The Freedman and the Pharaoh's Staff (32 page)

After carving the
veve
into the floorboards, Verdiss stood, brushing the dirt from his black robe, and inspected the symbols.
All correct.
He retrieved a piece of white chalk from a nearby satchel leaned against a stack of hay, and filled in the cracks of Damballah's symbol. It'd help to invoke the
loa
and grant more power to the ritual. Whoever built the Cow's Head Farm did so in a way to channel magical energy.
Curious. What magic-user dwells here?
But, the more power, the less it'd strain him.
 

Satisfied with his work, Verdiss pulled out the required components: garlic, a coconut, and a jar of its milk were Damballah's favored items. From a larger satchel, he drew a glass jar containing a drove of moths and a larger jar containing a coiled cottonmouth viper twenty inches in length.

Verdiss collected the moths over the past twenty years. Each specimen contained the soul from a dead man. A gruesome practice of
bokors
like Tillemont. Upon death, the worker would have someone place a jar containing the moth over his mouth. Once the soul left the body, it'd enter the insect, and later a fellow
bokor
would transfer the soul into an appropriate body, forcing the victim's soul out and killing them. Usually only
bokors
performed the ritual. To steal a man's very soul condemned the worker. How could it now? Nevertheless, some workers used the moths to
absorb the sins of others, allowing them to enter Heaven with a clean soul. A kindness performed by the foolish.
 

Verdiss preferred the dark ritual. Though
bokors
were the least common workers, even he wouldn't dare dedicated himself to the dead. But he was willing to perform
this
ritual. For a price, of course. The price? Well, half the time Verdiss conducted the ritual he didn't complete it. Once the soul entered the moth, Verdiss held
his
victim captive until he needed the soul. Perhaps crueler than just killing them outright, but a soul can be useful.
 

These thoughts crept through the hallways of Verdiss's mind as he put aside the glass jars and set about pouring the coconut milk around the
veve
.
Betrayal. Vengeance. Rage.
Those were on his mind. No. His soul. He could feel them taint the barn, souring the air around him. When finished, he stopped and took a breath.
 

Once the ritual commenced, his Goblins would betray him—how could they not? Simple ignorant rednecks scared of their own shadows. Verdiss managed to disguise his
majik
as God-given gifts. An easy trick to convince backwater men. Only his friend, Narce, knew the truth. And surprisingly accepted it. Though Verdiss had the feeling Narce realized what he'd gain from an alliance with him. Respect, greed, or fear. It didn't matter which made men loyal. Only that it
made
them loyal.
 

There was a good chance he might die tomorrow night. Less by his own men's hands, than the ceremony's strain on his body. Or the
Geist Führer
would kill him. Verdiss didn't understand the nexus of time as well as his enemy. Nor possessed as much magic and mystical items. Those things he should've given Verdiss. Steel eagles wearing Gatling guns, armored coaches on rolling belts, and massive bullets that could level a city. No doubt the
Geist Führer
would unleash such fury upon him. Verdiss scoffed. He might not even have to. His assassin could do the work. Who knows what magic he may have with him. No. Verdiss's one chance would be to complete the rite, pulling his foul betrayer into the Dragon's Blood while maintaining order amongst his Goblins. Then he'd crush the
Geist Führer's
soul and seize his body on the other end of time. Do what his master could not. Take the world and be rid of all
those
peoples
.
 

Should Verdiss fail, should he die? Well, that had its
benefits, too. For one, he'd no longer taste the bitterness of a ruined childhood. Nor bear the fact he was raised by La Croix and Tillemont Darkwa. Two monsters. Most of all, that curious yet vicious sting of yearning ripped from his heart. What if. What if La Croix hadn't hated him? What if he let Verdiss's mother take him away? What if he found love, or a woman to care for him as Narce had? Would that have healed his scarred soul?
That doesn't matter anymore!
Verdiss shouted at his thoughts.
 

He calmed himself, then arranged the bonfire in the innermost circle of the
veve
. It'd allow him to make contact with his betrayer and then rip him through space and time. As he piled hay and kindling atop one another,
Sousson-Pannan, named for the
loa
covered in sores and killed whoever offended him, slithered out from one of the large satchels. The diamondback rattlesnake hissed as it glided across the floor. Verdiss paused, watching his pet like a father would watch his child. In fact, the serpent was a child.
His
child. Skin color didn't matter to him, nor a disease. Sousson-Pannan loved for no other reason than love.
 

At eight feet long, the serpent was the heaviest of his species. Fangs measuring over an inch long. His
olive-colored scales marked with white diamonds led all the way down to his tail, which ended in a bulbous, swaying rattle.
 

Verdiss cracked a smile. Most deadly of the American snakes, a diamondback's venom caused internal pain, bleeding from the mouth, swelling of the bitten limb, and, on occasion, heart attacks. But what drew Verdiss to
Sousson-Pannan was the peculiar song from his rattle as he crawled through the room. A melody like flaxen silk.
 

He secreted the serpent on the
Ivory Jean
before leaving for New York and was glad he did. If Narce's attraction to this Keturah woman proved too strong and he betrayed the Grand Dragon, Sousson-Pannan would be watching. As much as the attraction angered him, Verdiss understood.
Can't blame him for his emotions. Blame him, only, for his actions.
 

Verdiss stopped working on the bonfire for a moment to rest. He took a seat on the floor and beckoned the snake to him. He caressed Sousson-Pannan as he slithered over his legs, wrapping himself around Verdiss. His scales were rough and leathery, much like Verdiss's own skin. “How you and I are alike.”

 

 

Chapter Forty-Seven

At dawn the sunlight edged above the horizon, its rays bleeding through the cloudy fall morning. Narce sat on the front porch of the abandoned house at the Cow's Head Farm. His hulking frame almost didn't fit in the slat-backed rocker he occupied. He rocked in the seat. It creaked as if threatening to collapse, but he didn't pay it any mind. Instead, he stared out into the sprawling field ahead of him. Thinking...no, they called it
reflecting
. Something Narce did so little of it took him a few minutes to put a name to it.
 

Inside the dilapidated home, his six fellow Klansmen were eating breakfast and jawing like schoolgirls. They joked and giggled. And after finishing breakfast, they wrestled and tore the house apart. Narce couldn't enjoy himself, nor did he
want
to enjoy himself. Though he could've beaten the shit out of all six of them combined. Not even the fact Davis, Hoyt, and Corbet hadn't returned last night concerned him. What
did
concern him? That woman's hazel eyes.
Keturah.
The beauty of those stained windows pierced his heart...or his loins. Was there a difference?
 

Darkness, his massive pit bull, scratched at the door, whimpering from inside the house. Narce didn't want the dog to see Verdiss's ritual. Why should an innocent, loving animal have to witness such witchery? So he arranged for the ASPCA to take Darkness and give him a good home. If he could, he'd find the dog after everything was over. But fuck if he knew what that meant. He was just glad that good-hearted Yankee fuck, Henry Bergh, started the ASPCA in '66. Though he couldn't help chuckling that he founded a group to protect animals, and not people.
Bleeding heart Yankees.
 

Narce dozed off for a moment after watching the sun rise over New York with wisps of pale colors. When he awoke, rather flinched awake, mid-morning had crept up on him. He wiped a line of drool from his chin then noticed Davis making his way through the fields from Yonkers. Narce scoffed.
Only one of them. Fuckin' figures.
 

The short, bald man came stomping up the stairs. “We have a problem.” He dropped the bulging burlap sack over his shoulder onto the rickety porch, which groaned like the dead. His shirt and britches were caked in blood.

“Where's Hoyt and Corbet at?” Narce looked up, eyeing Davis. He had a good hankering since the fuck was covered in blood. If they were dead that was one thing, but if they ended up in a cell, they could tell the authorities Grand Dragon Verdiss was in town. Narce's patience oozed away when Davis hesitated. “Yer jaw better get amovin' before I rip it off!" Spittle seeped into his thick muttonchops.

Davis straightened himself out, flicking dried blood from his shirt and tucking it into his britches.

Narce rolled his eyes. “You a belle a the ball now?”

“Sorry, Sir Nighthawk.” He let go of his shirt. “There was an incident at the Yonkers market. Hoyt's dead and Corbet was arrested. I managed to escape while the marshal grabbed Corbet.”

“Fuck.” Narce scratched at his muttonchops. “I'm a hopin' that bastud don't squeal. Last thing we need is them lawmen  acomin' for us.” He leaned forward in the creaking rocker. “We can't let the Grand Dragon hear this, all right? He'd done have both our asses.”

Davis nodded.

Narce sat back, watching him struggle to pick up the sack, then sling it over his shoulder. Eyes followed him to the door, Narce waiting for the right moment to piss the fucker off. Why?
No idea, but it'll make me feel better.
 

“Hold up. Hold up.” Narce pulled Davis back by the sleeve of his frock coat. “Don't be sayin' nuttin' to them boys. They's already spooked and afixin' to run. Only reasons they here is cause Verdiss paid them off.” He heard the concern in his own voice. He hoped Davis hadn't. The men
were
going to scurry away like rats. Maybe Davis, too.
 

“Yes, sir.” Davis nodded, then pushed the door open, which grated on unoiled hinges.

Sitting back in his chair, Narce stared off at nowhere in particular. Instead, he listened. Listened to Davis stumble inside and drop the heavy sack on the floor. Davis coughed, amidst a chorus of cackles from the others.
 

Silence, except the clattering of Darkness as he rushed to his  side. Narce hauled the dog up into his lap, caressing the dog's wedge-shaped head.

An air of anxiety seeped out from the house. Narce imagined those fucks in there, their faces sinking as they realized Hoyt and Corbet weren't coming. It brought a smile to his face. Maybe it was the fact they were scared and he wasn't, that made him love it. Or maybe Narce just liked seeing
anyone
suffer.
 

“Where Corbet and Hoyt at?” he heard Jud ask. One of the few remaining Goblins who hadn't crossed the brick dust when they attacked the witch's home. When asked about it, he hadn't the faintest idea why, but said his legs gave out.
Fucking liar
. Narce remembered.
 

Davis emptied the sack on the floor, rattling metal and glass. If Narce remembered right, there'd be a bushel of sour grapes, a vial of blood, herbs, and bat shit...or guano as Verdiss called it.

“Hoyt's dead and Corbet arrested. There was a brawl in the market,” said Davis, shuffling through the components. “None of you are going to help me?”

Pussy.
Narce shook his head, still stroking Darkness.
 

“I ain't acomin' near you. You's a Jonah,” said Pierce to gales of laughter. “And you's still smilin'!”

Bulky, young one, right?
 

“I'm a help you.” Jud climbed out of his seat and ambled across the room. A moment of silence, then more laughter filled the room.

Wonder what that was about it? Secrets—they plannin' on running?
No. Their tones had an edge to it. As if the laughter meant to cover their fears.
Can't blame them. Shit's spooky.
 

Chattering started again, but Narce caught the sound of Davis and Jud whispering. He stopped petting Darkness, and strained to hear.

“Psst, Davis—Narce got them boys athinkin' this here an exorcism or something, but I got me a bad feelin'. Like Verdiss up to somethin' else.”

You mother—
 
 

Jud continued. “I heard ‘im talkin' some
voodoo
when I's was out by the barn last night.”
 

For a moment, the whispering fell silent.

“Listen, Jud,” came Davis's voice. “If you run off, I won't say a word to anyone—not Narce. Not Verdiss—all right?”

Narce could just imagine that cowardly turncoat nod and smile. The way his weird square jaw looked when his lips pulled back.