“If memory serves, isn’t Haiti an island in the West Indies?”
Pétion nodded.
“And your ancestors moved to New Orleans?”
“Oui. Many years before the big war.”
Blade snatched at the black shirt with his left hand. “What’s with the uniform!”
“I am one of the tonton macoute,” Pétion declared proudly, almost arrogantly…
“The what?”
“The magicians.”
Perplexed, Blade looked at the hybrids, who were viewing the interrogation with interest, then back down at their prisoner. “I don’t get it. Are you saying you practice some form of magic?”
“Oui. One day I will move up in rank from a tonton macoute to a boko, a sorcerer. Perhaps, many years from now, I may even become the houngan of our houmfor.”
“Whoa. Slow down,” Blade stated. “You’re getting ahead of me. What’s a houngan?”
“A high priest.”
“In what?”
“The Black Snake Society.”
The Warrior recalled the information given by the party who had placed the distress call, and his gray eyes narrowed. “I’ve heard that the Black Snake Society controls New Orleans.”
“Oui, and for many miles around,” Pétion said with his haughty air.
“The invincible magic of the Black Snake Society has made us the masters.”
“Wait a minute,” Ferret interjected. “What’s all this bull about magic?
This guy must be an idiot if he believes in such mumbo jumbo.”
Pétion glared at the hybrid. “Voodoo is not mumbo jumbo,” he snapped, emphasizing the last two words distastefully. “Voodoo is the way.”
Ferret laughed.
“Mock me all you want animal. But I will have the last laugh. I will use voodoo to call on the spirit world, and you will die a horrible death for scoffing at the true way.”
“I’m trembling in fear,” Ferret said.
Pétion’s voice rose shrilly. “I will call on Damballah, and our god will come to slay you in the night. You will be consumed alive and suffer the torments of Hell.”
“Don’t get your hopes up, turkey.”
Blade noticed unchecked fury contorting Pétion’s features, and he concluded the man firmly believed in whatever magic was practiced. He’d heard about voodoo many years ago, but his knowledge of the religion was scant. He opened his mouth to probe further into the matter.
From behind them, from the bayou, issued a sibilant hissing.
Chapter Eight
“What in the world is voo-boo?” Lynx asked.
“It’s voodoo, dummy. A religion to many people, a religion laced with sorcery, a religion where powerful spirit forces control the lives of everyday people,” Eleanore detailed. “There’s good voodoo and there’s bad voodoo, and by bad voodoo I mean the dark side where black magic is practiced.”
Lynx considered her words for a few seconds. “So this Black Snake Society is a voodoo cult?”
Eleanore nodded. “From what I’ve learned, the Black Snake Society got its start many years ago, way before the war. It was just one of several secret voodoo societies in the United States, based right here in New Orleans. After the world almost came to an end, after the government fell apart, the Black Snake Society grew stronger and stronger. Then, when Damballah appeared, they were able to take control of this whole region.”
“Hold it. Are you tellin’ me their snake god actually appeared to them?
Showed up as flesh and blood?”
“Yep. Damballah disposed of all their enemies for them, one by one, and before too long the Black Snake Society ruled the entire city.”
“And people have actually seen this snake god?” Lynx inquired in disbelief.
“Quite a few. Just the other night I was talking to a man who saw it.”
“Amazing,” was all Lynx could think to say. He headed for the trees again, pulling her along. “Wait until Blade hears this.”
“Who’s this Blade?”
“A pal of mine. We’re here to close the Black Snake Society down.”
“Then we’re on the same side!”
“We are if you’re tellin’ the truth.”
Eleanore tried to stop but he yanked her forward. “Are you calling me a liar?”
“There’s always that possibility.”
“But I’ve been perfectly honest with you.”
The hybrid glanced at her. “How do I know that? Until I have more proof, I’m treatin’ you like I would any bimbo who might haul off and stab me in the back.”
“Will you please stop calling me that?”
Lynx smirked. “Why not? I’m gettin’ tired of you nagging me.” He stared thoughtfully at her. “If you want to earn my trust, you can start by tellin’ me why you were traipsing around in the middle of a friggin’ swamp.”
“I’ve been sneaking around for almost two days trying to evade being captured by the tonton macoute. The night before last I came out here with another member of the Resistance, a guy named Jerry Price. We were bringing supplies to Adrien Dessalines, our radio operator.”
“The Resistance has a radio?” Lynx asked innocently to elicit more information.
“Yep. A shortwave radio.” Eleanore frowned. “At least we did have one.
Somehow the Baron found out about our operation. He was waiting for us with a bunch of his goons. Jerry drew his knife and tried to stab Laveau, but the tonton macoutes were all over him like barracuda on a minnow, they pinned him down and disarmed him, then held him down while the Baron kicked him a few times just for the hell of it.”
A strange scent reached Lynx and he sniffed the air in an attempt to identify the source. Distracted, he covered ten yards before the significance of her statements occurred to him. He regarded her suspiciously, then faced front to avoid alerting her. “How is it that you managed to get away?” he casually asked.
“I was just lucky, I guess. Two of the tonton macoutes grabbed me, but when Jerry pulled his survival knife they let me go and pounced on him.
None of them paid any attention to me while they were fighting Jerry, so I took advantage of it and ran.”
“And you were able to elude them. My compliments.”
Eleanore detected a slight tinge of sarcasm in his tone, which puzzled her. “It wasn’t easy. They took off after me. Thank God it was night. In broad daylight they would have easily caught me. As it was, I just barely escaped them.”
“Lucky you.”
“You don’t know the half of it. Anyway, I hid in this thicket until they called off the search and went back to the cabin where Adrien had been doing his broadcasting. I snuck to within twenty yards of the front door and saw the Baron and some of his goons taking Jerry, Adrien, and the shortwave.”
“They didn’t keep hunting you?”
“I was surprised too. I guess the Baron didn’t figure I was much of a threat. Maybe he figured hunger would make me give up. I haven’t eaten since. Besides, they posted guards at the boats, and there’s no way anyone can make it through the bayou without one. There’s too many gators and snakes and other things. Horrible things.”
Lynx walked in silence for the next 30 feet, contemplating her disclosure and striving to decide whether he could count her as an ally or an enemy. Although she sounded sincere, any accomplished liar could do so and maintain a straight face. Personally, he wanted to believe her. But her story contained a few glaring inconsistencies. For instance, how likely was it that the tonton whatever-they-were would up and release her when there must have been enough of them on hand to deal with the other members of the Resistance? And how feasible was her assertion that she had eluded her pursuers when she’d had maybe 60 seconds head start at the most? Another objection presented itself. “How did the Baron know about the cabin?”