08-09-2018, 09:37 PM
A bigger crowd had gathered than Rowan had anticipated. Her reputation from New Orleans did not follow her across the pond, so, really, she was only expecting three or four people; if any. Voodoo didn’t have much of a scene in this part of the world, despite the Ascendancy and his promise of refuge for those that could wield magic. She had been sure she’d find someone here that knew the secrets of the Loa, of root working, of secret swamp magics. There wasn’t anyone like that in the First Dominance and if there was, they had to be hiding.
Rowan had flown out here about a year ago, searching in vain for her twin brother, Aiden. It should have been way easier to find him. Punk-rock author movie stars weren’t exactly common and Aiden was the loudest one of them all. At least he had been. Everything changed since he had fallen into that coma; and not just for him. Rowan had changed and so had the rest of the family. Mother insisted that Father knew more than he had been letting on, but the crazy old coot refused to speak on the subject. Oh, he had hinted plenty of times that he knew exactly where Aiden had run off to. Mother had spent countless nights fighting with him about it, but eventually, he just started working late, not coming home until Mother was passed out on the couch with an empty bottle of Grey Goose nestled under her arms.
Aiden had to have come to Russia. There was no other option for him. Rowan had spent a year and a half trying to convince him to leave the states with her and make a new life out here in the new heart of the World. He gave her the cold shoulder. He didn’t want to open up to her anymore. Did he actually blame her for how things went down with Kyle? Fucking bullshit that was. She didn’t tell Aiden to cheat. She didn’t tell him to stick with Kyle just to keep the band together! But no. He just had to go thinking with his dick. Men. All of them were the same… Well, most of them were… Her late husband had been different. The Saints had crafted him especially for her… And they also decided she wasn’t worthy of him… Fate was so fickle.
With a huff, Rowan brought her thoughts to the present and looked around at the crowd assembled. There was a light whisper here and there. She wasn’t stupid. There were no true believers here. That wasn’t a bad thing. She wasn’t a believer when she attended her first ritual, but it only took one to convince her. That was partially the point behind tonight. If she couldn’t find anyone out there that ‘Rode with the Loas,’ then she would make believers out of the entire city if need be!
It was time.
Rowan threw both arms in the air, gesturing for silence. A hush fell over the crowd. Every eye turned to her as the band behind her struck their drums. Ten men beat out a steady tribal rhythm, four women accompanying them with rattles and tambourines. Rowan would have liked to have had more authentic instruments, but these would have to do. The band was hired, they weren’t practitioners as was tradition, but Rowan thought a few might be coming around. They had been on her payroll for the last six months if anything they wouldn’t be leaving her anytime soon.
The vibrations from the drums seemed to amplify as Rowan lost herself to the rhythm. Her body began moving of its own accord with the music and that familiar light sprung up behind her shoulder. Papa Legba ready and waiting, as always. With a flick of her wrist, seventy-seven candles in varying colors sprung to life around the perimeter of her circle. A thick chalk line marked the boundaries of the large circle and no one was allowed to cross it’s threshold, lest Rowan command a Loa into the body of another, in which case the Loa would take control and enter the circle, adding to the magic being worked tonight.
Rowan’s body dipped and writhed with the beats of the drums, somewhere a trumpet started playing. She didn’t hire a trumpet player, but she welcomed it. The sound seemed odd in contrast to the tribal beats that her band played, but it worked, and that was what Voodoo was about, using what worked. For instance, the herbs and powders that Rowan was now tossing about the circle. It seemed half hazard at first, but eventually, a symbol appeared in the herbs. It looked like a cross with other crosses, circles, and stars all mixed into its design. Rowan pulled a Cuban cigar from somewhere inside her bodice and lit the thing. She took five long puffs while dancing; then she pulled a flask out from her sleeve. Dark rum sloshed about the inside of the aluminum flash, Rowan taking a long swig and then spitting it out into the air. She spun in place, scattering the rum from the flask in all directions.
Then she stopped, arms outstretched towards the heavens once more, and she yelled out in a loud and commanding voice, “Papa Legba! Papa Legba open the gate for me! Atibon Legba, louvre port-la pou mwen! Papa Legba! Now!”As the words left her mouth, the flames of the candles shot five feet into the air as if they were each a mini flame thrower. Rowan took five more puffs of the cigar, blowing it all out in a circle around her. The candles died back down to their normal, steady flickers. The crowd gasped and sank back a little, but no one left.
Rowan felt the energy coursing through her, like a proud river, carrying her down into the womb of Erzulie Dantor. It was the most delectable feeling in existence, better than sex even! Rowan spun round and round, chanting loudly, “La Fanmi semble, eneo; la fanmi semble, non! E agoueto, ca hinde; na’pe hin’de o! La fanmi semble, eneo; na’pe hin’de Papa Loko Ati-sou!”
She kept chanting those same lines over and over until a strong gust of wind picked up and rushed through the silent crowd. Voices seemed to be carried by the wind, voices most of these people hadn’t heard in years. The voices of their ancestors. Looks of shock passed on many faces of Rowan, but she didn’t notice. Papa Legba was inside of her, riding her soul so that he may touch the physical plane once more, and it was marvelous. The light coursed through her and she just kept dancing and chanting.
Rowan had flown out here about a year ago, searching in vain for her twin brother, Aiden. It should have been way easier to find him. Punk-rock author movie stars weren’t exactly common and Aiden was the loudest one of them all. At least he had been. Everything changed since he had fallen into that coma; and not just for him. Rowan had changed and so had the rest of the family. Mother insisted that Father knew more than he had been letting on, but the crazy old coot refused to speak on the subject. Oh, he had hinted plenty of times that he knew exactly where Aiden had run off to. Mother had spent countless nights fighting with him about it, but eventually, he just started working late, not coming home until Mother was passed out on the couch with an empty bottle of Grey Goose nestled under her arms.
Aiden had to have come to Russia. There was no other option for him. Rowan had spent a year and a half trying to convince him to leave the states with her and make a new life out here in the new heart of the World. He gave her the cold shoulder. He didn’t want to open up to her anymore. Did he actually blame her for how things went down with Kyle? Fucking bullshit that was. She didn’t tell Aiden to cheat. She didn’t tell him to stick with Kyle just to keep the band together! But no. He just had to go thinking with his dick. Men. All of them were the same… Well, most of them were… Her late husband had been different. The Saints had crafted him especially for her… And they also decided she wasn’t worthy of him… Fate was so fickle.
With a huff, Rowan brought her thoughts to the present and looked around at the crowd assembled. There was a light whisper here and there. She wasn’t stupid. There were no true believers here. That wasn’t a bad thing. She wasn’t a believer when she attended her first ritual, but it only took one to convince her. That was partially the point behind tonight. If she couldn’t find anyone out there that ‘Rode with the Loas,’ then she would make believers out of the entire city if need be!
It was time.
Rowan threw both arms in the air, gesturing for silence. A hush fell over the crowd. Every eye turned to her as the band behind her struck their drums. Ten men beat out a steady tribal rhythm, four women accompanying them with rattles and tambourines. Rowan would have liked to have had more authentic instruments, but these would have to do. The band was hired, they weren’t practitioners as was tradition, but Rowan thought a few might be coming around. They had been on her payroll for the last six months if anything they wouldn’t be leaving her anytime soon.
The vibrations from the drums seemed to amplify as Rowan lost herself to the rhythm. Her body began moving of its own accord with the music and that familiar light sprung up behind her shoulder. Papa Legba ready and waiting, as always. With a flick of her wrist, seventy-seven candles in varying colors sprung to life around the perimeter of her circle. A thick chalk line marked the boundaries of the large circle and no one was allowed to cross it’s threshold, lest Rowan command a Loa into the body of another, in which case the Loa would take control and enter the circle, adding to the magic being worked tonight.
Rowan’s body dipped and writhed with the beats of the drums, somewhere a trumpet started playing. She didn’t hire a trumpet player, but she welcomed it. The sound seemed odd in contrast to the tribal beats that her band played, but it worked, and that was what Voodoo was about, using what worked. For instance, the herbs and powders that Rowan was now tossing about the circle. It seemed half hazard at first, but eventually, a symbol appeared in the herbs. It looked like a cross with other crosses, circles, and stars all mixed into its design. Rowan pulled a Cuban cigar from somewhere inside her bodice and lit the thing. She took five long puffs while dancing; then she pulled a flask out from her sleeve. Dark rum sloshed about the inside of the aluminum flash, Rowan taking a long swig and then spitting it out into the air. She spun in place, scattering the rum from the flask in all directions.
Then she stopped, arms outstretched towards the heavens once more, and she yelled out in a loud and commanding voice, “Papa Legba! Papa Legba open the gate for me! Atibon Legba, louvre port-la pou mwen! Papa Legba! Now!”As the words left her mouth, the flames of the candles shot five feet into the air as if they were each a mini flame thrower. Rowan took five more puffs of the cigar, blowing it all out in a circle around her. The candles died back down to their normal, steady flickers. The crowd gasped and sank back a little, but no one left.
Rowan felt the energy coursing through her, like a proud river, carrying her down into the womb of Erzulie Dantor. It was the most delectable feeling in existence, better than sex even! Rowan spun round and round, chanting loudly, “La Fanmi semble, eneo; la fanmi semble, non! E agoueto, ca hinde; na’pe hin’de o! La fanmi semble, eneo; na’pe hin’de Papa Loko Ati-sou!”
She kept chanting those same lines over and over until a strong gust of wind picked up and rushed through the silent crowd. Voices seemed to be carried by the wind, voices most of these people hadn’t heard in years. The voices of their ancestors. Looks of shock passed on many faces of Rowan, but she didn’t notice. Papa Legba was inside of her, riding her soul so that he may touch the physical plane once more, and it was marvelous. The light coursed through her and she just kept dancing and chanting.