All Acts Of Pleasure: A Rowan Gant Investigation by M. R. Sellars Page A

symbols, called veve ,
which were left behind at the second scene.
    I’d had no trouble identifying two of
them as belonging to generally accepted figures within Voodoo
practice, those being Papa Legba and Ezili Dantò . The
third, however, remained as elusive as a real steak in a vegetarian
restaurant. The best I’d been able to determine was that it had
been patterned after a symbol widely used within the bondage
community. Not surprising, I suppose, given the mind-set of the
killer, even though her version of the lifestyle was twisted and
grotesque. Still, that didn’t give me the name of a Lwa , and that missing bit of
information just fueled my need to know. If the veve didn’t belong to a generally accepted
spirit, then there had to be more to it. There had to be something
special about that ancestor that might lead me to the
killer.
    Certainly, something else I wanted to
know was whether or not Felicity’s preternatural incident had
actually been her body being used as a horse by the Lwa . I was almost certain that it was, but there
was still a small, nagging doubt. What if it was something else
entirely? I couldn’t imagine what that might be; however, I
couldn’t deny that she had been known to channel both the dead and
the living herself, just like me. Her brush with that affliction
was something for which I blamed myself because she had opened
herself up to the other side of the veil when trying to protect me.
And, as I had discovered, once they had their foot in the door, it
was all over. They were unwanted houseguests with no intention of
ever leaving.
    Still, channeling was one thing. In this case
what she had done was completely out of the park, at least in my
experience. Either way, the thing that troubled me even more was
whether or not it was going to happen again, whatever the cause
turned out to be.
    Therefore, it was for those reasons, and a
number of others, that I once again found myself sitting in front
of my computer, books piled about me, and the contact page of a
university’s website glowing on my screen.
    I suddenly noticed that the page was now
finished loading, and the screen had been refreshed. In fact, it
probably had been for several minutes because, in truth, I had just
caught myself staring off into space. I rocked forward in my desk
chair and looked at the blurry lines of type displayed against a
muted background.
    I rubbed my eyes then pushed my glasses back
up onto the bridge of my nose. I blinked hard, trying not only to
focus but also to forget the headache that was still raging inside
my skull. Finding what I was after, I picked up the telephone
handset and put it against my ear. Glancing between the phone and
my monitor, I punched in the number listed on the web page before
me. Before it even began to ring at the other end, I rocked back in
my chair and began idly moving the mouse across the surface of my
desk as if doodling on a notepad. A moment later, the buzzing tones
abated and were followed by the sound of the phone being taken
off-hook.
    “Louisiana State University Department of
Sociology,” a woman’s voice eventually drawled into my ear. “How
may I direct your call?”
    “Doctor Rieth’s office, please,” I
replied.
    “Please hold.”
    I continued watching the pointer as I nudged
it around the screen. My real attention, however, remained focused
on the hollow sound of the phone as I waited for the transfer to
occur.
    A minute or so passed before there was a dull
click at the other end and a new voice issued from the handset.
“Doctor Rieth’s office, this is Kathy, may I help you?”
    “Good afternoon, Kathy,” I said as I rocked
back forward and straightened my posture. “Is Doctor Rieth in by
any chance?”
    “No sir, I’m afraid she’s gone for the
holiday break. I’m her assistant, can I help you?”
    It hadn’t even dawned on me that Thanksgiving
was less than one week away at this point. Considering that, I was
probably fortunate to have