The Trinity Game

puffing on a coffin nail.
    As Trinity turned the corner onto Dumane, Daniel closed the distance between them and followed at five paces until Trinity crossed the street and stopped in front of a small, white, one-story house with a gray slate roof, green shutters on the windows, and a matching green door.
    Exactly as Trinity had described it from his vision. Daniel felt weightless as he crossed the street.
    It was a shop. A small red neon sign in the window glowed: OPEN. Trinity stood motionless, staring at something else in the window. Daniel came to a stop beside him. Next to the neon sign, a larger, hand-painted sign hung in the window:
    AYIZAN VODOU TEMPLE OF SPIRITUAL LIGHT
AND GIFT SHOP
ANGELICA ORY, MAMBO
    Daniel’s heart sank. “Are you kidding me? A voodoo shop? That’s what we came here for? That’s what we dodged bullets to get to?”
    But Trinity wasn’t staring at the sign. “Look.” He pointed to a laminated newspaper article in the window. “That’s her. The woman from my dream.”
    The newspaper headline read, PRIESTESS ORY SEES BRIGHT FUTURE FOR CRESCENT CITY TOURISM, and the black woman in the photo was beautiful, her features as Trinity had described them.
    “This can’t be happening.” Daniel shook his head.
    Trinity tossed his cigarette in the gutter. “Well, we’re here, and that’s her,” he said, reaching for the doorknob. “Come on.” He opened the door and a bell jangled above their heads, announcing their arrival as they stepped inside the shop.
    “Be right with you,” called a woman’s voice from behind a beaded curtain at the back of the room.
    The shop was exactly what Daniel expected, and feared, from the sign in the window. A tourist trap, full of vigil candles and anointing oils, plastic statues of various saints, gris-gris bags and voodoo dolls, necklaces made from chicken feet and alligator teeth, new age books and meditation CDs, even cartoon voodoo zombie postcards to send back to the folks in Iowa. A sign behind the counter displayed a price list for services ranging from jinx removals to tarot readings. The place smelled of patchouli and frankincense.
    Angelica Ory stepped through the beaded curtain, a coffee cup in her hand, saying, “Sorry to keep you waiting. How can I help—”
    She gasped and her eyes went wide—piercing green eyes, rendered almost hypnotic by the contrast with her deep chestnut complexion—and she dropped the cup. It broke on the floor, splashing coffee across the hardwood. “I–it can’t be,” she stammered, pointing a finger. “It’s
you
.” She turned and darted back through the beads, disappearing into the room beyond.
    Daniel looked at his uncle. “That was weird.”
    “She didn’t even glance my way, much less recognize me,” said Trinity. “She was pointing at you.”
    Daniel turned the deadbolt, locking the shop’s front door. He switched off the neon sign in the window and walked gingerly to the beaded curtain at the back of the room.
    Through the beads, he could see a sitting room furnished in carved mahogany, upholstered in rough silk, an antique oriental rug covering the floor. A mix of folk art and fine oil canvases, all depicting religious imagery—some Voodoo, some Catholic. In one corner, an altar. On the altar, burning candles and joss sticks shared space with various fetishes. An egg in a bowl of cornmeal…a black chicken’s foot hanging on a leather string…three oranges…an open bottle of Barbancourt rum…a corncob pipe…a scattering of divination shells…a Saint John the Conqueror root…a small bottle of Florida Water cologne…the skull of a baby alligator. The altar was backed by a framed mirror and a carved mahogany crucifix.
    Ory stood at the counter of the kitchenette along one wall. Her back was to Daniel.
    “Are you OK?”
    She turned to face him, a small sherry glass in her hand. She forced a smile. “I’m sorry, I’m being very rude,” gesturing to thecouch. “Please, come in, and bring your friend. May I offer you a glass of port?”
    “Yes, ma’am,” said Trinity. “Thank you, that would be very nice.” He passed Daniel and sat on the couch.
    Ory’s eyes never left Daniel’s face. She seemed to be cataloging his features. “It’s Daniel, isn’t it?”
    “How did you—”
    “You won’t believe me,” she said.
    “I will,” said Trinity.
    Ory’s hand trembled slightly as she refilled her sherry glass and poured two more. “I dreamed of you last night,