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.”