Darkfall

of him, then around behind him and up along his spine to the top of his head once more.
    Hampton had explained that the asson -a gourd rattle made from a calabash plucked from a liana of a calebassier courant tree-was the symbol of office of the Houngon . The gourd’s natural shape provided a convenient handle. Once hollowed out, the bulbous end was filled with eight stones in eight colors because that number represented the concept of eternity and life everlasting. The vertebrae of snakes were included with the stones, for they were symbolic of the bones of ancient ancestors who, now in the spirit world, might be called upon for help. The asson was also ringed with brightly colored porcelain beads. The beads, stones, and snake vertebrae produced an unusual but not unpleasant sound.
    Hampton shook the rattle over Jack’s head, then in front of his face. For almost a minute, singing hypnotically in some long-dead African language, he shook the asson over Jack’s heart. He used it to draw figures in the air over each of Jack’s hands and over each of his feet.
    Gradually, Jack became aware of numerous appealing odors. First, he detected the scent of lemons. Then chrysanthemums. Magnolia blossoms. Each fragrance commanded his attention for a few seconds, until the air currents brought him a new odor. Oranges. Roses. Cinnamon. The scents grew more intense by the second. They blended together in a wonderfully harmonious fashion. Strawberries. Chocolate. Hampton hadn’t lit any sticks of incense; he hadn’t opened any bottles of perfume or essences. The fragrances seemed to occur spontaneously, without source, without reason. Black walnuts. Lilacs.
    When Hampton finished chanting, when he put down the asson , Jack said, “Those terrific smells-where are they coming from?”
    “They’re the olfactory equivalents of visual apparitions,” Hampton said.
    Jack blinked at him, not sure he understood. “Apparitions? You mean… ghosts? ”
    “Yes. Spirits. Benign spirits.”
    “But I don’t see them.”
    “You’re not meant to see them. As I told you, they haven’t materialized visually. They’ve manifested themselves as fragrances, which isn’t an unheard of phenomenon.”
    Mint.
    Nutmeg.
    “Benign spirits,” Hampton repeated, smiling. “The room is filled with them, and that’s a very good sign. They’re messengers of the Rada . Their arrival here, at this time, indicates that the benevolent gods support you in your battle against Lavelle.”
    “Then I’ll find Lavelle and stop him?” Jack asked. “Is that what this means-that I’ll win out in the end? Is it all predetermined?”
    “No, no,” Hampton said. “Not at all. This means only that you’ve got the support of the Rada . But Lavelle has the support of the dark gods. The two of you are instruments of higher forces. One will win, and one will lose; that’s all that’s predetermined.”
    In the corners of the room, the candle flames shrank until they were only tiny sparks at the tips of the wicks. Shadows sprang up and writhed as if they were alive. The windows vibrated, and the building shook in the grip of a sudden, tremendous wind. A score of books flew off the shelves and crashed to the floor.
    “We have evil spirits with us, as well,” Hampton said.
    In addition to the pleasant fragrances that filled the room, a new odor assaulted Jack. It was the stench of corruption, rot, decay, death.
    II
    The goblins had descended all but the last two of the cathedral steps. They were within only a dozen feet of Rebecca.
    She turned and bolted away from them.
    They shrieked with what might have been anger or glee or both-or neither. A cold, alien cry.
    Without looking back, she knew they were coming after her.
    She ran along the sidewalk, the cathedral at her right side, heading toward the corner, as if she intended to flee to the next block, but that was only a ruse. After she’d gone ten yards, she made a sharp right turn, toward the cathedral, and mounted the steps in a snow-kicking frenzy.
    The goblins squealed.
    She was halfway up the steps when the lizard-thing snared her left leg and sank claws through her jeans, into her right calf. The pain was excruciating.
    She screamed, stumbled, fell on the steps. But she continued upward, crawling on her belly, with the lizard hanging on her leg.
    The cat-thing leaped onto her back. Clawed at her heavy coat. Moved quickly to her neck. Tried to nip her throat. It got only a mouthful of coat collar