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Doc Voodoo: Aces & Eights was born of a realization that I may not have grown up in the Golden Age of pulp fiction (the years between the two world wars), but I .
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Special financing available. Any international shipping is paid in part to Pitney Bowes Inc. For newcomers: Doc Voodoo is a pulp hero of my own devising, my take on the shadowy crime fighters of s pulp magazines like The Shadow, The Spider, or The Avenger. Dub Corveaux—a black physician and man of letters in Prohibition-era Harlem; by night, Dr. Dub Corveaux gets horsed that is, possessed by vodou lwa the lwa being the gods of vodou and stalks Harlem as a shadowy, supernaturally-powered avenger, serving up two-fisted justice with a heaping helping of hot lead on the side.
Herein, Mambo Rae Rae, a vodou priestess in Harlem in hock to the mob prepares to summon a very nasty lwa for a very nefarious purpose:. Following some initial study—she needed to brush up on circles of protection and the like—a trip to Bellevue was in order. There, she called in a favor from a regular petitioner—a laundress with access to a number of corridors and stairwells.
There, Rae Rae took a measure of soil from the earthen floor, knowing that the grief and madness poisoning it would have powerful namh. Yes indeed, Rae Rae would remind that stiff-backed, self righteous old bag of bones that all the unseen powers—from the god he served to the lwa she held commerce with—were more than abstract ideas in dusty old books, more than Sunday sermons and rules inscribed on stone tablets or reproduced in cross-stitch for parlor walls.
Those powers were alive , and they were about to lay their dread gazes upon the Reverend Farnes in a most direct and unpleasant fashion.
She just had to make it through the summoning without ending up dead or stark raving mad. If she could manage that, the rest of the operation should be duck soup. Though clouds cloaked the stars and there was no moon to speak of, no rain was forecast for the evening.
Her destination was a wasteland of soot and ash known colloquially as Mount Corona—officially, the Corona Ash Dump, in Flushing. Rae Rae needed a crossroads and she needed privacy. On a moonless midnight, she guessed the ash fields would offer both. She arrived at the intersection of Corona Avenue and an unmarked country road with only an hour to spare.
She parked her borrowed car off the road, its headlamps pointed into the intersection. In the intersection, she drew a large circle, and around the circumference of that circle she drew protective veves and inscribed words of power. She added a smaller circle with more warding words just outside of it: her personal refuge.
That done, she fetched a corked bottle of good, imported rum infused with gunpowder and placed it in the very center of the circle.
If all went according to plan, the lwa she intended to summon would manifest inside that circle, and the words of power and veves she had inscribed around it would keep it well bound. Mambo Rae Rae had only seen Kalfou summoned twice in the whole of her forty-odd years of life.
Both manifestations were memorable in the worst ways, and still sometimes terrified her when she dredged up their memories and dwelt on them too long. One of the possessed voudisants had squatted by a bed of smoldering coals, scooped up an enormous handful, then opened his mouth and shoveled them down his gullet.
The other manifestation had been a young woman—a beautiful girl whom everyone agreed was the prettiest maiden in the village. When her dance was done, the girl had shattered a number of rum bottles left on the Petro altar and eaten the broken glass as though it were rock candy. That was Kalfou. The Lurker at the Threshold. The Haunter of the Crossroads. Chaos Incarnate.
Doc Voodoo: Aces and Eights
Rae Rae took an awful risk, calling Kalfou alone like this, trying to bind him, denying him a horse to ride. He could take that as a sign of her mistrust, her fear, or her ignorance and burst his bonds just to prove he could. Rae Rae emptied the rest of her implements from the picnic basket: a knife; a kwa-kwa rattle, to provide some rhythm for her Petro song; a small, red velvet bag filled with six silver dollars and some of the lunatic earth from the Bellevue cellars; and finally, an old flour sack, tied shut, moving the slightest as she lifted it out of the basket.
The mambo took the flour sack and her ritual knife out to the center of the big circle. It squawled a little when pierced, then mewled sedately as its lifeblood flowed out of it. Rae Rae left the dying feline in the blood-stained sack and moved hastily into her own protected circle at the edge of the larger one. She turned her back to the big circle and knelt in her own.
Jam-packed with mobsters, mystery, magic and mayhem, Dale Lucas offers a new twist on the action-hero and a love letter to classic pulp fiction like no other. Dale Lucas has four novels planned for the Doc Voodoo series. Saunders, author of the Imaro and Dossouye novels. Beating Windward Press is an independent publisher of novels, short story collections, and non-fiction by emerging authors.
We produce 4 to 6 titles a year and our books reflect the individual tastes of our staff - mostly mainstream fiction with a literary edge. Beating Windward offers books with distinct voices and perspectives that we hope brings pleasure, knowledge, and entertainment to our readers. We call Orlando, Florida home, but our hearts are wherever the written word reigns. But to avoid that, I plan to take our time, let the art director and illustrator work directly with each other, and not let things like events or printing schedules dictate when the covers are finished.
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We won't send off the cover until everyone - illustrator, art director, and author - are happy with the result. This of course means we run the risk of not having the new covers finished by October of Or November of Or even in at all. But when they are finished, they will be a worthy offering to Doc Voodoo.