Eager to Love by Sadie Romero Page A

only bare hinges to indicate that doors had
ever been there. Then we crossed into the dark cube of the
racquetball courts.
    In the first two rooms, my phone illuminated
graffiti of all the usual sorts—unreadable handles and crudely
drawn boobs—but the markings in the third were a more serious sort.
They seemed more deliberate and careful. Most prominent among these
was an ornate, cross-like symbol spray-painted with stencils on the
floor:

    The design lay easily eight feet in diameter,
and it aligned with the four cardinal directions. Scrawled in chalk
above the northern point were the words: “ Damballa of the
Earth .” East had “ Loko Ati Sou of the Wind .” West:
“ Agwe of Ocean .” And to the south: “ Ogou of the Flame and
Forge .”
    Melted candles littered the ground here and
there, as did white feathers and a grainy substance that looked
like cornmeal. Instead of stock graffiti, the walls had even
stranger words and images spray painted on them.
    “ You are us and we are you .”
    “ Stay away from the Union. ”
    “ Open the gate for me ” above a skull
with flaming eyes.
    “ Baron Samedi .”
    “ When I return, I will thank the
loa .”
    “ Come and accept these offerings .”
    And large against the back wall: “ LSU is
LSU .”
    “Jesus,” I said. “This got genuinely creepy
all of the sudden.”
    “I know, right?” Jeffery whispered.
    I noted that this court still had a door,
although it was swung open. This room had clearly been used for
some kind of ritual, and I wondered if they normally kept the door
closed to keep out the run-of-the-mill vandals. “What is this?” I
asked. “Like satanic stuff?”
    “Not even close,” Jeffery said. “Voodoo.
Which is actually closer to Catholicism than Satanism, if memory
serves.”
    “For real?”
    Jeffery nodded. “Voodoo is, like, a
conflation of Christianity and Haitian paganism.”
    “No, I mean: for real, this is voodoo?”
    “Oh,” he said. “Yep. I think so.”
    I walked around the edge of the cross on the
floor. I didn’t believe in any kind of magic nonsense, but
nevertheless, something in my stomach kept me from stepping on the
symbol. I looked at the back wall and read, “ LSU is LSU ,”
again.
    “This is crazy,” I said.
    “I’ve been researching local voodoo stuff
ever since I found this,” Jeffery said. “Apparently there’s a
pretty active local community. There’s even, like, a voodoo club on
campus, but the university refuses to acknowledge it.”
    “So this is probably their handiwork,” I
said.
    “I think so,” said Jeffery.
    He kissed my neck, and I jumped. He chuckled
against my skin and wrapped his arms around me. “Come on,” he said.
“It’s not real. This is just paint and chalk on concrete.”
    “And candles and feathers,” I said. “It’s
spooky.”
    He kissed me, and I pushed him back
lightly.
    “Not here,” I said.
    “Why not?” he whispered. His hand found skin
under the back of my shirt, and his fingertips moved up my
spine.
    “Jesus Christ, Jeffery. Have you never seen a
horror movie?”
    “What?”
    “If we start making out in here, we’re
statistically guaranteed to get axe murdered.”
    “I think voodoo priests use ceremonial
machetes for their human sacrifices,” he said, kissing me again.
“Not axes.”
    “Oh, well in that case,” I said. “Seriously.
That line is your panty-dropper?”
    “Well, I only just—shit!”
    Something had clattered outside the
racquetball court. The sharp clack of rusted metal against
concrete, then a long squeal and the jingle of a dangling
chain.
    My heart practically stopped, and every
muscle in my body locked up. Jeffery picked me up completely and
pressed me against the door-side wall just in time for the white
beam of a flashlight to cut through the doorway. It swept across
the floor markings and the “ LSU is LSU ” graffiti at the back
of the court.
    Jeffery pressed a finger to my lips, his body
protectively caging me against