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it before?"
Dr. John took the paper in one hand and looked at it. His expression did not
waver, yet Gabriel could sense the man stiffening. Dr. John handed it back.
"No. It looks like garbage to me. Graffiti."
Gabriel looked at him curiously. Why would he call it graffiti? Gabriel hadn't
mentioned where he'd gotten it. "Are you sure?" he pressed. "There seems to be
a rhythm to the layout..."
"I forgot to warn you," Dr. John interrupted calmly. "About the cemeteries in
these parts. They are quite dangerous. I would not go there alone, if
I were you."
The two men stood and stared at each other;
Gabriel looking up at the big man quizzically, Dr.
John staring down blankly with huge dark eyes that seemed to bore through the
smaller man's soul.
Then Dr. John blinked and the veil dropped again. Gabriel scratched his head.
" 'Predate that advice," he said. Then he smiled at Dr. John. Dr. John smiled
back.
"You deserve to be safe," Dr. John replied smoothly.
He was still smiling like that when Gabriel left the building.
* * *
Magentia Moonbeam's place had a sign in the front window advertising fortune
telling and gris gris. She was a woman in her early forties, the kind that
still thought she was twenty-three.
Her long, unnaturally blond hair was held back by a gauzy kerchief. Her
once-slender but spreading figure was obscured by a tie-died skirt; its
celestial pattern aimed for the stars but only reached Haight-Ashbury. Her
face was heavily painted with blues and gold and way the hell too much peachy
face powder. Her
breath smelled of anise.
"Greetings, Seeker," she said when she saw
Gabriel at the door. Jasmine incense rolled out into the street.
"Ms. Moonbeam? Dr. John gave me your name. I'd like to talk to you a moment,
if I
could?" Gabriel drawled charmingly (hoping that would make up for the fact
that he didn't intend to actually pay her anything).
"Yessss. I sense you are in need. Please come in."
The parlor of the old house was decked out with fabric-covered tables, swagged
draperies, Mardi Gras masks, boldly colored feathers, and mystical
paraphernalia. It was the sort of decor where the lack of furniture of any
real value was camouflaged by overambitious, homegrown inte-
rior design. On one wall was a rosary. On a table in the center of the room
was a crystal ball and a deck of tarot cards. Against the wall was an old-
fashioned pedestal bird cage, large and ornate. As
Gabriel's eyes adjusted to the room's natural dim-
ness, he realized that the cage contained, not a bird, but a large snake. The
combination of these items with the French country florals and Moon-
beam's own psychedelic garb was montage that would have made Warhol squirm.
"How can I help you?" Moonbeam expansively offered, as if any wish was hers
for the granting.
"My name is Knight," Gabriel said, offering his hand. She shook it hers was
powdery dry and soft. "I'm researchin' material for a book?
Thought I'd talk to a real Voodooienne."
She smiled indulgently. "The interest in
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Voodoo has never been greater. Your book should do well, Mr. Knight."
She waved a gracious hand toward a love seat and they both sat down.
"Tell me about your practice."
"I have a very loyal clientele. They come to me for everything from career
advice to blessings for their children . . ." She smiled at him flirtatiously.
"Of course, love potions are ever popular."
"Are these murders in the papers havin' any effect on your business?" Gabriel
asked smoothly.
She blushed. "No ... I've heard that it's had some impact on the 'walk-in'
business of other Voodooi-
ennes, but I myself deal mostly with regulars."
Uh-huh. That explains the sign in your window.
"And your 'regulars' aren't bothered?"
"They know enough about Voodoo not to draw any correlation between the murders
and what I
do, Mr. Knight," she said with a self-conscious giggte-
"Are you aware of any . . . rumors in the
Voodoo community about the killin's?"
Magentia looked uneasy. "No."
"What do you think about 'em?"
"I think ... I think someone has a sick sense of humor killing people and
blaming it on Voodoo!
Voodoo believers do not sacrifice human beings."
She was obviously distressed. He believed her, and yet . . . was it his [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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