The woman offered the goat a tuft of Guinea grass, then eased its thirst with cool water. It ate and drank. The man in red came forward to rub his forehead against the animal's face. He held its gaze, then kissed it on the snout. "God be praised," he said.

The priest's voice rose, striking in its power. "Serpent, Serpent-O, Damballah-wedo, papa you are a serpent . . ."

Serpent? Allison frowned. Nobody said there'd be snakes.

Everyone began to sing as they swayed to the beat of the drums. "If you see a snake, you see Aida-wedo. If you see a snake, you see Damballah. Aida-wedo is a snake."

Suddenly the man in the red shirt jerked, as if in the throes of a fit. His eyes bulged, his tongue thrust from his mouth, in and out, as if tasting the air. He fell to the ground, creeping, his spine moving in impossible ways in the manner of a snake.

Allison felt a serious case of the creeps. The man slithered toward her. She backed away. He looked up at her with his bulging gaze and said, "I am Damballah. You tried to slaughter me, but I am indestructible. I cannot die."

Terror clutched at her throat.

The man rose to his feet, undulating before her. A terrible wisdom sparked his eyes - eyes with slits for pupils.

Allison's heart thundered in synchronous rhythm to the beat of the drums. Sweat trickled between her breasts. She couldn't catch her breath.

She was going to die.

"Don't fight it, Allison," the houngan said. "The loa wants to ride you. Relax and give in."

She did as she was told. Breath came back to her and she took big, delicious gulps of it into her lungs. Then control was stolen away. Her body began to sway in a sinuous dance. She felt distant, like an impartial observer to this scene of her life. Jerking replaced swaying, and she was caught up in the fit.

Her body moved toward the man in the red shirt, who still acted the snake. She stopped, her movements more sensuous now that she stood before him. Words came of their own accord and sounded strange to her; another voice coming from her mouth. "I am Ezili. Let her go, Damballah. She is here for love. She is mine."

"No. She displeased me. I am sacred and she broke my spine."

Her hand reached to caress his face. "Damballah-wedo, she is ignorant. I promise she will know better hereafter."

The man that Damballah rode returned the caress. "For your sake, Ezili, love, I will spare her life - but she must learn the arrogance of her ways."

Ezili kissed the Damballah-ridden man. Allison could feel the warm, smooth skin of his lips under hers. Father Michael lifted the goat's head and drew his knife across its throat. He caught its blood in a calabash and mingled it with the spiced rum. After stirring it with a stick, he dipped his finger in the fluid to draw a cross on the man'sforehead and sketched a similar cross on Allison's brow. The comely woman offered Allison a sip of blood-laced rum: copper traced with cinnamon and cloves. The priest offered the man three gulps of the same.