Hounacier (Valducan Book 2) Read Free Page A

"Safety is on the back."
    "I can't shoot that," Malcolm said, stepping back. "It might kill someone."
    The old man gave him a hard glare. "If the time comes to fire it, people will already be dead. You do as I tell you." He offered the weapon. "Put it on."
    Malcolm clenched his teeth. He drew a breath then accepted the shotgun. It had a long shoulder strap that crossed his chest and hung at his hip.
    "Good." Ulises shoved the roll back into the duffel and cinched it closed. "It's time."
    The two men circled around to the far edge of the open ring surrounding the painted pole. Mambos and houngans moved to the music, drawing swirling chalk and cornmeal patterns around the tall post. Malcolm found himself bobbing his head to the beat as he mentally noted as much of the ceremony as he could. Priests blew mouthfuls of liquor onto the pole. The chickens were fed before their heads were twisted from their bodies. The sword-bearers danced in the circle, twirling their blades in mock, rhythmic combat.
    The congregation's energy rolled higher. Chanting grew faster, hundreds of voices merging in song. More dancers trickled into the ring, seeming drunk within the moment. Dust swirled in the air from dancing feet, only adding to the stink of sweat and smoke.
    Eventually, one of the dancers, an elderly man, began to shake, his eyes rolling up into his head. He stumbled and bumped into one of the priests. The other dancers moved around him, singing and chanting, and the man suddenly moved with an energy and vigor he hadn't had before. He hopped and shimmied in a unique rhythm.
    The first of the loa had arrived.
    The priests gathered around the possessed man. One hurried to one of the nearby trunks and fetched a straw hat and a twisted cane, which the old man graciously took.
    Malcolm watched the man saunter and dance as Legba, the Gatekeeper. Of course, he knew there was no spirit, no Legba. But obviously, the old man believed it, and so did the others. He wondered what made the old man believe the spirit had taken him. Could he have moved in those rhythms before? How much of his new vigor was psychosomatic?
    More dancers moved inside the ring, their fervor fueled by the loa's appearance. Others began to shake and twitch as the spirits mounted them. Each time, the priests moved in to greet them, verify the loa's identity, then fetch their signifying totems. Erzulie, Sogbo, and a half-dozen more appeared within the congregation. In his observations, Malcolm had witnessed possessions before but rarely more than three at the same time. Still, more arrived with rolling eyes and sporadic convulsions.
    He watched a young man with a wisp of a goatee wearing a pair of sunglasses with only one lens and clutching a rum bottle. The teenager groped several of the women, posing as Ghede. Malcolm grinned to himself, seeing the boy swig the liquor and get away with much more than he could probably ever do otherwise. He had no doubt the boy was enjoying his absolute, if temporary, freedom.
    A stocky man leaped past, swinging a black machete. Malcolm scooted away, allowing the man more room. He recognized him as Ogoun, the warrior. Ogoun danced before Ulises then stopped and began speaking to him.
    Curious what wisdom the spirit was imparting, Malcolm started toward them. Then the rum-swilling youth in the one-eyed glasses stepped in his way.
    "How you doin', white-boy?" he bellowed. "Enjoyin' yourself?" His breath reeked of alcohol.
    Malcolm forced a smile. He'd known it was only time before the spirits harassed the outsider. They never failed to. "I'm fine."
    "Of course you're fine," the boy said through a wide, toothy grin. "You got yourself a lady. Just need to impress her papa."
    "No," Malcolm said, bemused. "Sorry. I don't have a lady." He tried to step around the drunk teen, but the boy gripped his shoulder firmly.
    "Don't you be fibbin' to Papa Ghede," he laughed. "I see you eyein' her. You goin' to watch her dance. See if you can learn the