License Invoked

Chapter 11

That evening Elizabeth circulated through the room, smiling and nodding to Beauray's arriving "specialists," all the time aware that she was experiencing another facet of the surprisingly complex world that existed within the bounds of the French Quarter. While she had seen examples of "gracious Southern living styles" in various old movies, and had experienced a minor taste of it in her own room, she nonetheless found it impressive.

For one thing, the surroundings were far more sumptuous than at any meeting she had ever attended outside of a great house or palace in the United Kingdom. Beauray had somehow gotten the use of a suite at the Royal Sonesta. (When she asked about how he could arrange it so quickly, Boo-Boo had simply shrugged and given what she was now beginning to recognize as his trademark answer: "I know someone on the staff.") It reminded her of the nicer kind of private London clubs, but decorated in lighter colors. The main area was roughly the size of a volleyball court, and luxuriously furnished with overstuffed sofas and chairs as well as small cocktail tables draped with white brocade cloths. Heavy drapes framed the large windows which looked out onto the hotel's massive inner courtyard, and soft light was provided by several bright crystal chandeliers. An ebony baby grand piano stood underneath the window at the room's far end.

The others in attendance seemed to take it all in stride, giving the room and its furnishings little notice and even less comment, choosing instead to focus on the well-stocked bar situated beneath a painting the size of a bed. She was pleased to see the bar herself. Comments from other friends who had come to American dos in the past had complained that Yankees threw big parties, but neglected to provide alcoholic refreshment in favor of soft drinks, as if all their guests were still underage. Fionna/Phoebe's eyes would probably have gleamed at the sight of the warm, mahogany counter lined with bottles of every size and shape, but she was locked up, shivering, in her suite with Lloyd. Elizabeth was sorry she was so frightened, but it kept her behaving. The issue was not only what outside forces would inflict upon her, but what Fionna could do to herself, given a free hand. For once she would have to settle for room service, and like it.

As they waited for the last few stragglers to arrive, Elizabeth could not help but study those already present with a mixture of curiosity and amusement.

In her own home offices of OOPSI they held occasional staff meetings, and sometimes brought in outside consultants. There, however, the consultants were invariably either dusty academics or blustery bureaucrats. The main challenge was staying awake through the drawn-out lectures and discussions of procedures. This gathering, appropriately enough for New Orleans, had more the appearance of a costume party.

Elizabeth accepted a sweet-smelling drink the uniformed bartender identified as a "Sazerac," and surveyed Boo's gathering allies.

"A few of my friends," Beauray had said. Elizabeth tried to imagine what life would be like with friends like these. If she went back through her entire life of memories and catalogued every strange character she had ever met or come into contact with, the list would not be half as large or varied as the group assembling in the room.

There were a large number of Blacks, both men and women, present, standing singly or sitting in small groups of two or three. One group was garbed in bright purple robes, while others were dressed in white and wore head scarves folded in elaborate patterns. From the night before she recalled the slight gentleman in blue jeans and a leather vest who carried an intricately carved wooden walking staff and wore a straw cowboy hat, ornately decorated with long feathers.

The Caucasians in the room presented no less variety in their dress. Two middle-aged gentlemen who stood talking quietly together wore conservative business suits that would have fit in anywhere in the Central Business District. Others more casual in their dress sprawled on the sofa, their beards and embroidered tunics making them look as if they had just wandered in from a medieval festival or stepped through a time warp from a Viking mead hall. One statuesque blonde woman in a floor-length black dress glittering with sequins seemed to have come directly from a Mardi Gras ball. Also scattered about were a few individuals whose olive complexion, long dark hair, and bead necklaces hinted of the Great Plains Native Americans.

The other noticeable thing was that, while they all might be friends of Beauray, there seemed to be little love lost between the various groups. Dark glares and muttered comments followed by unnecessarily loud laughter were increasingly frequent as more and more people arrived until Elizabeth began to worry that outright hostility would erupt if the meeting did not start soon.

As if reading her mind, Beauray stood up and moved to the center of the room, clearing his throat loudly. In response, the crowd ceased their conversations and focused their attention on him.

"I guess we might as well get started," he announced. "Even allowing for N'Awlins time and being fashionably late, I figure anyone who isn't here already has either decided not to attend or got caught up in something more pressing."

There was a low murmur as everyone craned their necks to survey the room, doubtlessly speculating on who hadn't shown up as opposed to who hadn't been invited.

"First, let me express my thanks and appreciation for those of you who have chosen to attend, and especially on such short notice. I'd have liked to give y'all more time, but there isn't any. Most of you know each other, at least on sight, and I don't suppose it's a big secret that not everyone in the room likes each other or agrees with some of the disciplines represented here. The fact that I would see fit to place you in this potentially awkward position should be an indication of how serious I feel the problem is, and how little time we have to try to come up with an answer."

That seemed to get everyone's attention, and they leaned forward in their seats, focusing intently as Beauray continued.

"In a minute here I'll introduce my colleague from England, Miss Elizabeth Mayfield, but first let me give you the bare bones. There's an Irish rock singer, Fionna Kenmare, who's in town to give a concert at the Superdome tomorrow evenin'. There have been reports that she has been sufferin' from psychic or supernatural attacks, though there's some question as to whether or not they were simply publicity stunts. Anyway, Elizabeth and I are supposed to be checkin' it out, and protectin' her if the attacks are real. I don't know if y'all think it's good or bad news, but they are real." Some murmuring met this announcement. Boo-Boo raised his voice slightly. "We've seen it happen ourselves. The problem is, what we've seen so far doesn't match anything Ms. Mayfield or I have run into before, so I thought we'd bounce it off you folks to see if any of you have some knowledge or experience that might help us.

"First, though, I'll let Elizabeth tell you about what we've encountered so far. Elizabeth?"

Originally Elizabeth had resisted the idea of her handling this part of the briefing, fearing that her accent would hinder communications, but Beauray had insisted, and as she enumerated the details of the afternoon's events, she found herself warming to the subject and to her audience. It was rare that she could speak as freely as she did about apparently supernatural or unexplainable events and have it accepted and considered seriously rather than having to fight to overcome scepticism and disbelief. To her relief and delight she saw many of her listeners nod to themselves as she reached various points in her narratives where she described but did not identify by name the magical processes she and Beauray had used.

If only Mr. Ringwall could see her now!

When she finished, there was a period of silence as the assemblage reflected on what they had heard.

"You say this group is Irish and the first attacks happened in Ireland," one of the men in business suits said finally, in an easygoing but ponderous way of speaking. "Is there any chance she's gotten sideways to some spirit over there that's followed her here?"

"I thought about that," Beauray said, "but I haven't picked up any signs or feelings of an extra presence around the group or around the Superdome."

"Too bad!" quipped the black man in the straw cowboy hat. "Otherwise we might be able to convince it to stay. The Saints surely could use the help."

That brought a round of laughter from the whole room.

"How about a curse?" asked a stout black woman wearing a floor-length caftan and a plain, dark purple turban. "Maybe someone gave her somethin' that she's carrying around that draws trouble without her even knowin' about it."

"Naw," said one of the long-haired Caucasians, with a gesture of scorn. "I never heard of no curse that could make anyone or anything burst into flames. It could make 'em sick or real unlucky, but to have something catch fire like that in front of a bunch of witnesses? That'd take some real heavy mojo."

"And you don't think the spirits are capable of setting fire to a sinner?" asked an old, old teak-colored man in a neatly-pressed suit. Elizabeth noticed a well-worn bible on the table near his elbow.

"Now, now," Beauray said, holding his hands up peaceably. "No one here is calling Miss Fionna a sinner. At least, no more than usual." He managed to raise a chuckle from the warring groups. "Let's just put our heads together and see if we can come up with an explanation that rings true."

From there the talk broke down into a group discussion. Individuals began comparing notes, and various groups merged, then split and remerged with other groups as possibilities were posed and discarded. Boo was pleased to see that they could set aside their individual philosophical differences to concentrate on a problem. Even though only one person was in peril, and an out-of-towner at that, the greater matter concerned them all. He'd often thought that a council like this would be of great help to the Department, although the bean counters in Washington weren't too receptive to the idea. They wouldn't know how to catalog the expense. Too bad. This group was no weirder than any of the other think tanks going on in other places. Someone caught him by the arm.

"Hey, Beauray," said the tall Native American woman in the embroidered chambray blouse and silver-and-turquoise jewelry, "have there been any visible manifestations, apart from the fire and the scratches? Spirits? Faces?"

From there the discussion broke down into specific details. Elizabeth and Beauray were both cross-examined numerous times on what they had experienced and witnessed, as well as asked to give their own views on some of the theories being broached.

"Think someone's got a voodoo doll of this gal?" a voice rose above the crowd from a very stout woman in a flowered dress.

"They never heard of voodoo over there in Europe," another voice exclaimed, shouting down the first. It was a man, red-eyed with indignation. He felt in his pocket and came up with a yellowed scroll. "Demons, though. She might have a demon following her. Look here, I got a list..."

"What you think you're doin'?" a woman with café-au-lait skin exclaimed with concern, rounding on him from a small group nearest the bar. She whisked a cloth bundle out of her purse and sprinkled a pinch of pale dust from it on the paper. "Even the names have power. You brought them in here!"

The man and woman immediately fell into an argument, paying no heed to the others around them. The rest regrouped and began to talk among themselves.

Elizabeth went from one cluster of people to another, listening and taking notes while she answered questions. Several forms of attack that Elizabeth had never even heard of before were all aired and reviewed by the gathered specialists with the seriousness of doctors consulting each other on a puzzling diagnosis. She made a mental note to ask Beauray about some of the terms they were using, but for the time being, the focus had to remain upon Fionna and her problem. Time was an issue.

After nearly two hours, the larger of the two men in conservative suits set his glass down on a table with a sigh. He raised his voice to get everyone's attention.

"I'm hittin' the same dilemma over and over again, my friends. For a force to be powerful enough to have the effect Beauray is talkin' about, there must be some trace or indication of its direction or source. It's a case of conservation of energy, y'understand? Big effects call for big energy, and I don't see where it's comin' in, here. Nor why."

"That's the problem, isn't it?" Elizabeth said. "In real life, even the wizard Merlin could not simply wiggle a finger and move a mountain. There's far more to the equation than that. Both Mr. Boudreau and I should be sensitive enough in our own ways to detect any energy source strong enough to produce those spectacular results, but neither of us could pick up the faintest whiff of anything even fractionally powerful enough."

"Well, let's call a halt to the proceedin's," Boo said, glumly. "I want to thank y'all for comin' today. I'd appreciate it if you'd try to think of anythin' we haven't covered. Y'all know how to reach me. And keep your eyes open for any display of energy that strikes you as new or unusual."

"We'll do what we can," the café-au-lait woman said. She rose from the wing chair, laid a sympathetic hand on Boo's arm, and shook hands with Elizabeth. Her grip was firm, dry and comforting.

"I'll tell everyone I know to intensify their personal alertness," said the other man in a business suit. "We'll pin this thing down, Beauray."

"Thanks, Bobby Lee," Boo said. "Thank y'all for comin'." The room cleared quickly, as the peace of the watering hole was broken, and lifelong rivals hurried to get out before the shadow of the others fell on them.

"I must say, that was a new experience for me," Elizabeth said after the last of their guests had left. "Your friends were really quite helpful."

"Not helpful enough," Beauray said, almost to himself.

"Excuse me?"

"Hmm? Oh. Sorry about that, Elizabeth. I'm just a bit disappointed is all. For all the drinkin' and talkin', we still don't have any clearer idea of what's goin' on than when we started. I guess we just have to stay on our toes and hope for the best."

Lloyd Preston put his hand over the phone and turned to Fionna, who was sitting anxiously on the big bed on the upper floor of her suite.

"That was Kenny Lewis, wants to know when you're coming back to finish rehearsal."

"Not yet—not yet!" Fionna said, holding out her long-nailed hands. "I can't face them. It's been just too awful. I feel if I pull down one more disaster that it'll kill all of us!"

Lloyd spoke to the phone. "Maybe later, Ken boy. She needs a break. We're going to stay here for a while."

Fee's keen hearing picked up the tone of the grumble coming through the wire. She knew the others were upset with her, but she didn't know what else to do. Blast that Elizabeth Mayfield! She was always right—always had been. Fee started pacing around the sitting room, its dimensions suddenly too small. She flung herself into a chair and reached for a cigarette. Lloyd automatically dug into his pocket for the lighter before he even hung up the phone. She smiled up at him as she blew out a plume of smoke. He was so good to her.

"They're stopping for dinner, love," Lloyd said. "Mr. High-and-Michael wants you there for the evening run-through even if you're on your death bed."

Fee shuddered and let her head drop back against the cushy damask of the armchair. "I wish he wouldn't put it like that!"

She was too agitated to chant any of her spells of protection. How did she know they would do any good, anyhow? She had no way to tell. The books she'd bought from the occult antiquarian might be phonies. She hadn't read Latin at school, and had to rely on the translations. Liz seemed to be another deep believer, though, and she'd nosed around in the suite. Fee ought to be safe here. She wished she felt that way.

When the knock came at the door, Fee was unaware how long she'd been sitting and staring up at the ceiling. She shot a nervous look at Lloyd, who got up from the table where he'd been reading a book. He returned with a couple of large paper bags in his arms, and Robbie Unterburger trailing behind him.

"Hi, Fionna," Robbie said, timidly. Fee only raised an eyebrow at her.

"She brought us some dinner. Thank you, love. It was really thoughtful of you."

Robbie simpered as Lloyd set the bags down on the table and began to take clear plastic containers out of it. Something crisp-fried. Something stewed—two stewed somethings. A chunk of bread in a waxed paper bag. A mass of slightly wilted salad. The unfamiliar yet savory smells wafted toward Fee's nose, but couldn't work their magic on her. She was too tense to enjoy them. Unable to bear the sight of food, or Robbie, Fee looked away and stared at the curtains, conscious that the girl was staring at her.

"Thanks," she said. After a time, she heard the shuffle of footsteps. The girl was going away. Thank heaven.

Lloyd muttered something, and the hall door snicked shut. He came around Fee's chair and stared down at her.

"What's the matter with you? She just did you a favor!"

"I'm sorry," Fee said, with sincere contrition. "I'm just too worried."

"You could have sounded like you meant it when you said thanks," Lloyd said, his dark brows lowering to his nose.

"The girl's such a nosebleed," Fee said, more snappishly than she meant. "She's talented, but her personality..."

"She's nice enough," Lloyd said.

Fionna eyed him. "She'd be yours if you let her," she said, shrewdly.

Lloyd, just as shrewd, knew better than to walk into that kind of emotional mine field. He shrugged noncommitally. "Who, her? You're worth fifty of her."

Fionna hugged herself. Though it was good to have Lloyd say so, she felt uncertain whether she was worth all the trouble and the compliments. She had used to be so confident, back when she and Liz Mayfield were at school. She was a superstar now. She ought to feel on top of the world. What had happened to her?

Lloyd was about to administer another scolding, when they heard a gentle rap on the door. Fee looked at the clock on the mantlepiece.

"Oh, that's me appointment, darlin'. Will you let her in?"

The thin woman with a face like old, wrinkled leather in the hallway raised a bone rattle and shook it under Lloyd's face. She waited until he stepped aside to cross the threshold, then shook it all around the perimeter of the door. Fee stood up and watched her with fascination and alarm, as the woman rattled in every corner of the room. She stopped, and suddenly pointed at the containers on the table.

"Did you eat any of that?" she demanded.

"No!" Fee said, alarmed.

"Good," said the shamaness. "Fried food is bad for your aura." She turned to eye Lloyd up and down. "You can eat it. Won't do you no harm, and the donor is favorably disposed to you anyhow."

Fee smiled. The old woman had his number. She was the real thing, just as Fee had been promised. There seemed to be nothing special about the healing priestess's outward appearance. Her yellow dress looked just like those of the other ladies out in the street. Hanging over her left wrist was an ordinary-looking leather handbag with a gold clasp. "What should I be eating?"

"When is your birthday?"

"January. January twenty-seventh."

"Fresh fruit and vegetables. Greens and bacon for security. Okra and black-eyed peas for luck. Alligator."

"Alligator?" Fee asked. "For courage?"

"No'm," said the shamaness, with a sly, dark-eyed look. "Tastes good. A little fatty, but you need some meat on them long bones of yours. Y'ought to try some jambalaya. Not that stuff," she said, with a dismissive wave at the table. "There's better in the Quarter. Ask Willie downstairs. He'll steer you to the good places."

Fee cleared her throat. "I didn't ask you here for restaurant reviews, er, Madam Charmay."

"I know," the old woman said. "This curse. It's still troubling you?" Fee nodded. "Whole cure takes maybe eight, maybe nine days. I've got to find me a black rooster and some other things. Won't cost you too much for the components, but you ought to be generous to the spirits all the same. You're lucky the full moon is coming, day after tomorrow. Otherwise it'd take a month and a week."

"I don't have eight or nine days! I've got to give a concert tomorrow."

"Oh," Madam Charmay said, cocking her head. "Then, you need the quick cure. All right. Stand you there. In the precise center. That's it."

For Fee to stand in the middle of the room, Lloyd had to move the table. Fee stared up at the ceiling as the old woman walked in ever-tightening circles until she could feel the slight heat of the other's body. All the time Madam Charmay was chanting quietly to herself. Occasionally the rattles punctuated a sentence with their exclamation points. Fee concentrated, wishing she could feel something, anything, to prove that she was connected to the great beyond. But nothing stirred the atmosphere except the freezing blast of the air conditioning. There was another rap at the door, this one businesslike.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, this is getting to be like a drawing room comedy," Fee said, in exasperation. "Look, are you finished?"

"I am now, lady," Madam Charmay said, putting her rattles into her purse. "I can come again."

"Yes, please," Fee said, grabbing her small purse, little more than a wallet on a string. She riffled through the wad of American notes that she'd been given by Nigel and came up with three twenties, which she held out to Madam Charmay. The old woman regarded the money with distaste.

"No, do not give it to me. Give it to charity. This night. Without fail."

"I will," Fee said in surprise, ashamed of herself for not asking about the protocol of paying healers for their services. "Thank you so much."

"It is all in God's name," Madam Charmay said, with dignity. "I will go now."

Lloyd's face turned beet red when he opened the door and saw Liz and Boo-Boo in the hallway.

"May we see her?" Liz asked politely. She hadn't a hope of making this jealous man an ally, but at least she would keep from enraging him further. She had felt her ward alarms go off twice. There were, or had been, two strangers in the room. One of them was still there, yet Liz sensed no danger from the presence.

As if in answer to her unspoken question, a slender, little woman with a worn face and ineffable majesty was stepping daintily toward them. As she came through the door, she traded speaking looks with Boo-Boo. He raised his eyebrows, and the old woman shook her head very slightly. There was the ghost of magic in the room. Benevolent but very strong-minded. Concerned, Liz bustled toward Fionna, who was standing under the light fixture in the center of the room, eating jambalaya out of a carry-out container with a spoon.

"I don't care what the old darlin' said, this tastes wonderful," Fionna said indistinctly, around a large mouthful. "Oh, there you are, you two! I can't believe how hungry I am, and all. Have some." She held out the container. The food smelled good to Liz, but it looked awful. Thick pieces of sausage pushed up through the brownish gravy like monstrous fingers emerging from a swamp.

"Thank you, ma'am, but we've had our dinner," Boo said. "We came to see if you'll be all right to come down for the late rehearsal. Your people are kind of countin' on it."

"Oh, without a doubt!" Fee said, managing to trill the words without spraying food on anyone. She scooped up one last bite and held it up in the air before eating it. "We're going to do such a show tomorrow, me darlin's!" She licked the spoon tidily and set it into the empty lid. "Come on, then! Lloyd, me love, get us a taxi?" Liz noticed that she was already wearing her purse.

"Who was that woman we saw?" she asked Boo as they followed in Fionna's wake.

"Friend of mine from the Quarter, a Cajun healer. The real thing. Willie on the door told me Miss Fionna asked for a recommendation. I made sure they didn't send her no charlatans."

"Did she cure Fionna?" Liz asked, with interest.

"Naw. I can tell. There hasn't been time to really get to the roots of what's goin' on. She did the stuff she does for visitors. A little chantin', rattlin' to drive away the bad spirits. Short-term fix, but you can see it's cheered her up a lot. Half of healin's mental, y'know."

Liz sighed. "At least the show will go on."

Boo tilted his head and gave her a little smile. "Don't worry, ma'am. We'll catch whoever's behind this."