First Night with Tampa Mages
“Prostitutes?” The woman’s voice on the other end of the phone was at once curious, confused, and slightly suspicious.
“D’at’s right! D'ey were everywhere!” The man’s voice was animated as he tried to explain, his Jamaican accent highlighted by his tone.
“Prostitutes.”
“No, shit, babe; d’ere I was- mindin’ me own business when d’ey came out of nowhere! I was just eatin’ a sandwhich and all of a sudden d’ese ladies come over to me and ask me for a date. First I t’aught d’at it was d’he boof from me cologne but d’en d’ey kept comin’! D’ey were crazy! Trying to rip me clothes off of me! I had to go running for me life!”
“Prostitutes.” Suspicion was beginning to win out over confusion in her voice.
“No, babe-it wasn’t like d’at. D’ere is d’is bad mojo, right…”
“The curse? This is part of the curse? A plague of prostitutes has descended on the city of Tampa? Poor you. I know you well enough, Kingston, that a horde of woman trying to rip your clothes off isn’t exactly a curse for you."
“Seriously!” He insisted. “They were all ugly.” His attempt at humor was a calculation error, and her words in reply seethed with the anger of the alien nature of her true self.
“I’ve seen locusts, toads, living night, sores, and crows in my time, lover- but I’ve never seen a swarm of prostitutes descend on a poor unsuspecting, ill-fated man!”
“Rememba’ d’at guy in Amsterdam who took d’he photo in d’he red light district?” There was a short silence.
“Point taken.” She admitted with a tone of humor. Several thousand miles away from him she sat surrounded by boxes in their old house. The memories they had built in the last year in tiny cardboard boxes waiting to be shipped across the Caribbean. A slight panic flooded her. “I’m not liking all this curse stuff, baby-why can’t we stay in Jamaica? Or better yet-go to New Orleans. I’d love to meet your father.”
“N’ah, babe-I gotta be here. I go where d’he Big Man tell me to go. Least till I make d’he big times me-self.” She was silent a moment-a feeling of ill-at-ease was never something she ignored- it was her job.
“How’s the climate?”
“Like home-but less of a breeze.” His voice showing signs of amusement.
“Kingston, baby, you know what I mean.” She said in a serious tone.
“T’ings are tense, here. D’he courts be fightin’ wit’ one another. D’ere is a truce for now, but d’ere be d’is big papa-loa in d’he area d’at has it out for…” He trailed off.
“For who, Kingston, baby?”
“For me.”
The next few minutes of their conversation was tense-Kingston found calming the nerves of a superstitious fate spirit more difficult than convincing himself it had been a good idea to travel to a place where there was a curse against the Silver Ladder.
“Just be careful, baby.” She signed. “I better go-I still have to pack up your altar room. Stay out of Tampa unless you have to be there, ok?”
“Ok, take care of yourself, girl.”
“Bye, baby. See you soon…” As he heard the line go dead on her side, he hung up the phone.
Kingston sat up from the uncomfortable motel bed, the sounds of interstate traffic outside adding to the surreal nature of the faded beach scene painting on the wall. Not wanting to tempt fate further after his encounter with the prostitutes he took I-4 into the city of Lakeland, well outside of the range of what was geographically considered the Tampa Bay area and hoped it was far enough to warrant freedom from the curse.
He rubbed his eyes and stood. “Time to call d’he Big Man.” Kingston stripped naked and unrolled mat woven of tropical palms. He reached into a black bag of odds and ends and removed a small vial of herbs and chicken blood. Dipping his finger in the mixture he marked his body with High Runes and knelt on the mat. Almost as if in direct opposition to the ritual nature, he grabbed his cell phone and texted “Legba” to an international number that vanished from his key pad as soon as he hit send. Replacing the phone on his bed, he poured water into a wooden bowl and sprinkled a powder made from ground bones-allowing the sympathy tied to the bones and blood to let himself become a beacon to one who was looking for him. He bowed his head in respect and whispered “D’he door be open.”
The bone dust in the bowl seemed to clump and sink in the water-but in his mind’s eye it took the shape of a radiant sun. The light intensified until he felt its warmth overwhelm his body. His eyes rolled back into his head and he felt his spirit by lifted high to a place beyond.
As his eyes adjusted, he stood at a great crossroad, the sun rising at each of the four cardinal points. A giant, virile man stood before him, hair beginning to show signs of white from wisdom with skin as black as polished ebony; a halo of light and fire above his head.
“Kingston Spector-you got some’tin’ to report to me, boy?”
“Master Firebrand, scion of Papa Legba, I bring you word from d’he city of Tampa.”
“Speak, d’hen, boy.” The man’s voice commanded with the holiness that bid the sun rise and set.
“I arrived in Tampa to find d’at d’he majority of people knew a little ‘bout d’he curse but hadn’t put what d’hey knew together. I drew d’he people together and had d’em talk and inspired some to ask more questions of d’he contacts d’hey had. One spoke to an ancient spirit named Papa Hernando. When asked he reacted by shootin’ pain at d’hem and d’hen sendin’ out a compulsion to have d’he T’rysus get angry and want to attack d’he Silver Ladder. I t’ink d’at d’here was also an attack by d’is spirit on d’he Silver Ladder but…”
“You t’ink or you know, boy?”
“I believe, Master Firebrand. I felt a tingle, but me shield was strong-d’he odd'er Silver Lader, Deacon Remus got d’he bad grisgris.”
“Go on.”
“D’is caused us to d’hen seek out d’he name of d’he first Silver Ladder in Temenos, d’he one d’at come to Tampa and got cursed.”
“Why hadn’t d’is be done before?” He boomed.
“D’he people in d’is city are good people. But d’hey don’t seem organized enough sometimes to share information and put t’ings together. D’hey seem easily distracted. D’hey just needed a push in d’he right direction is all.”
“So d’is was your doin’?”
“I just got d’he right people talking to one another. Maybe put out d’he suggestion d’at some questions should be asked of Papa Hernando.”
“Suggestion?”
“No magic, Master. Just talk.”
“You spawned d’is wit’ just talk?”
“I helped it along, Master. Can’t take credit for it all.”
“Go on.”
“In Temenos we found out what had happened. A Silver Ladder named Virgil came from Spain wit Hernando Cortez’s men. Believin’ himself acting in the glory of god and Spain he committed acts of great hubris ‘gainst a native spirit. D’is spirit was castigated, twisted, and reformed to be a servant of Virgil and d’he odd’er Silver Ladder d’at came wit’ him.”
“D’hey reformed a spirit?!” The scion raged, his nimbus flaring into pure fire and gold-scorching the fields of the crossroads as lightning struck a quaking earth.
“Aye, Master. D’at ain’t d’he worst of it. D’hey ripped out a piece of its heart and in doin’ so perverted a hounfor. D’he native T’rysus called upon all his mojo to conjure a right powerful hex on d’he heart of Papa Hernando, so d’at no Silver Ladder can ever find a home in Tampa.”
“You felt d’he effects of d’he curse yet?”
“Aye, Master.”
“What you plan to do, boy?”
“I gathered some people willin’ to help wit d’is. We need to do right by d’is spirit and d’he people our order sinned ‘gainst.”
“D’is be what happens to d’ose d’hat put power above wisdom, boy. D’is lesson you have to learn or else you go down d’he wrong road. You go by d’he left hand.” Kingston nodded at his mentor’s words-questions budding behind his eyes. “I give you no help, boy. I see you want to ask for it-but you got to handle d’is yourself. You got to prove to me d’at you can lead. D’is be what it is to be Silver Ladder! You lead, you search, you judge, you guide, and you enforce d’he t’ree laws.” His voice was providence, channeling with might. “You do right by me and one day maybe you d’he big man, too.”
“Aye, Master.”
“Go.” With that his nimbus erupted into light and Kingston felt his physical senses return to him-once again he was alone in his motel room.