect solution. Maybe I can think up a reason."

"Include me," Jim said, decisively.

"For me that would be close to suicide. I couldn't practice Vodou or tell fortunes or work with herbs without giving them clues to my whereabouts.” I pointed to the horse-head tattoo. “That's my commitment to God."

"Well, suicide is unacceptable to me..."—Jim looked at Ron and Grace—"us. Maybe that's our commitment to God. To keep you safe." He grabbed me in a breath-constricting hug.

"Maybe I can find a reason to have you given police protection," Grace said, frowning in thought.

"Even if you could, these people have money and can hire whatever it takes to kidnap me, and I'd hate to see innocent policemen killed to delay the inevitable," I took Grace's hand in mine. "Thank you, but I'm content to wait. I won't help them no matter what. But if I can, I'd like to avoid you or anyone from being hurt. I don't know how, since they have identified you as important to me, but I'll try." Tears streamed down my cheeks. I knew it would probably be impossible.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Black's compromise

Willis sat smiling at the blank monitor, sipping a glass of Cote de Nuits between puffs on his La Corona—a five thousand dollar celebration. The test had proved beyond the shadow of a doubt Mambo Renee had her grandmother's gift, and it was payday. Exactly at 10:00 p.m. the monitor lit and the smiley faces began appearing.

"Good evening, Mr. Willis. I understand from Mr. Black that your test was very ingenious and that it proved conclusively that Ms. Mathur has the gift of foresight." Blue's smiley face said in a cheerful voice.

"Yes, Mr. Blue. After each fortunetelling session with Angela, our paid viewer to witness the murders, Renee met with her friends and made sure the intended victim for that week avoided the place where the killing would take place. It's clear that she was able to see each event. If there were any doubt, the last event, a bombing, was too random for her to deduce from the first two. And they set a trap for the bomber and caught her."

"What if she talks?" Orange's voice was harsh.

"She doesn't know anything except she was contracted to kill several people. Her intermediate may know the person who contracted her services. But she's not going to rat on her intermediate."

"Seems like a loose end." Brown sounded concerned.

"Black, I agree. We don't want any link to Mr. Willis. He has served us well." Blue's smiley continued to smile.

"Consider it done," Black's smiley face said sounding amused. Willis shuddered. He didn't really mind them killing Sheila as she was a possible link to him, but it was the callousness or maybe the lack of loyalty. Sheila had been instrumental in designing, setting up, and monitoring the test which proved Renee had the talent. Their safety was the only concern.

"Mr. Willis, we thank you for your services. You will be paid as promised. Are there any outstanding issues we should know about, connections to you?" Blue's smiley face asked.

"Well, I guess there is Sheila's partner Ken."

"Mr. Black, if you would take care of that, and we need to arrange to secure Mambo Renee's services. The event we have been preparing for is near," Mr. Blue's smiley face said.

"That won't work. Mambo Renee has proved she can't be tortured into helping us, and I believe she would commit suicide if she knew exactly what we planned."

"You are saying this was all for nothing?" Violet sounded furious.

"No. I'm suggesting a change of strategy. I would like to discuss it tomorrow at our regular time," Black's smiley face said and his voice seemed to come from within the room. When Willis looked up a shadowy figure stood talking into a device in one hand while leaning against the doorframe into the room.

"Tomorrow, Mr. Black," Blue's smiley face said and the smiley faces began to blank out one at a time.

"Mr. Willis, I'm afraid you forgot to mention Harold and Tony," the shadowy figure said.

"But...they don't know anything."

"Under the old strategy, you and they weren't loose ends to be concerned about. But I'm afraid under the new strategy, you and they are loose ends we would be better off without."

* * *

Mr. Black sat in a typical hotel room chair in a small modest hotel room waiting for the clock to strike ten. As it did, his hand-held device began displaying the five colored faces one at a time.

Mr. Blue's smiley face lit last. "Good evening, Mr. Black. My friends and I were very disappointed with your observation yesterday and are not sure we agree."

"We have learned a great deal about Mambo Renee over the past months. Our friend the sheriff proved she couldn't be tortured into doing something against her will."

"Not true. She couldn't tell him the name of the informant because there wasn't one," Green's smiley face growled.

"She could have told him how she knew, but she didn't. That would have stopped him torturing her. I think it's safe to conclude torture won't work. Money won't work, otherwise she would have taken the two million they offered to buy her out. And she is deeply religious and would commit suicide before she would go against her ethics."

"Suicide is a sin and Voodoo isn't a real religion," Violet’s smiley face shouted.

"You may believe God doesn't recognize Voodoo as a religion, but she does, Mr. Violet and that is all that matters. But if she knew we were up to something but didn't know what, I believe she would be reluctant to commit suicide and abandon her congregation, friends, and ability to help people through fortunetelling. In that event, we can accomplish our initial goal over the coming months, then a change of strategy may work and would be worth trying."

"With your new approach, you believe we will at very least be able to achieve our initial goal?"

"Yes. I've cleaned up all the loose ends, those that knew anything about Mambo Renee's talent: Willis, Tony, Harold, and Ken"

"What about Sheila and Angela?" Mr. Green's smiley face asked.

"They are still necessary. Angela is part of my new approach and Sheila is her only contact. Besides, neither Angela nor Sheila has any knowledge of us."

"What about Renee's friends?" Mr. Orange smiley face asked..

"They are our insurance that Mambo Renee will continue to play the game."

"Any objections to Mr. Black's proposal?" Mr. Blue's smiley face asked. When no one said anything, he continued, "You have our approval to precede, Mr. Black."

* * *

When Sheila answered the knock at the door, a young bellhop stood smiling. "Ms. Volland, I have a special delivery package for you," he said and extended the narrow box. Sheila took it, turned it over, and tested the weight, curbing the urge to put it to her ear.

"Just a minute," she said and retrieved a ten dollar bill from her purse and handed it to the young man. "Thank you." She closed the door and inspected the package. The return address read JOBS with an address she doubted existed. When she opened it, she found a small laptop with a green sticky with ten a.m. printed just below a black square with a yellow smiley face. It was now nine thirty a.m. She opened the HP laptop to find it was a thirteen-inch Spectre, one of their better machines. Almost reluctantly, she pressed the power button. When nothing happened she sighed in relief. The people she was dealing with this time were more scary than usual. She sat back, wondering what this was about. She had completed her assignment, the test had gone well, and Willis owed her the money he promised.

All of a sudden, the screen went black. A smiley face appeared in the center and its lips began moving. "Sheila, I'm Mr. Black, replacing Mr. Willis, who has retired. I have deposited into your account the three million he promised and am willing to pay another three million for your continued services, plus expenses. Are you interested?" The damn smiley face looked to be listening for the answer.

"Unless you want me to kill someone in the White House, I'm very interested," Sheila said, resisting the urge to react with the excitement she felt. "What’s the assignment?"

"Simple, you are to continue managing Angela who will continue to visit Mambo Renee."

"But I thought..." Sheila stopped short of saying "You would kidnap her."

"One must adapt as circumstances change. I've been impressed with your creativity and resourcefulness. As a result, I decided to offer you a full-time position with me." Before she could protest he continued. "I know you prefer to be an independent contractor, but this pays better and provides benefits you couldn't get on your own."

Everything clicked into place. She had tried to contact Willis and Tony without success, which she thought strange since he owed her money. At least Tony should have been available to set up a meeting. Then she tried Ken's firm. They hadn't heard from him. And finally she couldn't get hold of Harold. The group was cleaning up loose ends, which was anyone connected with Mambo Renee. You were either in or out—permanently.

"Thank you, Mr. Black. I accept." Alive and wealthy or running for the rest of my life, Sheila mused.

"You will check your email once every day. Angela will continue to pay for weekly fortunetelling sessions. She will be playing a game and needs Mambo Renee's help..." Black went on to explain the game and her part. For three million dollars she was merely Angela's unseen go-between.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

The Game

Although I doubted that Angela would show for her fortunetelling session, I told Jim I wouldn't be coming over and got ready anyway. To my surprise, Angela showed right on time, dressed casually, but not less spectacularly. Her bright-yellow slacks were skin tight like they were molded to her shapely hips, her sweat shirt a size or two too small, prominently displaying her D-cup breasts and nipples.

"Good evening, Angela. I thought you would be on your way back to Miami," I said, wondering why she wasn’t. I had thought they had enough proof that I had Granny's gift.

"I've been asked to stay and continue my fortunetelling sessions with you. I don't know what is going on, but I doubt whoever is paying me means you well. I like you and think you're a good person. I'll leave and go home if you want."

"Thank you. I'm sure you're being well paid. Stay. You can use the money, and I'd rather have someone with a good heart like you than someone else. I don't know what they are planning, but I'm sure they will find someone else if you leave."

"I will share what I learn, if that will help. My contact, who I've never met, has just told me they would continue to pay me to stay. They pay very well, Mambo Renee."

"Yes, I'll just bet they do. Sit. Let see what kind of a week you are going to have," I said, wondering what surprises they had in store for me. As I watched, Angela took a couple of nights off to relax each week. Nothing seemed to happen for the two months I watched. "It looks like you are going to be here for quite a while, but it looks like you're slowing down, taking a couple of days off each week. That nice guy is still hanging around."

"Sounds like I don't feel rushed to make it while I can. Hope that sounds good for you."

"I guess we are both going to have to wait to see what they expect from us." I was certainly confused. I thought they would be moving to kidnap me or threaten me with something, but what I saw didn't seem consistent with either scenario.

"Mambo is like a priest, and Voodoo is a real religion isn't it?" Angela asked after I removed my hands.

"Yes." I got up and walked over to my books to pull out a small, fifty page book on the Vodou religion. "If you are interested, here is some light reading when you are lazing by the pool. It outlines the history of the Vodou religion and gives a brief overview of its main beliefs."

"How much," she said reaching for her purse.

"It's free with no obligation to read it. Some religions believe it’s the participants’ obligation to recruit new members. I don't. To me, religions, through their priests, are there only to help a person develop a strong connection to God."

"What about a sinner like me?" Angela asked hesitantly.

"I'm not much on the Bible, but it seems to me Jesus had no problem with prostitutes. You mean no one harm, and the act of sex breaks no law of God I know of," I said, thinking about the Ten Commandments, which most religions endorsed in one form or another. "You provide a service for money like I do."

Angela roared with laughter. "You're comparing your service to mine? They don't arrest fortunetellers." She gave me a hug which I returned. "Thank you for the book, Mambo Renee. See you next week."

* * *

"What's the latest, Renee?" Grace asked as we settled down with our plates and drinks. When I wouldn't agree to staying at either Jim's or their unit, she had insisted on a weekly Saturday night party. We alternated units weekly and the meals were usually ordered from restaurants that had take-out. Tonight it was sushi.

"They appear to have changed tactics. I expected them to either kidnap me or come by and threaten me. They've done neither."

"I wish you would close your shop and move in with Jim or us. We would worry less. I feel like calling you every hour to see if you are all right," Grace said to nodding heads.

"You and I know if they decide to kidnap me, you couldn't stop them and would only get hurt trying. And if I were willing to close my shop and hide, I'd be better off trying to disappear altogether."

"Good idea. I'll go with you," Jim said.

"Anyway, they are paying Angela to stay in New Orleans and to keep her regular weekly fortunetelling session with me. I saw nothing unusual over the next two months."

"You can see two months into the future?" Ron asked, stroking his chin in thought. "You could tell me the verdict..."

"But then would you work as hard for your client? Then you would stop accepting cases you wouldn't win. And maybe some of those people are innocent, and you would only lose them because you had become lazy."

"You're right. Like knowing the answers to a test. You would get an A but have learned nothing."

"I think the news is good. If they want Angela to keep seeing you, they aren't planning to abduct you in the near future. That gives us time," Grace said. "I'm afraid the news on our bomber isn't encouraging. We believe she's an international assassin from what we've been able to piece together, but I doubt we can ever prove it. She is a very careful person and prepared well for being caught. The name she gave us doesn't have a record, and her official residence doesn't contain any clues to her activities. She only lives there briefly during any given year. Her lawyer is excellent. He's confined all our questions to the bomb incident, which he won't let her answer beyond saying that someone paid her to deliver the bomb to my car. She claims she didn't know the phone number to activate it, what the bomb was going to be used for, or who made it. I wouldn't be surprised if the District Attorney wouldn't end up giving her a plea deal to some minor charge since he's facing years of legal proceedings and could lose in the end. Her lawyer is good and will certainly raise lots of probable doubt with any jury."

"So that's a dead end," Jim said in disgust.

"Yes."

* * *

Mambo Monique attended my Sunday service, which delighted me, as I hadn't seen her in several weeks what with all the excitement. "I'm thrilled you came. I've been distracted for the past couple of weeks. They have been testing me."

"That makes sense. They need to be sure. Are they?"

"Yes. I couldn't fail the test without being as evil as they are. Nor could I avoid it."

"Can you share your plans with me?"

"They are the ones with plans. I can only wait and react. For now, I’ll continue my services and provide whatever help or comfort I can."

"Spoken like a true mambo. Mambo Eshe would have been very proud of her granddaughter. If you don't mind, I'll stay for the service.”

After walking around talking with those attending, I drew the ve've for Legba-Papa Labas and began. As I chanted prayers and danced I felt alive with energy, relieved of my worries and fears—touched by the Loa.

* * *

Life seemed to have returned to normal. I spent the days in my shop, nights working on my website or telling fortunes or with Jim. Oatha had a session, which showed nothing exciting, and we spent most of the time talking about her children.

Ellen had her monthly session. Her future showed her doing well at work. She had paid for her friend's breast surgery and the prognosis was good based on what I could deduce from Ellen's visits.

"Mambo Renee, I believe in God but admit I don't belong to any organized religion," she said after her session. "And have to admit I don't know what to think of Voodoo as a religion. But I know if I felt the need for moral counsel I would come to you. You may be young, but you put others’ needs above your own and have a good sense of right and wrong. I keep wanting to give you money although I know that is not what motivates you. Consider it a donation for you to use to help others as you've helped me or towards a place of your own someday to hold services."

On Thursday I had my normal session with Angela. This time she was dressed for partying. I saw nothing that seemed to be directed at me, which was both a relief and a concern—relieved that there were no immediate threats but concerned over what they were planning. Angela was their connection to me, and they had to be planning something otherwise they would have let her leave, but what?

Jim and I almost seemed married. If it hadn't been for the shop, I would have moved in with him. I was definitely in love and would have accepted a proposal of marriage if it hadn't been for the group after me. And he had made it crystal clear he had proposed and would wait my decision—well, more wait for me to set a date. The man was my dream come true and biggest worry. It drove me insane worrying about the group hurting him to get at me, knowing I wouldn't help them even for Jim.

* * *

"What's new?" Grace asked as her chopsticks deftly delivered a piece of Kung Pao chicken into her mouth.

"Nothing. Life seems good. My business is more profitable than it has ever been, thanks to the Internet and fortunetelling clients. I've found the love of my life and have fantastic friends." I paused for a sip of tea.

"Angela's life is still normal?" Grace asked. She was an action-oriented woman and wanted something to happen so she could spring into action. I was content to wait and enjoy whatever time I had left.

"Yes, too normal. If it weren’t for the fact that the birds have stopped chirping, the tide has receded a thousand yards out to sea, and we have oceanfront property, I'd say life was great."

Ron choked out a laugh. "A tsunami is hell on oceanfront property."

"We'll sell up and move inland," Jim said, pushing his orange flavored beef around with his chopsticks.

* * *

I tried to enjoy the moment each day. Everyone I knew appeared to be experiencing good times, including me, but Thursday sessions loomed ahead each week with unknown ramifications. I had considered telling her I wouldn't give her any more fortunetelling sessions, but I instinctively knew Jim or Ron or Grace's life would be threatened.

When Angela appeared, I knew immediately things had changed. She was dressed in sweats that might have been a size too big, although it would have been hard to hide Angela's figure completely.

"Hi, Angela. I almost didn't recognize you. Are you in disguise?" I asked and gave her a hug—she looked so serious.

"I guess this is the real me, dressed to curl up with a good book and a glass of wine in front of a warm fire. I'm afraid the game has started although like before I don't understand it. Then I was asked to stand somewhere at a specific time to see something but nothing ever happened...because you stopped it. Now it's a silly game although I doubt it's silly. The money is great but I'd leave rather than hurt you." Her eyes misted. She was right. This was the real Angela: a kind gentle soul who was just trying to survive like the rest of us.

"No, you might as well take their money because I don't plan on giving them a return on their investment." I laughed, and she rewarded me with a smile. "Tell me about this game."

"It's simple. They gave me a laptop with this weird game on it. They send me an email telling me to activate the computer. When I do, three smiley faces appear with different colored backgrounds and a small checkbox below each one. I'm to check one of the boxes. If I guess right they will send me five thousand dollars." She shrugged.

"Do you have to pay to guess? And how do you find out whether you guess right?" I asked wondering how this involved me—which it had to.

"Sometime each day I turn on my computer, activate the program, and look to see if a result is posted. However, the results wouldn't be posted for weeks so I suppose you have to tell me whether I guessed right or wrong. Then I notify them. If I was right, they will send me five thousand dollars. Does that make sense?" she asked, watching me closely.

"Last time it was a test. They wanted to see if I could see what you did. This time I admit I'm not sure. Let play their game. I promise you I won't let you get hurt." Of course, I would warn her if I saw she was in danger.

"I trust you, Mambo Renee," she said, and laughed as she sat down at the table. "Let’s play, we can split the money."

I put my hands over her and watched. As with the two previous sessions, she took time off from working to relax, dressing comfortably when she went out those days. The man that she had met and was treating as a boyfriend rather than a client continued to date her. Then I saw it. It was the night before what would be our second session. She turned on her laptop and a smiley face with a green background appeared. I took my hands away. "Green."

"That was the one I picked. We just made two thousand five hundred each." She smiled.

"No, it's yours, Angela, but I appreciate the thought. Hopefully, it will enable you to retire in comfort. I don't see any problems for the next couple of weeks."

"I read your book on Vodou. It was very interesting. Would you mind if I attended your next service. You know what I do..."

"I'd be honored. You can watch and afterward I'll answer any questions you have. You will find others, including my boyfriend, there watching." I gave her the time and address before she left. I just hoped I wasn't endangering her life by letting her get close to me. The tingle I felt under the horse head tattoo reassured me I had done the right thing—I think.

* * *

"If you tell me nothing happened, I'm going to scream," Grace said as she put the two buckets of Colonel Sander's fried chicken on the table.

"You're in luck." I had to smile. Grace was like a race horse in the starting gate. "The game has begun..." I went on to explain what Angela had told me.

"That's interesting," Ron said, leaning back and looking off into the distance.

"I don't understand," Grace said. Ron thought it was an interesting puzzle, whereas Grace was frustrated by the lack of clues to begin the hunt.

"I like it," Jim said, raising his wine glass in salute.

"Why," everyone said at once.

"The game will give Renee and me time to get married and plan our escape. Unless she would rather continue living in sin." He grinned and winked at me. I understood his clowning. He was frustrated, worried, and scared. The final chapter of this mystery always seemed to end in my death—one way or another.

"I'd rather we catch the bad guys, and you two stay in N’Orleans. But they aren't giving us much to go on. I'd like to get a trace on all of Angela's communications, but after the FBI leak we had with Mambo Monique, I'd be concerned about alerting them. Damn, this is frustrating."

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

The game continues

True to her word, Angela was waiting when I arrived at Woldenberg Park with Jim. She looked ready to run. "I'm glad you could make it, Angela. I'd like you to meet Jim. Jim this is the beautiful Angela I spoke of," I said. She had dressed in sweats. If I were to guess, it was because they were the only loose fitting clothes she owned.

"It's nice to meet you, Jim," she said and extended her hand.

"It's nice to meet you, Angela," Jim said, taking her hand.

"I didn't know what to wear. I hope..." she said, looking at me.

"I don't know what you are used to, but these services are very informal. They don't mind spectators. You can stand with me if you like. I'm still learning, but I might be able to answer a few questions until Renee is available," Jim said, which I think made her even more nervous.

"That's a good idea, Angela. Vodou services are different from most church services. Jim can make some sense of it," I said, hoping to put her at ease about any possible jealousy issues. Although it would break my heart, I wish Jim would find someone else. But it would take a major operation to separate him from me—we seemed to be sharing one heart. She seemed to visually relax.

"Thank you, I'd like that. I do feel a bit out of place." Her face lit with her first real smile. I left them to talk and wandered the sizeable crowd stopping to talk to everyone that showed an interest. My congregation tended to be growing by one or two every time. Finally, I entered the pavilion and began to draw the ve've for Legba-Papa Labas to open the gates between the Loa and those attending the ceremony. Then on a whim, I drew the ve've for Danh-Gbwe, the great serpent venerated as an intermediary of focus of divine power. Then I began the service by singing an opening prayer to Bon Dieu, the good God, and then continued with a prayer to Danh-Gbwe. As I sang and danced, I felt the serpent on my arm move into my arm and travel through my body. Feeling one with the Loa Danh-Gbwe, I was lost to the world.

* * *

I woke with my head in Jim's lap and staring at his face and said the first thing that came to mind, "You have beautiful eyes."

"You almost gave me and Angela a heart attack. Six others also...fainted. People are saying you're a mambo with great power. That you evoked the spirits, and they took possession of many individuals. I don't know about that, but it did get exciting."

When I rose and walked around, everyone was interested in talking with me, and it was another hour before I got back to Jim and Angela, who wasn't her normal animated self.

"Mambo Renee, would you help me learn Vodou. I'm interested and would like to join."

"I'd be happy to. Maybe after our fortunetelling sessions, and if necessary, we can schedule additional time."

"Thank you."

"I can see why you like her. She had a lot of good questions and insightful observations. She's certainly no dumb blond," Jim said as Angela wandered off into the night. "How do you feel?"

"I've made a decision, or maybe the Loa Danh-Gbwe, the great serpent, made it." I pointed to the serpent on my arm. “They will find that I not only bite but the fangs have poison."

"Good. When do we get married?" Jim laughed. I punched him in the arm.

"Soon. Let’s see if Ron and Grace are up and available."

* * *

It was late by the time we arrived back at the condo, and Ron and Grace looked ready for bed but livened up when I wanted to talk about the bad guys. Ron put on coffee, and Grace came out with a tray of snacks.

"I’ve been feeling sorry for myself and accepting the fact that the bad guys were going to win. Tonight during my service, I or the Loa or maybe both of us decided to fight. They know I can tell the future but not how far into the future. They know I can see a week but not how much further. The game with Angela is to find out, and that is why they haven't made a move against me yet."

"How far can you see?" Ron asked. His curiosity was academic; however, Grace's look tended to be professional—how could it be used. I trusted these people but no sense providing unnecessary temptation. A week was interesting but three months or more opened a world of possibilities.

"Don't know, Ron. I don't think the Loa are interested in us knowing too much more. Maybe two, but probably with less specificity," I said, noticing a trace of disappointment from Grace. I couldn't blame her. It must have been a tantalizing tool to use to catch bad guys. "Anyway, I want to go on the offensive."

"How?" Jim said cautiously. I knew he preferred the let’s run away option as less dangerous.

"If we can catch Angela's contact then maybe we can trap their contact... I'm stupid when it comes to computers, so I'll need some help, Grace. Angela would give me the one she's using, but I imagine that wouldn't lead anywhere. But if we could capture Angela's contact, and she has a computer..."

"That might work, especially if that person didn't know we were monitoring the signal. We could at very least get his location. Let me talk to some people at work and get their input. But how do we catch Angela's contact?" Grace said, leaning forward excitedly.

"I'll disappear. That should cause Angela's contact or someone who works for him to visit my shop looking for clues."

"We stake out your store? That will require a lot of manpower."

"Yes and no. I suggest we install a recording camera in my shop. Then either you or Ron review the tape each day."

"Having a picture of the person might not lead to finding him."

"Sometime each day I'll look at your future. I might be able to determine the time and day the person is going to break in, and you can be ready to grab them." I smiled.

"You just gave me a migraine headache," Grace said, and Jim nodded agreement.

"I love it," Ron said. "Since Renee will be able to see my future, she will see when I see the person breaking into her shop. It will be the future so you can set a trap. When do we start?"

"It's no wonder these two got along so well when they met." Grace rolled her eyes at Jim. "Let me see about getting this set up. I might be able to suggest I believe there are more people involved with the group I'm investigating and get some FBI assistance, or at a minimum, support for continuing my investigation. If I hedge—misrepresent—the facts, I think I can make it look like a continuation of the old case and keep Renee's involvement as related to her kidnapping," Grace said almost as if thinking out loud. We decided to meet again the next night.

* * *

Jim and I spent a leisurely day at the Barataria preserve exploring and wandering the trails, ate an early dinner, and arrived back at the condo an hour before Grace arrived. She waited to update us on her discussion until Ron arrived about an hour later.

"On the camera, they suggested it appear to be a standard security camera which would allow the thief to remove the tape and feel secure. However, the camera would send a signal to the Internet and be recorded for later viewing." Grace paused to sip her wine. "The laptops probably interface via Wi-Fi with the Internet and would most likely be routed through several dozen servers which will make it hard to get a location unless the person trusted who he was talking to. Finding the server is easier, but determining who signed up for the service may not be easy depending upon how cautious the person is—alias, false address, etc. But I say if you're willing, Renee, we have nothing to lose. I got the Director's permission to expand the investigation without directly involving you. So even if there is a leak, it should appear related to the Sheriff and his group."

I was scheduled to disappear on Thursday.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Countermoves

I had barely opened the shop for business on Tuesday, when a man entered with tools and hauled in a couple of boxes on a two-wheeled luggage-cart.

"Good morning, Ms. Mathur. I'm Max, and I'm here to install your new security camera."

"Good morning, Max. If you need any help, let me know."

"Nah, I will need to go into your...living quarters." He nodded towards the door. I opened it and led him look around. “If you don't mind, I'd like to install it in with your books. We don't really care if they find it, but we need to make it look like we do." He laughed.

"Wherever you think, Max. You’re the expert." I went back out into the shop to greet a customer. Max was done in less than two hours and spent a half hour explaining the system. It had two separate memories, one for the shop and one for the camera in my living quarters. I could program it to turn on and off at certain hours or work it manually. The machine’s memory was good for about five days at which time it would begin writing over the stored recordings. Of course, it didn't matter since the recording was being sent via Wi-Fi to another machine which Ron would review each day.

After I closed for the day, I locked up and made my way to Jim's condo, which I was beginning to think of as a second home. He was such a comfortable person to be with. I was afraid to think too far ahead, but I couldn't help speculating about children and a life with him.

I stopped at a grocery store on the way and picked up a couple of pounds of redfish and the ingredients to fix a dinner of blackened redfish for the four of us.

* * *

"This is excellent, Renee," Ron said to nodding heads.

"Thank you. Granny never had a lot of money so she cooked all our meals. A lot cheaper than eating out. And she started me early learning how to cook which went well with my lessons on herbs."

"I reviewed the records from today. The cameras are working fine," Grace said between swallows. "What's the plan for disappearing, and where are you going?"

"Jim is going to call someone for me and arrange for him to pick me up and hide me. I'd rather not say who. I plan to leave Thursday before my scheduled meeting with Angela. I hate to do that to her, but she will be more convincing if she doesn't know what's happened to me." Jim and I had discussed it the previous day. He had called Ellen from the hospital in case someone could examine his cell phone calls. Ellen had agreed to pick me up at seven p.m. in the French Quarter's Visitor Center parking lot towards Saint Peter Street and provide me with a place to stay for a week or two if necessary. An agent would review the tape each morning and let Grace know if he saw anything. He would give her the tape to review, and she would share the tape with Ron that evening. We thought it less likely someone was trying to watch Ron while he was at his office, therefore, I would meet with Ron there each morning. His secretary would schedule his first fifteen minutes with me as someone doing research for him. In reality, it wouldn't take but a few days, since I'd be looking into the future, i.e., if they were going to search my shop and home it would already be a future event. I just needed to touch someone who would witness the event or in this case have watched it on a monitor.

* * *

Wednesday turned out to be a typical day, with people popping in and out with the most traffic in the mid-afternoon. At first, I was a bit concerned about having a security camera in the store, although it wasn't conspicuous, it wasn't hidden. But everyone seemed to ignore it or took it as normal for the times. As an elderly man, who had purchased some herbs, left the shop, I rose, getting ready to close, when three young, South American looking men entered. Like the Locos they were filled with tattoos. One closed the door, reversed the Open sign to Closed, and leaned back against the door. One walked in the shop and with his arm walked sweeping things off shelves and walls onto the floor. The third approached me. Smiling, he turned his head slightly so I could see the MS666 tattoo.

"Well, bitch, your fucking future is looking up. You're going be the 666's fortunetelling ho." He laughed as he reached for me, grabbing my arm and jerking me into him. As I slammed into his chest, his hand grabbed my crotch and squeezed. I cramped in pain. His other hand tore at my blouse, ripping it open. Fear had me frozen. Only years of reflexive training caused me to twist, driving my right elbow into his temple. Shock, then anger registered on his face before a smile began to emerge until my left elbow slammed into his eye socket. He staggered backward but managed to stay on his feet. The man who had been destroying my shop stopped, and came striding towards me, laughing.

"Julio, I guess you'll have to take sloppy seconds," he said, throwing a punch towards my face. I rotated right, blocking with my right while my left fist drove towards his face. As it hit him in the temple, he jerked around and his right arm lifted me off the ground and into the wall. My breath exploded out of me, and I leaned against the wall gasping for air. Julio stood to my right glaring hate at me, and my second attacker to my left, his face twisted in anger.

"Raul, Julio, we goin’ have to find you an old lady to fuck. The young ones are too much for you. Let Sabas show you how it's done." He had left the door and headed for me, knife in hand. "Bitch, on the fucking floor and spread those legs or I'm goin’ cut out both your eyes, and you won't be so much trouble." A long switchblade snapped open. I stared in horror at the approaching monster. Maybe a dream, a retreat from reality, I felt the python move into me, and my mind began working again. I had two rings on that were the fangs of poison: on my right hand a tiger-eye with an extract of moonseeds and on my left hand my onyx ring with an extract of yew. They both would result in paralysis and most likely cardiac failure.

When he reached me, he ripped off my halter. "Not much in the way of tits."

I leaned forward and kissed him, and almost puked when his tobacco stained tongue snaked into my mouth. My arms went around him, and my left ring smacked into his MS666 tattoo. He stepped back and pointed to the floor, laughing.

"That's the way you do iiit—," he mumbled as he fell to his knees, clutching his chest. I began sliding towards the door to my living quarters.

"Stop her," Raul shouted. Julio lunged at me with a left punch, which I avoided by turning into him with an elbow to his ribs. Wrong move. These guys were used to fighting and pain. His left arm coiled around my neck, and he squeezed as his right fist repeatedly slammed into my ribs. I lifted my right foot and drove it down his leg and into the instep of his foot. Bones caved in, but he kept pounding me. I was probably lucky I didn't hit myself with my ring as I swung it in the direction of his arm. It was two more punches before he stopped and collapsed.

Raul stood looking at me for a long time, then smiled. "Let’s see if you're faster than a speeding bullet." He reached under his shirt and pulled out a hand gun.

We both looked towards the door when police sirens could be heard coming down the street and seconds later red and blue light was bouncing off my shop window. He dropped the gun when a megaphone sounded. "You are surrounded, come out with your hands raised."

I assume he and his friends had been there many times before. Better assault and battery than a murder charge. I staggered to the door, opened it, and fell out onto the sidewalk.

* * *

I woke in a daze and the smell of antiseptics. I moaned. It felt worse than last time. Although the pain was dull, it seemed to be everywhere.

"You’re safe, my love." I heard Jim's voice and made an attempt at a smile. "The man Grace had monitoring your security camera saw the three enter, and when the fight started he called 9-1-1. Grace arrived shortly after and took charge saying it was an ongoing FBI case. Two of the men are dead...how?"

I managed to take off the two rings. "Jim, lean close to me." When he did I whispered. "Take these two rings. Be very careful with them. They have a hypodermic needle in them and probably some poison left on the ring. Soak them in bleach." I held out my hand. He took them carefully and examined each one.

"I don't see any needle," he said as he slowly turned them around. "Oh, there is a hole in the stone. Clever. So you..."

"Yes. I hope there is no autopsy. I prefer the fact they were poisoned not be discovered."

"But it was self-defense," he said, looking confused.

"With all that is happening, it might be the difference between me surviving or not—like today." I smiled. "You need to get me released tomorrow."

"What?" he half shouted. "You aren't in any condition to leave the hospital."

"My darling, it's perfect. Disappearing before might have looked contrived and made the bad guys suspicious. Leaving now makes it look like I'm running from the MS666. It's perfect." I watched as Jim’s face went through a range of expressions beginning with defiance and ending in reluctant agreement. Before he left, he must have talked to the doctor on duty because the nurse injected something into my IV, which was the last thing I remembered.

* * *

Jim was sitting in a chair holding my hand when I woke.

"If you're trying to get me to say 'yes' you win. Yes, I'd love to marry you. My only reluctance has been involving you. These are very bad people. But I can't seem to get rid of you." I laughed, then almost screamed, as Jim leaned over to kiss me. He jumped back.

"Sorry, my love," he said but he couldn't stop smiling. "Today?"

"No, not today, you clown, but soon. Let's get through the next few weeks, then we have a lot to discuss and arrange. For now, you can get me released and back to my shop."

It took a while to get me cleared for release. If he hadn't been a local doctor, I doubt he could have gotten approval. He drove me back to my shop. I convinced him to leave right away and go back to his hospital so as to disassociate him from my leaving if anyone was watching. He did leave me a large bottle of oxycodone.

I slipped out the back door as soon as the sun had set and slowly made my way to Dauphine Street sneaking through alley ways and between buildings. There I caught a cab which I took to Toulouse Street and had him drop me next to The Shops at Jax Brewery, which was close to the Toulouse Station in case someone checked. I limped my way behind the Jax buildings to St Peter's Street and crossed over into the Visitors Center parking area. I arrived only minutes before I saw Ellen's silver Lexus SUV slowly coming towards me. I waved and she pulled up beside me. Ellen put my bag in the back and helped me up into the passenger side seat.

"You look like I should take you to emergency," Ellen said, giving me a long appraisal. “But I picked up the wig you asked for. I wish I knew what was going on.”

"It's a long story, and I'm exhausted. I'll explain later. Let just get away from here." Ellen remained quiet when I closed my eyes. Everything hurt and every bump and pot hole sent waves of pain shooting through my ribs up my chest and into my brain where it scored a perfect ten. I sighed in relief when she stopped.

"We're here, Mambo Renee."

"Renee, please," I said. She helped me to the front door where Vicky stood waiting.

"Hi, Vicky," I said before she could say anything. "I'll explain over coffee."

Vicky and Ellen left me in the front room in a comfortable recliner and headed for the kitchen. They returned a while later with coffee and a tray of snacks.

"First, I want to thank you for putting me up for a few days. I have some people after me because they believe I can tell the future and want me to help them do something evil. I need a place to hide while the FBI investigates." I laughed. "The injuries have nothing to do with that. Three MS666 gang members decided to punish me for helping another gang avoid being killed by them."

"Fortunetelling can apparently be a very dangerous business," Vicky said. "I'm glad to help in any way I can. You turned my life around—saved it."

They talked about Vicky's treatment, how the prognosis looked promising, and how her business was again showing a good profit. Seeing me fighting to keep awake, they got me settled in the guest bedroom and Ellen left.

* * *

I staggered out of bed early, spent an hour washing and dressing before venturing out into the kitchen where Vicky was busy eating a bowl of cereal.

"You look better this morning...Renee. There's cereal, juice, or I'll fry you some eggs if you prefer."

"Cereal and juice will be good. I'd like to get to my friend’s building by eight a.m. I really do appreciate you offering to drive me. I had planned to take a taxi, but a car would be less conspicuous and harder to trace. I'm afraid these are powerful people."

"The kind that it's worth opposing. I could never repay what you've done for me..."

"If I've helped you. That is payment and more."

At my insistence, Vicky dropped me a block away from the offices of Fontaine, Bousquet, and Allstott, and I walked the rest of the way to a back entrance. Wearing the blonde wig, I made my way to the fourth floor and down the hall to the suite the firm occupied. It wasn’t much of a disguise but combined with keeping a low profile, I thought it was enough. Ron’s secretary let me into his office and even brought me coffee. Ron entered around eight fifty-five a.m.

"Renee, I heard what happened. Grace has a thousand questions—naturally. I’m willing to be your defense lawyer," he said and laughed as he pulled up another chair next to mine. "The preliminary autopsy indicated the two died of heart attacks. Grace has closed the case although she's dying to know how."

"Herbs," I said and smiled.

"Oh, that will satisfy her." He gave a hearty laugh. "I've the tape of the fight. You were impressive. Those were scary guys, and the idea that they could just kidnap you and keep you for their amusement is beyond comprehension. Yet you know it happens, probably more frequently than we can imagine." He snorted. "Grace must have stayed up all night going over the tape trying to figure out how you managed to kill those two. I did manage to get her to stop for an hour while I scanned the security footage for last night. Nothing that I could see."

"Give me your hands, Ron," I said reaching out towards him. However, when he saw me grimace in pain, he got up and moved a small table between us and placed his hands on it. I placed mine over his and watched as his day and the next unfolded. I smiled.

"Are Grace and I supposed to stop having mad, passionate sex while you're watching my future?" His cheeks turned a pale shade of pink.

"Tell Grace, the break in will be tonight, well officially tomorrow around 2:15 a.m., it's Sheila, and she will be there for about a half hour. Tell her I'd like to come along. I have an idea."

"How?" He shook his head like a dog after a bath and stared off into the distance. "By now they, whoever, have decided to break into your shop looking for clues to where you might have decided to go. So I will be reviewing a tape tonight with nothing on it, but the one I reviewed tomorrow night will have the break in on it. Of course, by then it would have already happened. Grace is right. It's enough to give one a headache, but it is obvious why a criminal could think of a hundred ways to capitalize on your gift. Seeing is great but being able to change the outcome...priceless."

"Yes. But if I change A then B, C, D...are also influenced and possibly changed."

"Now I definitely have a headache. How is Grace going to find you?"

"Tell her I'll join her at my shop at 2:30 a.m."

"I almost forgot to tell you. Grace said to tell you they discovered two bodies in the ocean, about a mile off the coast. One was a cigar smoker."

* * *

"Vicky, I really appreciate you driving me home at this hour," I said. It was two-twenty a.m., and the roads were deserted.

"Are you sure you are going to be safe at your shop? You are welcome to stay at my place as long as you need. It's no trouble."

"I appreciate you putting me up without any questions. Unless I am mistaken—"

"Renee, there's two cars in your alley and a man standing next to your door. Want me to continue going? We can go back—"

"No. It's safe. Again, thank you," I said as I climbed painfully out of the car. The man, who I didn't recognize, watched intently as I approached.

"Hi, I'm Renee. I live here."

"Grace did say you'd be here at two-thirty," he said, as he knocked on the door, and a minute later, the door opened.

"Renee," Grace said, smiling. "You're scary. Sheila isn't being cooperative. What do you have planned?"

"Let me talk to her. We're in need of a lead, and she may be in need of protection," I said thinking about the two bodies Grace had said they found in the ocean. "Do you have a photo of the two dead men Ron said you found?"

"Yes," Grace said pulling out her smartphone, tapping a few times on the screen, and handing it to me. I took it and proceeded into the shop where Mike and another woman stood guarding Sheila. She was dressed completely in black, skinny ankle pants, long sleeved sweater, and running shoes.

"Hi, Sheila. Nice outfit," I said as I sat down next to her. She showed considerable control, not moving when it was obvious from the hate in her eyes and shifting posture that she wanted to attack. "The people who want me to do their bidding are evil—"

"Don't know what you are talking about," Sheila said with a slight smirk.

"Then you don't care that your cigar smoking man and his aide were found floating in the ocean. Wouldn't be surprised if you couldn't contact Ken either. It's a throw-away world. No more fixing things when you no longer need them. Just buy new ones." Although she didn't comment her eyes grew wide for a second. I leaned over and grabbed her hands. She tried to jerk free but the handcuffs limited her motion, and she reluctantly relaxed. As I watched she was released from custody in a few days, which wasn't surprising as her only crime was breaking and entering. I watched as she consolidated her funds—a little less than five million—and took off for New Zealand where she had property and an established identity. Maybe real. I sat fascinated as I watched the time go by. Six months later, they found her.

"Well, are you going to tell me someone is going to kill me?" she said with a know-it-all smile.

"You already know that. These aren't the normal rich or mafia type you’re used to dealing with. These people have connections and power." I leaned closer to her. "Your millions and New Zealand identity will only delay the inevitable," I whispered. She jerked back away from me so violently her chair would have crashed to the floor if the male agent hadn't caught it in time. The hate in her eyes had turned to fear, and her face drained of color.

"Grace, how bad do you want the evil Mister X?" I asked, turning towards her. "Enough to give Sheila witness protection if she helps catch him?"

Grace stood silent for a long while looking between Sheila and me. "I'll consider it."

"How will that help?" Sheila asked, looking at me. "If he has the kind of power...you believe."

"To begin with, it could prevent any possible prosecution for other things the FBI finds in the course of future events, and you won't be alone. I'll help." I thought the implied by viewing your future might be the deal clincher. While Sheila sat quietly contemplating her terrible choices, Grace pulled me aside.

"What did you see?"

"Didn't have to. I know Sheila worked for the cigar man, and it's reasonable to assume he was in contact with the man or group after me. He's dead because the group is very careful and doesn't like loose ends. Sheila knows she walking on a knife’s edge and she could become a loose end when she accomplishes her task. These people have real power, so she going to need protection as soon as they discover she's been identified."

"We certainly can't hold her for long. We have her on breaking and entering. She didn't have time to steal anything." Grace laughed. "OK. We make deals with the minnows all the time in order to catch the big fish. And I agree with you. I think the people after you are big fish."

The discussions went on for hours. I doubted Sheila had too much faith in the Witness Protection program, but she liked the idea I would keep tabs on her future. Sheila would claim that I contacted Angela, which I would do tomorrow, and apologized for not letting her know I wasn't going to be there for our session. I had panicked over the MS666 incident. But I had decided to return when the FBI assured me they were monitoring them closely. Angela would then contact Sheila. The FBI would monitor Sheila's laptop in an effort to discover the server and a possible location of the individual on the other end.

After the specific details had all been worked out, I took Sheila's hands to make sure she would be alive for the next couple of weeks and actually got to see the communications between her and the man called Mister Black. Grace took me back to the condo where Jim was sitting up waiting.

"Being in love with you is living on the wild side. I think the Chinese have a saying, something about living in interesting times," he said, holding me in a death grip and kissing my hair.

"I think that's a curse."

"It would be if you weren't part of it. I caught you. You're a keeper. And I'm not throwing you back."

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Sheila

When they let Sheila go, she drove back to her hotel and went straight to her room. She felt brain-dead. How the hell had they caught her? She had been sure no one had Renee's shop staked out. Why would they? The gang wasn't likely to return. She'd bet the FBI were swarming over their territory. By the FBI's response, she'd wager they knew to the minute when she'd arrive and how long she'd be there. She felt like they had her on a small island in the middle of a swamp full of crocs, poisonous snakes, and God knew what other creepy crawlers. She had nowhere to go that didn't have a bad ending. She opened her laptop and typed the agreed upon message—she had found nothing at Renee's shop—and got drunk.

* * *

The next day, after several Tylenol, she sent a message to Angela to go to Mambo Renee's shop and see if she could find out why she didn't show. Of course, she already knew why, and that her nemesis would be there. Shortly afterward, there was a knock at the door. When she answered, two men in maintenance clothing stood smiling outside.

"Ms. Volland, we're here to look at the leak you reported in the bathroom," the older man said, flashing FBI identification.

"About time," she answered. She had agreed it would be a good idea to sweep the room just in case. The older man immediately began walking around the room waving a handheld device.

"If you'll show me what's leaking, we'll have a look. Usually something just needs tightening or a washer replaced. Shouldn't take long."

"In there," I said pointing to the laptop lying on the bed. He nodded, picking it up and heading for the bathroom. A few minutes later the older man waved for her to follow him into the bathroom.

"No bugs, but there are windows. Why don't you show Darin how it works."

"Simple. The login password is Blackman with a capital B. When it comes to life, I click on the black envelope icon to send Mister Black email, the red envelope icon to send Angela email, and the black square with the yellow smiley face to check in with Mister Black."

"Does he always answer?" Darin asked.

"Yes, but I only click on it when he sets up an appointment. There is also a slot machine icon that is used for the game Angela is playing."

"How does that work?" Darin asked.

"Mister Black notifies me he wants Angela to pick a color, and I set up an appointment with Angela. At the time arranged, I click on the slot machine icon, it rotates, and three colored coins appear. Within a minute or so, two blank out, and I send Mister Black an email with the color she selected."

"Clever, only this machine is in contact with Mister Black, and I assume you never see or hear him."

"True. When I click on his icon, the smiley face looks to be talking when I hear a voice speaking; however, I doubt it's his real voice. It just doesn't sound...natural."

"And I assume Angela never sees or hears you," the older man said, frowning.

"Right. We only communicate by email and the game."

"Give me a few minutes to copy things and set up a trace on your machine. I doubt I'll find anything or the trace will lead to Mister Black, but I might provide a few bread crumbs for us to point us in the right direction. Maybe get a bit closer."

Sheila agreed with Darin. Mister Black was very cautious and well connected, which meant he would have had these two laptops specially customized to prevent a trace back to him or his organization. But what choice did she have except to play along. They left about an hour later.

* * *

For the next two days, a flurry of emails went between Sheila, Angela, and Mister Black. Angela reported Mambo Renee had called her and would be returning to her shop. After she had been released from the hospital, she had panicked and decided to leave the state; however, the FBI had convinced her it was safe to stay. She and Renee had decided to reschedule the fortunetelling session until next week since Renee wasn't feeling well and didn't plan to reopen her shop until after the weekend. Sheila got the impression that Mister Black was aware of the incident, the FBI's involvement with MS666, and was all right with the delay.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

The Hunt for Mister Black

I decided to keep the shop closed over the weekend and to stay at Jim's condo while I recovered. His place was better than a hospital—I had my own sexy doctor, and it had the added advantage of being able to keep in touch with Grace and hear the latest news.

"Well, my computer people have traced the emails to and from Mister Black to Sheila to a server in Washington D.C. Of course, it's unlikely the email user on that server will be a real person, and even if it is, it's unlikely to be the one we want. But it puts us one step closer." Grace paused for a bite of her cheese cracker and a sip of wine.

"I can continue to play the game with Angela. I don't believe it's helping him do anything. He's trying to establish how far I can see into the future," I said, hoping it would give them extra time to trace him.

"That would be good. One of the men suggested contacting the NSA and having them do a search on one of Sheila's emails. They think the emails are being rerouted from the receiving server to another."

"I thought they said our emails weren't being monitored," Jim said.

"Define monitored. If you mean a person sitting down and reading each one, then they aren't being monitored. If you mean scanned for a list of words and phrases of interest, then they are being monitored. Let's face it, why would they collect the information and then discard it? That would be like you buying every American newspaper but only reading one."

"What words?"

"Knowing the government, it's a large list and includes lots of common words you use every day."

* * *

"Are you feeling well enough to open the shop tomorrow?" Jim asked after
we had returned to his place. "I know I'm being paranoid, but I feel better when you're here, and I know you're safe. You have to admit I'm justified in being worried sick. The Locos are running loose in the French Quarter; you've been firebombed and kidnapped; and the MS666 are mad at you. Oh, I forgot Mister Black." He didn't smile.

I leaned over and kissed him tenderly. "Yes, you do have reasons to worry just as I worry about your safety since you insist on marrying me. Our only alternatives are either to hide in fear for the rest of our lives or to take reasonable precautions.” I held up my hand and wiggled my fingers to emphasize my rings. "Maybe I should have one made for you."

"No, I'd probably stick one of my patients by accident," he said with a sigh and pulled me close.

"Maybe it's the Loa, or intuition, or wishful thinking, but I believe staying and fighting is the right thing to do."

"Then we stay and fight."

* * *

I knocked on Sheila's room door just before seven a.m., and was just about to knock again when I heard the door being unlocked. Sheila had a short terry-cloth robe on, no makeup, hair jumbled, and looked like she hadn't slept.

"Renee, do you know what time it is? Sane people are just getting to bed at this hour," she said but waved me inside. "If it's bad news I don't want to hear it until I've had coffee." She made a straight line for the small bar and the coffee maker. "Do you want some?"

"No, thanks. I just stopped by to give you a fortunetelling. I promised you I'd support you if you helped."

"All right, but if you see something bad... What am I saying. Bad! It would be hard to get my future any worse. A hard place and a rock—Mister Black and the FBI." She sat close to me and held out her hands. I took them in mine. It was obvious from her actions she was worried; however, I saw nothing bad happening for the next month.

"You're good for the next several weeks. You've got plenty of money; relax and enjoy yourself, Sheila. Like you, I have a few things to worry about: Mister Black, MS666, the FBI, and others. But I've decided not to be a victim but rather to fight back. I’ll help you if you continue to help me."

"Why? I've done some..."

"Because you are going to retire and become a model citizen."

"You saw that in my future?"

"No. Right now you and I are worrying too much to think of the future. But I believe we have one."

"All right, Mambo Renee. You seem to have enough faith for both of us. I will help anyway I can."

* * *

I opened the shop at the usual time, and it was a pretty normal day. In the slow periods, I checked my website and found it had been working while I wasn't and showed a nice profit. The number of hits per day continued to increase. After I closed, I fixed dinner since I'd be staying here tonight as I had Mr. Bishop for a fortunetelling session. He appeared right on time and looked to be in a good mood.

"Evening, Mambo Renee. I heard you were attacked by some gang members. Locos?" he asked, frowning, and gave me the once over. Of course, he couldn't see anything as all the injuries were hidden beneath my clothes.

"No, MS666. They seemed to think I helped the Locos a while back."

"I don't like the Locos, but if you helped them keep those Salvadorians out of the French Quarter, we all owe you. I have a friend who has a business in their territory, and they are a nasty group. Far worse than the Locos, which is saying a lot." He sat, placing his large hands on the table.

I placed mine over his and closed my eyes. It was obvious Harry was enjoying life. He and his wife seemed to be spending more time together doing things. They looked very much in love. But about two weeks in the future a fire occurred and the flames spread throughout half of his business. The damage was significant, and he had to close for what looked like an extended period.

"Yes, your life does appear good. You and your wife seem very happy. But you need to be careful at your business. There is something not safe in your storage room. Whatever it is, it's a fire hazard," I said. I didn't know what it was but I could have told him within a few minutes when it would occur.

"Thank you, Mambo Renee. I'll check it out." He frowned and looked down in thought. While he did, I watched as he went back to his bar. He spent almost the entire night after the bar closed examining the storage room. Around five a.m., he moved some things around. I fast-forwarded ahead and didn't see the fire occurring over the next month. This was why I was determined to fight Mr. Black. I wouldn’t save the world, but I wanted to help people find peace in their life through Vodou and smooth the bumps where I could, even if I could only help a few.

* * *

On Wednesday, Oatha was scheduled for a fortunetelling session, so I again planned to sleep at home. Customer traffic was moderate most of the day. I closed at the normal time, fixed myself a dinner, washed, and dressed. She was on time as usual.

"You look all right, Renee," she said as she entered. I heard you were attacked by some gang."

"The police showed in time and saved me from being seriously hurt."

"That was fortunate. You have been lucky, what with the firebombing, kidnapping, and now gang troubles—well, not lucky those things happened...you know what I mean," she said in frustration.

"I know what you mean, and yes, I have been lucky. What about you?" I said in an attempt to switch topics.

"Yes, my life is perfect. Good children, a good husband, and good friends." She sat back and smiled.

"Want to look at the future?"

"Yes." She placed her hands on the table, and I placed mine over hers. I was relieved to see nothing unusual happening. Her husband Virgil had a small accident on his boat judging from his wrapped forearm, but it didn't appear serious based on Oatha's reaction. "Life looks beautifully boring over the next couple of weeks. Maybe Virgil might have one of his usual minor accidents," I said. It wasn't unusual for fishermen to have accidents on their boats, so she wouldn't worry, but it maintained my image. These were the normal kinds of events we all encounter. I felt I shouldn't interfere even when I could. In this case, I couldn't, since I had no way of knowing how he hurt himself. I guess if it had been really serious, I might have suggested he come for a fortunetelling. It was back to a set of rules I keep thinking I need to develop but never seem to get around to making. Oatha left happy after a glass of tea and bringing me up to date on her children, husband, and neighbors.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

End Game

I locked up, turned off the lights, and made my way into the backroom, lost in thought. Midway into the room, I froze. Sheila and a man were in the room. Something had changed since the last time I looked at her future, because I hadn't seen this.

"Good evening, Mambo Renee," a tall, athletic looking man said. He stood holding one of the books he had removed from my bookshelf. Sheila stood leaning against the back door. "I've always known dealing with you was dangerous—your intelligence, ability to tell the future, and dedication to Vodou. Oh, and those rings of yours. Sheila, if you would collect Renee's rings. We wouldn't want anyone to get hurt, would we?" He smiled as Sheila walked over to me and held out her hand, looking alert and ready to move.

"After watching the tape of your fight with the MS666 gang members for hours, I concluded you hadn't caused the heart attacks using a Bagua technique, so I had a friend do a blood workup of your dead attackers. And guess what they found—poison. Poison meant a delivery system, so I spent another hour reviewing the fight. When you know what you are looking for, it's easy to see." He held out his hand and Sheila brought him the five rings she had collected from me. He moved to my table and sat examining each one. "Very clever. Whoever made these two rings is very talented." He pushed them to one side.

"Now as I was saying about you being dangerous. Your ability to see the future meant we had to be careful with whom you interfaced. For example, Ken was a mistake since it enabled you to identify Mr. Willis—the cigar man. Then there was your intelligence. We had to be careful not to let you go on the offensive—like you did. That was very clever the way you trapped Sheila, and inevitable once you stopped thinking of yourself as a victim. And then your determination not to let anyone abuse your...gift. We had to worry you might consider our objective...evil and decide suicide was your only choice—like your grandmother. The people who approached your grandmother weren't evil, just zealots who thought in terms of force because their task was in the service of God." He held up his hand before I could say anything. "They were wrong."

"Mr. Black, I presume?" I said and looked to Sheila who stood expressionless.

"Father...Black, Mambo Renee," he said and rose and walked to my stove, put water in my kettle, and turned on the gas under it. "If you wouldn't mind making us some tea, I will explain what I want, and why you may want to consider helping."

After seeing Sheila shake her head, I got two mugs from the cabinet and placed them on the table along with milk and sugar. By that time the water was boiling, and I poured it into my teapot along with two tablespoons of black tea and placed it on the table. As I stood waiting for the tea leaves to seep, my mind tried to come to grips with the situation. Mr...Father Black had changed my options by forcing the end game.

"And if I don't want to help?" I asked.

"I had hoped for a little more time, but you and your friends have forced me to close down communications with Sheila. Their NSA idea was very creative and would have moved them several steps closer to me if I hadn't had connections in the NSA. But on reflection, that may have worked out for the best. I think they have gone about this in all the wrong ways, beginning with Mambo Eshe. That was most regrettable. She was a good woman."

"Who you murdered!" I said through gritted teeth.

"We sinned against her and will be held accountable, yes. Murdered, no. They may have threatened to harm you, but they didn't. A threat isn't an action. People, even good people, threaten many things that they seldom carry through on." He poured the tea into the two cups, added milk and sugar in his cup, and leaned back sipping it. I picked up my cup and could barely restrain from throwing it at him.

I wondered if he dismissed the other deaths so readily. They may not have been good, as my granny had been, but he did not have the right to lead them into evil and then execute them. But I was not going to debate good and evil with this...zealot."

"What do you want me to do?" I finally asked.

"It's a simple arrangement which benefits us both. You help my friend; we pay you five million dollars; and you will never hear from us again." He smiled. The five million was a nice touch if I was greedy like...the cigar man or Sheila or... I doubted Father Black cared about money. It was only a means to an end.

"And what do I have to do for your friend?"

"If I understand correctly, Vodou is partly based on the Catholic religion," he said and waited until I nodded. "My friend is a cardinal and the head of a very devout chapter of the church, Opus Dei, of which I'm a member. We believe the church has strayed from its teaching over the years. He's a well-respected cardinal and will be a viable candidate for Pope when the next papal conclave convenes. We would ask you to merely help him convince a few American cardinals of his...ability to see into the future. There will be no murders, kidnapping, or threats against anyone. It might not even make a difference. He could get elected without any help. We are not asking you to help us elect Ayatollah Khomeini. He's a deeply religious man and will make a good pope. And why would you care who's pope?" he asked.

“So you want me to help place a murderer at the head of one of the world’s largest and most influential organizations.” I tilted my head and looked at him. “And he does have that blood on his hands, this devout man of yours.” I couldn't help but wonder if this was what they wanted Granny to do or had they changed strategies or goals "How can I trust you?" I asked. “You have a habit of murdering your associates.” My options still weren't clear. I could never trust Father Black, no matter how reasonable he sounded, and what about Sheila? She was probably having the same problem I was—how to survive. If so, that made her unpredictable, although I doubted she was big on trusting Father Black any more than I. But, if he were the only option, then what?

"I admit our recent interactions have made trust an issue, which is unfortunate. Two priests' oaths to God should be sufficient. What do you suggest?"

"Let me see your future," I said, trying not to smile at the stunned look on Black's face and the twitch of Sheila's lips.

"How will that help? How far into the future can you see and with what clarity?"

"A few weeks with some clarity," I said. I had no intention of giving this man more information than necessary. “Sometimes further, but it requires more interpretation. And no, I can't see my own future or this discussion wouldn't be necessary. But I can make assumptions based on what you do as to how it will affect me." I sat back and took a couple sips of tea, while awaiting his decision. I wasn't sure what I would see or if it would help, but it might help me decide on my options. Eventually, he nodded.

"All right. If that will help you decide, I'm willing." He looked in Sheila's direction, and she nodded. He leaned forward and placed his hands on the table, and I placed mine over his. His hand tightened for a second then relaxed, and he smiled. I watched as he left the shop and went to a hotel, went through an hour or more of prayers, and went to bed. He didn't return to the shop until the next evening when he helped Sheila load my luggage into the trunk of his car. We--I had to assume I was along--left late that evening. I assumed the delay was for me to contact my friends, so I wouldn't be a missing person. He drove to the airport where we boarded a private plane. Several days later we flew to Atlanta were we met with a large man, in height and girth, who was dressed as a cardinal. I was mesmerized as the days melded into weeks, then weeks into months, and then months into a year. I felt a Loa was with me helping, and for the first time I heard what people said. Father Black's future revealed many things: he was a priest and the head of a special branch of the CIA. I was asked only to tell the cardinal what I saw in his future—more specifically what he would read in the newspapers each day.

With Father Black present, I witnessed his rage against the changes that had led to the Catholic Church’s loss of power in certain other nations. Saw his hatred of people who believed differently than he. Heard his plans to interfere in various nations’ laws, get priests under his influence elected to public office, and to influence world events. I did not know if he could do what he planned if he were elected Pope, but I knew he would try and would condone murder to achieve his goals.

I saw him elected pope, and Father Black became my warden. I was taken to Rome with them and held prisoner in a small suite of rooms. Alone. Without the man that I loved. None of that surprised me. It was exactly what Granny had warned me would happen if anyone understood my powers. I bit back a gasp of horror and fought for calm.

"From what I can see, the cardinal only wants information about future events, which he uses for his own purposes. I can't tell what purposes since I can only see your actions. But past experience with you shows me exactly how evil those purposes can be. And of course, I don't know whether you live up to your word about leaving me alone afterward," I lied.

"I'm not perfect, but I'm a man of God."

"Yes, Father Benedict, as is your Cardinal Eligius." I said, pausing for a few seconds, and was rewarded when his face lost some of its color. Then he smiled.

"You're very talented, Mambo Renee. And dangerous. I'd wager you know where I work and my real name."

"Yes. You are a man of God who believe God empowers individuals to act in his name."

"Of course. We're in a constant struggle with the devil for our souls."

"I'm a woman in the service of God, but I don't believe He asks anything of me. I believe He, maybe through His Loa, keeps a scorecard of some kind of my actions and that when I die I will be judged on how well I scored."

"And how would helping us affect your score?" Black asked, frowning.

"Interesting question. I would be doing your bidding based on your interpretation of what God wants. What did you call the men who approached Mambo Eshe? Zealots. Men who thought God gave them permission to use any method to achieve their interpretation of God's will. Men who thought they had God given right to kill."

He stared into my eyes. "I would hope you would see your contribution not as evil but rather as helping a worthy cause and beneficial to you, while the alternatives... I assure you, the alternatives for you are evil indeed."

"Yes. The alternatives are evil, and you would try to make me believe I would be to blame for them. You would kill the man I love, and I would be to blame. No! You will be to blame and will have to answer for your actions."

"So you would let Jim, Ron, Grace...die for your ideals?" Black said as he rose.

"No. I'm refusing to help you. You can kill Jim, Ron, Grace, everyone I know or who I have ever talked to and make my life Hell on earth. But you cannot make me responsible for your actions. Leave me and mine alone, and I will leave it to God to decide your faith." I sat, feeling a sense of peace. Regardless of the consequences, I knew I had made the right decision. I don't know why the Loa had given me the gift, but it was not to play God or to help others play God. It was probably only my overly active imagination but I felt the runes on my arm moving as if alive—reminding me of my commitment to God. I was a priestess of Vodou, not God or a Loa. Just a servant of God dedicated to helping when and where I could. "I will make you a deal—not a proposal nor open for negotiation."

"And what is that, Mambo Renee?" he asked, eyes narrowed, but his voice sounded amused.

"I will not bother you as long as you don't bother me, and that includes Sheila." When I looked towards her she stood open-mouthed.

Black snorted. "Bother us? There is nothing you could possibly do that would bother us. Tell people some wild theories about a conspiracy to make a cardinal the pope? And be dismissed as a lunatic Voodoo priestess.” He smirked at me. “And in the meantime you will lose everyone and everything that you love. I will see to it.”

I cocked my head and smiled. “You saw those films from the fight in my shop. But it did not occur to you that there might also be cameras in my home and still active?” I nodded toward the camera that had never been removed and was recording every movement and every word. “Perhaps you should have had those friends at NSA and the CIA do further checking.”

He paused and seemed to be thinking over what he might have admitted to since entering the room. “So you have a film of this conversation. Do you think offering you millions of dollars to work for us is a crime?”

“Perhaps not.” I paused. “But I suspect there are other bishops and cardinals who would be very interested in hearing your plans and in knowing exactly what you are willing to do to achieve your ends. Perhaps as willing as you to go to great lengths to stop you.”

The color slowly drained from his face.

My voice hardened and I stood up. “They don’t have to believe in my powers. All they have to know is that you do and what you have done to gain control of them. And I'm quite certain they would be interested in your friend’s plans to be pope. I will see that every cardinal in the Catholic Church receives a copy of that film and every bit of evidence we have unless you leave me and mine alone. And that includes Sheila.”

"Why her?" His face twisted with distaste. "She's done her share of evil things."

"Perhaps. But she's going to retire and spend the rest of her days helping people when and where she can."

"Sheila," Black said, nodding towards me.

"Sorry, I've retired. Actually, I've been retired for a few days."

"I can find you," Black said, his eyes blazing with anger.

"You won't have to look far. I think I'm going to join Mambo Renee's congregation. I've never thought much about religion, but I kind of like her view.

“How do I know that you have even recorded what I’ve said?”

I shrugged. “I suppose you don’t. But I have. The choice is yours.”

Black stood for a long while staring at me with an occasional glance towards Sheila. “And I have your word that the tape will go no further?”

"Yes, my oath as a Vodou priestess," I said, nodding. He nodded and left through the back door.

"What do you think, Mambo Renee?" Sheila asked. I waved her over to me. She smiled as she sat and put her hands on the table. I put mine over hers and watched in relief as the next several months scrolled by.

"We will check this as often as you like, but you are good for several months," I said to a smiling Sheila.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Conclusion

"Come on in," Ron said when he saw it was Jim and me. "How are you feeling, Renee?"

"Great. My GYN doctor says everything looks normal, and I should expect our daughter in twelve to thirteen weeks. My live-in doctor agrees with her, but my husband acts like my water is going to break any minute." I laughed and patted Jim's cheek. He worried too much.

"Grace's doctor says she's doing well and is due in six to seven weeks," Ron beamed a huge smile. Just then Grace came walking out of the bedroom.

"Hi, Renee, Jim. Getting ready takes longer to do these days. I'll be glad when our little boy shows his face. Between the weight of the baby, extra water, and milk I'm lugging around, I'm exhausted by midday," Grace said, dropping onto the couch. "There are drinks on the kitchen counter, help yourself. Ron, get me something with lots of sugar. I need a sugar boost."

"I'm beginning to feel the same. Angela has been a savior. I'm hoping by the time the baby is born, she can run the shop, until I get back to full time...well, part time," I said, looking at Jim who was frowning. "I'm hoping Angela is going to be a full time employee. She seems to enjoy working in the shop, and she's doing well. Now that Jim and I are married and I'm living here full time, I've converted the back room into a place where I can do my fortunetelling in the daytime and be home at night. Besides, I get a lot more walk in business from the tourists. The extra money allows me to pay Angela a small salary. She doesn't need much. She got over a quarter million from Mister Black and had savings of over a half million. So a small salary pays for the basics and her income from her investments pays for the extras without having to use the principal."

"She’s a very sharp lady and kind hearted once you get to know her. I think she'd work in the shop for nothing just to help Renee," Jim said, handing me a glass of apple juice. "I've gotten to know her from Renee's services and the Vodou class she started for Angela and Sheila, which has grown over the last six months."

"Sheila's taking up Vodou?" Grace asked, surprised. "Even Angela surprises me a little."

"Angela loves it, particularly the singing and dancing. Sheila's more reserved. She's interested in the philosophy," I said. I loved the classes as it gave me a way of expressing my feelings about Vodou and how it honored God. And it provided a way of bringing new people into the religion who might not otherwise be interested.

"I've had a lot of time to get to know Sheila," Jim said, smiling. "She is always at Renee's services although she doesn't participate like Angela. She likes Mambo Renee's brand of religion. Sheila told me that night with Mister Black was a revelation. She said she could feel the presence of something...in the room when Renee confronted him."

"I'm impressed, Renee. I don't know if I'd let Ron get that close to those two women. They're real cougars," Grace said and laughed, giving Ron a kiss. "Speaking of Mister Black, do you realize this is a one year anniversary—to the day—since your confrontation with him. Our leads all seem to evaporate after that night. The NSA turned up nothing. So when you dropped the charges against Sheila, the case sort of died. The district manager was pleased because I wrapped up the case against the local group. He was never aware of Mister Black. I'm still not sure how you got him and his group to leave you alone."

I smiled. Father Benedict was a zealot—evil from my perspective, but doing God’s work from his. The only thing he could do after he understood I wouldn't help him, no matter who he killed, was to kill out of anger and revenge. But he knew that most others in the Catholic Church would never have condoned his actions if they found out, and I made it clear I would make sure they knew. The evidence I had might not get him convicted of a crime but it would destroy him and Cardinal Eligius in the eyes of the church. It was enough to keep the people I loved safe.

Cardinal Eligius had not been elected pope at the Papal conclave that occurred several months ago. And I had kept my word and not given Grace any information that would help her in continuing the investigation. Chasing him was not worth the lives of good people like Jim, Ron, Grace, Angela, and even Sheila, who was now retired and learning to help others.

"Here's to good friends and the crazy man who married me," I said raising my glass in a toast. And to the Loa who gave me courage in my time of need.

The End.

Thank you

I hope that you enjoyed reading The Seer Renee. This ebook is lending-enabled, so feel free to share with a friend. And if you have time, help other readers find The Seer Renee by telling them why you liked this book by writing a review on Amazon.com.

Books by C . R. Daems & J. R. Tomlin

Talonnovels.com

HISTORICAL FICTION

The Stewart Chronicles

— A King Ensnared (Book I)

— A King Uncaged (Book II)

The Black Douglas Series:

— Kingdom's Cost (Book I)

— Countenance of War (Book II)

— Not for Glory (Book III)

Freedom's Sword

SCIENCE FICTION

The Riss Series:

— The Riss Gamble (Book I)

— The Riss Proposal (Book II)

— The Riss Survival (Book III)

— The Riss Accession (Book IV)

— The Riss Challenge (Book V)

The Black Guard

FANTASY EPIC

The Shadow Series:

— The Shadow Ryana (Book I)

— The Shadow Gypsy (Book II)

Women of Power

Talon of the Unnamed Goddess

Scales of Justice

Blood Duty

URBAN FANTASY

The Kazak Series:

— The Kazak Guardians: Lynn's Rules (Book I)

— The Kazak Guardians: The Unthinkable (Book II)

The Laughing Hounds

The Seer Renee