"So this is different from all those times you thought the toaster was out to kill you because it wouldn't pop up the bread and then when you tried to get it out with a fork it— ?"
"Shut up, Teddy Tumtum." Peez hated to be reminded of her losing war with all small kitchen appliances. To Mr. Bones she said: "Please go on."
"There is little more to say. The people wished to hold fast to the one thing that they thought could not be taken from them, the owners did their best to prove them wrong. Any vestiges of the old African ways were seen as sin, blasphemy, treason, danger to those in power. Any attempt the people made to worship as they chose were cruelly suppressed. In time the slaves all became good Christians and the owners sat back, content with a job well done. So many souls pulled out of the darkness of savagery, saved from Hell!" He shook his head. "They never knew."
"Never knew what?" Teddy Tumtum asked.
"Never knew that the old ways still lived on. Never knew that the people still worshipped the gods of their ancestors in the way of their ancestors. How simple it was to trick the slave owners! If you cannot pay homage to a goddess because Master will see and whip you for it, then kneel before the altar of a female saint and Master will leave you be, thinking you are a good little slave. And there were so very many saints from which to choose! So the people learned that they could keep their gods of field and forest, earth and water, iron and air, so long as they found the proper patron saint whose robes could hide them."
Teddy Tumtum whistled without benefit of pucker. "That is sooo neat. Stealth saints!"
"Quiet, heathen," Peez said fondly.
"Well, chere, have you learned enough?" Mr. Bones asked her. "Are you satisfied?"
"There's more to what you practice than a history lesson, isn't there?" Peez said.
"Oh, you might say that. There are the rites and the spells and the names of all the spirits, good and bad, to be learned. But surely you do not need to know so much?"
"If all I'd wanted was a nodding acquaintance with the path you follow, I'd have bought a guidebook. Mr. Bones, my mother is dying." Her voice caught when she said that. "She's leaving me and I never took the time to learn anything about her when I had the chance. Most of what I know is that creating E. Godz, Inc. wasn't just a moneymaking scheme for her. She cared about the old ways, the faiths with their roots in the earth. She explored them, studied them, became one with them, understood why now, more than ever, they're necessary to us all."
"I cannot give you back your mother's life, petite," Mr. Bones said sadly.
"I know. But you can give me a start, a way to learn more about the things that matter to her. I have a lot to learn and I think that you'll make a very good teacher. May I stay here just a little longer to study with you?"
"Have you nowhere else to go? When your brother was here, he was in a hurry to be elsewhere. There were many other E. Godz, Inc. subsidiaries he had to visit, to gain their support for when he bid to take over the company. Is that no longer your desire? Do you not wish to give him, as they say, a run for the money?"
A half-smile touched her lips. "I thought I told you, Mr. Bones: It's no longer about the money. It's not about running anywhere. Oh, I still want to take over E. Godz, Inc., but only because I believe I can bring something more to the job than a lot of number- crunching and paper-pushing. Besides, I think I may have seen as many of our subsidiaries as necessary already. Well? May I stay? Will you teach me?"
Mr. Bones stood up and shook his staff to the four quarters of the compass. The bones clicked and clattered loudly. Aurore came bustling back into the room. "Prepare the upper chamber, ma belle," he told her. "We will have a guest. No: We will have family."
Chapter Sixteen
The full beauty of a New England springtime was upon Salem, Massachusetts, when Dov came driving into town. The purpose of his visit, like Peez's before him, was to seek out the self-proclaimed witch-queen Fiorella and secure her backing for the corporate takeover. Given the number of dues-paying followers she commanded, her approval was key to determining the final outcome of the great brother/sister competition. Securing it should have been a matter of the utmost urgency, but one would never know it by watching Dov in action. Instead of seeking out Fiorella immediately, he headed for his bed-and-breakfast lodgings, telling himself that it would be best to check in before he did anything else.
"Got to get organized," he muttered to himself as he steered the snappy red convertible through the city streets. "Got to get my ducks in a row."
"Now you're into ducks?" Ammi piped up. "Dov, Dov, Dov, you have got to start dating women."
Dov paid no mind to the amulet's sally. Ever since leaving Chicago he had been more than usually quiet and self-contained. Normally he viewed all airplane flights as golden opportunities for applied schmoozing. It was like getting an unexpected present: Either his seatmate would turn out to be someone attractive he could court (and, in some cases, seduce), someone with business or social connections he could exploit later on, or someone unbearable on whom he could practice the art of diplomatically telling a creep to bugger off. You could never get too much practice doing that!
This time, on the flight from Chicago to Boston, he had kept himself to himself, burying his nose in a book and behaving as if his seatmate—a highly attractive redhead— were invisible. When her perfume insinuated itself past his first line of defense, he clapped on a sleep mask and forced himself to nap, even though the flight was over too quickly for such a short rest to do anything but leave him logy and cranky.
His original plans had not included staying overnight in Salem, but he thought it would be wise to be in top form when he finally spoke with the witch-queen. For that he needed a base of operations, a way station where he could shake off his travel fatigue while he smartened up his appearance, his mental acuity, and his attitude. Despite the last-minute nature of his lodging quest, he managed to secure a charming suite in one of the better places in town. The innkeeper took real pride in showing off her lovingly decorated home-turned-hostel, particularly the working fireplace in Dov's room.
"You're very lucky that it's not the high tourist season yet," she told him. "We're booked months in advance for that time of year. You wouldn't be able to get a room here for love or money then. I'm not bragging; I'm just giving you fair warning, in case you want to come back some time."
"Maybe I will," said Dov, who knew he would not. As soon as she left, he flopped down on the bed and stared up at the spiderweb-lace canopy. He intended to do no more than stretch his drive-cramped legs, organize his thoughts, unpack his things, and maybe catch a quick shower before giving Fiorella a call to let her know he'd arrived and wanted to see her tomorrow. Then he'd make reservations for lunch at the best place Salem had to offer, give her the time of her little life, pour on the charm along with the champagne, and have her support all wrapped up like a fortune cookie before dessert.
Instead he fell fast asleep.
It was dark by the time he woke up, nine o'clock by the bedside clock. His dreams had not been pleasant ones.
In sleep, he wandered across an endless plain that shifted from sand to scarp to soil underfoot. He was trying to catch up with something or someone that was moving away from him in the distance, but he didn't know what or who it might be, only that it was essential for him to overtake it. There was no sky. The curve of space above his head was filled with masks: the garish pasteboard faces of Mardi Gras, the enameled gold funerary masks of ancient Egypt, the carved wood images of Bear and Raven and Wolf, all these and more. They leered down at Dov as he ran, and they laughed at him. The one that laughed the loudest was a silver mask with the perfect features of a Greek god: Ammi.