The usual growling alligator and croaking frog swamp noises were drowned out by the incessant drumbeats. The frenzied rhythm forced itself into my head; my heart and my feet were in cadence with the drumbeats. I was pulled into the ceremony by the rhythm. I danced and my heart pounded as the drums did.
More and more shadowy figures joined in the ceremony, dancing around the peristyle. Other shapes in red and green robes appeared out of the mist that covered the low lying swamp. Women dressed in white who looked like apparitions in the mist. All headed for the Poto-Mitan the center of the universe and access to the spirit world. The dancing went on and on.
A voodoo priestess led the dancers. Her movements enthralled me. She detached her skirt and I felt arousal creeping through me as I watched her long coffee-colored legs move to the drums. The drums, fire, and moonlight were hypnotic.
She picked up two small branches and held them in the fire until they burned with a bright flame, then she danced round and round the fire. The flaming branches turned into twisting, writhing snakes. She held her arms up to the heavens. When she did, the snakes turned back into flaming branches. She threw them into the fire. Then she danced over to a pig and goat that hung on poles for this sacrificial ceremony. She pulled a knife from her belt and cut their throats. She danced on the ground writhing snake-like. The animals were thrown into a pool of brown, bubbling mud. Many of the blue and red-robed believers jumped in with the carcasses.
I sat on the ground to rest. “Are you enjoying the ceremony?” Leafly le Fortunia asked, as she sat next to me.
###

I had met Leafly le Fortunia earlier that day when I was in Barnes & Noble’s reading through a voodoo book. “May I ask what you’re looking for in that book?” as she looked over my shoulder to see what I was reading.
“Sure, you can ask, but you’d never believe me.”
“Try me.” She took the opened book I was reading from my hand, and opened it to a page that said, “You must have faith.”
She wore a name tag, that’s how I knew her name. She never asked my name and I didn’t volunteer it. But I told her why I happened to be browsing a voodoo book. “I have two loves in my life. Mary’s my true love, and I’d suffer any torture known to man if it would avoid causing her pain, but my other love, or should I say obsession, draws me away from her. You probably won’t understand this, but I have a need to write all the time. Mary doesn’t understand why I spend so much time away from her. Not only am I engrossed in writing. I constantly feel an overwhelming need to become a famous author. Another problem I’m trying to resolve is financial. I won’t go into details about that now, but by browsing through voodoo and magic books I hoped to find a solution to it. I took the book from her hand and saw that she had written an invitation for me to attend a voodoo ceremony. I accepted gladly. I figured I’d get some firsthand voodoo experience there.
“You’re not going to find out if its hoodoo or voodoo by reading these. Come to the ceremony and meet some practitioners of both.”
“What’s hoodoo?”
“It’s voodoo without the religion. Hoodoo is a collection of magic and its more of a practice than a religion.”
xxxxx
LeaflylLe Fortunia, put her hand on my shoulder and said, “I knew you’d enjoy the dancing and music, but you don’t really get to appreciate the magic and power of voodoo until you attend a real ceremony.”
She took the voodoo book from my hand again and scribbled in it. “That’s Marie Laveau la Sirena’s address. Go there to get the help you want.”
“Who’s this Madam Marie Laveau la Sirena?” I reached for the book.
“She’s the priestess dancing tonight,” she pointed to the still dancing long legged priestess.
“Does she practice voodoo or hoodoo?” I didn’t think it mattered, but I asked anyway.
“Both.”
She turned and walked away and I never saw her again. I breathed deep, trying to slow my heart beat that had sped up at the thought of being with the dancing priestess.
I really didn’t believe in this magic stuff, but I had nothing to lose and everything to gain if it worked. Maybe my house wouldn’t be repossessed and my other problems would be solved. Possibly my visit with the priestess could be more fruitful in more than one way. I tried not to have sexual thoughts of her, but I couldn’t stop them.
The next day I looked for her place in the French Quarter. I saw a big neon flashing sign, “Voodoo Supplies.” The word voodoo flashed on first and a split second later supplies came on while voodoo was fading out. Even in daylight the flashing of the bright red and green letters was hypnotic, I imagined how effective it would be after dark. I looked at the address written in my book and I was sure this was Madam Marie Laveau la Sirena’s place of business. I walked through the door and was overwhelmed with the sights, sounds, and odors prevalent inside. Live chickens, dead animal parts, Mojos, Jujus, magical amulets, roots, herbs, oils and other magical ingredients filled the store. I walked toward the back of the store where a small altar with burning sweet smelling candles was nestled in a corner. The aroma overcame all the other smells.
A wizened old crone at least a hundred years old came out from a door that separated the front of the store from the back.
“I’m Madam Le Berth, can I help you?” a croaking voice asked.
“I’m looking for Marie,” I didn’t know if she heard me. Then I remembered the Madam, and said “Madam Marie Laveau la Sirena,” The wrinkles on her face moved, maybe she smiled, as she recognized the name and told me to wait. She went back through the door.
“Hello,” Marie Laveau la Sirena said, in a warm syrupy voice as she came through the door. The interior of the store turned warm as she appeared. Negligee from Fredericks of Hollywood, I thought when I looked at the transparent gown she wore. Sweating and speechless, my breath came in gasps.
She sauntered over, took my hand in hers. My breathing stopped completely, my hand burned in hers. I felt myself losing control. I wanted to run, but I couldn’t move. She leaned close, her aroma, so sweet and sticky, like honey. Her breath blew hot in my ear, she said, “I know why you’re here.”
How would she know? But I didn’t care. I stood motionless, hoping against hope that she’d lean in and put her luscious lips on my ear, blow a little breath, and then run her tongue around my ear. I wanted that so bad I could feel it. I didn’t dare look at her; I knew if I did it would be all over. I’d grab her and kiss her so hard that she’d probably have me arrested. She let go of my hand. I breathed again. She walked to the other side of the counter, sat on a stool, and motioned for me to do likewise. I sat on the stool before I fell over. My breathing remained heavy, looking directly at her. I didn’t need to use my imagination. The sweetness poured from her mouth as she talked to me. I wanted to put my mouth against hers and suck that sweet honey from her mouth. Her eyes twinkled, I knew she knew what went through my mind, and I turned red.
“Tell me, what can I do for you?” I wanted to tell her what she could do for me, but I couldn’t afford to have anyone call the police on me.
“Can I call you Marie?”
She was silent for a while then said. “If we’re alone you can, but if anybody else is present, anybody at all, you must address me as Madam Marie Laveau la Sirena. You’ve got that?”
I nodded my head, because it was difficult to speak being so close to her. Thinking of the reasons I’d come here restored my breathing to a normal level, and my attention was now focused on my problems. As long as I didn’t look at her, I’d be alright, I told myself. I looked at the floor, and saw snakes crawling.
She laughed at my obvious discomfort. The sweet sound of her laughter burned through me. I kept watching the snakes as they slid across the floor.
“They keep the rats out.” Her voice didn’t sound so sweet when she said this, and I stopped thinking of her voluptuous everything and concentrated on rats and snakes.
I was going to have to tell her my story. It was embarrassing to tell this story to anyone, never mind someone as beautiful as Marie Laveau la Sirena. But I knew I had to.
Madam Leafly le Fortunia told me you could help me with my problems.”
“If the gods are willing, yes I can.”
I told her all about Mary. How I put her second in my life, yet felt as though I couldn’t live without her. Once I confessed my feelings to her about Mary, I could look at her without a single sexual thought, almost! Her eyes were full of sympathy because she knew I was being honest with her. I found it even more embarrassing to tell her what a fool I’d been.
“I’m on the verge of bankruptcy, due to the part of me that wants to be a famous author so badly. That urge caused me to pay to have my first book published. When that one didn’t sell, my writer’s brain convinced me to pay for another to be published. That one sold six copies, and I just knew my third novel was a winner, so I paid to publish it too. I knew this was insane thinking, but maybe you have to be insane to be a writer. Who else besides a writer can be rejected hundreds of times by editors and agents, and continue to believe they’re right, and all those who reject you are wrong. I’ve been paying my credit card bills with other credit cards. I took advantage of the roll-over–offers that gave me a six month grace period before a payment was due. When it came due, I rolled the balance onto another credit card. I was using voodoo economics to maintain my life. I’ve gotten to the point where I can’t make any payments and have run out of roll-over-offers. My house was about to be repossessed. If only one of my books was a best-seller, my financial problems would disappear. Can you help me?”
Holding my hand she led me through the door. The room behind the door was far different than what I expected. It was at least sixty feet in length with thirty foot high ceilings. Wood flooring and walls painted a white so bright, I could hardly see. The back wall was floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of a lush fenced yard. In front of the window stood an altar. Hundreds of burning candles surrounded it. I watched as she walked toward the altar, the light from the window shines through her transparent clothing as though she wasn’t wearing any. She faced the altar, raised her hands heavenward, turned around and walked to the center of the room. On the floor was a circle with a square inside of it. A large five-pointed star surrounded the circle with a different color candle on each point. She called me over and stood me in the middle of the square. She proceeded to light all the candles. Then she began to chant in a language unknown to me.
She walked around the circle chanting, first counterclockwise, then clockwise, and repeated this several times. Then she stepped up to the altar and raised her arms above her head and said in a loud clear voice.
”I call on the gods and goddesses of the old days as well of those of the new. Break this spell that is binding this man with your power. Gods of light move about this man's body. Allow your power to break his misfortunes. Goddesses come down and wake his body and suppress his demons. Allow the power that you have to be used to increase his books sales to the level of his desires. I call on the East gate. Break the spell that was placed on this person. Let it be removed for good. Do not allow a spell of poverty to be placed on him that is before me.

She tiptoed to me and placed her hands on my chest and spoke once more.

Gods and Goddesses of the East, help me within my workings. Allow your power to move within my hands and allow the binding desires that was put upon my friend to be fulfilled and always remain within him, may he live or die.”
When she finished imploring her gods, she extinguished the candles around the room.
“How long before your spell takes effect?”
“It’s working now.”
I doubted that, but I had to humor her. “What do I owe you?”
She smiled and said. “All I need is your signature.”
She led me through the door again and pulled a document from a drawer. She laid it on the counter, and held my hand. I felt a sharp pain in my fingertip when she had made a small cut that dripped blood onto the document. She placed my fingers into the small puddle of blood and pressed my fingers onto the document. I left five bloody fingerprints. I didn’t know what the hell she was doing, and pulled away.
“I thought you said I had to sign something?”
“You just did.”
I guessed I should’ve been happy she didn’t ask for cash, because I didn’t have any, and I should have read the small print.
##
One year later
“Look at the goddamn line, there must be thousands,” I said to my entourage as we approached the next bookstore on the list where I was scheduled to sign my number one best seller, “Voodoo Economics” Sub Titled, Hoodoo Sex and Money. The cover blurb told how there were spells for all of the aforementioned inside the book along with 10,000 other Voodoo & Hoodoo Spells. It’s amazing to see your fans dressed as characters from your book,” Mary said.
“Look,” my bodyguard Baby Breath said, “The Satan costume is by far the most popular,”
I looked at the line and it appeared every third or fourth person was dressed as Satan.
“That may be, but I like the Voodoo Princess costumes best,” Mary said.
There were always some demons, witches, and zombies in the lines. I shuddered to think what the lines were going to look like once the movie was released.
Night after night of book signings were wearing me out, especially because I had to comply with the small print that I had never read on the contract that Madame Marie Laveau La Sirena had me sign. I might have hesitated had I read it. The contract stipulated that from that time on, any book or contract I signed had to be an exact duplicate of that signature. My blood soaked fingers were to be my only authentic signature. It had been a year since I pasted my bloody fingerprints on the contract that made me rich and famous as an author.

It didn’t bother me, until I became famous and had to sign thousands of books a night. I was able to do that for two days before I collapsed and almost died from lack of blood.
I had a bloody education since then. I was getting close to being an expert, I knew all about blood now. Mary, who is my wife now, accompanied me to all my book signings. She could be a hematologist with her extensive knowledge of blood.
“A heart pumps a million barrels of blood during the average lifetime -- enough to fill three supertankers.” She informed me,
With all this blood pumping through me I was determined to find a way to sign thousands of books a day.
Mary said, “Get a supply of blood from a local blood bank and conceal it under your jacket with a plastic tube running to your finger. It would appear you were signing with your own blood.” She demonstrated how easy it would be by having the blood drip into a bowl, and then just dip my fingers into the bowl before placing them on the page waiting to receive my signature. All my fans were told to have their copy of my book open to the page where they wanted my signature. This was to expedite the speed of my signing, and I dipped and pressed so fast, I felt like a machine. It took hours to sign a few thousand books.
Mary had a small refrigerator full of bagged blood placed right beside the table where I’d be signing the books for the thousands lined up. All went well and I signed 2,471 books that first night I didn’t use my own blood for the signature. The manager was locking up the store while we waited for him. He had a copy of my best seller under his arm that I had signed for him using the bagged blood. I looked at my watch and it was exactly midnight when the book exploded into a ball of flame. He wasn’t burned too badly. He would be released from the hospital in a few days. Mary discovered that every book I signed with the false blood erupted into a ball of fire at midnight. 2,367 residences caught fire that night and sixty seven people burned to death. 104 cars burned that had the books left in them.
I was devastated by this event and luckily no one added the facts together. A signed copy of “Voodoo Economics” was at the scene of every fire. Mary confirmed this by looking at the journal we had my fans sign while waiting for my signature. We asked for their names and addresses so they’d be on our mailing list. I experimented and tried mixing my blood with blood from the blood-bank and at exactly midnight every one that I signed with the mixed blood didn’t catch fire, but they all smoldered. The books I signed with my pure blood didn’t change at all when midnight came.
I had the fame I always wanted, but to keep it I needed to figure a way I could sign all those books with my own blood without killing myself. No price was too high for me to pay. I was willing to do anything to remain a successful author. I consulted a hematologist and was told that there was no way I could build a blood volume to match my needs. I experimented by infusing blood-bank blood into my arm, and then signing with my blood. Midnight came and went without a single book burning or smoldering. This was the solution.
The following day I sat at the signing table and Mary started an IV in each arm and hung a bag of blood on each side of me. About every hour they’d empty and she’d replace them with full bags. I made an incision in my index finger with a scalpel and bled into the finger dipping bowl. As long as the blood passed through my veins so far the books hadn’t burst into flames. My fans were happy, and I signed thousands of books.
I’m still famous and it’s almost midnight. I sure hope there are no fires tonight.