fiery eyes seemed brighter than the eyes of the other creatures she had
seen at the Jamisons’ and in the foyer of that brownstone apartment
house.
She backed down one step.
The goblins started toward her.
She descended all the other steps, stopping only when she reached the
sidewalk.
The lizard-thing and the cat-thing stood at the top of the steps,
glaring at her.
Torrents of wind and snow raced along Fifth Avenue, and the snow was
falling so heavily that it almost seemed she would drown in it as surely
as she would have drowned in an onrushing flood.
The goblins descended one step.
Rebecca backed up until she encountered the ridge of snow at the curb.
The goblins descended a second step, a third.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The bath of purification lasted only two minutes. Jack dried himself on
three small, soft, highly absorbent towels which had strange runes
embroidered in the corners; they were of a material not quite like
anything he had ever seen before.
When he had dressed, he followed Carver Hampton into the living room
and, at the Houngon’s direction, stood in the center of the room, where
the light was brightest.
Hampton began a long chant, holding an asson over Jack’s head, then
slowly moving it down the front of him, then around behind him and up
along his spine to the top of his head once more.
Hampton had explained that the asson-a gourd rattle made from a calabash
plucked from a liana of a calebassier courant tree-was the symbol of
office of the Houngon. The gourd’s natural shape provided a convenient
handle. Once hollowed out, the bulbous end was filled with eight stones
in eight colors because that number represented the concept of eternity
and life everlasting. The vertebrae of snakes were included with the
stones, for they were symbolic of the bones of ancient ancestors who,
now in the spirit world, might be called upon for help. The asson was
also ringed with brightly colored porcelain beads. The beads, stones,
and snake vertebrae produced an unusual but not unpleasant sound.
Hampton shook the rattle over Jack’s head, then in front of his face.
For almost a minute, singing hypnotically in some long-dead African
language, he shook the asson over Jack’s heart. He used it to draw
figures in the air over each of Jack’s hands and over each of his feet.
Gradually, Jack became aware of numerous appealing odors. First, he
detected the scent of lemons. Then chrysanthemums. Magnolia blossoms.
Each fragrance commanded his attention for a few seconds, until the air
currents brought him a new odor. Oranges. Roses. Cinnamon. The
scents grew more intense by the second.
They blended together in a wonderfully harmonious fashion. Strawberries.
Chocolate. Hampton hadn’t lit any sticks of incense; he hadn’t opened
any bottles of perfume or essences. The fragrances seemed to occur
spontaneously, without source, without reason. Black walnuts. Lilacs.
When Hampton finished chanting, when he put down the asson, Jack said,
“Those terrific smells-where are they coming from?”
“They’re the olfactory equivalents of visual apparitions,” Hampton said.
Jack blinked at him, not sure he understood. “Apparitions? You mean .
. . ghosts?”
“Yes. Spirits. Benign spirits.”
“licit I don’t see them.”
“You’re not meant to see them. As I told you, they haven’t materialized
visually. They’ve manifested themselves as fragrances, which isn’t an
unheard of phenomenon.”
Mint.
Nutmeg.
“Benign spirits,” Hampton repeated, smiling. “The room is filled with
therm, and that’s a very good sign.
They’re messengers of the Rada. Their arrival here, at this time,
indicates that the benevolent gods support you in your battle against
Lavelle.”
“Then I’ll find Lavelle and stop him?” Jack asked.
“Is that what this means-that I’ll win out in the end? Is it all
predetermined?”
“No, no,” Hampton said. “Not at all. This means only that you’ve got
the support of the Rada. But Lavelle has the support of the dark gods.
The two of you are instruments of higher forces. One will win, and one
will lose; that’s all that’s predetermined.”
In the corners of the room, the candle flames shrank until they were
only tiny sparks at the tips of the wicks.
Shadows sprang up and writhed as if they were alive.