"Come to us, Damballah," Papa DeBit said. "Come to us, O mighty serpent, that we might appease your hunger and ask a favor." He lowered his voice as he reached out for a set of bongo drums almost hidden by the pillow-strewn couch. "Damballah is my mait tete loa, my patron. We have known each other many years." He slapped his palms against the genuine leather tops of the drums. The beat was frenetic, savage.