36.

It was a short ride from the café to the botanica. Erik noted how Raoul gazed out the window as they drove. Ethnic ghettos were usually the haunts of the local inhabitants or the curious. He didn't believe the Count de Chagny or his younger brother would have reason to tour this section. It didn't appear to offer the sort of diversion two men of influential family would seek.

In truth, it was not the sort of area that Erik would chose to explore either, unless curiosity led him here. The world offered much to experience, to search, and life had not brought him here until now.

What imaging had pushed this idea, like a wrapped box, to the forefront of his thoughts about Christine's dilemma? Faint stirrings of the lost voice he had dreamed of filled his mind. There was no distress, only a deep and abiding sadness, an ache, that seemed incapable of being filled. It wept for something that Erik believed could not be returned.

Last night, Mirielle had held the paper gently and asked if he believed that a bath could cure Christine's problem. It came to him suddenly that his wife knew something. If not a fact, then an intuition, for she excelled at that sort of knowledge. She had not explained her reason to question him. It could be that she was formulating a theory.

Erik frowned as he glanced at Raoul. It wasn't a difficult thing to do in this case. The young man still proved annoying, and he believed the boy was indulging in particular jibes for the sake of saying them. The fop must know that Mirielle had asked that he not pester him.

Nadir smiled cheerily and pushed open the cab's door. "Here we are."

Annoying. It was like having a crumb stuck between your teeth with no time to dislodge it. Nadir was going to be chipper and the fop was going to indulge in verbal barbs. In his favor, the boy was at least intelligent enough to not be an outright whiney annoyance. Erik felt his teeth grind and cleared his throat. "Yes. Here we are," he retorted with mock lightness.

Nadir shot him a concerned glance behind Raoul's back as they proceeded to the shop's door. Erik awarded him a slight nod. Yes, I shall behave.

Once again as he passed the threshold into the shop Erik felt as if he slipped into another world. He watched with keen interest Raoul's reactions. The shelves filled with jars and candles were easily taken in, it was the desiccated head of a small crocodile that arrested Raoul in mid step. His eyes slid towards Erik for a second and then continued along his examination. "Are these people," he continued in a low tone, "do they require a fee?"

"I don't believe they do. Perhaps like most churches a donation would not be turned away."

Raoul glanced at the till and the main counter. Noémi waited quietly smiling. Raoul stepped forward extending a hand. Nadir did the introductions. Erik observed the milieu, the owner of a small shop and an aristocrat exchanging pleasantries in meeting.

"Madam Toton, I am fascinated by your shop," Raoul told her.

"Please, indulge your curiosity then. We are most happy to have new friends visit our shop. It is a small slice of our world, our experiences, as well as our homage to our spirituality."

Noémi offered Erik her hand. He clasped it lightly. "As promised, I have brought you the young man whose wife is in need."

"You have brought him to the right place. Let me take your hats. I'll inform the Mambo that you have arrived and wish to visit her."

As she departed to the back of the shop, Erik watched Nadir walk along the shelves with Raoul, chatting about the descriptions on the labels of items. Raoul returned to the front counter. "This is fascinating. I read about shamans and healers in other cultures, but seeing it firsthand in a block of Paris, well, it's unexpected."

"Should I take your enthusiasm as acceptance of my plot then?" Erik asked.

With a curt nod, Raoul replied. "Unless anything disagreeable occurs, I don't see why not."

"Disagreeable?" Erik retorted. "Are you expecting extortion or an attack by cannibals?"

Raoul's mouth was set in a firm line. "Nothing of the sort, I like what I've seen so far."

"You did until you had a gander at that reptile." Got you. Erik held back a snicker. It was all fine when it was herbs and candles. Raoul might have read the stories of zombies, the undead raised to serve a voodoo priest, that proliferated wild stories of the Caribbean.

"I was wondering what it was for. I've seen things just as strange in some Chinese ports of call." Raoul's reply was abrupt. "I am hoping to understand what compels these people to help."

Erik agreed with the logic of Raoul's statement. He had never thought to ask it himself. He expected some form of remuneration would be welcome. At the least, they would be putting some business in Noémi's direction by making their purchases for supplies from her.

Noémi returned promptly. "Please follow me."

Once again, Erik found himself ushered through the small back office towards the open court where Mambo Sabine sat awaiting her visitors. Three chairs had been arranged in front of her. Noémi must have prepared the seating for their visit. Erik glanced around the courtyard. It was little more than an empty area between the buildings. Someone had attempted to line up pavement stones to cover the ground. Pots sat in the corners waiting some form of plant.

While nearby churches were built to house the divine, here the spirits of ancestors and the loa were free to visit in the open air. The marked difference between the protective home made by men and the free willed spirits appealed to Erik. Spending years in a society of gypsies who saw the value of an open road as a means for prosperity for their family had left a mark upon his imagination. It must have been a similar feeling for the people who were taken from Africa as slaves. Their unshakable faith is all they could carry with them to a new world.

Mambo Sabine reached out to accept Raoul's hand. She spread her hands, indicating the chairs. "Please, sit. Can Noémi bring you some refreshments?"

Erik glanced at Nadir. When his friend declined the offer, Erik believed they had finally fed him enough.

There was a moment of silence between them. Mambo Sabine inclined her head and grinned, a youth filled and teasing sort of grin at Raoul. "Ask all the questions you like, Monsieur."

Accepting her forthright invitation, Raoul shifted in his seat, leaning forward slightly with his hands clasped together. "I don't know where to begin."

Mambo Sabine lifted a hand and stroked her chin with a finger. "I believe the tale begins with M. Vachon."

Erik nodded. Anais must have prefaced his meeting with the Mambo by explaining his previous employment. How would she have said it? No, she would not have blurted out his nefarious undertakings, she must have told them of the man who so resembled their Baron.

"I had a dream," he stated simply. "I heard a voice in the empty halls of the Opera. It was upon waking that I knew that something was wrong with Madame de Chagny beyond simple nervousness or lack of voice practice."

"I agree," Raoul said. "It's like a part of my wife has gone somewhere else. She appears in good spirits, but something haunts her."

Sabine nodded. "You believe it is the voice she has lost?"

"I think it bothers her, realizing that it will to take work to restore her former accomplishment. For want of a better explanation, she just seems to have lost her spirit."

"Ah," the Mambo said, a simple proclamation, a wordless assent. "You have shared the list I sent with M. Vachon?"

"I have. If you will pardon me, I don't see how this will help her."

The older woman sat back. "The first thing a person must do is to prepare themselves for the loa. We do it when we go before the church and dip our fingers in the font. We paint the cross upon our brow in the very place that the mystics of the east believe the the window to intuition resides."

Erik felt startled, and then a little bemused. Because this woman had grown a slave on a Caribbean Island did not mean she lacked an education into the spirituality of the rest of the world. Mirielle would laugh at him when he reported to her later of the meeting.

"You draw the sign and then step inside," she continued. "Lighting a candle does not send your prayers to God. But it does serve as a ritual. It gives a person a moment of preparation, a focus, an abandonment of the cares outside the doors.

"Such is the use of the ritual of bathing. The herbs listed are very important. Plants were created by God and each is infused with its own spiritual properties. Having your wife perform the ritual cleansing will prepare her for the ceremony."

"Mambo Sabine, I'm sorry." Erik interjected. "You explained the bath, but there is more?"

She nodded. "Now that I have met the lady's husband, I believe we need to go one step further."

Raoul sat back. "So we prepare her for the bath. Then what?"

The Mambo's tone was patient. "You will gather the herbs and set up a small alter. Your wife will use the bath and repeat the prayers. She will repeat them seven times, she will be prepared."

Erik calculated swiftly. Was Sabine saying Christine would do it for seven days? "She repeats it once each evening?"

"Yes," Mambo Sabine agreed.

Raoul shifted in his chair. "This might be difficult. I believe I could convince her to try the waters, but seven times in succession?" He shot a side glance at Erik. "How are we going to explain that to her?"

Sabine's lips twisted into a frown. "This will not work if you are going to tell fanciful lies to your wife."

Raoul spoke quickly. "I wouldn't lie to her."

"You will explain?" Skepticism colored Sabine's tone.

From Raoul's silence, Erik guessed the younger man was loathe to perjure himself by telling Sabine a little fib in regards to how he presented the rituals to his wife. Finally, Raoul spread his hands and told her, "I don't know what to do."

If silence could be called electric, Sabine's mute posture held the promise of one of Jove's thunderbolts. The older woman relented. "We shall try another approach, no? Let me think on this. I will find another way."

Erik felt the tension melt away, his shoulders relaxing. He hadn't realized how afraid he had been that Sabine would toss them out of the shop and refuse to help.

"Thank you," Raoul replied. "I do not wish to deceive my wife."

"We shall meet again tomorrow. Can you do that?" she asked.

Raoul nodded quickly, "Yes."

"Keep that list," she instructed. "You can prepare the bath and put it in a spray. You are her teacher," she looked pointedly at Erik. "Tell her to use it on her throat. It will still perform its function."

"Of course," Erik agreed.

Sabine glared at the three of them. "The next list I give you will be for your part of the ceremony."

When no one spoke, Erik asked, "For Christine?"

"No,"she replied flatly. "Christine is not source of the difficulty. The three of you are."

Was the ringing in his ears from that promised clap of thunder? Erik asked in a mild voice, "A bath for us?"

"I'd give you worse than a bath, Monsieur. Instead of approaching this with intelligence, you are sneaking about like guilty children." Sabine made a disgusted sound. "You will prepare an altar of thanks to the loa. You will beg Legba's forgiveness for your fallacious plans." She whipped up a finger. "The loa deal harshly with liars."

Sabine folder her hands into her lap. "I shall dictate the list of ingredients. Return to me and I shall instruct you on how to secure the final ingredient."

Her words fell with all the weight of a wagon load of stone. Erik carefully enquired, "Your pardon, Mambo. Does Noémi not carry them in her shop?"

"Except for a key ingredient," she agreed.

Erik glanced at Nadir, who was rifling though the inner pocket of his jacket for his perennially available notebook and pen. Always the policeman, Nadir would write notes on what they needed. Once he was poised, pen above the notebook on his knee, the Mambo smiled. It wasn't the sort of smile that granted Erik the feeling of relief.

"By the light of the stars, on the evening of Sunday or Wednesday, you will need three spoonfuls of grave dirt. You will put the dirt in a small bowl that shall be surrounded by four stones which will represent the four corners of the world and placed upon a white cloth on a cleared space. A white candle shall stand in the bowl of dirt. You will mix the herbs into a clear glass bowl of holy water."

Nadir glanced up. "Holy water? Do you mean like the water in the founts outside of the churches?"

"That water is old," Sabine explained. "For a ritual cleansing and preparation, you will use clean holy water."

"We will need to have water blessed?" Erik reiterated.

"Of course," Sabine agreed. "Dusty or murky water will carry its own pollution. We wish for pure ingredients for the purity of the ritual."

"Excuse me." Raoul's face bore a pained expression. "Isn't dirt from a grave polluted?"

The Mambo smiled. "You are thinking with your mind, Monsieur. You must learn to open your eyes to the spirits. The grave is a doorway. We wish to knock." She mimicked rapping at a door.

"Is this the crossroads you mentioned?"

Her smile held a sharp edge and Erik felt his certainty slip. Shaking her head slowly she told them, "You will require another crossroad. You will find one."

Raoul shifted in the chair. "This isn't another grave is it?"

"No." Mambo Sabine laughed. "Paris has many crossroads."

With a sinking feeling, Erik asked, "Do you know which one?"

Sabine replied, "You will find one."

"According to your instructions, we must try each one?"

"Monsieur Vachon. The ritual is to open a door to spirits more powerful than your own. Madam de Chagny isn't the only one who will need to be prepared to meet the loa."

Absorbing her words, Erik heard Raoul asking, "What exactly does that entail?"

Erik gazed at the younger man. "You must be prepared to do everything asked of you."

"You don't need to offer a fortune," Sabine said gently. "The loa enjoy helping if you are gracious."

Sabine's instructions finished, Erik looked to the other men. "Thank you, Mambo Sabine." The three stood and offered handshakes which the older woman accepted with a serene smile.

Nadir led them back through the building, Erik hesitated at the door and glanced back at Sabine. She cocked her head and waited. Striding back to her, he asked in a soft voice, "Do you think we could persuade the loa to reveal which crossroad might be best?"

Sabine chuckled. "The loa you appeal to would be the one who helps people past obstacles, Legba himself."

"Thank you." He tipped his hat to her and turned back to the building. At the door, he had another question and returned to stand before her.

"I don't suppose you would know where we might get some grave dirt?"

Sabine rolled her eyes towards him as if he were a child asking if the sky were blue. "That, Monsieur, is a question for the Baron."

Erik experienced a slight chill raise up his spine.

He felt a doorway had just been opened.