“This is my field, not yours. I'm a theologist, not legitimized by a degree from any university, but not merely an amateur, either. My mother and father were devout Roman Catholics. In finding my own beliefs, I studied every religion, major and minor, before becoming convinced of the truth and efficacy of voodoo. It's the only creed that has always accommodated itself to other faiths; in fact, voodoo absorbs and uses elements from every religion with which it comes into contact. It is a synthesis of many doctrines that usually war against one another — everything from Christianity and Judaism to sun-worship and pantheism. I am a man of religion, Lieutenant, so it's to be expected that I'll tie you in knots on this subject.”
“But what about Rebecca, my partner? She was bitten by one of these creatures, but she's not, by God, a wicked or corrupt person.”
“There are degrees of goodness, of purity. One can be a good person and not yet truly righteous, just as one can be righteous and not yet be a saint. I've met Miss Chandler only once, yesterday. But from what I saw of her, I suspect she keeps her distance from people, that she has, to some degree, withdrawn from life.”
“She had a traumatic childhood. For a long time, she's been afraid to let herself love anyone or form any strong attachments.”
“There you have it,” Hampton said. “One can't earn the favor of the Rada and be granted immunity to the powers of darkness if one withdraws from life and avoids a lot of those situations that call for a choice between good and evil, right and wrong. It is the making of those choices that enables you to achieve a state of grace.”
Jack was standing at the hearth, warming himself in the heat of the gas fire — until the leaping flames suddenly reminded him of the goblins' eye sockets. He turned away from the blaze. “Just supposing I am a righteous man, how does that help me find Lavelle?”
“We must recite certain prayers,” Hampton said. “And there's a purification ritual you must undergo. When you've done those things, the gods of Rada will show you the way to Lavelle.”
“Then let's not waste any more time. Come on. Let's get started.”
Hampton rose from his chair, a mountain of a man. “Don't be too eager or too fearless. It's best to proceed with caution.”
Jack thought of Rebecca and the kids in the car, staying on the move to avoid being trapped by the goblins, and he said, “Does it matter whether I'm cautious or reckless? I mean, Lavelle can't harm me.”
“It's true that the gods have provided you with protection from sorcery, from all the powers of darkness. Lavelle's skill as a Bocor won't be of any use to him. But that doesn't mean you're immortal. It doesn't mean you're immune to the dangers of this world. If Lavelle is willing to risk being caught for the crime, willing to risk standing trial, then he could still pick up a gun and blow your head off.”
X
Rebecca was on Fifth Avenue when the thumping and rattling in the car's undercarriage began again. It was louder this time, loud enough to wake the kids. And it wasn't just beneath them, any more; now, it was also coming from the front of the car, under the hood.
Davey stood up in back, holding onto the front seat, and Penny sat up straight and blinked the sleep out of her eyes and said, “Hey, what's that noise?”
“I guess we're having some sort of mechanical trouble,” Rebecca said, although the car was running well enough.
“It's the goblins,” Davey said in a voice that was half filled with terror and half with despair.
“It can't be them,” Rebecca said.
Penny said, “They're under the hood.”
“No,” Rebecca said. “We've been moving around steadily since we left the garage. There's no way they could have gotten into the car. No way.”
“Then they were there even in the garage,” Penny said.
“No. They'd have attacked us right there.”
“Unless,” Penny said, “maybe they were afraid of Daddy.”
“Afraid he could stop them,” Davey said.
“Like he stopped the one that jumped on you,” Penny said to her brother, “the one outside Aunt Faye's place.”
“Yeah. So maybe the goblins figured to hang under the car and just wait till we were alone.”
“Till Daddy wasn't here to protect us.”
Rebecca knew they were right. She didn't want to admit it, but she knew.
The clattering in the undercarriage and the thumping-rattling under the hood increased, became almost frantic.
“They're tearing things apart,” Penny said.
“They're gonna stop the car!” Davey said.
“They'll get in,” Penny said. “They'll get in at us, and there's no way to stop them.”
“Stop it!” Rebecca said. “We'll come out all right. They won't get us.”
On the dashboard, a red warning light came on. In the middle of it was the word OIL.
The car had ceased to be a sanctuary.
Now it was a trap.
“They won't get us. I swear they won't,” Rebecca said again, but she said it as much to convince herself as to reassure the children.
Their prospects for survival suddenly looked as bleak as the winter night around them.
Ahead, through the sheeting snow, less than a block away, St. Patrick's Cathedral rose out of the raging storm, like some great ship on a cold night sea. It was a massive structure, covering one entire city block.
Rebecca wondered if voodoo devils would dare enter a church. Or were they like vampires in all the novels and movies? Did they shy away in terror and pain from the mere sight of a crucifix?
Another red warning light came on. The engine was overheating.
In spite of the two gleaming indicators on the instrument panel, she tramped on the accelerator, and the car surged forward. She angled across the lanes, toward the front of St. Patrick's.
The engine sputtered.
The cathedral offered small hope. Perhaps false hope. But it was the only hope they had.
XI
The ritual of purification required total immersion in water prepared by the Houngon.
In Hampton's bathroom, Jack undressed. He was more than a little surprised by his own new-found faith in these bizarre voodoo practices. He expected to feel ridiculous as the ceremony began, but he didn't feel anything of the sort because he had seen those Hellborn creatures.
The bathtub was unusually long and deep. It occupied more than half the bathroom. Hampton said he'd had it installed expressly for ceremonial baths.
Chanting in an eerily breathless voice that sounded too delicate to be coming from a man of his size, reciting prayers and petitions in a patois of French and English and various African tribal languages, Hampton used a bar of green soap — Jack thought it was Irish Spring — to draw veves all over the inside of the tub. Then he filled it with hot water. To the water, he added a number of substances and items that he had brought upstairs from his shop: dried rose petals; three bunches of parsley; seven vine leaves; one ounce of orgeat, which is a syrup made from almonds, sugar, and orange blossoms; powdered orchid petals; seven drops of perfume; seven polished stones in seven colors, each from the shore of a different body of water in Africa; three coins; seven ounces of seawater taken from within the territorial limits of Haiti; a pinch of gunpowder; a spoonful of salt; lemon oil; and several other materials.
When Hampton told him that the time had come, Jack stepped into the pleasantly scented bath. The water was almost too hot to bear, but he bore it. With steam rising around him, he sat down, pushed the coins and stones and other hard objects out of his way, then slid onto his tailbone, until only his head remained above the waterline.