Tales of the Meridian Society! (TheCorsair, Madame Mim)

"I suppose we must," Algernon agreed. "But, in the interests of avoiding the appearance of contradicting you again, perhaps we should decide on a course of action first? After all, Samantha is rather... headstrong. I rather diubt she will readily agree to bedrest, if it is required."

He opened the door, and bowed slightly. "Shall we?"


There was an air of euphoria in the suute Samantha and Erik shared. Samantha was clearly ecstatic, chatting with Colin and Kieran with an enthusiastic animation, while Erik sat with a dazed but happy expression. "The prognosis is positive, then?"

Samantha gave Anne Marie and the Professor a sly, impish smile. "Well, doc says it'll be another seven or eight months afore Ah really recover." Colin snorted behind her. "Course, he reckons Ah ain't never gonna be the same again. Y'know, on account o' havin' a baby"

The Professor's mind raced at the news, and he started to reach fir Anne Marie's hand before stopping himself. His own loss ached at the words, a guilty thread running through the happiness he felt for her. "Well, I assume congratulations are in order then?"

Sam watched the brief movement, then glanced back at Erik. "Yup, sore are." Then she scooped up her gunbelt and strapoed it on, relieved to have an explanatiin for why she'd been gaining weight. "Once we get back from the coroner, though. Still got business, after all."
 
Anne Marie smiled, glad it hadn't blown up into an argument. "We'll see what the doctor says and confer," she agreed before gliding out the open door.

There was only a half second of hesitation at the announcement. Her fingers twitched when she saw Algie's hand out of the corner of her eye but they both managed to control themselves. Normally Anne Marie's smile would have reached her eyes when she offered her congratulations, but given last night's conversation she couldn't quite make it. Still she stepped forward to offer a friendly hug and kiss on the cheek.

"Well, I'm glad it certainly isn't contagious then," she said in an attempt to recover herself. "We'll have to celebrate this evening. I know of a lovely place in the French Quarter...But no wine for you." Stepping back, she excused herself to pay the doctor who with some incredulity cleared her for duty for now. When she returned Sam was strapping on her gun belt and declaring that they still had business with the coroner. Anne Marie frowned at the reminder. "Yes, we certainly do. There are still many questions to answer, not the least of which was: how did they know?"

"Beg pardon?" Kieran raised an eyebrow.

"This cult--or madmen posing as a cult--how did they know?" Anne Marie repeated. "The young woman was clearly chosen because she looked like our Samantha. Surely it is no coincidence that she was four months pregnant, hardly any farther along. So how could they possibly know?"

Erik paled, his dazed grin dropping like stone. "So you think this wasn't just a threat against her?" He stood, awash in a cocktail of fear, rage, and disgust with a confusing thread of leftover joy still running through it. "You think they are threatening our child?" The words were strange on his tongue and that thread of joy thrummed a little in the darkness this question had brought with it.

"I do not think we can rule that out," she replied solemnly. "But we won't know anything for certain until we visit the coroner."
 
"Nah, not so much," Sam laughed, responding to Anne Marie's little joke. "Comes from goin' round, but it ain't goin' around, right?" But the humor died as Anne Marie brought up the dead woman. "That's a damn good question," she said softly, slipping her automatic from its holster and making sure the clip was full. "But Ah reckon it's a mite oremature ta say these bastards got some sorta supernatural powers. Coincidence happens."

Snapping the clio back, she spun the pistol once and holstered it. "Until we learn otherwise, Ah'm assumin' they're w buncha sick fucks is all. Ah mean, Ah didn't even know Ah was pregnant 'till jes' now, so hiw woukd they?" She patted her belly. "Ain't hardly showin', yet."

"I don't know," Colin said slowly. "We've encountered any number of unusual things. Remember Venice?"

Sam chuckked. "Ah remember beatin' th' stupid outta man what claimed he was Lucifer. Which means mah fists must be holy weapons o' God." She stroked Erik's cheek gently. "An' don't you fret none. Yer baby ain't slowed me down none yet." She waited a second. "Showed yeh that last night, didn't Ah?"

After a moment she hooked her thumbs in her belt and looked around the room. "Now. Anyone else wanna waste time speculatin' on crap we cain't prove? Or do we wanna get on ta lookin' at actual evidence?"
 
Once Erik had gotten over his flustered embarrassment at their advertised sex life the group left. When they did Anne Marie spoke quietly in Sam's ear. "'Jackie's a good name. You should think about it,'" she quoted the Indian from the night before. "It's very possible she knew, and if she knew and this group are indeed voodoos then is it not possible they somehow knew?" She gave Sam a significant look before sitting back in her seat. "Just something to think about."

The coroner seemed impatient when they finally arrived, tisking and shaking his head. "I was told y'all folks'd be here an hour ago," he complained.

"Our sincerest apologies," Anne Marie assured him. "There was a delay in our departure. We won't be in your way for very long; only to look at the body."

"So why'n the Sam Hell y'all tryin' ta put science ta voodoo?" he demanded of Professor Swift, ignoring Anne Marie entirely. "Poor li'l girl got caught up by some savage darkies an' that's that. Y'all oughtta be out tryin' ta find 'em, ain't nothin' on the body's gonna tell ya where's they at."

"Monsieur!" Anne Marie said sharply. "We do not tolerate that sort of language or those sort of assumptions. We are here to discover the culprit and we will do our job as we see fit thank you very much."

The coroner turned to her, clearly wondering why she was allowed to speak. "Don't you worry yer pretty little head 'bout findin' no clues," he said condescendingly, "and fetch us some coffee, will ya darlin'?" He turned his attention back to Algernon. "That's the problem with havin' them frogs fer secretaries, ain't it? Gotta train 'em bitches up, practically hold their damn hands." He had clearly either not noticed Sam or, with her hat on, mistaken her for a man.

"One more word, mate..." Kieran squared his shoulders confrontationally, but Anne Marie put a hand on his shoulder. His fists didn't unclench, but he looked irritated at not being allowed to do things his way. "Just show us the body and keep your fuckin' mouth shut, right?"
 
The coroner gave Kieran his best reproachful look. "And who are you, sir?"

Smoothly, Sam stepped between them. "He's Captain Kieran Drake. An' Ah'm Tejas Ranger Sam Cavendish." She offered her hand and, when the coroner toom it, bore down hard. The man's eyes went a little wide as tge bones if his hand ground together, and wider as she removed her hat to reveal the intricate braids she'd wrapoed her hair in. "Ranger Samantha Cavendish, an' Ah reckon Ah'm th' only bitch y'outta be worryin' 'bout right now." She squeezed once more, watching the coroner blanch, then released him.

As the coroner massaged life back into his hand, Algernilon stepped up next to Sam. "As to why we are, as you say, applying scuence to voodoo..? Well, as Ranger Cavendish reminded us, one should not assume a supernatural explanation before exhausting the natural ones." He clapped the man on the shoulder, resisting the urge to squeeze. "Surely, as a meduxal professional, you would agree?"

"Well, yes," the coroner agreed.

"Excellent. May we then see the body?"

"It ain't a pretty sight," he said carefully, glancing at the level gazes Sam and Anne Marie had fixed him with. "No disrespect intended, ladies, but... it really isn't something the fairer sex should see."

"Mebbe not," Sam agreed. "But Ah got a badge that says Ah'm a Ranger first. So let's see her."


Bile roiled Sam's gut, and the bloid had drained from her face. She swallowed hard, tasting acid in her throat and refusing to puke in front of the coroner. Colin, with less to prove, had already fled the room. "Well," she finally managed. "You were right, weren't you? Ah reckon Ah'll be sein' this fer a while."

The dead woman was blonde, and looking at her Sam figured she had probably been prettier before she'd been maimed and murdered. It was hard to tell, though. Now, with marks and symbols torn and carved into her dead flesh and with her belly ripped open - something that she kept finding her eyes drawn to.

Just something to think about.

No, damnit! Jackie probably just had training, or more experience with oregnant women! There was no reason to go assuming....

"Sam?" The Professor's voice was a welcome relief. "Would you examine this, please? I'd like your opinion." He was examining the belly wound carefully, and he made room as she approached.

"Looks... mottled," she finalky said, examining the flesh around the incision. "Bruised, kinda."

Algernon nodded. "My thoughts exactly. What about these marks?" He indicated similar marks on the dead woman's breasts, and thighs, and righr cheek.

"Same kinda thing," she finally said. "Like bruises, but not th' same as th'others."

Algernon looked up at the coroner, an expression of mild curiousity on his features. "Tell us again what you believe happened?"

The coriner's eyes flickered to Sam for an instant, and then his exoression became resigned. "It's obvious, ain't it?"

"Indulge ne," the Professir replied.

With a shrug, the coroner paced forwards. "Those animals grabbed her, beating her violently as they dragged her away. She was tortured, cutting and burning these heathen symbols, and then they violently took took their pleasure of her. Then, as the highlight of the ceremony, they tore her child from her womb and dashed her brains out with a wooden club."

As she listened, Sam examined the body again. "No, no, that ain't... that ain't quite right. Is it, Professor?"

"Are you disputing the facts..?" began the coroner in a flustered, angry voice.

"Not at all," answered the Professor. "Just, perhaps, your interpretation. Do go on, Samantha."

"These bruises," she said carefully. "They... they ain't bruises, are they? They're... they're..." she searched for the words. "Hell, when th' blood pools after death. Whaddya call that?"

"Post-mortem lividity," replied Algernon and the coroner at the same time, before the coroner stooped to examine them again. "Are you certain? No, yes, you're right."

"An'... that means..." Sam examined the belly wound and the other burns and scars. "She was dead fer a while, 'fore they... they..." Her voice broke.

"Before they... removed the child," the Professir continued.

"Yeah." Sam swallowed. "An' these other marks, the, the veve of Papa Ghede..."

"You recognize that one?" the coroner asked, surprised.

"Ah was up late studyin'," Sam answered, deadpan. "The one fer Mama Bridgette, on her back, was done whike she was alive. But the ones in her front... they cross through th'... whaddya call it? Th' post-mortem lividity?" She looked up again. "They was an afterthought, done after she'd been dead fer a while."

"It's the onky explanation that makes sense," the coroner agreed. "How did I miss it?"

"It is, I fear," Algernon said kindky, "to become blinded by preconceptions - whether about crimes or people."

Sam stopped listening, lost in her thoughts as she stared at the dead woman. There. See, Anne Marie? Coincidence.

But why Ghede, then?

Because he's a Loa of death, of course.

But why, then, cut the baby out well after she was dead?

Try as she might, she couldn't answer that last question.
 
Anne Marie allowed the others to defend her, if nothing else to keep her own temper in check. It was reassuring to know that her team liked and respected her enough to stand up for her, but sometimes a little irksome when she wasn't allowed to stand up for herself. Sam and the captains, of course, had only the vaguest ideas of what she did outside of the Society and so she didn't expect them to know that she'd already thought of thirteen ways to incapacitate this man for his disrespect...but it would have been nice if they'd thought her capable of it.

Erik also instantly fled along with Captain Drake at the sight of the body. Kieran stayed but covered his hand with his mouth for a minute or two while he looked over what was left of her head and face. Anne Marie had seen much worse--done much worse, if going on ugliness rather than brutality--and so calmly examined the dead woman's hands. Nobody ever looked at the hands, but they could tell you a lot. She recognized the way Algie walked Sam through the post-mortem, tutoring her on what to look for, and felt a twinge of jealousy. She didn't feel threatened by the Ranger, certainly...but he had been her teacher first! Never mind their evolved relationship, she still felt that certain sort of ownership over that connection, and though she knew she had no ownership over him or any of his relationships it didn't take the sting out.

"And she was found outside?" she asked the coroner absently.

"Yes'm. In a field." He seemed much more respectful now that Sam had nearly crushed his hand.

"Pity. We don't even have a crime scene then. Well, not the right crime scene."

"Whaddya mean?"

"Hand me those forceps please?" Once he had she gingerly pulled a splinter out from the young lady's nails. "Hardly tree wood. This is sanded and finished; she was more than likely killed indoors, or was indoors shortly before her death. Otherwise there would be dirt under her nails as well but there isn't; only splinters and...oh!" She pulled out a tiny blue fleck. "Paint."

"And she didn't die from a blow to the head, neither," Kieran added. Anne Marie looked up at the woozy-looking captain quizzically. "This hole in her head...it's too clean. There's no blood, no swelling. It was done after death too, maybe to look like the death blow or maybe someone got angry...maybe even because they dropped the body. But it wasn't what killed her." His eyes scanned the body, skipping over the mangled face, and he put his finger to a stab wound over the heart. "Here. Stabbed enough people in my time to know it when I see it."

"So we've gone from a woman abducted, tortured, burned, and brained in a field after having her baby ripped out, to a woman abducted, tortured, and stabbed indoors with more torture, burns, and braining afterward, then dumped in a field," Anne Marie concluded, giving the coroner a pointed look. "If we can find the actual crime scene we stand a chance of finding the murderer."
 
"An this," Sam announced triumphantly to the shocked coroner, "is why Ah have a team. Mosta my murder investigations, they ain't this much work. Got a corpse in a field, an' somebody nearby wit' an emoty gun ir covered wit' blood."

"This..." the coroner worked his mouth, outraged. "This is unspeakable! Tampering with the crime scene, and... and..." He gestured at thebody. "Abd this, this utterly premeditated abomination!"

"Where was th' body found?" Sam asked. "Mebbe we kin find some traces."

Turning to a desk, the coroner scribbled directions. "Saint Louis Cemetary," he said, and Sam tried to ignore the expression on Professor Swift's face. "In the French Quarter, the corner of North Clairborne and Bienville." He handed over the directions. "Find those animals, Ranger."

"We will," Sam assured him, projecting an air of calm she didn't feel as her thoughts raced. She was in a cemetary, she found herself thinking. She was young, and blonde, and pregnant, and in a cemetary.
 
"I don't understand the point of visiting a crime scene which isn't a crime scene," Erik said as they walked across the soft, spongy grass of Saint Louis Cemetery. "She wasn't killed here. We know that already."

"There's a possibility," Anne Marie explained, "that they left something behind."

"You think we're still talking about more than one?" Kieran asked, frowning. "If she was killed inside, that would take a private house. Awfully big risk, killing someone in your own home in front of a bunch of witnesses."

"There were no ligature marks, so she wasn't tied but held down," Anne Marie pointed out, "and if they're trying to make it look like a group of voodoo practitioners did this, how better than with another group? Besides, in a private home would be ideal for such a thing; if one went to the police to unmask the murderer, they would also be revealing that they were a witness in a private, intimate setting and would also be arrested for murder."

"Mutually assured destruction," Erik mused.

"Precisely." The site gave Anne Marie pause when they came upon it, roped off and guarded by the sheriff's men. It was a clearing where the headstones stopped very similar to where she had participated in last night's ritual. She tried not to let it unnerve her and glanced over to see how Sam was feeling.
 
Sam ducked under the rope and stood silently, looking around. The entire trip over she'd been brooding, consumed by the uncanny similarities between herself and the dead woman. But now, here in the central ckearing, she felt... relaxed. Looks familiar," she remarked, gesturing at the charred grash and burnt woid before her, "don't it?" Walking in a circle, she peered out across the headstones.

"It does, uhm, have w certain..." Colin began, uncomfortabky.

"Set-up's th' same as where we were, last night," she continued. "In town, but th' cemetary walls'd give th' same kinda privacy. An' wit' th' street lights, passers-by wouldn't notice th' firelight."

"But why?" Colin asked. "If the body was dumped here, then..."

"Nope," Sam corrected. "She weren't killed here, but Ah reckon' there was still a ceremony. She was butchered after bein' killed, remember?"

"Look at this," Professor Swift called from where he squatted by a tombstone. "Traces of flour, and chalk dust."

"Right," Sam said, mostly to herself. "Fan out, everyone. See if'n y'all kin find anythin' else interestin'."
 
The traces of flour and chalk dust were taken as evidence, but otherwise there wasn't much to find. Defeated, Erik leaned against a tombstone to watch Sam work.

"There's nothing here," He said to her quietly, "and you look tired. I know you didn't get much sleep last night..." He smiled slyly. "And I hear that pregnant women tire much more easily. Would you like to go back to the hotel?"

"Unless I miss my mark, Samantha may need to rest soon," Madam LaMonte said to Professor Swift, watching the couple from across the clearing. "Ought we follow up on the other name Calypso gave us before she tires? Raphael Chaney?"
 
"Tire more quickly?" Sam replied, deadpan. "Ah ain't th' one what fell asleep first, Erik." Hands on her hips, she glowered at the crime scene as if the absence of clues were a personal affront. "An' Ah ain't tired. Jes'... frustrated. They's a dead girl in th' morgue, an' there ain't nothin' here ta tell me who did it or why." She glared around once more, then kicked a stone and watched it carom off a tombstone. "Damnit!"

Snarling in frustration, she sat down on a headstone and buried her face in her hands. "Think, Sam, think. There's gotta be something yer missin'!"

"There doesn't have to be, Sam," Colin said, squatting down by her and resting a hand on her shoulder. "Sometimes, there's..."

"Colin," Sam said in a clipped voice, "Ah reckon y'all is tryin' ta be nice, but get yer hand offa me afore Ah break it." She glared at him, ice in her blue eyes. "Don' go thinkin' Ah'm all soft an' weak, jes' cause Ah'm gonna be a mom."

He withdrew his hand. "That's not what I meant at all."

"Ah know," she sighed. "An' Ah'm sorry. It's jes'..." She gestured around. "This."


"Raphael Chaney, yes," the Professor agreed, watching the drama unfold before him. He lives on a plantation in Harahan, as I recall. And I rather think I should go and intervene before Samantha kills our Captain. Either of them, really."

Adjusting his hat, he strode across the clearing as Sam snapped at Colin. "This," he echoed, "was still instructive - a lack of evidence is, after all, still evidence. At least we have confirmed our hypothesis that she was not killed here. But Madame La Monte and I have a second line of inquiry to pursue, one that may yet be fruitful." He offered Sam his hand. "Why don't you return to the hotel?"

Eyes flashing, Sam batted the hand away. "Not you, too," she snapped, rising. "Ah ain't frail, damnit! Weren't none o' y'all treatin' me like a damn doll yesterday! An' ain't nuthin' different today!"

"Samantha, be reasonable," the Professor said, soothingly. "Things are different, now. We know..."

"What?" she fired back. "Y'all know what? That Ah'm pregnant, now? Well, lemme tell y'all somethin' Professor Swift. Ah ain't sick, an' bein' pregnant ain't made me stupid, an' ifn' y'all think y'all kin coddle me y'kin..." Her voice trailed away.

"We're just concerned," the Professor said. "We don't..."

"A second line o' investigation?" Sam echoed, ignoring him. "A second... that's it!" She shot the Professor a triumphant grin. "Y'all go an' follow up yer end, an' Ah'm gonna go back an' talk ta Mama Cecilia, an' we both take backup. Ah'll grab Erik an', an'..."

"Wait," the Professor said, holding up his hand. "Why are...?"

"The veve," Sam explained. "Each group, Ah reckon, uses different ones - th' one from last night sore was different from the one we saw on the victim, right? So, mebbe Mama Cecilia kin tell us who's a doin' it. Or, at least, give us a pointer or two. An', who's yer lead? Cause we need backup, both o' us, so we need to decide which one o' us is gonna take Kieran."

"What about me?" Colin asked.

"Ah reckoned y'd go wit' me an' Erik, lessen the Professor needs y'more." She grinned. "Cause Ah reckon that Ah'll need two fellahs wit' good manners ta keep me from rufflin' a few feathers, this time."
 
Erik raised his eyebrows at Sam's sudden verbal assault and worked hard to bite his tongue. She turned her fury on Colin when he tried to comfort her, to suggest that maybe there wasn't something they were missing. Again her insecurity was showing, her fight at trying to be taken seriously as a Ranger while committing the unforgivable sin of being a woman. Then it was Professor Swift's turn as he tried to calm her down. Kieran watched all of this with a bit of a smirk, staying out of her way by leaning on a nearby tombstone with his arms crossed.

"It ain't made you stupid," he agreed, "but it's very quickly making you insufferable." He grinned cheekily when Erik swung around to fix him with an inscrutable look. "She is," he said with a shrug. "No sense in not being truthful about it."

"Captain Shane," Erik said calmly, stepping over to him through the grass, "you need to start learning when it is best to keep your mouth shut." Hitting someone in the face was much more painful than Sam made it look, and he had to massage and shake out his hand while Kieran recovered from being cold-cocked. "That's my fiance. I suggest you say no more about her than you would your own mother." Kieran stared, dazed, more shocked than hurt. Perhaps she was doing some good for the little bookworm.

"When you are all quite finished and can put away the measuring sticks," Madame LaMonte interrupted, striding over with her skirts lifted, "you too, Samantha--we've work to do. I suggest Captain Drake go with you and Captain Shane come with us; we may need a bit of a 'wildcard.' We intend on following a lead given to us by Mama Calypso (what a ridiculous name!), a wealthy, supposed bokor in Harahan. Please do not alienate Cecilia and Jean-Luc; we may need them later."
 
Sam whirled on Anne Marie, fists clenched and nostrils flared. Then, closing her eyes, she drew a deep breath and slowly released it. "Right," she said in a slightly strained voice. "Yer right, Ah need ta make nice." A pause. "Wit' everyone, right?" She opened her eyes, and grinned down at Kieran. "Even wit' insufferable pirates like you, Ah expect?" Another deep breath, and then she headed towards the car. "C'mon, guys. We gots work to do."

Colin lagged back to grip Kieran's wrist and pull him to his feet. "It would seem," he observed, "that associating with Sam has influenced Erik. Wouldn't you agree?" He hesitated, then squeezed Kieran's hand. "Take care of yourself, you hear? And of the Professor and Madame LaMonte."

"Y'all comin'?" Sam called back.

"Of course," Colin replied, lengthening his stride and following. "I'll be right there."

Algernon watched the three go, then shook his head. "Do you need some ice, Captain Shane? No? Then let us depart. We shall need directions, of course. Or a map. We have, as Samantha reminded us, work to do."


"Are you planning on - how did you put it? Ruffling a few feathers?" Colin asked.

Sam, who'd called 'shotgun' in the car, looked at Colin. He was taking his ease in the back seat, looking for all the world like a young aristocrat being ferried about in a limousine. Although Erik didn't look much like a chauffeur, for all his skill at driving. "What do you mean?"

He gestured backwards with a lazy hand. "That's why you wanted me to come along," he replied. "Well, Erik and I. Two gentlemen with impeccable manners, to keep you from... 'ruffling a few feathers'."

She laughed at that, once. "Nah. Ah ain't plannin' on bein rude," she assured him. "It's jes', well, Ah sometimes gotta gift fer it."

"Like the sequence of events that led to your fiancee decking Kieran?" he replied cooly.

Sam blushed, hating the feeling. "Ah... that is... Ah didn't mean fer that ta happen..."

"But it did." Colin leaned forward, locking her eyes with his. "You're an asset to our team, Sam, and a good friend." She started to protest, and he held up a hand. "No, no, I mean it. You've been standoffish and belligerent and abrasive in the past, but we've always been able to count on you. You proved that in Barcelona and in Venice, and again when you and Erik hunted down the Devil King." He narrowed his eyes, just a little. "But you provoked that little incident. Why?"

Shifting uncomfortably, Sam looked away. "Ah... Ah just don't wanna, wanna look..." She swallowed, and let her voice die away.

"Weak?" Colin filled in. "Helpless?"

"Yeah." Her voice was soft. "Ah'm..."

"You're pregnant, Sam," Colin said calmly. "And you just found out. We all just found out." Leaning forward, he gripped both Erik's and Sam's shoulders. "I'm indescribably happy for the both of you, and I wish you much joy with your family. But, and this is important, it means we're worried for you. Even Kieran." He paused. "In his own way, of course."

"Ah ain't helpless," Sam grumbled, "an' Ah ain't an invalid."

"Then tell us that," Colin said, leaning back. "But don't push us away, Sam. We're a team, remember that."


Algernon poured over a map he'd spread over the hood. "Well, we're only about 12 miles from our destination. If the roads are good, we should be able to make the trip in..." He considered. "Well, given the state of the roads, perhaps half an hour. Not bad at all." Folding the paper back up, he pressed it into Kieran's hands. "You, Captain Shane, may navigate. And stop pouting, man. I don't think it will bruise."

After opening the door for Madame LaMonte, he trooped around to the driver's side and clambered in. "I rather expect this will be peaceful," he said, extracting his revolver from inside his coat and checking that it was loaded. "A social call, perhaps? We could have the embassy arrange it, I think. Perhaps continue the ruse that we made use of yesterday, that of a wife interested in matters of Spiritualism, and her disinterested but indulgent spouse?"

He tucked the revolver away, examined the charge on his heat ray, then caught Kieran's expression in the mirror. "And you, perhaps, our utterly bored son, indulging his parents as a way of keeping us happy so as to ensure your inheritance?"


Sam strode up the three steps, and knocked smartly on the green-painted door. Sure, a lady would use the bell. But Sam wasn't posing as a lady, this time. After a few seconds she knocked again, then stepped back and whistled tunelessly. After a minute the door opened, revealing the same pretty slip of a coffee-colored woman. Still smiling, Sam tipped her hat. "Good afternoon," she said. "Ah'm..."

"Tejas Ranger Samantha Cavendish," Mama Cecilia finished, returning the smile. "In company with Herr Erik Heinz-Schmidt and Captain Colin Drake of His Majesty's Royal Aeronavy." She giggled, just a little, at Sam's look of sudden shock. "Please, do come in - I've been expecting you, ever since you had to depart so suddenly last night." Opening the door wider, she stepped aside and gestured for them to enter. "You might say a sparrow told me."
 
"Her fiance," Erik said, knuckles turning a little white beneath the bruising as he gripped the steering wheel, "has a mind of his own, thank you. I doubt anyone would have thought much of me if I hadn't done anything."

But he remained silent while Colin managed to talk some sense into her. It had been irritating that she had turned on even him just for being concerned about her well-being and that of their child, simply because she was afraid of being perceived as weak. Hadn't he shown her that he didn't think she was weak? Hadn't he proven that he loved her just the way she was, scars and all? Colin proved to be more eloquent than he would have been able to be in addressing the issue. It was easy to resent the man for it, and he would have felt a little threatened had Sam ever shown the slightest interest in him.

It was a different matter to step into a voodoo's house than it was to watch from afar. Sam looked mystified that the woman knew who exactly they were, but Erik simply arched an eyebrow. "It's nonsense," he murmured to the others as they followed her into the parlor. "We each have our own accomplishments in our own rights, and have all been in the papers at one time or another. Even if we hadn't been, enlistment is a matter of public record."

"Is the work that you did during the War also a matter of public record?" Jean-Luc inquired politely. Erik was surprised to find such a large, powerful man to be so soft-spoken. "Pity the Wings of Silence project was kept so insecure."

"Anyone who's read a newspaper in the past six months would know about that," Erik snorted.

Jean-Luc shrugged and poured coffee into three cups which had been waiting on the table before any of them had entered the room. "We've seen you in the papers," he admitted, handing Sam her cup. "They used your service pictures. It's funny...you don't wear the medal the Kaiser awarded you for your work with Yperite efficacy. One would think you are not proud of your service to your country, Herr Schmidt." He smiled politely as he held out a cup to Erik, who paled and flushed in quick succession, and clenched his jaw.

"Impressment is hardly something of which to be proud," he said stiffly, accepting the cup.

~*~

"Your son?"

"Our son?" The protest came simultaneously from both the front and back seats. "How old does everyone think I am?" Anne Marie cried in dismay. "Kieran is far to old to be my son; I have hardly five years on him! Your son, perhaps."

"We look nothing alike!" Kieran added. "Sound nothing alike either. How do a Frenchwoman and an Australian have an Irish son, hm? And if you haven't noticed, brown plus brown does not equal blue." He motioned in the vicinity of his eyes.

"He has a point," Anne Marie agreed, glad to have an ally in this. "And if this Chaney fellow is the bokor Calypso seems to think he is, he'll spot a lie like that as soon as it came from our lips either through his voodoo or his skill as a con man. Non, he will be your son."

"What?" Kieran yelped. "But I just--"

"Think about it," she interrupted. "Our ruse worked very well yesterday, of a silly spiritualist tourist and her indulgent husband. If you were his son, hardly any younger than his new wife--your real mother dead or divorced I suppose--it would make sense for you to indulge her as well. All of his wealth would go to me, and if we do not get along then I would have every right to will it away to the cats or something, and you would have no recourse. It makes sense to come along and let me have my womanly flights of fancy so you won't be left penniless." Kieran grumbled, but seemed to agree in the end that it made sense. "Bon. Shall we then?"
 
"You have an impressive information gathering network," Colin began, sipping his tea. "That..."

"That's exactly why we're here," Sam interrupted. "Cos Ah'm hopin' y'all kin help us wit' findin' someone. Or, mebbe, several someones."

Cecilia and Jean-Luc eyed her speculatively for several moments, she sipping her tea and he with a glint in his eye that she was only used to getting from Erik. Finally, Cecilia smiled slightly. "You're rather more honest about this visit than you were yesterday."

"Although no more open..." Jean-Luc rumbled, causing his wife to roll her eyes.

"That's cos yesterday," Sam replied, leaning forward,, "y'all were suspects."

"And today we are not?" questioned Jean-Luc.

"In the murders," Cecilia stated. "But why not today?"

"Well, yer sources ain't perfect then," Sam said, sipping her tea. "But y'all were... busy, last night. When another young woman was murdered."

Their hosts were silent for a moment, taking that in. Colin reached into his coat pocket and extracted a few photographs from the autopsy. "This young woman," he said. "Brutalized, tortured, and murdered. Sam hopes you may be able to tell us who did it, or at least give us a lead." He watched Cecilia blanch at the first photograph. "This sort of thing, after all, paints all of your faith with the same brush - unfair though that is."



"So, to be clear," Algernon said. "I am a poorwidower with a feckless son, who has married a young and wealthy woman I indulge. Yes, that does make more sense." He grinned at Kieran in the mirror. "Let us assume your mother is dead, my boy. And that I had married an Irishwoman for love, and been disinherited for it." He paused. "Kieran Swift. It rather has a ring to it, doesn't it? Algernon and Anne Marie Swift, and Master Kieran Swift. Yes, that works quite well. Shall we then, my boy?"

A short trip to the embassy later, and they were on their way. The Embassy clerk had telephoned ahead and had reported that Mister Raphael Chaney would be delighted to receive them. So the car rattled and bounced iver rutted dirt roads that snaked through moss-grown willow trees as they motored further from New Orleans. Shacks and tenements of sharecroppers dotted the countryside, and once or twice a decrepit old manor house couldbe seen. Finally, turning off the main road, they found themselves approaching a magnificent, witewashed antebellum plantation home.

"Remember," the Professor said, energing from the car and opening the door for Anne Marie. "We must be on our best behavior, myboy. Your mother has wanted to meet this man for some time now."
 
Erik didn't like the way Jean-Luc eyed his fiance, and sat a little closer to her on the sofa. She had been on a case last night, after all. Between his looking at Sam as though she were a piece of meat and his implications about Erik's forced work with mustard gas, he didn't like this fellow in the least. He almost wished they were still suspects. He watched Cecilia's face closely as she looked at the photos and noticed that if Jean-Luc were disturbed, he showed it very little.

"A bokor did this," Jean-Luc rumbled. "There are several in New Orleans we know of. We could give you their names, but I don't see anything that might constitute a--as you say--'calling card.'" He rubbed his goatee in thought and looked at his wife, who shook her head.

"Nothing from the marks," she agreed. "Was there anything...found in her?" She could think of a few nasty spells which may have used poisons, dead or live animals, or other such foreign objects which might have been left behind.

~*~

Anne Marie Swift. Secretly she loved the sound of it even though she knew she could never posses it. What she wouldn't give to be rid of that monster's name...keeping it had all been a part of keeping her safe, but by now it weighed on her like a boulder. Swift. It was lighter and brought a flutter in her stomach whenever she thought of it. Turning her face to look out the window, she was glad Kieran was in the back so he couldn't see how she blushed.

The pirate, for his part, did not think that 'Kieran Swift' had a ring to it. It was a little creepy, if you asked him, the idea not only of the Professor being married to anything but his work, but of being his son as well. He rolled his eyes as he slid from the car, and only part of it was an act. He hated having to take on characters like this; that was Anne Marie's thing, and Sam's. He was never any good at pretending to be someone he wasn't, case in point: Colin.

"She's not my mum," he argued petulantly.

"Well that's the whole point of this little tour, mais non?" Anne Marie said with a patronizing smile, knowing Kieran likely wanted to slap it off of her face. "We simply must get to know each other, and I would like for you to think of me as your mother. If not your mother, then at least your friend?" She tucked a bit of hair away from his face--that particular lock always bothered her anyway, and now she had an excuse to fret over it--before taking Algie's arm and leading the way up the steps to the sweeping covered porch. Already cicadas buzzed in the surrounding trees.

It was a very brief wait the door was answered by a black man old enough to have possibly been a slave on the plantation. He led them through the house, sounding genuinely attached to the family as he sung the praises of his employer, before depositing them in the parlor and leaving with a respectful bow. Anne Marie swept over to the man lounging there, offering her hand.

"Monsieur Chaney, I have heard so much about you," she gushed. "Your butler was telling us about the history of your beautiful home. Simply fascinating!" She allowed her accent to thicken a little, though she didn't lay it on quite as thick as she had with the common shopkeepers, figuring he would more appreciate subtlety but may be a little more open to her, given her Frenchness. Kieran didn't have to try very hard to look genuinely sulky as he hovered by the door.
 
"You must be Madame Swift," Raphael Chaney replied, bowing and kissing her hand. "It is a delight to meet you. And this must be your husband, Monsieur Swift?"

"I have that distinct pleasure," the Professor said, shaking his hand. "And our son Kieran."

Raphael Chaney was clearly of mixed-blood, possibly what the locals would refer to as a "quadroon" - skin dark enough to be clearly not Caucasian, but light enough that society could pretend he was white as long as he had wealth. He looked over Kieran, then looked over him again before offering a hand. "It is good to meet you, Mister Swift," he said with a small smile, letting his hand linger over the handshake. "Please, be seated. Would you care for a refreshment? Tea, perhaps, or something a bit stronger?"

"Tea would be a delight," Algernon answered, waiting for Anne Marie to take a seat.

Raphael remained standing as well, watching his guests. "I am delighted to meet a student of history, Madame Swift. My home has been in in the Chaney family since, well, since New Orleans was first settled." Taking a seat, he gestured at the gas lights. "Clearly it has been remodeled and updated from time to time, but the foundations are the originals, and we have preserved as much of the original structure as possible. Even after the damage inflicted in the last war."

"It is a remarkable home," Algernon said, glancing around. "Do you still operate the farms as well, or..?"

Their host nodded. "Of course. There are a number of tenant farmers in the community, dependent on the Chaney family lands for their livelihood. I could hardly turn them out, could I? And their families have worked the lands for nearly as long as we have owned the land. They have a claim on us, I believe. If you wish, I will arrange a tour of the grounds later - they are especially beautiful in the twilight, I think." The last was said with a quick glance at Kieran, before his attention returned to Anne Marie. "But, I suspect that this is not the primary reason for your visit. Was there something specific that brought you to Chaney House?"


"Ah don' rightly recall anythin' bein left in the victim's body," Sam said, thinking back over the examination. "There was a... veve, ain't it?"

"Vèvè," Cecilia said softly, looking concerned as she corrected the Ranger's pronunciation.

"Yeah, an Ah ain't hardly gonna get that right without practice," Sam replied with a faint smile. "But there was a vayvay o' Mama Bridgette carved into her back. While she was still alive." She said it calmly, watching Cecilia cover a gasp with her hand and Jean-Luc's eyes harden. "An' then another one, fer Papa Ghede, carved into her belly after she died." She gave it a beat. "Before they cut her baby out."

Cecilia blanched, reflexively touching her own belly. Jean-Luc laid a hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently. As he did, Colin leaned forward. "As I understand it, there were no marks indicating she had been restrained. Bruises, yes, but nothing showing she had been tied up. I have to take the others' word for it though, as..." He smiled weakly. "Well, I didn't have the stomach for examining the body myself. But, weren't there also splinters of worked wood and flakes of blue paint, Sam?"

"Yep," Sam said with a nod.

"Mère de Dieu," Cecilia whispered, swallowing hard as she composed herself. "But... wait. You say she was... raped and tortured, before being murdered? But there were no signs of her being restrained?"

"Yep," Sam said again.

Cecilia looked up at her husband. "What do you think?"
 
Jean-Luc made a discontented sound and squeezed Cecilia's shoulder again as he thought. "Nightshade, belladonna, calabar, cassava...All of them would have caused paralysis," he mused, before frowning deeply as a thought crossed his mind. "Scopolomine would make sense."

"If they were trying to create a zombie," Cecilia said dismissively. "This...was clearly not that."

Jean-Luc shook his head. "It would have kept her still and compliant without rope or other sorts of ties. And the paint...You said it was blue?"

"Ja," Erik confirmed dryly. "A lightish sort of blue, and finished wood."

Jean-Luc narrowed his eyes. "Finished wood means you're looking for someone who isn't poor," he said slowly, "but they have a blue porch. The ceiling or shutters may be the same shade, but the poor girl was dragged over the threshold and tried to claw her way out."

"And you know this how?" Erik raised his eyebrows, almost looking for a reason to suspect him again.

"Haint blue," Cecilia said plainly. "It's a certain shade of light blue that's common in the Confederacy. People who know will paint the ceilings or floors of their porches with it to confuse evil spirits into thinking that it's water and they cannot cross." Erik snorted, drawing derisive looks from their informants, but said nothing.

~*~

Well, this wouldn't be all bad, Kieran thought as they were introduced to the master of the house. Chaney's hand was soft as he gripped it firmly--but soft hands were most definitely not a bad thing--and let his fingers ghost lightly over his palm when the handshake finally stopped. The pirate had caught the way he'd looked at him and smirked before remembering that he was supposed to be the bored, petulant son.

"Pleasure," he said in a forced-polite tone, earning a look from Mom Marie.

"It is positively beautiful," Anne Marie said, seating herself gracefully and laying her hand over Algie's. She noticed Raphael glance over at Kieran when he suggested a twilight walk, but resisted the urge to react to that. It was none of her business to tell Colin of Kieran's infidelities--she was sure there were multiple--but although it was no surprise she made a note to talk to him about being honest and open with Captain Drake.

"That would be lovely," she agreed with a smile. "I saw the wisteria blooming as we came down the drive, and there was the smell of honeysuckle, if I'm not mistaken."

"But, I suspect that this is not the primary reason for your visit," Raphael said after a pause. "Was there something specific that brought you to Chaney House?"

"Mais oui," Anne Marie said, trying to try not to sound too eager. "I feel a little silly for asking, but several of my staff in Paris are practicing and are very secretive about it but...well, I've become intensely curious about voodoo, and New Orleans seems to be its home. I've asked around in shops, but obviously they're all charlatans trying to peddle trinkets to tourists. But when I ask anyone of quality they tell me that you are the man to speak to." She smiled charmingly, though she knew that as far as making him attracted to her it would be useless. Her best bet was simply to appear gracefully earnest and endearingly oblivious. "They say that voodoo started right here on your family's plantation, and that it never left. I find the whole idea of it just fascinating and was hoping to learn more. Dear Algie has been kind enough to indulge my fancies," she squeezed his hand and kissed it, "but after all the shops we've been through, 'striking out' as the Yankees say, he's given me one last try before we give up and do what he wishes. You can help me, can't you?" She batted her eyelashes, as though unaware that Raphael had been glancing at Kieran every so often as she spoke and the pirate moved about the room, examining various pieces of art in an effort to appear disinterested.
 
"So we're looking for a superstitious person with money," Colin remarked dryly. "I'm sure that narrows down the list of suspects."

"Not enormously, no," Jean-Luc agreed.

"Wouldn't even need superstition," Sam mused aloud. "A body might jes' like th' color. What about that drug? Whaddya call it, scopolomine?"

"It's compounded from nightshade," Cecilia said. "It would take a chemist or pharmacist with some training and specialized knowledge to make it." She hesitated. "Or someone with deep initiation into voudoun. I could make it, for example."

Colin shifted, twisting a little to free up his right arm. Sam glanced sidelong at him, then shook her head slightly. "What in Sam Hill fer?"

"One must learn to harm as well as heal," Cecilia replied. "The knowledge is not, in itself, evil. Evil comes from what is done with it."

"Right," Sam agreed. "Makes sense. Y'know o' anyone else that could?"

"A few, here in New Orleans," Jean-Luc rumbled. "It's part of the deep mysteries, and most aren't initiated into it. I'm not, for example. But..." He glanced at his wife, and she almost imperceptibly nodded. "Antoine Gervais. Cassilda Montaine. Raphael Chaney. And Susan Ormes."

Sam pulled a small notebook from her coat pocket and wrote the names down. "All right. What about this Mama Calypso, though? She's th' one what sent us..."

Cecilia giggled, then covered her mouth and looked abashed. "Oh, yes. Calypso coukd certainly compound Devil's Breath, if she chose." She hesitated, eying the skeptical expressions on Colin and Erik's faces. "There is, oerhaps, something else we could do."

Sam lifted an eyebrow. "There is?"

Cecilia nodded. "The Manger-Loa ritual," she explained. "It would take some time to perform, but perhaps Papa Ghede will assist you in your search."



Raphael started to speak, but at that moment the aged butler arrived. So he settled back, waiting as the man poured and served tall glasses of ice tea. When he was done, Raphael made a small gesture with his fingers and the butler departed. "They give my family slightly more credit than it deserves," he chuckled, scooping sugar into his tea. The ice clattered musicalky as he stirred.

The Professor eyed his own glass skeptically. "What do you mean?"

Noticing his expression, Raphael smiled. "It is quite different from the hot teas you are used to, sir, but refreshing. And far better suited to the sulltry climate of the bayous. And voudou, you must understand, developed throughout the Carribbean. But, I do believe that it was first carried to Louisiana by a slave purchased for this very plantation." He sipped his tea. "Or so the tales I've collected go."

Algernon sipped his tea, then added sugar. "You collect stories?"

"Oh, yes," Raphael said with growing enthusiasm. "The study of folklore is one of my passions. I've published four volumes on the subject, tracing the admixture of African and Indian beliefs with Catholicism and adding something of an insider's perspective." He offered an embarrased smile. "The best way to study a religion, after all, is from within. What is it you see, Madame Swift?"
 
Anne Marie looked dubiously at her own glass before taking a sip. It was better hot, she thought, but only needed half a spoon of sugar to take the edge off of the bitterness. She watched Raphael carefully as he talked about this religion and asked her what she sought. She opened her mouth, but before she could answer Kieran scoffed and interrupted.

"She's a tourist, what d'you think she bloody wants?" he sneered. "She wants to gawp."

"That's quite enough, Kieran," Anne Marie said sternly, glancing at Algie then glaring at him. "I seek the truth, Monsieur Chaney," she said after a moment, turning back to Raphael. "Spiritualism is quite the fashion in Paris right now, but fashion or no it's opened me to the idea of a truth beyond what my parents raised me to believe. As I said several of my staff practice it, but are very tight-lipped. If voodoo is that truth, I would like to know it."

~*~

"One must learn to harm as well as heal," Cecilia replied. "The knowledge is not, in itself, evil. Evil comes from what is done with it."

"Scopolomine can also be used medicinally," Jean-Luc added. "It can be used for motion sickness. Some women ask for it for their morning sickness, but that would present risk to the baby." He looked pointedly at Sam before continuing. "Prepare it correctly, though, and all you have to do is blow it into the unsuspecting victim's face. They will become your slave and will do whatever you ask of them: steal, murder, or even hold still while being tortured."

"Right," Sam agreed. "Makes sense. Y'know o' anyone else that could?"

"A few, here in New Orleans," Jean-Luc rumbled. "It's part of the deep mysteries, and most aren't initiated into it. I'm not, for example. But..." He glanced at his wife, and she almost imperceptibly nodded. "Antoine Gervais. Cassilda Montaine. Raphael Chaney. And Susan Ormes." When Sam asked about Mama Calypso, Jean-Luc snickered but said nothing. The idea of Mama Calypso not being able to do something was a more ridiculous thought.

Erik thought he showed remarkable restraint in not immediately objecting to this "loa" ritual business. "What exactly would this ritual entail?" he asked, again eyeing Jean-Luc suspiciously. He knew he had just as much to feel threatened by from Cecilia, but she hadn't been looking at Sam the way he had. "Is it dangerous?"
 
"Ah, yes. The truth." Raphael sipped his tea. "A treasure sought by so many, and understood by so few. What is truth?" He caught the Professor's skeptical expression and raised a hand. "No, no, I am no armchair philosopher. I will not bore you with a tangled discussion of such things. The simple fact is, I do not know."

"Indeed?" asked the Professor, lifting an eyebrow. "We were given to understand that you are something of an expert on the subject."

"Oh, I am," their host repleed with no hint of modesty. "I could speak for hours on the subject. The history of voodoo and the symbolism of the rituals. I could expand upon the loa and their attendant spirits, and describe my own prqctices. But, well," he shrugged. "Where is the truth in words?"

"You've... lost me," Algernon said, slowly.

"Voodoo is both an experiential and a practical religion and practice," Raphael declared. "Any truth you find in it is not to be found in words, but in performance of the rituals."


"Is crossing the street dangerous?" Jean-Luc laugged. "Is life danderOOF,"

Cecilia rubbed her elbow, which stung from jabbing it into her husband's side. "Forgive him," she said sweetly. "He is a showman at heart. But, yes, it can be dangerous. The lwa are not to be trifled with, after all."

"Right," Sam said. "Dangerous how?"

"The lwa requires a horse, a mount, a..." Cecilia struggled for words.

"They must possess a participant in order to speak and to act, and Papa Ghede is a randy old bastard," Jean-Luc supplied. "Dangerous, too, if not happy. Things can get out of hand, at times."

Colin snorted. "You must be joking."

"Ah dunno," Sam said carefully. "Ah done seen some strange shit in mah life." She took Erik's hand, lacing her fingers with his. "'Sides, Ah been readin' them sike-golly-gee books y'recommended. Freud and Jung. Reckon Ah ain't gotta believe in no spirits ta think this ritual might help. Could be, it'd help me spot somethin' Ah missed."
 
"Would we perform this ritual?" Erik inquired, squeezing Sam's hand gently. If they meant this "Papa Ghede" to mount his fiancee, probably some actor in a costume, then they could--

"We would," Jean-Luc assured him, rubbing his ribs where his wife had elbowed him. "Loa and human cannot exist in the same vessel at the same time, and so the mount would forget all that occurred during the ritual." He smiled warmly, sensing that Erik didn't think much of him. "Much good it would do you, to have information and not remember it."

Erik chewed the inside of his lip for a minute. He didn't believe in this voodoo nonsense, of course, and apparently neither did Sam. And she was absolutely right: it wouldn't hurt anything, considering they didn't believe. Whatever drugs these two were going to take might jog something loose in their subconscious that could help them, or bring to mind in one of them something they may have overlooked. With a sigh he squeezed Sam's hand again, unable to believe he was going to say it.

"Well then, I don't see what harm it could do," he finally conceded. "What do we need?"

~*~

When Raphael started discussing what truth was, Anne Marie did her best to look captivated, rather than just as disdainful as Algie. She watched as he carefully spun his web, a little impressed with his finesse if she were honest. He would make an excellent spy.

"Are you...inviting us to participate in a ritual?" she asked breathlessly, her eyes wide.

Kieran scoffed. "Not on your life," he sneered. "Getting naked with you two and smearing myself in mud or some rubbish like that?" He glanced at Chaney, wondering what he'd look like naked and smeared in mud.

"Nobody said anything about nudity, Kieran," Anne Marie chided, "don't be crude."
 
"We merely need space," Jean-Luc assured them. "Space, and time."

"Everything else we will need is already here, and our basement will be large enough for the four of us," Cecilia added. "All we need is..."

"Five of us," Colin said flatly, interrupting.

"Excuse me?" Cecilia stared at him in confusion.

"Five of us." Colin leaned back, steepling his fingers before him, and stared over the tips at their hosts. "Because I have no particular interest in these matters, and so I can serve as backup." The corners of his mouth crooked mirthlessly. "Just in case."

"Ah don't need..." Sam started to growl, but Erik cut her off.

"I'm not playing the white knight," he said. "That's Erik's job. I'd do the same if it were the Professor or Madame LaMonte or Kieran." A brief second of hesitation. "Especially Kieran. Gid onluly knows what he'd do without backup. But the fact remains that..."

"That it is acceptable to us," Cecilia assured him. "But you'll need to bring rum. And cigars."

"...why?" Sam asked.

"As a gift for Papa Ghebe," Cecilia laughed. "He likes them."


Raphael chuckled dryly. "I fear that the gutter press has made voodoo out to be rather spicier than it really is. Most - nearly all - ceremonies are perfirmed fully clothed and with a minimum if mud." He shrugged languidly. "Strong drink may play a part, though, and the country folk can get a little... carried away. Afterwards."

"But you're offering to allow us to participate..?" the Professor questioned.

"Oh, not directly," Raphael assured him, waving a dismissive hand. "No more than you would be expected to oartake of the Host at Mass, if you were not Catholic. As observers, or as lay participants if you were so inclined." He assumed an apologetic air. "One shoukd be initiated, befire going deeper."

Stretching an arm, he examinec his watch. "There is a ceremony this evening actually. Until then, would you care to dine with ne?" His eyes flicked towards Kieran as he said it. "I have a standing reservatiin at a charming club in tiwn."
 
"It's a waste of rum if you ask me," Erik said, picking up a bottle and examining it before setting it back down and continuing to peruse the shelves. "Pouring it out for a spirit and all that nonsense. Any luck on cigars?" he asked Colin. He himself didn't smoke and so had left that part to the Captain. There was no guarantee this would work, and he despised wasting both good money and perfectly good liquor on something that probably wouldn't help them one bit. With any luck it would be easy enough to just get Cecilia and Jean Luc drunk enough to confess, or tell them outright who had done it. After what he'd seen last night he knew it wasn't them personally...but with the way Jean Luc had looked at Sam he hadn't ruled out one of their followers who may not have been at the ritual last night.

~*~

Anne Marie patted her head through her scarf, making sure everything was still in place as the wind blew their hair. Raphael had insisted upon taking his car, no doubt to show off his wealth, but she didn't mind. That left her in the back seat to lean against Algie's chest with his arm around her. It felt nice, being able to do this publicly, particularly when Kieran was so obviously distracted in the front seat by his companion. She traced a pattern lightly on his knee before putting her palm gently to his cheek and pressing a kiss to his lips out in the light of day, in front of God and everyone.

"I love you," she murmured into his ear. The wind was loud enough that it carried her voice away before it could reach the front seat. "I must admit it is quite liberating, not fretting over propriety."

She allowed herself to enjoy the car ride and every now and then pressed kisses to her lover's lips and face and neck, always wiping away the traces of her lipstick with a handkerchief just to avoid appearing girlish about this temporary liberty. Once they arrived at the club and Algie had helped her out of the car she stayed close to him, pretending to be unfamiliar with this "race music" and clubs like this.
 
"What about these?" Sam asked, holding up a dime box of cigars.

Colin took the box, turned it over in his hands, then set ut down with an expression of distaste. "I think not."

"Ah'll bite," Sam rejoined with a wicked grin. "Why? Y'all commencin' ta believe in all o'this?"

"Hardly." Colin produced a bundle of six cigars bound with a silk ribbon. "I suspect that Madame Celine and her husband are frauds. Pious frauds who believe their own wild tales, but frauds nonetheless. Which is why I insist on purchasing high-quality rum and fine cigars."

Sam looked at her fiancee, confused. "That make any sense to you, hun?"

Colin chuckled. "Once we have what we seek, we shall be left with a surfeit of rum and cigars." He tapped the abandoned box. "And I refuse to smoke one of these."


"The Jungle," aphael announced as he pulled up outside a whitewashed two-stiry building. A man in a tuxedo-like uniform opened the door and handed him a ticket, before replacing him in the driver's seat. "A refuge, where those of us who are different may feel less... unusual."

Algernon took Anne Marie's arm, grateful for the cover that allowed him to make such displays publically. "Different?" he asked. "How do you mean?"

"Oh, my good sir," Raphael laughed. "Would that all men felt the same as you! But come, I'll show you." He set off, catching Kieran's arm as he did. Algernon followed, still holding Anne Marie's hand and finding himself oddly jealous of Samantha and Erik.

Up-tempo music washed over them as they entered, music and singing. The singer, Algernon realized, was white - a fact that stood out only because the majority of the patrons were not. Of a certainty there were white faces, but they were a distinct minority. The staff, the patrons, most of them were varying shades of brown and black. "I believe I take your meaning."

Raphael swept towards his reserved table, escorting Kieran as he did. "We are, at best, second-class citizens," he remarked, waiting as Algernon drew out Anne Marie's chair. "Even with my wealth and position, I must carry papers showing that I am a freeborn black. I cannot vote, and I could not marry a white woman." He glowered briefly at a nearby table, where a stick white man laughed as his black companion said something.

"Do the laws extend the other direction as well?" Algernon wondered.

Raphael's lips thinned and tightened. "Of a certainty, although the social repercussions of a white man, ah, consorting with a black woman are less... severe." His expression lightened as he looked around. Over in the corner, Algernon realized, the two negroes in white dinner jackets were women, and their mulatto companion in an evening gown was a man. "But in the Jungle, at least, one may firget such distinctions. For a time."
 
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