take longer than two minutes.”
Jack sighed, struggled out of his heavy coat, and gave it to the
Houngon.
Minutes later, Jack was ensconced in one of the armchairs, holding a
glass of Remy Martin in his cupped hands. He had taken off his shoes
and socks and had put them by the radiator, too, for they had gotten
thoroughly soaked by the snow that had gotten in over the tops of his
boots as he’d waded through the drifts. For the first time all night,
his feet began to feel warm.
Hampton opened the gas jets in the fireplace, poked a long-stemmed match
in among the ceramic logs, and flames whooshed up. He turned the gas
high. “Not for the heat so much as to chase the darkness from the
flue,” he said. He shook out the match, dropped it into a copper
scuttle that stood on the hearth. He sat down in the other armchair,
facing Jack across a coffee table on which were displayed two pieces of
Lalique crystala clear bowl with green lizards for handles, and a tall
frosted vase with a graceful neck. “If I’m to know how to proceed,
you’ll have to tell me everything that-”
“First, I’ve got some questions,” Jack said.
“All right.”
“Why wouldn’t you help me earlier today?”
“I told you. I was scared.”
“Aren’t you scared now?”
“More than ever.”
“Then why’re you willing to help me now?”
“Guilt. I was ashamed of myself.”
“It’s more than that.”
“Well, yes. As a Houngon,you see, I routinely call upon the gods of
Rada to perform feats for me, to fulfill blessings I bestow on my
clients and on others I wish to help. And, of course, it’s the gods who
make my magic potions work as intended. In return, it is incumbent upon
me to resist evil, to strike against the agents of Congo and Petro
wherever I encounter them. Instead, for a while, I tried to hide from
my responsibilities.”
“If you had refused again to help me . . . would these benevolent
gods of Rada continue to perform their feats for you and fulfill the
blessings you bestow? Or would they abandon you and leave you without
power?”
“It’s highly unlikely they would abandon me.”
“But possible?”
“Remotely, yes.”
“So, at least in some small degree, you’re also motivated by
self-interest. Good. I like that. I’m comfortable with that.”
Hampton lowered his eyes, stared into his brandy for a moment, then
looked at Jack again and said, “There’s another reason I must help. The
stakes are higher than I first thought when I threw you out of the shop
this afternoon. You see, in order to crush the Carramazzas, Lavelle has
opened the Gates of Hell and has let out a host of demonic entities to
do his killing for him. It was an insane, foolish, terribly prideful,
stupid thing for him to have done, even if he is perhaps the most
masterful Bocor in the world. He could have conjured up the spiritual
essence of a demon and could have sent that after the Carramazzas; then
there would have been no need to open the Gates at all, no need to bring
those hateful creatures to this plane of existence in physical form.
Insanity! Now, the Gates are open only a crack, and at the moment
Lavelle is in control. I can sense that much through the cautious
application of my own power. But Lavelle is a madman and, in some
lunatic fit, might decide to fling the Gates wide, just for the fun of
it. Or perhaps he’ll grow weary and weaken; and if he weakens enough,
the forces on the other side will surely burst the Gates against
Lavelle’s will. In either case, vast multitudes of monstrous creatures
will come forth to slaughter the innocent, the meek, the good, and the
just.
Only the wicked will survive, but they’ll find themselves living in Hell
on Earth.”
Rebecca drove up the Avenue of the Americas, almost to Central Park,
then made an illegal U-turn in the middle of the deserted intersection
and headed downtown once more, with no cause to worry about other
drivers. There actually was some traffic-snow removal vehicles, an