

# Voudou juice

a novella

##

## Joseph A. Federico

ANCHORS PUBLISHING

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ANCHORS PUBLISHING  
A Division of Anchors To Dusk Publishing, LLC  
13 Samuel Street  
East Hanover, New Jersey 07936

This novella is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are solely used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is extremely coincidental.

Copyright © 2018 by Joseph A. Federico

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this work of fiction or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For more information, address Anchors To Dusk Media Subsidiary Rights Department,

13 Samuel Street, East Hanover, NJ 07936.

First ANCHORS PUBLISHING trade paperback edition April 2017.

ANCHORS PUBLISHING and design are solely registered trademarks to Anchors To Dusk Media, used under license by Anchors To Dusk Publishing, LLC, the publisher of this work of fiction.

For information about special bookstore discounts and bulk purchases, please contact Anchors To Dusk Publishing, LLC at 1-973-289-3517 or josephafed@yahoo.com.

COVER ART DESIGNED BY RAYMOND WILKINS. OFFICIAL Voudou Juice ADVERTISEMENT ARTWORK BY ROY BEATTY DESIGNS

Manufactured in the United States of America

###

Any third-party use of this material – an introduction for Voudou Juice, by Norman Arthur Korpi – outside of this publication, is prohibited. Inquiring minds must apply directly to Anchors To Dusk Publishing, LLC for permission.

DEDICATION

This work of fiction – the idea I birthed on several different accounts, from South Carolina to New Orleans – is dedicated to many individuals. Without their undying support and devotion, VOUDOU JUICE would not be possible.

To those in the French Quarter who welcomed me, poured my drinks freely, and unbeknownst to them, encouraged me to take this leap of faith, thank you. Namely Sandi Smith, local tour guide and newfound friend.

To those in the GLBTQ community that left us too soon, the brothers and sisters who are too afraid to live their true lives in freedom, and the youngsters still questioning, this book is for you.

To my dear friends and family who have encouraged me along the way for 6 years – namely Christie, Melinda, Caryn, Nicole and Caitlin – I love you.

To Norman Arthur Korpi, Michael Buszczak, Raymond Wilkins, Roy Beatty and Christopher Connors, Jr., without your creative vision, this project would not have come to fruition.

And finally, to my future husband, Matthew McHenry, thank you for encouraging and pushing me to finish this book and your editorial expertise. We've come a long way since our first book was published.

CONTENTS

Introduction 6

1 12

2 16

3 20

4 24

5 27

6 31

7 34

8 38

9 41

10 44

11 46

12 49

13 52

14 55

15 58

16 61

17 66

18 69

19 71

20 74

21 77

22 81

23 85

24 88

25 91

26 95

27 99

28 103

29 106

30 109

31 114

32 119

33 123

34 126

35 128

36 131

37 135

38 139

39 144

40 147

41 156

### Voudou Juice

### Introduction

" _For the night is dark and full of terrors..." –The Red Woman_

It was 30 minutes before midnight on August 3, two decades ago, and the man was about to _burn_. The crowds were dressed, masked in lust and love, howling into the moonless night, and the stars above echoed and shined above with their passion.

This is why they came, the virgins, the educators, the takers; they came to ready themselves _one_ more time. A Pagan New Year's Eve set in the remote high desert on a vast ancient lake bed known as the Playa. These seekers and lovers of rituals tonight have traveled from all 4 corners of the planet. They are here to dance, a chance to be born again, to forge a new future in the fires, the fires that now line the 3-story effigy about to burn.

Surrounding this Titan, Black Rock City, you won't find it on a map, but for one week, it's the fourth largest city in Nevada, with its own radio stations, post office, newspapers, and all the elements that make a city; this city is made from dust and dreams, and like a child's soap bubble about to burst, Black Rock City has come to meet its maker. And in another 15mins, its fame, too, will transcend from the material into the memories of the immaterial.

The parade has begun. The chants begin to swell, the flames begin to grow, and the fire eaters on their stilts with their fiery chains and whips set the night ablaze; they lead the orchestra of demimonde, cracking, snapping, and raging into the air. Ambers of ash and smoke trail the march into the center of a human circle one mile wide. We are the nameless tribe, whose rally cries are 40,000 strong. The ranks fill the invisible spaces, and surround the towering man with a circle of flesh, a mile adorned with glow sticks, torches, firecrackers, howling, grinding, and dancing to the drums, revolting against the dead.

The countdown has begun, the chimes have stopped, and it's midnight. A controlled church alter hush dampens the orgy, and then a single focused flame climbs the wooden pyramid on which the towering robotic figure fashioned out of wood and neon stands. The fire, now small and targeted, moves to make its mark; it has begun its end.

An explosion rocks the core, the man ignites, and the cries of lovers' past, the murders of mother nature, and the enlightened self being, part our lips, blinding us to the light, burn as our souls kiss the flaming figure of God. Fiery tornados the size of Oriental skyscrapers spin off into the party's end and race down the Playa. Loud bursts of ecstasy build until the sound is so deafening, only my eyes are left to feed off the scraps of this bounty.

I was in love. The flames towering above us, the man ablaze in a hot yellow glow, implodes shortly after the stroke of midnight. He tumbles, splitting into quarters, a head here, a leg there, and a blackened arm rolls over there. Smash, crackle, kaboom; the once 100-foot man is consumed by a mountain of ashes. Once-strangers turn to each other, and embrace. A fountain of fireworks bursts into the night's sky, exploding among the stars, fading onto the desert floor.

A hush blankets the enormous crowd. I wiped off the essences of my boyfriend onto my tarnished suit, as he slid his member back into his dress. We stood cold, frozen in the aftermath of pre-coitus activity, and looked out about the crowd. The orgy was over, and so was he. Empty faces surrounded us, dazed and dazzled, bathed in a kaleidoscopic circus of afterglow.

The ancient and familiar, friends and foe, both illuminated and haunted me, as the drugs which have taken up residence in my veins began to fade.

It was September 1st; a Thursday. We were all reborn, at least that's what the ticket promised us in the small print on the back. It also read:

Death is possible for some, and that's your responsibility.

I stood half undressed in a dirty silver astronaut's uniform, the one you buy on Melrose, half priced after Halloween, and stared out under the moonless sky.

The spell was broken. I was suddenly lost and alone with my thoughts of reality. Filling my cup, I looked silly, and torn. The man was burned to cinder, and the crowds thinned into the smoke. Nobody said good-bye, and we were all strangers again, as the sprits were now dormant for another season.

The RVs and themed camps – some dressed up as shoes and sharks (known around the makeshift village as "mutant vehicles") or aka the life source of the party community – hummed by, kicking up powdery clouds of dust as they roared down the desert road. It was sad, really. The city, unlike any other, was all gone. Well, almost like any other city.

The year was 2005, and we finally decided to pack up our own RV. We had to part with Black Rock City and leave the Playa and road rage before the break of dawn. Thanks to the Gods and our newfound friends, we lived the chance of a lifetime. It was bet, however, to leave our memories with the man that burned, the strange lovers we caressed, and the macabre-laden dances with the devil we partook in. A page in history it was now, and left behind.

Burning Man, otherwise translated loosely to "leave no trace," was a distant memory from the beginning. By the time the sun cracked the sky, we were pulling into Reno, almost 200 miles away. The RV passed under the gate of Reno, and we looked in awe at the glorious sign that read, "The Smallest Big City in the World."

The glitter encrusted crew I was with stepped out of the RV in a hungover stupor, freckled with dirt, and hungry for eggs. We set our sights on an unattended trash bin at a local truck stop, as we unloaded feather boas, used jock straps, Halloween masks and carts of sun-soaked vegetables we forgot to eat at the festival. The main task to empty the grey water from the vehicle was left to our transgendered Spirit Guide we humbly called the Oracle. She was the most capable of the group at the time.

The Oracle was still donned in peasant feathers, one on each side of her head like bug antennae, as she manhandled the long, thick hose and hook from the bottom of the RV.

After a week spent being unplugged, detached and carefree with no communication with the outside world, we creeped back to reality. I hammer walked back to the real world, as the Oracle pumped the shit out of the RV. I then walked across the parking lot, and greeted a convoy of 18-wheelers; I majestically announced that I was back, back to mankind as we knew it.

We left a week ago, but we came back lightyears wiser, more spiritual, with a lasting connection. We robbed a cosmic bank. My grin of enlightenment beamed among my fellow Americans. I slowly made my way through the aisle at the convenience store, hunting for a refreshing morning Diet Coke and some mini frosted donuts. My fingers, still aglow with a touch of BFA pride for pulling the past week off, waved over a copy of _USA Today_.

There it was, or there it wasn't. New Orleans. Atlantis all over again. My dirty, white face froze at the photograph of an African American woman holding her child, stranded on a broken bridge, crying into the sky. The helpless helicopters were above the woman, watching her and her kin drown in the toxic sewage of America's anus.

My burring grin fell flat from my B-star face, and I cracked. Exposed as a fool yet again, I looked up, and waited for the rotten tomatoes to be hurled at me. A different kind of tribe was now surrounding the gas station. A national hush took over, and it was 9/11 all over again. The news held our gazes, and everybody was just standing there. They were quite respectful, but stood there nonetheless.

Everybody was motionless, gathering around the TV sets. I lifted the paper again, and scanned the headlines of horror; they suddenly came to life. "Breaking news..." the anchorman was yelling, as his voice really meant to yell at government officials to do something. The city was gone.

The black water swallowed all of them. My Burning Man crew entered then. We had all missed the second largest disaster of the modern era. Levees had given way to Katrina's unstoppable power during our pagan hipster party.

New Orleans, the city that haunted me, was dead. Mother Nature's sword pierced the heart of such a wonderful city, and let it bleed black. My crew and I looked like clowns in our dusty, cheap outfits. We had our tails between our legs. Onward to the City of Angels.

A menagerie of broken yellow lines played to the beat of the LSD draining from my system, and electronic waves transmitted from the radio through to my soul. Tunes opened a door back to a place and night some years back. My mind went back to another time and yet another trip when a seed so dark took root.

I was on a well-known reality show's tour bus, and the crew and I were making time to reach the city of Houston from Tallahassee in the night. The bus made a stop in the Crescent City, the place I had feared, the place that was so poignant. Honestly, it was a place I had never wanted to go, but once I arrived, it snatched my soul.

It was 2001.

The air brakes on the bus gave way to a murderous hiss, and New Orleans was then able to breathe. A thick fog entered all around us, and the bitch took her bite. The semi-famous group of oversexed youngsters I was traveling with wanted a late night in the Quarter.

These were the "MTV Millennials" the press warned you about. They were freshly fucked and ready to grind. Truthfully, we haven't spoken since the encounter, and no reality show reunion was going to get what was about to happen on film. Some realities are just best left on the editing room's floor for the dead to see.

The tour manager warned us we only had two hours tops to explore. The smell of the river filled my head and broken bodies of aquatic life cracked under my feet. The gutter welcomed me that night. I held back the urge to vomit, as a stronger odor of stale beer drenched my soul and battered my senses. Flesh was dying all around me.

The reality crew hopped in line and moved away from the frat house waltz, locking arms and hooting. We all drank ourselves into a stupor throughout a man-made witching hour, and in dull sense, wandered towards fortune tellers eager to take our bump and grind dollars.

I heard them all laugh and shout my name to move onto more festivity, but I was paralyzed and couldn't move. I stood haunted and alone, near the safety of the bus...my way out.

A deafening horn sounded off by the river; I jumped and then turned to see a beaten-down tug boat pushing a barrage. It was filled with trash and passing now by the Angola shores. Everything was dark and chilled; the stars vanished under the low-hanging clouds. The horn sounded a second time.

I lifted my Diet Coke, wet my lips, and to my surprise, a face appeared out of the darkness without any words. The being pressed itself upon my face forcefully. It was a beautiful man; he was handsome, he was dangerous. As he entered me, his tongue rolled over my neck, and I felt a bite.

I pulled away. He looked decayed, and then he revealed a bloody tooth. With a slight cackle to his voice, he warned, "You'll never leave this place. You'll never be any good." He disappeared as quickly as he came. On his way out, the vaporous creature yelled, "I know you! Your show sucks, and so do you!"

My traveling companions could be heard again with their boozy voices, begging me to join them. They vanished into a burger and pie joint on Royal Street off the corner of Jackson Square. Another clang arose, this time from the cathedral, sending my head spinning back to the river, the mystery man, and the bite on my neck. I lost my shit.

As I shook my head and came back to earth, I felt my neck. There was nothing there. At all. I felt another mass approach me. The night had to end sometime. I moved back from the assault with hopes it was one of my "buddies" having a way at me. Alas, standing before me was now a woman in red.

She was cold and pale, she was erotic with an underworld stare under the bewitching half-moon. That witch put a spell on me, her mouth released words from hell. To this day, I still remember. It was a warning, and it's haunted me since. A demon's seed that was planted deep, a piece of torture in my mind. Her eyes looked deep into mine. I was transparent, a lamb...and she knew it.

A slow, loud honk drew me back.

I was left haunted. The yellow lines on the highway kept me in a trance, and I longed for a place I clearly didn't belong in. It was suddenly 2005 again, and the Oracle pulled me back from the brinks of inner insanity. She said, "Where were you? You looked so far away." I pushed dust from the Playa off my shirt, lowered the newspaper, and said, "I was thinking of New Orleans. The Oracle just looked at me.

"I know. I was there, too," is all she said back. "We lost a lot."

Headline after headline read that the ninth ward was gone, homes had big X's across them that were beyond repair, and the glorious Superdome has its flesh ripped right off.

We made our way to a diner that day, and all we could do was push our pancakes to the side. We knocked down our salt shakers as a declaration of ending our childlike lifestyles there and then. We ended our trust fund days and stopped living off our once-fame. Our traveling tribe promised to take what we received from Burning Man, and support our fellow citizens.

As we sat under our new constitution, we filled the tank again. Most of the troupe was heading to New Orleans to donate both time and blood to those in dire need. "Let's go, Norm," they proclaimed. All I could do was shake my head no.

I swore I would never return to the vampire of the south. I just shook my head in disbelief. And that's where my journey of 2005 ended. My tribe dropped me off in Los Angeles; they called me superficial. They continued on to a desolate place.

Years later turned into a decade, and those summer friends and passersby lovers came and went like pages in my life. They were reduced to status updates on Facebook.

Then, out of the blue, just when I thought New Orleans ran its final course in my veins, my friend Joseph Federico asked me to share a tale of The Big Easy. I didn't really have much to say on the matter, and didn't want to relive the memories through a pen and paper. There just are some stories that aren't meant to be told, and well, I felt my story was one of them. It was supposed to stay pent up and taken to my grave.

New Orleans and the lost souls that inhabit the thin veil between life and death there, are best left to the weary traveler looking to get lost in a menagerie of fucked up puzzle pieces. My memories of that place, however, are just the salty parts, the bits of nasty and sweet you try to forget. Fantasy met reality back then, and got mixed into an insane trip.

My feelings of the underworld most refer to as NOLA, are just images and thoughts now. Distant memories.

Joseph had an experience, too, that awoke something sinister in him. The following fictitious tale is that experience. I invite you to grab onto safety, take a low-lit lantern, and walk with him. This is a tale of true love and true horror. It's all set in our beloved, horrid New Orleans.

**-** Norman Arthur Korpi

### ###

### Chapter 1

### Carnival Gone Bad

Unbeknownst to him, Riley had been chosen king of Mardi Gras this year. His family had been around for centuries, so he was a household name – a true shoe-in.

However, Riley Clarke really wasn't all that special once you looked a bit closer. Yes, those who knew him liked him, but he was a simpleton; his life had gone to shit over the years, and he had nothing to show for it.

Besides his _devilishly_ good looks, all Mr. Clarke had going for him was his teacher's assistant job at the university, and his part-time gig at the local gay watering hole on infamous Bourbon Street.

He couldn't keep his half-ass relationship together with his boyfriend, Cody, and he barely had enough money in the bank to pay all his monthly bills.

But, for some reason, the young thing was named Rex of Mardi Gras – the king to end all kings.

On Fat Tuesday, Riley was nervous; he couldn't keep food down and was fidgety. Everything made him nervous and he overthought every move he made.

Melissa, the chick he'd known since high school, was more excited about the Mardi Gras business than he was.

"What're you wearing to tonight's parade, oh _fair_ Rex?" Melissa asked with a slight sarcastic tone in her voice. She was in such awe of her friend; she was borderline jealous.

"Well," he said, "I was going to go with the whole Jean LaFitte, _piratey_ theme, but decided to go a little fancier. After all, how many times does one get to be king... for a day, at least? Right?"

Melissa just rolled her eyes; that was her usual response. She guessed she'd learn more about Riley's royal court and float later on.

\--

On the best-known krewe's float, Riley could be seen from miles away by all the spectators and those who had been itching to get into his pants for years.

He donned a fabulous 14-K diamond-encrusted crown, sparkling green, yellow and purple half mask, and wore nothing but tight, gold pants and a white, feathery cape. The cape was lined with gaudy costume jewelry.

Riley felt like hot shit, even though he knew in the back of his mind that he'd go back to his pauper-like status come morning.

Some pretty twink in his court had made his way up to the float's balcony where Riley was proudly waving to his loyal subjects.

"Your highness, I'm here to protect _and_ serve you tonight," the boy said majestically, bowing to his Mardi king. Riley didn't have anything to say in response, but he did smirk.

Before his perplexed mind could catch-up to what was happening, however, the gilded young man had his warm mouth on his cock within seconds; he swallowed every inch of the newly-crowned Rex.

The makeshift king didn't think twice about Cody, and nobody in the sea of flesh on the dirty street could really see what was happening up on the balcony.

As Riley threw beads and flavored condom favors to the people below, he intermittently groaned with delight from a wide-smiled mouth.

The twink was milking his king faster. Riley's hips were thrusting into the cloaked figure's throat, to the very same beat of the music blaring from the float's speakers. Still, nobody on the street, nor the float's workers, knew what was happening.

"Cozette. Cozette." A familiarly haunting voice popped into his head and swelled into his ears.

"Cozette."

Just as Riley was about to unload into his personal jester, he heard the name once more.

Seconds before ejaculating, Riley snapped. His mind went blank and everything from his troubled past came rushing back. All the pain his family suffered centuries before, felt like brand new wounds.

He had a personal vendetta to fulfill before the stroke of midnight. It came back to him.

Several unearthly crashes could be heard, and three simultaneous fires were started along the parade route along with several smaller ones in the Quarter.

The street crackled underneath the passersby.

Horrific screams were poignant, now music to Riley's ears. He smiled with sheer delight to the unfolding of local society.

_This is it_ , he thought to himself. _They're suffering. Fuck 'em all._

###

### Chapter 2

Faire place aux filles dans les cercueils  
(Translation: Make way for the girls in the caskets)  
New Orleans, 1746

Emelie Cozette was a dirty, scrappy little thing, even in her twenties.

Her father abandoned her in France when she was just a naïve child, and her mother left the familial duties up to the house nurse.

To say Emelie was a bit of a human catastrophe was an understatement.

"All aboard! Get your asses on the wagons... now!"

Emelie had packed hurriedly, but something inside her was excited about getting back to the Americas.

"Nous sommes actuellement en pension. Obtenez vos ânes sur les wagons, maintenant!" ( _Translation: We are currently boarding. Get your asses on the wagons, now!_ ) the admirals at the station barked.

There must have been approximately 300 fine female specimens lined up, stamped, and ready for delivery to the new world.

"Where is this place, Nouvelle Orléans?" Emelie asked as she sheepishly turned to her neighbor, Colette.

"Je n'ai aucune idée, petite rose." ( _Translation: I have no idea, little rose.)_ Colette responded in a defeated tone.

Their heads hung low as they were forced to board the wagons – most were stripped of their dignity and thrown to the hounding wolves years ago; these were the prettiest dregs of humanity being sent to New Orleans to start anew.

"Ayez vos passes prêts quand vous embarquez sur les navires, ou bien!" (Translation: Have your passes ready when you board the ships, or else!) The generals got involved and shouted at the top of their lungs.

Emelie and Colette boarded the wagon next.

The trip to the ships that would take them on an incredible journey was long-coming; it would be a difficult one for everyone involved.

Emelie Cozette

Fine, little Emelie Cozette.

"Vous n'êtes qu'une pute, et vous serez toujours." (Translation: You're nothing but a whore, and always will be.) she'd hear from her father from a very young age.

Franc Cozette would repeat that phrase to his daughter often, the words cutting like fine thorns in young flesh.

See, Franc was a general – a real hot-tempered one, too.

Ladies from all around the land came to get a piece of him, and he was a phenomenal leader to boot.

Franc was walking sex, and his wife, Yvette, grew increasingly jealous over the years. On their fifth year of marriage, Yvette was sent away from the family estate due to the French government taking over their home.

Franc couldn't wait to have the humble abode to himself, as he'd planned magnificent parties for his fellow soldiers and men of power in his inner circle.

Yvette was saddened by her unexpected exile, but knew she had to leave her betrothed for the greater good.

Upon her leaving, Franc turned to those he trusted the most and said, "Les orgies sont bonnes pour l'âme." (Translation: Orgies are good for the soul.) The gentlemen curiously scowled and laughed until their midsections ached – the members beneath their trousers grew excited, knowing what was to take place: le péché et le sexe. (Translation: sin and sex)

\--

Unbeknownst to Franc, Yvette had her own handsome loner - a beau solitaire – all of her own.

As she escaped the soon-to-be tragic life of being with Franc, she leapt into another man's arms.

Six months later, Franc sent for Yvette; she pronounced her illegitimate pregnancy immediately upon her return.

Franc, although he inserted himself into many-a-prostitute during the time he was apart from his wife, grew curious of Yvette's whereabouts.

"You slept with another man, haven't you?" Franc inquired. The general's men cleared the master bedroom as the conversation heated.

"Not that it is any of your business, dear. I'm sure you slept with the whores that ran amuck; I saw several scowls thrown at me the day I left months ago... I just turned a blind eye."

"My finest Yvette, we're through. You won't be having this baby. Do you hear me? Off to the doctor in the morning; the grotesque being inside you won't see day."

Yvette didn't fight or talk back; women in these times weren't ever supposed to talk back to their men – their true owners.

With the relationship more strained than ever, Yvette's womb wouldn't see another life force for some time, if at all.

\--

Years later, by the grace of God, little Emelie came along.

Franc wasn't pleased; he never treated her like his own daughter. He would always question the legitimacy of their blood connection.

Emelie was nothing but a piggish slut to her father; she was absolutely a stain on Franc's life, a mistake. He always treated the poor girl as such.

###

### Chapter 3

Mama Julia Brown

Mama Julia Brown, sometimes referred to as 'Auntie' by the patrons of New Orleans, was mostly a kind soul; she sometimes, though, needn't be fucked with.

One bad eventual-white witch – a Miss Emelie Cozette – done fucked with Mama, and it was nothing less than disastrous. 'Twas a true horror story for the books, and the future citizens of New Orleans.

The folks around those parts still talk about it to this day, believe it or not.

But first, a brief history of this Voodoo goddess. She's not to confused with infamous Marie Laveau.

Mama Julia Brown came from humble beginnings. She was a bastard child of Otus Brown and Laile Catabois.

She was raised in the deep swamps of Louisiana, now modern day _Tremé, and the Lower Ninth Ward, where Katrina hit the hardest._

_A little shack, some gator meat and homemade candles were fine enough for Brown, her mama, and younger brother, Otise._

\--

Otus Brown, a real dark man, was caught fishing one afternoon and sold unexpectedly into the slave trade.

Julia never forgot that day as long as she lived, and she was oh-so-young when it happened.

She had to grow to be strong, acclimate to her new household role and be self-sufficient; it wasn't all that bad, because she'd learn black magic from Laile.

The pretty, rich white women that lived in the antebellum mansions loved to visit the darkies to get their fortunes told and they'd pay a pretty penny, if for nothing else but the entertainment value. They'd come far and wide and traveled to the dirty swamps.

Laile taught Julia all she knew about Loa, Papa Legba, the difference between the dark and light spirits, and card reading.

You see, back then, the Brown clan was scrutinized for practicing the dark arts, but the fat whities kept lining up day after day nonetheless.

Years later, as Laile grew sick and weak, Julia had to take over the family business permanently.

She drove a hard bargain. Not only did she charge the equivalent of $375.00 by today's inflated standards, she required the subject to partake in a deadly sacrifice.

One young man, who had hair as fair as isle sands and skin as light as snow, came to Brown because he felt his ejaculate wasn't as potent as he'd hoped; he wanted to start a family, and kept failing miserably every time he laid with his wife.

He was only eighteen, and to be quite fair, Julia didn't see many male specimens pass through often.

Augustin was his name, and he was a nervous wreck from the first moment he stepped into Mama's hut.

"Avez-vous l'argent et l'échantillon de sperme que vous souhaitez tester?" ( _Translation: Do you have the money and sperm sample you wish to test?)_ Julia asked Augustin slowly. He wasn't very responsive.

The witch repeated herself, now in English. It was also much more abrupt; no one dare wasted Mama's time.

Augustin sweated profusely, and shook his beautiful mane up and down, as if in slow motion.

He placed the gold coins and the essence of his manhood onto the stool next to the Voodoo goddess.

Julia fainted then floated up to the top of her decrepit hut. Her surrounding men beat tribal drums and slit their wrists; they, too, were under her spell.

Augustin was so nervous by the otherwise violent scene, he spewed vomit on the dirty floor.

In a deep, demonic voice, Julia said in Haitian Creole, "Chè mèt, kenbe Augustin an sekirite nan mal ak beni bouyon ejakulasyon li, se konsa yo vin fè ti bebe anpil." ( _Translation: Dear lord, keep Augustin safe from harm and bless his ejaculate stew, so he my make many babies.)_

Julia repeated it ten times, and her men continued to pound the drums harder with each repetition.

The blood continued to pour from their wrists with such conviction and in perfect rhythm with pounding of the drums.

For a few minutes, Augustin thought the men would pass out, but they too, were blessed and protected.

Julia said her last round of prayer, then asked the young man to drop his trousers and lie down with his stomach facing the floor.

Immediately, he felt his penis become erect; he had no control over it, neither of his thoughts.

Julia brought in three toads from the swamp and two hen's eggs, all dripping with blood.

As she fed Augustin sexual thoughts, she begged him to strangle the tiny animals, crack the eggs, then ejaculate into the inhumane mess he made on the floor. He didn't fight it, for the ancient spirits were coursing through his veins.

As the young man climaxed with gusto, Julia ordered him to get on his knees and spread the makeshift lubricant onto his testicles. As Augustin did this, he fainted.

The drummers came out of the deep trance and Julia fell to the ground.

The boy was wrapped in white linens immediately after the ceremony, then placed in a canoe and sent safely on his way.

The witch slept for four nights and three days to assure her spell worked.

She never heard from Augustin again, but word of the spell being successful spread around the village like wildfire.

###

### Chapter 4

Famille Cozette  
(Translation: Cozette Family)

### New Orleans, 1724

The Cozette family came from riches and fortunes.

Franc inherited a beautiful plantation; it came equipped with forty seven slaves, and was in the Vacherie, Louisiana. His father left him a legacy.

The home sprawled over one hundred twenty seven acres, and the slave's quarters inhabited the land, too.

Franc Cozette – and his soon-to-be wife, Yvette – were to be married at the plantation; they fought to get to a certain point in their lives, and to live happily ever after like all the great loves in history and literature alike have been known to do.

But their love story would be short-lived and wouldn't quite make the history books.

A couple of nights before the wedding, Franc escaped from his parents' living quarters and called upon fair Yvette, who was in adorned quarters of her own.

Franc had a disastrous nightmare, one where this betrothed fell in love with another man and called the wedding off. The dream man was fair and young, and young Cozette feared he couldn't hold a candle to the bel homme.

Franc was so distraught, he came crying to Yvette's side.

"My dear, whatever is the matter?" Yvette's words soothed her man's pain instantly.

"Est-ce que tu m'aimes?" Franc asked as the despair and loneliness washed from his pale face.

Yvette didn't understand the question so clearly, though. She loved her strong man dearly, however, something in her stopped her from answering the simple question honestly.

Franc panicked and asked her again. "Est-ce que tu m'aimes, my pet?"

Yvette froze, and her face washed over with fright.

Franc became furious and stood up to his bare feet; his hands trembled. "I won't ask you again, darling."

His face turned red, and his whole body convulsed.

Yvette began to cry; no words could escape her fine-painted lips.

"Donc, aidez-moi Dieu, un mauvais mouvement et ce sera la fin de vous. So help me god, one wrong move and it will be the end of you!" Franc was clear in his unwarranted warning to the woman he supposedly would do anything for. He spoke in French then again in English for emphasis; he wanted to assure he was understood.

Yvette wept profusely, but with a blank stare, Franc left her by dim candlelight.

Little did she know how true that statement would be just five years later, after having her final affair, bringing a bastard into the world.

###

### Chapter 5

Maison du Soleil Levant  
(Translation : House of the rising sun)

By the time Emelie was old enough to read and write, she heard wondrous stories about the swamp witch, Mama Julia Brown, and her miracles.

Now, the Cozette family had always been Baptiste Français - French Baptist – but since the messy divorce with Franc, Yvette got into darker religions, namely Voodoo.

Yvette visited Mama on occasion, when she had some money to piss away, and when she wasn't paying her jeune étalon – young stallion – to do the dirty work around the house.

The aristocratic French divorcée thought that because Franc cheated on, then abandoned her, she wasn't desirable to other men any longer.

\--

Word passed through the rich whities like wildfire of the glories Mama Brown performed; she'd given new life to Bethany down the road, brought fortune to the Forgeron family two weeks ago... Yvette knew Mama could bring her beauty, at the very least.

One afternoon, while Yvette's young man was passed out after a hard day's work, she packed Emelie up in her ornately decorated carriage and had the carriage driver drop them off by the dirty swamplands.

The trees seemed to open magically and parted enough so human life could pass through safely.

Emelie would later remember this moment, and it would prompt her to visit the witch as an adult; it was too surreal not to explore again.

"Qui va là? Who go there?" The wind whispered cautiously.

"Tis us. It's Ms. Yvette and baby Emelie, oh spirits," Yvette timidly responded. She peered around into emptiness.

More trees opened, and a small cottage came into view.

"Welcome tuh da maison du soleil levant – my house of the rising sun." Brown revealed herself to the older mistress and Ms. Emelie. She floated from behind the makeshift shack's door and was adorned in nothing but red: a red headdress, red gloves and even red lipstick dripped from her being.

Yvette was nervously excited to see the results of the magic she was about to pay for.

"Do yuh have da fifty cent?"

"Yes. I'm not quite sure why you're charging me double, but yes, I have your money. Yvette's face was foul and misguided.

"Do yuh wish for da spell tuh work?" Brown snapped back. "Half is fuh muh services, and da other half is yuh contribution tuh da Loa, da gods who do muh bidding."

Yvette was placed in the corner with some corn husk dollies, then shoved to the wall.

"Start tuh beg, child," Brown said to the mistress.

Yvette looked shocked but did as she was told.

"Please, miss, make me beautiful!" Yvette repeated this several times until Brown slapped her across both of her cheeks.

"Get on yuh knees," Brown demanded. Next, two of her men came out from the walls with monstrous drums and began to strum tribal beats.

Mama Brown slit the men's wrists, and blood poured all over the interior of the hut, Yvette, and baby Emelie.

"On three, Miss Yvette, bow wit me. Yuh must feel da pain in yuh arms and hind legs."

Yvette bowed until she was in pain; that lasted the better part of an hour.

\--

Brown chopped chicken legs off as Yvette bowed her pretty, coiffed head off. The beast's legs were still shaking as Mama threw one at the mistress and dipped the other in her men's blood.

The second leg was slapped across Yvette's painted face, then forced into her mouth. The room went dark, the drummers were silenced at once. Emelie started to cry.

Yvette was also put to an abrupt silence, waiting for her next instruction.

"Girl, stand up!" Yvette crawled to her normal posture and took a deep breath. "Yuh mustn't let any man see yuh fuh two days. If they do, dey die instantly."

Yvette shook her head in fear of what may happen to her young pet at home.

"After dose two days, yuh skin will glow, yuh supple breasts will plumpen up, and yuh lips will turn da dark crimson, permanently."

Yvette started to cry out of joy – the joy of looking more radiant then she ever imagined.

"One more ting, girl," Brown warned. "Take dis chicken carcass and pluck its heart out." The pretty French girl was apprehensive but knew it had to be done.

"Do it!" Brown bellowed.

Once the deed was done, Brown put Yvette in a trance, along with Emelie; she forced the mother to feed the beast's beating organ to her daughter.

Yvette may have been in a deep Voodoo trance, but Emelie would come to recall every minute of the horrific time in the not-so-distant future; it would lead her to call upon Brown soon enough.

For Emelie would want to turn to the dark arts, and Brown would only be too glad to show her the way.

###

### Chapter 6

### House Where the Sun Don't Shine

Mama Julia Brown took Emelie under her wing.

Yvette Cozette started to go mad after the vanity spell wore off and became an unfit mother for such a precious porcelain doll.

Yvette's lover ran off with another woman several days after she was allowed to be around the men folk – one who was twelve years her junior – and well, not a crazy and possessive bitch who believed in the power of the dark arts.

Truth be told, that absolutely brought the once-quintessential southern belle to the brink of madness. Yvette had it all not long ago – Franc, who was muscular and a family protector, and her young prince, the stallion she felt between her thighs and brought her back to life.

Not now. Her young man gave Yvette a twinkle in her dead eyes. That was all lost.

One day, she devolved into a witch, an ugly witch inside and out.

\--

Mama Brown could hear Emelie's inner cries for help day in and day out, and felt bad for the little rose with nobody to care for her.

She met her in her dreams one night. "Yuh remember what I done to yuh mama, don't you?"

At first, Emelie tried to lie to the Voodoo goddess, but she saw right through her.

"Tell me da truth, chér."

Emelie gulped. "Yes"

Brown was no dummy and knew that putting the young girl under a trance when she was out at her swamp hut was a big mistake.

The southern belle's daughter had something special inside of her that she couldn't quite put her decrepit finger on yet.

"I remember everything, Miss Brown. Every last thing."

Mama shook her nose, cocked her kerchiefed head to one side and smirked. "I tell yuh what," she whispered to the little girl. "If yuh need to escape at any time, yuh say dese words: soti m 'koulye a; that's Haitian creole for 'out me now.'"

Emelie just stared blankly.

"Yuh hear me, child?" Brown rang. "Haitian creole is da respectful language for da dead, and dey'll hear yuh beckoning."

Emelie nodded innocently to let Mama know she was perfectly understood.

"Soti m 'koulye a," the little darling whispered under her breath; her diction was almost better than Brown's herself.

"Ah yes, right little rose. Soti m 'koulye a. Out me now!"

Emelie repeated after her newfound teacher, the one who would eventually become her surrogate.

"Child, yuh say da words six times, and dis world is yours. Yuh will be under my protection as long as yuh speak up.

Emelie awoke in a cold sweat and was slightly frightened, but knew she'd be safe.

###

### Chapter 7

### The Voyage

"All aboard! Get your asses on the wagons... now!" Those haunting words were amongst the last Emelie remembered ringing in her brain.

She'd been so blind sighted with the opportunity of starting a new life for herself – one of countless orgasms, a dirty lifestyle mixed with opium pills, booze, and the stale smell of ejaculate – but a new life nonetheless. A life that was free from her abusive father – who'd been dead for some time – and free of her overbearing, drug-induced, vanity-sucking mother.

Yes, Emelie Cozette _was_ full of hope.

The French soldiers had treated the three-hundred luscious ladies as their own personal play things throughout the duration of the voyage to New Orleans, the new land of perpetual hope, where the young things could start over... one day.

They'd have filthy, unprotected orgies in the depths of the ship, tag team each other for mere sport in drunken stupor.

Disease ran rampant on the trip, but Emelie had been a fly on the wall for most of it.

She thought that one of two things kept the older beasts away: First, she thought Mama Brown was still with her, and put a ring of protection over her, or second, she looked _far_ younger than she _actually_ was, and the soldiers didn't want to be beheaded or worse, jailed, for underage coaxing.

\--

Colette, the friend she'd made while boarding the wagons in France, had been brutally beaten numerous times, raped to a pulp, and left for dead.

Emelie mourned for but a day and had recognized she had an immense amount of grief in her life; she began to feel numb. So many parts of her soul died in the past, with her father hurting her, her mother abusing her maternal power, and now this – she didn't want to be numb any longer or lose herself to the grief and pain that was all around her. The grief was at an end.

The young rosebud just about lost her mind. With all the rot around her, it was easy to get lost in it.

She had tried to meditate, but that didn't quite work. She needed to have an out-of-body experience.

\--

One afternoon, while a debaucherously filthy commotion was taking place in her state room, she had an epiphany. Long ago, she was taught an easy escaping spell by Mama Brown, the Voodoo queen of the swamps.

The witch taught Emelie to visit her in times of peril and disrepair.

"Soti m 'koulye a," Emelie began to say in a timid whisper. Nobody on the ghost ship heard these words.

"Soti m 'koulye a." The poor girl's voice rang louder; her eyes shot to the back of her head, and her tongue swelled up. Still, nobody noticed.

"Soti m 'koulye a." Little rose rang a third, fourth, fifth then sixth time, before she was transported to another universe.

"Hello there, chér," a familiar voice bellowed. "I move here," it continued.

Emelie was a bit disoriented but found the body behind the voice within seconds.

"Mama Brown? Is that you?"

"And who else would it be?"

Emelie knew she'd done something extraordinary but didn't know she still had some kind of magic inside her.

"Welcome home, chér. We missed you!"

Mama and Emelie sat in the exact spot where the witch took Yvette's money and the scary men bled profusely, banging on their foreign drums years ago.

A spicy pot of gumbo was brewing over an unusually hot fire.

"Chér, listen tuh me. It was awful nice of yuh tuh visit me again, but yuh mustn't stay long, yuh hear? If da white men find out who yuh truly are, where yuh truly went off to, dey kill yuh."

Emelie scratched her fine scalp and cocker her head.

"Chér, promise me yuh will never come here again, at least on this voyage yuh on. No one must see or sense da magic inside of yuh." Mama pushed Emelie off the stool and the little rose awoke in her cot in a dark room, still on an old swaying boat in the middle of hell.

A tear ran down her cheek; she knew she had to endure no matter the circumstance.

\--

Three-and-a-half weeks passed, and the ship finally pulled-up to Old Muddy – the port in Nouvelle Orléans – on the Mother Mississippi.

Emelie was awoken by her fellow whores' screams of delight that fateful morning.

She thought she was visiting the swamp witch again, but she had just arrived at the doorstep of her new life in America. This time, it'd be permanent.

###

### Chapter 8

Entrée belle Riley de la nuit  
(Translation : Enter beautiful Riley of the night)

Riley Clarke – the hunky talk of the town – was as sweet as they'd come. Six-foot-two, blonde, and built like a brick shit house.

Some said he was built des dieux – of the gods – or that he was so perfect, that he could be made of the finest plexiglass and decorated to the nines, much like that of the head of a colorful, gaudy Mardi Gras float.

Most days, he worked at the university as a literature professor's TA, and at night, well, that was a different story.

He'd drive from school right to the French Quarter where he was a bartender at the gay night club, Cat's Cradle.

His boyfriend, Cody Shrine, III, was the disc jockey on occasion, so they saw each other frequently.

Riley was used to boys giving him attention, and Cody would get jealous time and again; but, tonight was different. First, it didn't help that Riley volunteered to be a shot boy, and other odd things came to fruition.

Just as Riley stepped out onto the dancefloor of Cat's Cradle in his pink and red Pump! skivvies, the cat calls and whistles of all the queens rang at deafening tones.

"Work it, baby!" most of the boys' voices echoed.

"Oh, please," Riley responded sheepishly.

This god wasn't a shot boy by nature, but tonight, his boss, Paul, was short, and the Cradle brought in tons of bank due to the hot men flaunting themselves in front of tourists, especially on a Friday night.

Cody was DJ-ing, so there was a slight altercation. The kid programmed an energetic set in the booth, then hastily ran over to his man.

"What do you think you're doing?" Cody bellowed like a true queen. "You know I get jealous easily. Are you joking me with this getup?" The idea of Riley walking around scantily clad in front of anybody but him really set him off.

"Hun, relax. I didn't tell you because I didn't think it'd be a big deal. I wanted it to be a surprise. You know, something sexy we could talk about later." He wasn't really getting anywhere.

"Get your sweet ass back to selling drinks!" Paul yelled; there was that distinct lisp in his forty-something voice. As he spoke to Riley, a stranger from out of town took a grab at the makeshift shot boy's ass.

Cody crossed his arms in a huff and walked away in anger.

Riley got upset in return, slapped the stranger, and ran toward the bar in the other room.

He wasn't watching where he was going, and a go-go boy was doing an exotic dance move at the same time.

Unfortunately, a swift, bare-legged kick knocked Riley right square in the head, and he fell to the floor, Jell-O shots and all.

\--

What felt like seconds were really hours that the beauty was out stone cold.

He must have been hallucinating, because Riley heard French chatter and smelled the open sea.

Strange women in 18th-century clothing passed him and the streets were of cobblestone material.

"Attention garçon, sortir de la route!" (Translation: Watch out boy, move out of the way!) a young Frenchman yelled toward Riley.

Cargo came off a massive ship, and oddly enough, the guy understood every single syllable.

The area in which he stood got hazier by the second, and Riley was back at Cat's Cradle.

"Hun! Wake up! Are you alright?" Cody screamed as he cradled his man on the floor. "Quick, somebody... call an ambulance!"

###

### Chapter 9

Vous ne me reverrez plus, alors qui pleurera pour vous?  
(Translation : You'll never see me again, so now who will cry for you ?)

I wasn't even knocked out that hard, so am I a pussy, or what?

The last thing I remember was stupidly arguing with Cody, then trying to escape the situation unscathed, before it escalated into one of our 'let's ignore each other for several days' fights.

I must've really been upset this time, because before I knew it, I was on my ass and in La La Land.

It's funny, though, because I can't place where I was, for what felt like a short eternity. Some dream landmarks looked familiar, like alleyways and this large, muddy river, but that's really it.

And it was the oddest thing, I understood what I believe to be French. I only know this, because, well, you don't live in a place like the Crescent City, and not pick up a little bit of the old language.

I knew every fucking word – every syllable – in this dreamlike state; I was me – Riley Fucking Clarke – but more noble, more educated and respected.

The dresses on the painted ladies were breathtaking; truth be told, I was a bit jealous of their petticoats and fans waving in the wind. Their hoopskirts took over their entire frame and the ringlets in their coiffed hair shined effortlessly in the hot, southern sun.

And mercy, the men, they were just as breathtaking as the ladies who passed them; they seemed like a menagerie of brutes, but hard-working and sweet underneath their muscles.

Yeah, I would've liked to have stayed there just a little longer and get to know my new neighbors. You know, to get a better understanding of where I was – strictly for research purpose... or, okay, okay, maybe a ye old quickie, same shit.

I recall also seeing a dirtier, lower class of woman come off a ship; past them, there were mounds of stamped cargo on the docks.

These women's heads were slumped down, as if they were misbehaved children who just got into some deep shit; they had soot on their smeary-painted faces. Honestly, it was a juxtaposition in motion, of the loss of humanity meets a parade of shit.

The odd beings sported tattered clothing, too, and were forced to carry their own luggage – one small bag each.

I didn't move around much, but slowly approached the docks, when a smaller woman caught my eye. This is the part that freaks me out, you see – the bitch seemed to recognize me instantly.

Her tired eyes lit up upon my first glance, and she just about went into shock and fell in the murky water.

I froze of course, as everybody around me froze, too.

"You're a Cozette! Stop right there! Vous êtes une Cozette! Arrête toi là!" she yelled aloud. Her bony finger pointed at me, as if she were calling upon a higher entity to come after me.

The cunt wanted to run, but the generals wouldn't see of it.

Time stopped me in my tracks, and I froze up again.

Who was this woman? And okay, what the fuck is a 'Cozette'? I'm Riley fucking Clarke; everyone on this side of the Mason-Dixon Line knows that.

\--

The hunk took a slow, deep breath.

He didn't know that he intercepted the past in the oddest way – his mother – the one who yearned for him – saw him; it wasn't supposed to happen.

Riley started to get flashbacks in this moment's time, but he didn't recognize his own family's name.

###

### Chapter 10

### Old Ursuline

Emelie had a heavy heart when she moved her casket and other minute belongings into Ursuline Convent.

She'd still been upset over the unexpected loss of her only friend, Colette, and the terrible things she'd seen on the journey to her new world.

But now it was time to start anew and get on the trail of "repopulating" Nouvelle Orléans.

The three hundred ladies who'd been shipped from the old country weren't quite tricked, but they weren't told the complete truth, either; generals and higherups on the recruitment committee promised each of the mademoiselles they'd find a decent suitor, or many for that matter, in New Orleans, across the sea.

Little did the birds know that the "suitors" waiting for them were extremely horny and way less than desirable. You had the rich divorcée with the beard, gaudy jewels, and liked to beat women for sport.

Then there were the late-teenage boys who wanted nothing else than to get off; once they achieved their short-term goals, they'd run rampant in the streets and share stories of gossip with one another on how many diseases they'd spread or received, for that matter.

Truth be told, many of the women wanted to find true love, but it just wouldn't be in the cards they were dealt.

Most of the caged birds contracted tuberculosis and met their demise shortly upon arrival.

###

### Chapter 11

### The Party

"Hey, fucker, happy birthday!" One of Riley's friends flamboyantly yelled at him as he walked in the bar, then gave him a big, wet kiss on both of his cheeks.

Seven more homos threw themselves into the mix, flinging homo-erotic cards at the birthday boy, and inappropriate gag gifts he'd attempt to use on Cody; they'd either be too drunk to function, or wouldn't be able to figure out their proper use even if they tried.

Five drag queens passed by the bar where the group gathered, then six go-go boys arrived at their stations for the evening.

Riley wasn't really big on birthdays, but he couldn't truly remember _any_ in the past, either; it was hazy.

Despite their minor marital problems, Cody thought he knew about Riley's past, felt terrible, and wanted to do something special for the love of his life.

"Happy birthday to the biggest slut in New Orleans, _Riiiley_ _Clarke!_ " The DJ announced the event as embarrassingly as he could, as the queers all applauded and scowled; Riley just sat there on the bench and blushed.

"Come on up here, Dorothy; take your throne," the DJ continued.

Two bulky draggies came to the bar and dragged Riley to the main stage; they undressed him down to his underwear, then put a purple robe on him with a golden chain, and a green jester's hat atop his finely coiffed hair.

He resisted at every move, but loved _every_ second of the attention.

The draggies then threw the boy onto a papier-mâché throne, and the music started to blast.

Confetti fell from the upper inside balconies and the crowd was blaring, ready to make a night of it.

The lights fell, then an array of colors spewed across the dancefloor.

As the house got more crowded, Cody made his way up to the makeshift king's lair; Riley smiled, then got up to kiss his man.

Cody wasn't exactly sober himself and began to reach down to Riley's erogenous zone; he started to stroke the member in Riley's underwear. Nobody was able to witness the commotion over the gay thumpa, but Riley moaned like a deprived lion.

"What do you want me to do now, guy?" Cody asked. "I really want to eat you out, then fuck you," Cody concluded. He wasn't his usual coy self.

Riley purred. "Will you settle for giving me head?"

Cody just smiled, then started on his mission.

As the tip of his dick touched Cody's tongue, he went into a trance.

A minute later, Riley found himself at what he thought was the second floor balcony of the Cradle; he turned around, and he found that French woman staring at him; it was the same bitch he saw at the docks when he got knocked out.

"Cozette! Cozette!" the woman screamed; it was happening again.

With each horrifying screech, the woman got closer and closer. She finally reached Riley; he went to duck and fell off the balcony.

"Shit, that was some load, dude. You shot in my eye," Cody laughed with a mouth full of spunk.

Riley shook his head, and felt Cody putting his underwear back on him. He was freaked out, but oddly satisfied.

He looked up the balcony and all he saw were some stragglers smoking and eyeing the party below.

###

### Chapter 12

### Land Ho

Emelie was only a child when the French government came to the Cozette estate to ask her father, Franc, to be an integral part of the Corporal's society.

Franc was destined for greatness and was chosen to go out for the role of the king's Minister of War. The king at the time, Louis XV, heard about the man's war history, his eagerness to learn about the new world – namely Nouvelle Orléans – and he was young, so he'd be the perfect candidate.

"Dear, we are to the new territory in a week. Un semaine, chér!"

"But darling," Yvette exclaimed, "Une semaine n'est pas assez de temps! One week is not enough time! We must pack our trunks, close the house and make sure everything is taken care of. Where are the damn maids?"

Franc began to get gruff with his wife, so she laughed off the stressful situation by kissing him the cheek.

"My dear," Franc said, "we've been chosen. Uhm, _I've_ been chosen to fill an important spot with Louis XV, and mustn't mess this up. New Orleans will be magnifique; there's sun, beautiful waterways so that we're guaranteed our monthly riches, and food in abundance!"

Yvette didn't seem too keen on uprooting her life just so her husband could please the boy king half his age. She'd been happy in France; she had her staff of forty, her dresses, her _life_.

Personally, she thought the whole thing was a farce. And she had to think of Emelie, to boot.

"Darling Yvette, I know what you're thinking. Emelie will be schooled by the best tutors in the new land. They say Nouvelle Orléans is a melting pot of culture, you know. The finest tutors, I promise. And as for friends, well, the little whore will find them herself. I'm sure of it."

Emelie overheard the whole exchange through the ballroom entrance. She stood there, blank and confused.

\--

The Cozette family arrived at Nouvelle Orléans on a Tuesday morning ; the trip by boat wasn't too tremendous, plus they'd sent their servants out over a week ago to assure the new house was in order.

Franc met with ambassadors right away and tended to business before he tended to his wife and child; he didn't care less as to whether or not they settled-in properly.

The Cozettes were to only be in the new world a few months, then re-uproot their lives again and book it back to France.

Franc's mission was to sign treaties in New Orleans and take on the temporary role of surveyor for his boy king.

He'd meet with aristocrats, get a sense of what life would be like had he actually wanted to stay in the southland, and take in the experiences for his fellow Frenchmen.

By Saturday, Franc Cozette hosted a magnificent masquerade ball – senators, aristocrats, and even mere artist-types attended the soiree.

The imported champagne flowed, the caviar spread without effort – the boy king took great care and spared no expense to assure his kind was liked across seas.

Several quartets blared the finest, most new French ballads, and the finer things in life seemed to make everything okay and most tolerable. This wasn't the easiest of times for the Cozettes, but an outsider wouldn't have ever guessed by the look of things.

This was the new way of the land... for the time being, anyway.

###

### Chapter 13

### My New Home

It took Emelie some time to adjust to living in New Orleans. For one, it was much hotter – more humid, actually – than it was in France. Plus, there were many more different kinds of people in the new world... more _coloreds_ , as people in high society France boldly put it.

The coloreds, the people who had African American blood swimming in their veins, ran rampant on the plantations in the area; the fields were overflowing with this race, and they'd also beat the sugar bushes when time was right. They were hard-working people, and hard to ignore, truth be told.

One afternoon, Emelie had left Ursuline Convent to go to market with some of the other whores off duty until later that evening; they planned on only being out about an hour or so, but Emelie never came back.

A negro from across the river caught her eye, and she grew curious. After all, this was her first real encounter with one, and he wanted to make it count. This was no Mama Julia Brown; it was a person off the street, one who wasn't overwhelming her with magic and dark spells.

"G'day, missy." The negro fellow waved his cap at the little rose quite politely; he had a southern twang to his voice that sounded foreign to Emelie.

She smiled back in response, and quickly tried to pass him on the street.

"I say, 'g'day, missy,'" the negro repeated, this time with more sass.

"May I help you, boy?" She got nervous then because he was quite strikingly handsome; it threw her off guard. The little rose didn't know what to do.

"You'se looking fine today, missy. Mind if I talk withcu?

The exchange was a rare one for the time, and quite preposterous.

"Sir, if somebody sees us, there's sure to be trouble to follow."

"So, that ain't allowed in these parts?" The negro wasn't getting the clue to back away safely. He swooped in closer to the stranger and walked in step a few paces.

"Fine, boy. Let's take side streets home. Okay?" The boy smiled and kept up with the girl.

Twenty minutes later, the two took a wrong turn back to the convent and wound up in a rundown barn.

Animalistic instincts set in with both of the strangers instantly; sweat dripped out of every pore, and clothes were strewn across stalls and hay.

Emelie had some of the best sex – free of charge – she'd have in her very short life.

Just as he negro burst inside, Emelie got coy. "Be gone with you, now! I'll charge you if you don't obey me immediately."

The poor guy was never heard from again. Little rose didn't bed a negro again, either; one time was too many for her young mind and even younger body.

###

### Chapter 14

### Admitting... something

Riley did relatively well with tips over at Cat's Cradle the past two weeks, and he just got his midterm bonus over at the school.

He decided to piss some well-earned, cold, hard cash away and some pent-up steam off with Cody; he treated him to a night out at Carousel Bar.

"Hun, I know this is really expensive for you, but I appreciate it." Cody was being honest with Riley, but he was having a blast. The young men didn't have much, so nights like this that were few and far between meant a lot.

Cody knew his man worked hard for his money and appreciated any time with Riley – the man he decided he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

Riley just sat there, slowly spinning, with a grin on his face. They rotated once every fifteen minutes, but the world seemed to slow down as they spun in the tiny bar.

\--

Mr. Clarke got caught deeper and deeper and deeper in his own thoughts.

"Hun, are you okay?"

"Waiter! Another French 75, please," was Riley's only response. It was as if he was in a trance.

He was well-dressed and clean-shaven that night; his skin wreaked of expensive, French cologne and overwhelming pheromones. Cody picked-up on this but hours ago as his man stepped out of the shower.

A few rotations later of the carousel, and the boys just drank their unspoken sorrows away.

The joyous jesters were frozen in time, just like gilded gods keeping Riley's secret safe for the time being, and Cody's curiosity and overwhelming sadness well at bay.

"You know, hun," Riley finally said, "I don't remember anything from a few months ago." His face was still frozen, staring at his drink. The ice melted slowly. "I'm scared, Cody"

Cody ordered another drink.

"I was knocked out at the club and had the most fucked up dream. It was so real." Riley continued his admittance to Cody, trying to make sense of what'd been happening. "Then you also told me I passed out at my party? I don't even remember that _killer_ blowjob you supposedly gave me, either."

Cody almost spit out his mouthful of drink with Riley's blunt statement.

"Yeah dude, you spewed quite a load there, honcho. It was a bit overwhelming."

"That's not the point. I've been blacking out. That's not cool."

The Carousel Bar emptied out nicely. Abandoned glasses with lip prints sat and fine cigarettes extinguishing themselves were strewn around the table carelessly.

It was 2:00AM and the night was still young for the soon-to-be estranged lovers.

###

### Chapter 15

### Impossible Dreams

"Cozette. Cozette." Riley kept hearing the words in his dreams. Cody was nearby in bed, deep in his slumber.

Riley had trouble getting to sleep that night and found that odd. Normally, he'd pass out because of his busy schedule – being the TA at school, then heading to the Cradle to pick up a few shifts – he really was a busy young man.

"Cozette. Cozette." This time, Riley passed out in an instant.

Next thing he knew, he was down by the river in a trancelike state; he was possessed.

Cody ran just ahead of him, bleeding profusely; he headed toward another body of water. It was nighttime and only the moon lighted a path to the unknown.

"Cozette. Cozette." Riley heard the haunting blows again in the wind. It was a voice near him, a very persuasive voice. He heard it before; it was a woman's voice and had a tinge of French to it.

Cody was now in the water, completely naked. Haze came out of the swamp and blanketed the unknown land.

Riley was confused yet knew exactly what he was doing at the same time; he wanted to taste blood – it was such a primal calling, so freeing to be on the warpath.

"Cozette. Cozette." The woman's voice got closer.

Riley joined Cody in the Mississippi; he too was completely naked now. This wasn't an act of love or sex, but one of vengeance. Again, it felt so primal and freeing.

"What're you doing?!" Cody screamed bloody murder. "Stop, you're choking me!"

Riley's grip got tighter with every muted breath that came out of his boyfriend's body.

"Stop!" Cody kept pleading. "Sto..." Now Cody breathed his last breath.

The woman who'd been stalking Riley said her last "Cozette," then disappeared into thin air.

Riley went to hide the body in the muddy water. Cody's bubbles rose to the top, like small cooking bubbles from a delectable pot of gumbo.

The boy laughed like a lunatic throughout the act.

A second later, his body jolted; he fell out of bed. He slowly turned to his angelic-looking Cody and felt sick to his stomach.

He got up, put a robe on and dragged his ass to get a refreshing glass of water. That would do it; that would wash the taste of rot from his throat.

\--

Riley awoke to the smell of maple-smoked bacon and a fresh pot of coffee. He turned to grab his smartphone to check the time.

Cody sweetly snuck into the bedroom. "Good morning, sweetheart." He was beaming but could tell he was hiding something.

He had been worried about Riley for some time, but the boys hadn't really had a chance to talk about emotional turmoil as of late.

Riley responded with a guttural grunt, as he caught up on social media that came in overnight.

"So, for breakfast, we have gluten-free toast, eggs – over easy – three strips of bacon, and praline coffee." Cody just wanted more time with Riley, it wasn't a secret.

"What the fuck. Can't you see I'm busy?"

"Can we talk?"

"About what? I'm fine. I said, 'fuck off.'"

"Your fucking dreams, your mood swings, this relationship... I'm sick of it. We're heading to the shitter, Riley."

Riley put the breakfast in bed tray on the end table, stood up in his underwear he wore to bed the night before, and proceeded to go to the bathroom.

Cody walked away, too, saddened. He proceeded to get ready for a full day's work.

###

### Chapter 16

### St. Louis #1

"Right this way, chér." Mama Brown coaxed Riley right before 3:00AM in the locked cemetery; this had been her first time meeting her target, and Riley's first time meeting the Voodoo queen.

She knew of this special, beautiful specimen, but to Riley, Mama was just a lonely soul passing through in a recent nightmare.

"Who are you?" The boy was chilly and frightened. He didn't do well with strangers.

He looked down and all he was wearing was a pair of ripped denim jeans and dirty flipflops; his chest was bare and he had gardening gloves on his hands. There was also an unidentifiable weapon on his person.

Glowing skulls guided the young prince through the cemetery.

"I've been here before, haven't I?"

"Yes, chér, many moons ago. You'll soon wake up, smarten up, and remember."

Although her accent was thick, Riley hung onto her every word; he understood her.

The lost boy was also turned on being surrounded by an abundance of death.

"Keep up, chér." Mama coaxed again.

Around the corner from one of the oldest plots, stood a naked young man.

As mama held a blazing skull up to him, Riley realized it was Cody.

"What the fuck are you doing here? Are you fucking stalking me now?" Riley snapped.

Cody stood there as if he was under some spell. "Answer me, dipshit."

One tear fell from Cody's face, as Riley's blood began to boil. "Now, chér, easy child." Mama smiled and just began her maniacal laugh. "If you want to free from all your burdens, chér, I suggest you act fast." Mama coaxed Riley once again.

"What do you mean?"

"You know, chér." As she said that, a blazing skull lit closer to Riley's body and his weapon was revealed; it was a pickaxe. Riley raised it swiftly over his head and began attacking Cody's god-like body. Blood spurt all over and as it did, you could hear souls begging for _more_ as it dripped on the historic bricks and etched family names frozen in time.

"Keep going, chér, you're almost there." There was no stopping Riley at this point. He'd been lost _long_ ago. Cody was being reduced to nothing now. With one last stab, Riley woke up, screaming and crying at the same time. He had real blood on his hands and bloody hand prints were stamped all over his sheets.

\--

"Do you want to go out with the boys Thursday night?" Cody cautiously asked Riley and after all the inexplicable bullshit happening in their relationship lately, he was due for a night out.

"Who's 'the boys'?" Riley asked. He just got out of the shower after a long morning of playing TA at the university and was chilling for an hour or so before he was due at Cat's Cradle.

"Billy, Roz, Hank... you know, 'the boys.' They've been asking about you. We haven't seen them since your birthday... and well, it would be nice to get out."

Riley grunted, rolled his pretty eyes, but said, "Fine, but I'm not making it a late night"

Cody was giddy inside, but didn't really want to show much emotion, for he feared one wrong move would set his boyfriend off. Seconds later, Cody sent a group MMS to the crew – Thursday night was a go.

\--

As Riley and Cody strolled down Rue Bourbon, there was a strange feeling in the air; the boys were actually having a genuinely _good_ time together. There was no arguing, no yelling and tons of laughing. "I've missed you, you know," Cody slipped in. He was waiting for a rude comeback.

Seconds passed before Riley said, "I missed you, too. Thanks for suggesting a night with our friends." Once that brief sentiment was over, they arrived outside of Lafitte's Blacksmith Shop. They were a tad early, and some Voodoo daiquiris were calling their names. It would be a long night.

"What up, bitches?" Melissa hollered down Bourbon Street; she had what looked like a to-go cup of hurricane in one hand, and a lit cigar in the other. Melissa was one of Riley's best friends from high school, and she decided to join the fun at Lafitte's that night. "Mwah! Mwah!" she kissed both Riley and Cody on the cheeks and proceeded to have a seat.

"Why don't we go to the courtyard? It's too balmy out to be sweating our balls off inside the stuffy bar," Cody blatantly suggested. The group walked around to the dimly-lit green side bar and decided to wait for the rest of the group there.

Riley sent the rest of his friends a text letting them know they'd be outside kicking back a few.

Melissa was halfway through her rumrunner cigar when she ordered her first drink. "Want one?" she asked Riley. "I got another one for you. This, my friend, is to re-live that one night on Bourbon Street – one of our first ones." She took out another clipped rum-flavored cigar and lit it for her friend.

"Oh my god, I forgot about that. How old were we, eighteen?" Riley reminisced.

"Sure were." Melissa replied.

Billy, Roz and Hank showed up in late fashion, about an hour later. Riley had been having a long week, so he was pretty liquored up by then, and Cody was close behind.

"I'll have a Woodchuck Cider," Billy said to the bartender.

"Pussy," Roz chimed in. "As least order a purple haze - we're in New Orleans, one of the greatest cities in the world!"

"Keep the Woodchuck ciders coming, hun," Billy advised the bartender.

Melissa and Riley were on their third Voodoo daiquiri at this point and had broken off into their own personal little group. The piano bar was hopping, and the old friends wandered inside. Cody stood by the side bar with Billy, Roz and Hank.

"So, how's paradise, slut?" Hank dared asked to Cody. Without hesitation, Cody just genuinely smiled, and held his beer up as if to say 'cheers' and bless the calm streak he'd been going through with Riley. He wasn't going to knock it.

Inside, Melissa and Riley were into the second verse of "Piano Man" when Riley suggested, "Hey, I feel naked."

"What'd ya mean, 'naked'?" Melissa inquired.

"Well, it's almost Mardis Gras-ish, and my face feels _naked_. Let's go invest in some masks." Melissa drunkenly agreed and off they went.

Thirty minutes later, Riley came back onto Bourbon with a vibrantly red devil mask and Melissa had a beautiful, frilly pink mask on as well. The besties immediately took a quintessential selfie in the middle of the street.

"I am _no_ longer Melissa. I have a mask on. I'm someone else," Melissa declared publicly. Riley just laughed and cheered his friend on in support.

"Well, I'm the devil, obviously. No sympathy for me." Riled concluded.

Nobody gave the pair a second glance, because, well, it was Bourbon Street.

###

### Chapter 17

### Second Time Around

It had been Emelie's eighth month in New Orleans and she was getting along okay. The Casket Girls weren't the most _popular_ in town, but they got along just fine. Emelie was one of the boys' favorites, so she got special attention outside of the convent walls and her ass kicked when she was with her sister whores.

One night, a young courter came to the convent for Emelie's services, but it turned into much more than that. Louis was handsome and tall, with long blond hair and eyes as dark as the night. He had his money, that was certain, and he actually never went to a whorehouse to get played with – this was his first time. Louis was very well-known around the quarter, mingling with the finer people in life, and members of high society.

"Bonjour, Louis," Emelie rang out loud; she stepped out of the convent doors and right into a genuine kiss on her hand from the young man.

"Bonjour, Emelie. It's a pleasure to meet your acquaintance tonight. I'm quite nervous, I must admit."

"Not a problem, sir," Emelie replied, almost giggling at how cute her soon-to-be concubine was acting.

"Miss Emelie, before we get any further this evening, I must ask you something. Will you be my date to the Governor's Mardi Gras masked ball this year?"

Emelie was a bit taken aback by the question – sure, it could have been more crude and sexual in nature alright, but the next thing that popped into her head, then she said aloud was, "But it's not the carnival season yet, Louis."

The dates were quiet for a few minutes; they slowly walked to the carriage. "But... I do love a good party...so, yes!" Emelie finally said, re-breaking the proverbial ice.

\--

Louis had taken Emelie out at least four times in the past week. That had been the most the whore had seen a client of hers in her time in New Orleans. The second runner-up had been a Cajun young man of 18-years-old last month.

Louis and Emelie genuinely had a good time together, and even though Emelie had wanted to savagely get into Louis's pants on several occasions, he had curbed his urges and was a perfect gentleman the entire time.

One of his favorite pastimes, that eventually became Emelie's as well, was simply walking through the French Quarter, people watching. They'd laugh, catch-up on how their lives had been going, and sometimes stop for a light snack along the way.

"My dear..." Louis stopped one day during their afternoon walk.

"Yes, Louis?" She replied.

"I do hope you aren't growing sick of me. I have tried to be a perfect gentleman from day one."

Emelie did not understand. "Whatever do you mean?"

"My dear, I've been trying to hold back my animalistic urges, and I feel like it's only stunting this relationship."

"Louis, I may be a _whore_ of New Orleans, but this courtship is quite refreshing to me, you see. When the time is right, we'll have our moment."

And, boy would they. What they didn't know is that they'd bring a very gifted child into the world very soon.

###

### Chapter 18

### The Past is Yet the Future

"Mama, I don't want to go there," young Riley cried aloud. He had lived a hard life up until this point, being the bastard child of a French whore and a wealthy young man named Louis.

When he was born, much like the early years of his mother, Emelie, his father, Louis, was not too fond of him. Even though Louis was Riley's biological father, he hated the poor, beautiful child. Perhaps it was because Emelie refused to marry Louis, and Riley was a flesh and blood reminder of the complete love he was denied and wanted so desperately to give and left behind.

Louis resented everything about his bastard child – from his blue eyes, to the way Emelie treated him like a king – he hated him with a passion. On his sixth birthday, Emelie grew very nervous and Riley picked up on it immediately.

"Mama, what's the matter?" Riley asked his mother innocently enough.

"Nothing, my little beauty. Don't worry your pretty little curls."

Something was brewing.

Several hours later, Riley was caught playing with a wooden rocking horse he got for his birthday in the North Hall of the convent; he overheard his mother talk to a nun, Sister Francis LaBarge. His little heart stopped.

"Sister, he's in trouble. The generals must be possessed, and they want my baby."

Riley was confused. A single tear fell from his crystal blue eye, down his magnificently rosy cheek.

_Is this my fault?_ Riley thought to himself, panicked.

"Sister, what am I to do?" Emelie cried hysterically.

"Emelie, get yourself together." Sister slapped Emelie like the slut she was acting like, to calm her down. "There's only one way if you want that boy to live."

The next thing Riley would remember is being packed into an ornate coffin in the basement of the convent, and bright lights flashing all around him, in diverse colors.

###

### Chapter 19

### Pray for Me

"Okay, I'll see you in a half hour." Riley wrapped up a long conversation with Cody. See, things hadn't been particularly great between the estranged lovers, and this was one of Cody's lame attempts to patch things up. This had been happening for months.

The prince just finished up a light dinner and sat at his desk. He was in the midst of an unholy viewing session taking place between himself and two ex-circus performers who made erotic snuff films for a living.

Riley came with force; it actually hurt coming out. He wiped the shameful mess and proceeded to take a very hot shower.

_I've got to bring my A-game tonight,_ he thought as he threw his red towel on the sink.

"Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of MY death. Amen." The disturbed child made the sign of the cross for nearly twenty-minutes. The water cleansed him of his recent sins. He wasn't a catholic but needed a purification ritual to clasp onto.

Riley was spinning out of control, losing a grasp on reality so quickly; he couldn't fathom what was happening at all.

"Bzzzz." The doorbell scared him half to death.

_Has it really been thirty minutes?_ Riley asked himself. He stepped out of his makeshift baptismal font and threw the red towel around his waist.

"Hey" was all he could muster up at the door.

"Hi," Cody replied. He was emotionless.

It was awkward for Cody to ring the doorbell to his own apartment; he hadn't moved out yet but knew that was the next step.

\--

Just before Cody arrived, he stopped by Pat O'Brien's. His nerves were shot and he needed to take the edge off. The boy drank four hurricanes in a row, downed one shot of whiskey, and slugged a Voodoo daiquiri like a champ.

He was devastated that the man he supposedly wanted to spend the rest of his life with, had been treating him like a ghastly piece of shit. He was also surprised that he himself hadn't fought back from all the abuse.

Then his dick got hard out of nowhere; the drinks went right to his brain and nether regions and he was horny as fuck. The beasts inside needed to be released.

\--

"Take 'em off," Riley demanded of the lost soul standing in front of him. Cody didn't argue and did as he was told. His member got rock hard again inside his clean boxers.

The two headed to the once-shared living quarters and explored each other's bodies as they once did. It didn't take long for them to get back into the groove.

Cody moaned as Riley begged; they shared a moment of biblical proportions and wouldn't be long before each of them reached ecstasy.

Tomorrow, Riley would have to pray the shit away, double-time, and curse the day Cody was born. For now, though, he was at the pearly gates of heaven – a very strange feeling for him – one he'd never feel again.

###

### Chapter 20

### Fat Tuesday, 1756

"Deary, you're not supposed to go out tonight," Sister Francis LaBarge cautiously warned Emelie.

The whore didn't care much for her nurse, even though she'd been a fill-in mother to her arrival ten years ago.

No ma'am, tonight would be the night. Tonight would be the night Emelie and Louis would allow things to go further in the odd relationship than ever imagined.

"Deary, the Governor said there'd be a curfew tonight. Nobody, he said NOBODY would be allowed on the streets. Yes, it's Mardi Gras, but whores aren't allowed out, much like yourself."

Emelie left the common area in a snit and proceeded to get ready for the festivities.

\--

"Mama. Chér, I must talk to yuh, child." Emelie peeked about her simple quarters to investigate who said those eerie words.

"Chér, look to da mirror. You smarter dan that." Little rose peered around the other side of the room. The voice sounded oddly familiar, but still frightened her.

"Julia? Mama Brown, is that you?" She hadn't seen her other adoptive mother in some time; the feeling of guilt overwhelmed her.

"Why, yes, chér. Tis Mardi Gras, and I was doing my spellbinding like I normally do on this day. Yuh know girl, yuh done came up in my mind. I must warn yuh."

"But Mama, what have I done?"

"It's what you're going to do. Da devil spirits creep tonight, mama. Yuh and dat boy of yours will get close, like da love, okay? My mastah on da other side say yuh mustn't make da baby."

Horror crept into Emelie's heart now, and as she'd been known to do, started to cry.

"Mama, I may be less than a lady most times, but I try to be as careful as I can be concerning reproductive artistry."

"No matter, child. That boy, Louis, has potent swimmers in his pouch. Yuh, doll, yuh have invitin' parts. If you conceive, da baby will be da most destructive monster this part of the world will ever see."

Emelie threw the mirror down so hard it shattered. She then ran to the powder room.

\--

About 5 o'clock, little rose awoke from her beauty rest, and hopped into her borrowed ballgown. She even had a bejeweled mask to match; she looked like a southern princess, even if she really wasn't. She'd always be an unwanted French slut.

Louis was granted permission to call upon his woman. He was dressed in the most magnificent dark blue overcoat, black French colonial hat, and boy, his blue eyes shined right through his silver and black mask.

"My dear, are you sad?" He could tell Emelie was upset, but she didn't answer straightly.

"It's Mardi Gras, Louis. Take me out."

\--

At midnight, the couple parked by a bench and watched the colorful fireworks light up the otherwise dark city. They were right outside St. Louis Cathedral in the Quarter; it wasn't as romantic as Louis had hoped but he felt closer to Emelie than ever before.

"My dear, let's walk some more."

Emelie gave a faint smile, then nodded in agreement.

The moment hit them just right, and they bedded each other outside of old Ursuline. Louis was a perfect gentleman; he inserted himself calmly, as if he were devirginizing Emelie. She, in turn, acted like quite a lady – a flower opening in spring for the very first time.

When Louis finished, Emelie felt a burning in her stomach and suddenly recalled what Mama told her hours ago.

They couldn't take back the mess they just created. Nobody could.

###

### Chapter 21

### Do I Know You?

"How much?" Riley asked the man behind the decrepit countertop.

"For what?" the man snapped back.

"The reading – the fucking palm reading, asshole."

He looked terrible; he hadn't slept in days, wasn't really eating, either. Truth be told, the vivid nightmares kept him up. The blood, all that red shit, was too much.

And since Riley kept killing Cody in said dreams, he took it as a sign that the two were on their way to estrangement.

He thought it okay to sleep around, too. Most of the boys who worked at the Cradle were bedded by the French Quarter prince. Monday, Bill. Tuesday, Roz. Wednesday, Chase in the morning, and Hank in the evening.

Cody, even though not living at the apartment any longer, knew something was terribly wrong; he felt more and more hurt with each set of rumors that flew around the club.

"Hey, _asshole_. Don't come into a sacred space like that, and start acting holier than thou. You're surrounded by spiritual deities here, so show some fucking respect. The reading is normally forty, but for special cases like you, we can make a deal."

"Oh yeah? What's that? Wanna suck me off or something?"

The man rolled his eyes. "One hundred." Then he sat back and continued with his game of 'Angry Birds'.

Riley contemplated for a second, then reached into his denim pocket; he pulled out five $20.00 bills and placed them on the sticky wood.

"Ray will be with you in less than ten minutes."

"Oh shit, he's got a normal name? I was expecting 'Master Bubaloo' or something. Ha!"

"Boy, you best sit that pretty little ass of yours down. I won't warn you again. Shut. The. Fuck. Up."

Ray walked out in a half-cashmere sweater, bath turban and flowy scarf. He took Riley by the hands and ran to the back reading room.

"Give me your dominant hand," Ray told the boy.

"Look, bitch, I'm here for answers, not to play _slap and tickle_ with strangers."

"Just give me your damn dominant hand. You already paid, so I'm holding-up my end of the deal. Legally, mind you." Ray was nonchalant about the whole thing. This wasn't his first time being harassed by a belligerent, drunk prick that wandered off the beaten path.

Ray began drawing on Riley's right hand with permanent marker; he took detailed notes, too. About halfway through the process, he stopped.

"Are you done?" Riley thought for a hundred dollars, he'd at least not be rushed. The little shit needed help and wasn't really sure where else to turn.

Ray started to shake and convulse. His eyes turned wide and it freaked Riley out.

"I'm sorry," Ray politely excused himself; he ran into the bathroom. He vomited profusely; Riley heard every drop hit the bowl.

He was pissed off; he picked up the crumpled piece of yellow paper Ray had worked on, then held his hand closer to his face simultaneously.

He gulped; the spittle in his throat burned on its way down.

"Sir, I'm sorry." Riley yelled. "I'm in trouble and it looks like you see it, too. Ray? Ray! I need help, please!"

The helpless boy sat alone in the back room. Ancient masks and rotted bones weren't very forgiving, hanging their heads in disappointment.

\--

Nine months later, the rot that would destroy most of Mother Earth's lower hemisphere, was born.

"Push harder," Sister Francis LaBarge urged Emelie.

The mother-to-be wasn't really having any of it.

"Come on darling, push." Louis didn't read the room but chimed right in anyhow.

Emelie was the only woman in the history of Ursuline to ever give birth between its walls. The entire pregnancy had been quite the ordeal. Usually, if one of the girls got knocked up, they were sent packing on the street. Most of the time, if they weren't picked up by someone out in the open, they were left for dead.

The point of prostitution back then wasn't to repopulate New Orleans, but to trade the rich farm land for sex – to make a quick dime; the world had enough rug rats running amuck.

"Mama, I warned yuh." Mama Brown clouded Emelie's thoughts as she pushed hard. "I warned yuh, girl. Yuh weren't supposed to have no baby."

Little rose did what she did best and cried. The medical staff inside the convent walls thought the excruciating pain of childbirth had finally gotten to her, but Emelie was about to enter into a trance.

She was transported to a time where the environment looked simpler and less ornate, but the heaviness of sin felt so much more complicated than she had known.

People walked the streets of the Quarter with strange, miniature devices attached to their appendages and heads, and they all ignored each other.

"Excuse me. Where am I?" Emelie asked a passerby. One man laughed in her face, and all he could muster up was, "Ha! Nice costume, bitch. I think you're lost; head down a few blocks to the museum and find your tour group."

Emelie was more perplexed now.

The next thing she saw scared her. She spotted her future baby, all grown up. A mother always recognizes her offspring.

Riley looked dark and had an evil aura around him. He was in an alleyway in between a bar and a whore house, having impure relations with a member of the same sex. He moaned awhile, then seemed to somehow finish his pseudo-coitus extravaganza.

The moment the other male turned around to button his shirt, Riley stabbed him in the back. The poor man's soul floated in an abundant cloud into Riley's mouth.

His eyes were the darkest color merlot Emelie had ever seen.

Then Riley simply left the body and went about his business.

Little rose found herself back in the delivery room.

"Fantastic. It's a boy," LaBarge rang.

###

### Chapter 22

### Those Who Are Unnamed

Franc's role as a surveyor was short-lived; it didn't take long for the well-respected, larger than life Frenchman to grow bored of his position granted by the boy king.

"Hey, wench. Get my brandy," he demanded of wife.

Situations also grew complicated between the once-famed lovers.

\--

It was a dark and dank day when Matilda, the Cozette maid, found Franc's body in the boudoir. She hadn't called anyone right away, as she had to muster up the energy to spit on the corpse. Then she slapped his tepid cheeks and walked away without so much as a prayer.

Once Matilda told Mrs. Cozette, she was blamed instantaneously for killing the once-great man.

There were neither puncture wounds nor signs whatsoever of struggle around Franc, nor around the room where he was found. The maid was let go on the spot; she was lucky friends of the Cozettes didn't have her strung up in the back.

It wasn't a great loss, though, for anybody, really.

Emelie was young and wasn't allowed in the sleeping chamber, for she'd witness a horrific sight.

Several days later, Yvette wandered into Franc's study and came upon something out of place, something peculiar. It was a monkey skull with diamonds in its eye sockets, and stared her in the face from the dusty bookshelf. She cocked her head curiously, then pick the curio up to have a closer look.

All she planned on doing was cleaning up the shit he left behind, his important government documents and the like, then head home with her little rose.

As she continued to clean her deceased husband's workspace, she delved deeper and deeper into spooky, uncharted territories of madness she'd forgotten about until that moment.

_What do we have here?_ she asked herself. She came across another skull – this one, human – on the end table. In its left socket, it housed a piece of parchment paper with what looked like Haitian writing on it:

Take God out of here

But forgive me my sins

Enter the almighty Devil

Into a place where there is

A void in my dark soul

Yvette's head spun in circles; she couldn't wrap her brain around what her deeply estranged husband may or may not have gotten into during his last days.

She dropped the curio to the ground in horror and walked out of the office with her head hanging in shame.

"Bon sang, emporte nos valises à la fois! On s'en sort d'ici," (Translation: Goddamn staff, pack our suitcases at once! We're getting the fuck out of here.) she yelled to the house staff; tears rushed down her pale cheeks.

\--

The journey back to their homeland was a huge undertaking and difficult for the family.

The mother and child, little rose, had to fend for themselves. Franc wasn't around to protect them; he lay uncomfortably in a spice pine box under the ship with the rest of the rotting cargo.

Upon arrival in France, Yvette warned the undertaker who met the party at the dock that she simply would not tolerate a proper burial for her husband; she explained in great detail that Franc turned out to be a disgrace to their family. She signed some generic paperwork and left without looking back.

The next day, the undertaker and staff brought the body in the pine box to the nearby woods and burned it. No prayers were said.

Franc would soon become a frighteningly distant memory to his little whore, Emelie.

\--

Emelie was under strict orders not to leave the convent walls, ever. After all, she was one of the most infamous Casket Girls – one of a very few talented young ladies that actually brought money in for the larger organization.

The whore had been back in New Orleans for a few months and hadn't had a day off to even reconnect with Mama Brown.

On that particular Thursday night, Emelie made sure of it that she didn't have any suitors on her roster and prepared to set out to the swamps.

She was a risk-taker, clearly outlined by the profession she was destined for, so pulling escape capades such as this was no big feat.

As she entered the opening to Brown's hut, she grew apprehensive. What if she shuns me? Emelie thought.

"Chér, who come in da house?" Mama's voice was an unforgettable force to be reckoned with.

Emelie forgot Mama read minds and sensed even the smallest of beings from miles away.

The door creaked open and Mama was sitting next to a roaring fireplace and steamy pot of gumbo.

"Come here, chér. We've got lots tuh talk about."

###

Chapter 23

Here, Boys...

Riley and Cody had been separated for a while, and Cody even went so far as to find a place of his own to live.

Even though the estranged couple had mind-blowing sex not long ago, the end of the relationship was at their doorstep.

Poor Cody. He was attempting to not become a manic depressant, but it was tough for him. Originally, it was Riley who was the once-knight in shining armor to Cody; he encouraged him to go back to school, to put his studies before anything else in life, and to get on the right track to financial independence.

Ironically enough, Riley had been a godsend to his boyfriend. Now? Not so much.

The ex-lovers still had to see each other at Cat's Cradle; there was no going around it. Cody's heart dropped every time Riley stepped in the club. It wasn't just because he missed him, but also because he noticed his physical appearance changing with each visit. It wasn't good.

Once a clean-shaven, scholarly-looking lad, Riley now resembled a decrepit building that had fallen to ruins in the wake of a hurricane and left to rot. Riley looked like the abandoned homes in the Ninth Ward after Katrina; it was a shame.

One night, as Cody hopped into his lonesome new bed for once, he drifted off without so much as a blink of an eye. He woke up to find himself surrounded by a demonic ring of fire.

The setting was a historic, abandoned cemetery – much like that of St. Louis #1 – but stranger, more sinister.

"Cody." A familiar voice rang urgently inside the ring of fire. He started to panic and weep uncontrollably; without seeing who the soul was that beckoned, Cody knew whoever it was, was in deep shit.

"Cody! Please, please help me." The voice beckoned again.

Riley's face became visible at first – dirty and filled with tribal decorations on his forehead and chiseled nose. Then the rest of his body shone in fiery light of the blazing flames. He was completely nude, except for a dingy loincloth that covered his penis, and rusty shackles around his wrists.

Cody shouldn't have been turned on by such a despicable sight, seeing as how his ex-lover was in trouble, but he couldn't help it.

As the body came into focus, an entrapment fell from the heavens; it almost smacked Cody in the face. This hellish cage roared with electricity and made the most horrific buzzing sounds.

Cody started to cry again; he knew he was useless and couldn't be of any help to Riley. He watched on as he was tortured.

Even a decent soul such as Cody's couldn't help Riley. He was too far gone.

###

### Chapter 24

### Lackluster Columns

Riley hazily awoke to the stench of rotting flesh and smoke; he immediately vomited in the corner.

He had absolutely no recollection of how he wound up in the old antebellum home and well, he was naked, except for his briefs.

His feet were sore and the loose ties on his wrists looked like they had been messily gnawed off by something ungodly.

Riley stepped into a pool of slow-drying blood.

"Ah, Mastah Riley," a voice rang from down the dark hall. "It's so nice of yuh to join da land of the living, child."

The young prince attempted to croak out a noise, but he felt as if his throat had been stuffed with shards of broken glass. Nothing came out.

Now, all the shadowy figure did was belt out a sinister laugh; it pierced Riley to the core.

"Riley, child, come here." And with that, he uncontrollably did an about face and hovered toward the being.

Its eyes glowed, and the rotten stench grew with each centimeter of movement. The frightened boy tried to look away, tried to wish himself somewhere warm and safe; he tried to disobey.

"Riley. No, no, child. Not yet."

Outlines of horns and glowing tribal tattoos formed through the darkness. Riley was about to run into it.

A sinister laugh shook the second floor next. Deeper tribal beats and drums with whistles echoed in the room behind the creature.

Riley's body stopped, and the creature suddenly disappeared.

\--

He blinked and was transported outside. Crowds surrounded the beaten mound of flesh. Stakes and fire-lit balls gleamed nicely against the chipped paint on the home's columns; years of death and despair white-washed the entire foundation.

Just as an animal jumped through the trees, Riley's eyes jumped to a rotting noose dropping from the old oak.

He gulped.

"Child, are yuh prepared tuh meet yuh maker?"

He still couldn't talk; his heart was about to jump out of its rightful place.

"Are yuh prepared tuh pay fuh yuh mother's sins?"

###

### Chapter 25

### (Anything But) Human

"Hey, bitch. You comin' to Bill's boil tomorrow?" Xander playfully asked Riley.

Riley wasn't particularly in the mood to go out in public, but with all that's happened as of late, it was just as well.

Cody just got home from his second shift at Cat's Cradle and Riley was on the phone.

"Who was that, babe?

"No one, okay? Fuck you, busy body."

Cody hadn't been out in what felt like an eternity, and just innocently tested the waters with Riley to see what was what.

"Look, I feel like a caged trophy boyfriend. I need some human interaction." Riley wasn't having it.

"Look, we fucked last night, and got takeout the night before. Isn't that enough?

"Uh, no. Seeing your dick, then coming face to face with the delivery boy doesn't constitute as 'interaction'."

Riley flipped the bird then got up and slammed the door to his makeshift home office.

Cody was adamant about getting out of the hell hole Riley had been boxing him in.

"We're going to wherever that place is, with whoever you were just on the phone with. I won't be silenced."

Riley didn't reply.

\--

The next morning, Riley was out of bed and out of the house earlier than usual.

Cody was still in bed; he didn't have to be at work until 3:00PM, and the boil didn't start until 9:00PM. There was plenty of time to lounge.

"Hey there, bitch." Xander picked up the phone. He just finished pounding back a coffee at Beignet O'lay.

"Dude, Cody is driving me mad. We fuck like, all the time, and now he's turned into some little, whiny bitch." Xander just rolled his eyes from across the phone. Riley couldn't tell what his friend thought.

"Well... I don't know what to tell you, sweetie. He's not coming, is he?"

"He's insisting we go... as a fucking _couple_."

"Fuck. Me. We'll just have to do the ritual with him there."

They'd been planning this for weeks; it had to be done at a local, social gathering – no substitutions.

"Alright, well, let me go..."

"See you right at 9 o'clock sharp. Don't forget the heads."

\--

The boil started right on time and was in full swing. Approximately forty pounds of crawfish and farm-fresh corn stewed in large pots; the odor was intense.

Zane from the Cradle spun sick beats and Voodoo remixes, and top-notch bartenders swarmed like worker bees around the guests.

Cody and Riley entered through the back; the queens sure knew how to make an entrance. Xander spit out his cocktail and the music came to an abrupt halt.

Riley wasn't embarrassed. He said, "What? Haven't you seen such _fabulousness_ before?"

Bill laughed. "Someone get this guy a fucking drink!"

Cody nervously looked around, then excused himself as he then made his way to the white-pillared antebellum house.

"Do you have the shit?" Bill asked Riley once Cody made a run for it.

"Yup, twenty-five chicken's heads. Here, they smell like shit."

Lights flashed and the dancefloor crowded as the sweet aroma of the bayou air added to an almost-perfect night.

"Ladies and... well, ladies. May I please have your attention?" Xander took the mic.

The music stopped, and a floodlight made its way to the boy's face. "It's time. Let's pray."

Cody's heart almost stopped. _Well, this is awfully odd. I knew Riley didn't want to go out, but what the fuck is this?_ he thought to himself.

Xander continued. "It's been a long time planned. Riley, take the heads to the center. Now."

The mood changed. The lights went out, and not a peep or moan could be heard for miles.

Cody was more afraid.

The crowd disappeared into the night, then purple and red eyes started to glow in a perfect circle.

"Boys, let's get him!" Xander was the ringleader.

Flashes of white and yellow swirled around Cody; a hellish fire started itself at his feet.

In unison, the men chimed in in French, "Get him now, he's the life force."

Cody passed out with fright.

###

### Chapter 26

Le Diner de la Mort  
(Translation: The Dinner of Death)

Day by day, Riley wasted away, both mentally and physically.

He realized what a toll the fucking spirit world was taking on him, his soul, and it was frightening. There was no escaping, though; he was the chosen one and he'd pay.

Riley was concerned he wouldn't make it another day, but miraculously, he kept going. It must have been some heavy Voodoo shit that allowed it to happen.

\--

There he lay in the cold, silent bed now made for one, calming down after a rough night at the Cradle. Cody had been on his mind, and to his surprise, Riley hadn't seen him all night.

Terrible thoughts ran through his head intermittently, mixed with perverse sexual fantasies of what could have been – all within a few minute's time.

The poor guy was too tired to think anymore.

As he pressed onto distressed slumber, Aunt Julia Brown decided to pay little rose's spawn a visit.

His bedroom lights flashed on and off; the room was then surrounded in darkness, with only red dripping candles circling in the air.

"Sleep child and _see_."

\--

Riley awoke in similar silence and mere darkness, much like his life as of late.

He got dressed in similar garb to what he'd seen the night he got fellated by Cody at the club. It was from another time, a better place.

His hair was longer, and his soul felt lighter.

"Masah, come out now." Riley heard the servant's voice ring from just beyond the heavy, silver-plated door.

"Hello? Who's there?" Riley's voice shook.

"Masah, don't fret boy. It's Antoine. Let's go, don keep him waiting."

The language was off, too. It was all in French, but like before, came as second nature to the previously-educated prodigal son.

Riley was escorted to the parlor, where three people awaited his arrival. An elderly man – who seemed eager to make his acquaintance – sat on a gilded throne; a woman in a beautiful French layered gown with gloves as ivory as an elephant's tusks on petite hands, eyed him as he passed, and a fine-looking young man with a goblet of wine smiled toward the stranger.

The man on the throne, with the blood stains on his fine silk collar, unbeknownst to Riley, was his deceased grandfather, Franc.

They'd gathered for the old man's semiannual soiree, but all eyes had been on his grandson. Franc didn't mind a bit.

Antoine served five courses; they also indulged in escargot, spices and the grandest desserts. Fine, imported wines from around the world poured freely.

Riley was out of place most of the evening.

"Son, I must speak with you immediately," grandfather gestured.

Riley got nervous again.

"Son, you are being warned here. You must die." Franc continued to hold a stone-cold glare. He wasn't joking by any means.

"Sir, with due respect, I've just met you. What on earth are you talking about?"

The guests that surrounded the menagerie of treats disappeared into thin air. The two men were now alone to speak freely.

"Because your mother, my little rose, was a whore, you must die. Don't bother paying for her sins, you're just an abomination."

Riley nearly choked on his last sip of wine.

"...an abomination, I declare. You'll bring forth great heartache and death should you survive. You _are_ death, son." And with that, Franc disappeared with the rest of the guests.

Riley opened up the final course on the table, and there it was... a severed head. It was _his_ severed head, and within seconds, it lit aflame.

Lighting struck over the quarter.

###

### Chapter 27

### Conjure Man

"Hey so, yeah... try to come to my party." Cody felt pathetic leaving a message on Riley's machine.

Fourth of July was just days away, and he hadn't gotten all the RSVP's he was hoping for, but Riley's pending response held the most weight.

Being that this party was one of the first he was hosting at his new home since the breakup, he hoped to see some familiar faces.

The next morning, Cody geared up to run errands for the party, then planned on going straight to Cat's Cradle to clean up and prepare for _their_ big night.

"Hello?" Cody picked up the phone, recognizing the number; he deleted his ex's days after he moved out of the old apartment. All he heard was odd buzzing and a guttural roar. "Hello, Riley? Is that you?"

"Yeah, uh, Cody? Is that you?"

"Yes, Riley. Are you okay?!"

The buzzing continued, and Cody really didn't have time for games. All he wanted was a definitive answer, a simple 'yes' or 'no.'

"Yeah, sorry, Cody. I called you by accident. I..." But Riley trailed off, and the guttural noise came back on the line.

"Wait!" Cody exclaimed. "Did you get my message? Are you coming in a few days?"

"Uh..." Silence. "Uh, sure thing, I'll be there." Riley barely choked the words out.

Meanwhile, on the other end of the line, a dark figure puppeteered Riley, forcing him to call upon his old lover. It mimed every move, but Cody knew something was off; the magic wasn't strong enough.

Its name was Conjure Man – a man who wasn't a man more than he was an untamed spirit of Julia Brown's.

The witch was after Riley again, this time for keeps.

Well, Riley was under a spell, and this one wasn't wearing-off anytime soon.

The night before the fireworks and party on the bayou, right off Frenchmen Street, Riley came after Cody. Conjure Man hopped into the poor soul and dragged him to the new living space.

"Hellooo, Cody."

Cody just so happened to be home and was getting things settled.

"Well, shit! It's really you." His voice shook. "Co, come on in."

The boys shared a cup of sweet tea and caught up a bit. However, the air was a bit heavy.

Riley looked like shit, but things seemed semi-status quo and Cody didn't knock it; he knew one wrong move meant shaking Riley's inner demons. Not again.

"Cody, I have to tell you something," Riley ominously said.

Cody gulped.

As he went to get up, Riley followed closely; he picked up the wrapped candlesticks and whacked Cody straight up against his head.

The body was dragged to Julia's shack the same night; drops of blood left a trail across town that were mistaken for spilled go cups.

A few hours later, Cody confusingly awoke in an abandoned hut; he quickly saw a possessed Riley to his right. He kicked him in the shins to get him away from him.

"What the fuck did you do that for?" Cody screamed bloody murder.

Riley looked him square in the eyes, then turned white. Cody's question confused him and brought on a deep feeling of despair.

"Dude, what? What happened? Why are we here?"

The air went stale, and the boys passed out simultaneously.

\--

The next night, Conjure Man got the boys; he took Riley first, then Cody. It was the Fourth of July, but Cody wasn't getting out of this.

"It's time son," Conjure Man said to Riley. He was tied above a boiling cauldron. Cody was tied up, too, but against an old oak, sweeping with Spanish moss.

"It's time to pay, Riley Cozette."

"What? What the... what the hell is a 'Cozette'?"

"Your birth name, fool. Shut up now, she's here!"

The boys were equally upset and attempted with their might to escape the sudden doom dropped upon them.

"Oh man, there he is. Oh child, he's fine." Julia appeared from her shack in the dark woods.

"Cody, yuh will get yuh turn boy, but first, we have fun with yuh lover."

"He's not mine anymore. Let me go!"

"No child, no. Blood, first."

Conjure Man chimed in next, looking in Riley's direction. "See boy, we needed to get Cody here to witness your death. We have big plans for him shortly after the deed is done."

Cody's party had been well under way and it was just about time for the fireworks.

"Child, we gonna blood let yuh, and make yuh squeal like da little piggy." Julia grinned at her prize.

He passed out from fright; he was meant to die but not here, not now.

Cody yelled, "What the fuck did he do? Get away from him, he's going to die!"

"In time, child." The she turned to Conjure. "Conjure, the knife!"

He gave her the torture device, and with one clean slash, cut through Riley's stomach. His pretty face was next.

The fireworks were at an end; they were so loud, that Cody's witnessing screams were drowned out. Not a soul knew what happened down by the river on the most American of holidays.

###

### Chapter 28

### Garden Party

The Archambeau House had just been repainted – you know, that sea foam blue that was strewn across old plantation homes years ago; it was said to ward off evil spirits and entities. It looked extremely magical tonight.

The live quartet and its lead singer – a sexy twenty-something – were spot on, blasting all the New Orleans favorites.

It was the annual Fête des Tulipes, and all the débutants-to-be and their dates were gearing up for a stellar night out.

Riley and Cody accompanied two very interesting sisters, some girls they met a few weeks ago; they'd been out at the Cradle with _their_ gay friends and made a connection.

The girls' parents refused to believe that Riley and Cody were anything but good Christian fellows, raised properly under the lord's eyes. Sarah and Marlene were their names.

"Care to swing?" Riley asked Cody. It wasn't a secret they were together, and all eyes were on the young girls. The pair only individually hoped they could make it through the event unscathed.

As Riley twirled one sister, the other one asked, "Can I have a sip?" She gave Cody puppy dog eyes.

"Sure," he said. "Just one more, though, darlin'. I've been busting my hump and deserve a fun night. I don't want mommy and daddy to kick my ass." Riley nodded in agreement within ear shot. The sisters giggled as they passed the punch cup back and forth.

This would soon be a distant memory for Cody, but in the moment, it was a good one.

The night went on as planned, awards were given out by the New Orleans Women's Association, and the future debutants were formally introduced to the public.

The night was truly perfect.

"Hey hun," Riley called upon Cody. They were having a decent night as a couple...

"Yes?"

"Shall we dance?" Riley then cunningly squeezed his ass in a playful manner.

Cody squealed back in delight into Cody's ear, as he got into slow-dance position; it _never_ happened and he was in heaven.

"Sweet Georgia Brown" was being belted out by the band and the lanterns glowed with a special shimmer.

"Know what?" Riley asked.

"Yes?"

"I love you. This moment, this _stupid_ party, even the goddamn music which I _loathe_... it's perfect."

Cody just blushed. It was the first time Riley expressed himself so deeply since they met almost a year ago.

As the song went on, the sisters joined the men in a circle; they did the Charleston right up to the last note, laughing and swinging their carefree arms to the sky.

"Hey! Who wants a drink?" Charles, the group's mutual party acquaintance interrupted. He brought over a stolen bottle of POM and four plastic champagne flutes. The bottle was downed in twenty minutes flat.

Sarah and Marlene started to get out of control, and the boys locked lips in a passionate kiss.

"What the fu-?" Cody started to ask, panicked. His tongue got in the way. "Riley, stop! You're hurting me."

The two made a scene.

Riley bit Cody's tongue harder now and drew blood. He dropped his flute, and turned to him, speaking in tongues – a combination of old creole and some African language.

The kid was in a daze. No amount of begging or hard slapping did any good.

Riley's head was full of psychedelic skulls, horned men donned in red robes, and a mermaid woman in the center of the menagerie.

"Riley!" Cody was still screaming.

The sisters were long gone and the band stopped cold.

###

### Chapter 29

### The Little Creole Boy

"Ti gason, se pou nou jwenn soti nan isit la. Ou yo te swiv." (Translation: Boys, let us get out of here. You are being followed.) A faint voice beamed from the alleyway behind Archambeau House.

Riley was still in a trance, but on the move. Cody followed suit, still panicked but coherent.

"Who the hell are you?" Cody asked the stranger.

The mulatto boy just stood there for a moment.

"Who. The. Fuck. Are. You?!" Cody screamed now. He wasn't getting the answers he required.

"If you must know, my name is Antoine Baquers. My nearest and dearest call me ''Toine,' though." He bellowed with a slight tone in his voice. He most definitely didn't appreciate the white boy's attitude.

"You were at the party?" Cody started up again.

"Yes, I was invited by my friend, Jenn. She's a pretty big deal around these here parts. We was having fun 'til this one over here lost his shit." He pointed to Riley, who was currently drooling.

"Hey blan ti gason. Menen soti nan li." (Translation: Hey white boy. Snap out of it.) Riley's head shook free of the spell with the second snap of 'Toine's fingers.

"Who followed us?" Riley asked, clearly coming back to earth after his brush with the other side.

"What the fuck? You understand that?" Cody seemed shocked that his boyfriend was even coherent.

"Uh..." Riley replied.

He just stood there again, trying to catch up to what was currently happening in real-time.

"Two men with horns were watching you at Archambeau. After you's two began yelling, the party broke up. They followed you this way." The creole boy was dressed to the nines, but he was shook. He didn't know what he got himself into.

"Two men?" Riley asked. "Like, with masks on or... _real_ horns?"

'Toine was shaking. "Real," he replied. "Ou se yon sèl ti gason konfonn ak koute chè," he concluded.

The young men had no choice but to sit in the dark, defenseless.

It had suddenly occurred to 'Toine that Riley had crossed his path before. He'd seen him but couldn't place it. As his eyes widened, he said, "Fuck sa a, mwen menm ki deyò."

###

### Chapter 30

### Low Country Holiday

"You want the Voudou Juice?" Cody yelled down to Riley from the beach club.

Riley was in heavy vacation mode; he lay there, strewn in spread-eagle position, on a shark towel from one of those dime-a-dozen dollar stores that overpopulated North King's Highway on both sides.

"What else do they have?" Riley yelled back, covering his hands over his mouth to assure Cody could hear him loud and clear.

"Blended drinks, and um... _Piña_ coladas!"

"Okay. The Voudou Juice it is."

The couple took a few weeks off and wound up in North Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. Riley's parents had bought into a timeshare at a well-known plantation-style resort about ten years ago.

He'd never taken another boyfriend there in the past, and decided it was time to take the relationship to the next natural level.

The trip from New Orleans to the Carolinas was about twelve hours by car, and the boys didn't think the drive would be so bad. Besides, Riley wanted extra time with his man in the car.

Their vacation was exactly two weeks, start to finish. Riley took off from the bar and university. It was at the Cradle where they had first met.

As Cody brought the drinks back, he took a second to himself; Riley was sporting a new European cut bathing suit and sweat trickled from every pore of his body. _He's a glistening god,_ Cody thought. That sparked fantasies in his simple mind of what they could do later that night back at the room.

This was Monday.

By Wednesday, the weather wasn't as cooperative and dwindled from a gorgeous 90-degrees with deep humidity, to hurricane-like threats that were reported on the Horry County weather alert station on the TV.

"What do you want to do today?" Cody turned to Riley. He just woke up and had a scratchy throat.

Coffee was freshly-brewed in the kitchenette.

"Not sure." The conversation continued.

Riley then geared up for a mini television marathon of sorts, so he was distracted. "The weather's kinda shitty. However, let's not waste the whole day farting around. I'd like to get to the hot tub, too, if we can."

Cody concurred with a physical grin, then raised his mug to his man.

The rain started to fall, and the boys were only into the third or fourth episode of their marathon-perfect vacation watching material. Lightning struck which lit the entire condo, and the power went out.

"Shit. That was my favorite part," Riley moaned like an adolescent on summer vacation.

Cody, without skipping a beat, put the Dorito's down, and seductively went for Riley's balls. He felt his boyfriend's dick jump as he started to rub.

Riley took his own shirt off, then Cody's. He also pulled Cody's hand away and went to grab his ass. Both pairs of boxers were strewn on the blue carpet within minutes.

"Do you want to go first?" Cody asked. He was ready to participate in either position they agreed on, but also nervous. He wasn't hiding it well. The first time Cody and Riley fucked was when they were wasted at the club back home, and it was quite an uncomfortable experience for both of them.

Riley agreed, and got in position, missionary style. Cody sucked on his fingers, and gently massaged his bottom half until his muscles gave way. He got hornier as his man groaned with delight.

He was dripping, but put the lube on himself, too. Riley moaned again with more gusto; this time, it was guttural and animalistic.

"I love you," Riley said with the second thrust.

"I love you, too," Cody complied.

As Cody blew his pent-up load inside Riley, another crash of lighting and thunder crackled outside. The boys looked like a brilliant piece of Italian marble art, in blue hues, for just a millisecond.

Both their bodies shuddered with delight that can only be felt by the human body.

"Uh... can you hear that?" Riley asked as Cody dismounted. He looked surprised by the sound.

KNOCK. KNOCK.

The front door slammed louder now. Both boys scrambled to put their clothes back on.

KNOCK. KNOCK.

"Well, it's your place. Get it." Cody said.

"Yes, can I help you?" Riley answered the door with a slight look of disgust on his face. All he wanted to do was bask in the aftermath of being pounded by his lover, and well, that was interrupted.

"Yes. Hi. Mister Clarke? Sorry to bother, sir." An older African American man rung. "You see, sir, we're delivering flashlights, candles, and blankets to all the residents." The man wore a smile on his face the whole time. Rain water dripped from his face and muddled his thick southern accent.

"So, is this free, or what? Do I have to charge them to this room?"

"No, sir. It's free. How many would you like? This storm probably won't pass for a few hours."

Riley lifted his hand to form the number two, then closed the door on the gentleman, mid-sentence.

"Y'all have a good, safe day, sir! Be good now, ya hear?" The poor man yelled through wood and a screen door.

Riley walked down the corridor, careful not to bump his knees or head.

"What'd that guy want?"

"Eh, some guy handing out lights to get us through the storm."

The boys set up the candles around the condo, lit them, and placed the flashlights in the bathroom.

"Where were we?" Riley asked as he devilishly pulled Cody's boxers down again, ready for a second round.

Cody's erection looked delicious – every curve, every vein – in the soft glow of the candlelight.

"Not sure, mister. You tell me." Cody had similar thoughts about Riley's dick.

KNOCK.

"Fuck me. Now what?!" Riley yelled this time.

KNOCK.

He answered the door naked. He figured if people wanted to interrupt, they deserved what they saw.

"Hello there, doll. I'm Nan, from housekeeping."

"Okay, and?" Riley wasn't having it.

"Do you have towels and blankets? It sure could be a long night, child," Nan said. Her overly-fine smile and enthusiasm made the naked prince uneasy.

"Yeah, we're okay. Thanks. Bye." Riley rushed her away like the man not too long before.

He took a second to process the way Nan animatedly moved, and the young, black man who accompanied her in her rounds around the plantation in the rain. He cocked his head in confusion as if he'd met them before. Then he strolled back to where Cody was sitting, enveloped in peaceful light.

\--

"That's da boy, Charles. That be him." Nan turned back to her accomplice. Charles just grunted; he didn't particularly want to be there, but knew he'd suffer the consequences if he didn't behave this time. Besides, Nan worked her roots on him; he couldn't escape her thoughts.

By da power vested in me

Da great Julia Brown

Da one who controls beasts in da swamp

And da water up above

By da power vested in me

Da great Julia Brown

Rain yuh graces on da boy

Rain fire on da boy

Spirits of the underworld

Release yuhselves

###

### Chapter 31

### Hotel Carolina

The storm didn't pass fully until the next morning. Cody and Riley didn't notice much, except for all the lights miraculously being turned on at about 6:00AM; that's when one of them checked his phone, got a drink of water and returned to comfortable slumber.

Noon came and Cody awoke first. He opened the retro-style curtains and Roman blinds and was excited to see the shining sun across the plantation.

"Get your sweet ass up!" Cody smacked Riley's backside.

All sleepy pants did was grunt, roll over and avert his eyes like a vampire.

"Dude, I want to get to the beach. Let's go!"

By 12:45PM, the boys were on the private beach. They set-up an umbrella, two towels, and brought frozen drinks with them. This became Cody's favorite place quickly, so they planned on staying at the beach for most of the afternoon and early evening.

\--

Even though Riley was falling faster and faster in love with Cody, especially on this vacation, he had a wandering eye.

While Cody shell searched toward the bay, Riley boy watched: the perfectly-tanned lifeguard with the short, auburn hair, the dilf who body boarded with his kids, the European man tanning a few feet away... He pined after each of them in fantastical daydreams, one at a time. He grinned peculiarly.

"What's the goofy smile for, babe?" Riley came up around the sand dune out of nowhere and caught Riley off guard.

"Eh... nothing. Just glad to see you," he said. He had to come back to earth before going in the water with Cody.

\--

"'You Do Voudou on the Beach'?" Riley read the Crow's Nest flyer out loud.

"What's that?"

"Looks like a social on the beach for newcomers."

"Eh, I don't like kitschy things like that. They're too forced and unnatural."

"Oh come on! It'll be fun, fun." Cody practically begged.

"Fine, we're only staying an hour." And with that, the thought of grabbing a Voudou Juice from the bar seemed like an excellent idea to Riley.

Just then, Nan and Charlie finished up a rushed lunch and got out of the way as Riley approached the bar and grille area.

"There's da boy!" Nan whispered, barely containing her excitement concerning the specimen she had her eye on. She had big plans for Riley and his man at the social later that night. It surely would put her on the map for getting the boys where she wanted them, and on the path of righteous revenge.

\--

Since it was a "You Do Voudou on the Beach" theme, all Voodoo-themed songs blared from the DJ's speakers.

The boys dressed in matching Hawaiian shirts, and approached the party pretty stoked for free drinks, at least.

The beach was decorated with sugar skulls and tiki torches that gave an inviting glow by the crashing waves.

"Do you see the two over there behind the bar?" Riley turned to Cody.

"No. Who?"

"Those two, in the hats..."

"Oh yeah. Why?"

"They were at the front door the other night; the evening the bitch of a storm hit. Now they're giving me funny looks."

"So? They're probably drunk."

"Whatever. Let's get another one and talk to those guys over there. They seem friendly enough."

Riley was still hooked on the strangers staring. "Eh, I'm probably being paranoid. They better fucking stop looking at me."

He then took a seat by the two guys who looked inviting. Cody and he just talked about meeting people on vacation that they could hang out with long after the trip was over.

Cody joined the group and placed the drinks in front of him.

Then Nan and Charlie walked by. "Boys! You're having a good time, huh?"

Charlie stood there, lips sealed under the witch's spell as usual.

Riley got extremely uncomfortable and stared at the intruders. He said, "Yeah, so?"

"You know, fellas, the Voudou Juice is the best tonight. Celebrate! Drink up!" _I just want these beauties to drink the damn punch,_ she thought to herself. _Once it's in their systems, I can track them._

"Hey lady, we're already drunk," Cody chimed in. He tried to be polite but got upset for his boyfriend; he foresaw how this wasn't going to pan out well. You know, he got that feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"But fellas, go to my friend at the bar. He'll mix up a fine mighty batch of the stuff!" Nan wanted the deed done immediately.

Riley felt pressured but didn't want trouble. He got up and motioned for Cody to do the same; their new friends just sat there.

Nan's bartender friend was ready for them; he was also Nan's accomplice.

Before the boys reached the bar, the bartender did a quick incantation over the mixture:

Be here now, be here then

Voodoo spirits, fill their insides

The tall beauty, swallow him whole

The smaller one, put him in the hole

Voodoo spirits, make it quick

Quick, with the very first sip

Then he poured a nasty mixture of chicken blood, spit and herbs into the drinks. "Drink up, cuties," he said.

Riley raised his glass to cheer the bartender, the bartender reciprocated with a clean drink, and they dropped it down the hatch at the same time.

About an hour later, the boys were into their fourth Voudou Juice from Nan's friend. Giggles escaped, secrets were drunkenly spilled as it tends to happen when one's on the sauce, and the boys actually fell into fun.

"Any time now, Charlie. Yuh watch!" Nan said. She sipped lemon juice and herbs.

\--

"Whoa, you okay there, doll?" One of the lifeguards from the beach asked Riley, as he fell off his chair.

He didn't answer, but just swatted the helping hand away. He felt too drunk, too out of control.

"Riley! You okay?" Cody asked now.

Nan sat there from afar, smiling. She could see the events clearly from across the beach.

"Riley!" The group he was with screamed in unison. He fell off his chair again and banged his head.

Seconds later, amongst unworldly flames, Riley awoke to an ungodly face in front of his.

"Hello, child. We've been waiting for yuh," Julia Brown said with a sinister tone in her voice.

Riley swallowed hard and closed his eyes.

###

### Chapter 32

### Oh My

Riley stood alone in the woods; he was confused.

The once-heartthrob was summoned by thick humming and devouring vines. What happened next shouldn't happen to any human being – dead or alive.

Julia Brown came down from a live oak covered in timeless moss with conviction. "Boy, are yuh ready?"

Riley gulped hard again. "Ready for what?"

Tree trunks arose from the ground and ancient whistles howled through the darkness.

"It's time tuh convert yuh."

"Wait a goddamn minute... you're that Nan woman from the condo!" He recognized the evil entity swarming before him. "I knew there was something off about you, you bitch."

Brown cackled. Charlie, Brown's accomplice, snapped fingers and Voodoo wood nymphs floated from the darkness next. They transformed into both delicate Spanish moss and rough oak tree-like wines.

Riley stood in front of the demonic congregation in the nude. This wasn't some sort of torture fantasy, this was real life.

The vines slapped to the boy's wrists with a cold thud, while the moss covered his body, except for his private parts. The occurrence tangled Riley into a menagerie of sweet flesh – his hands wound up over his head and his legs were spread eagle.

All Brown did was watch in wonderment as her magic did the work.

Just as Riley screamed out in terror, one final oak vine found its way to his trembling body. It started at his feet on the swamp ground and slithered its way up the trunk of the boy's leg. Once it was by his backside, it jutted inside of him with lightning speed.

The Spanish moss had already covered Riley's mouth, so screams were muted. The boy's eyes opened with sheer alarm, but no noise came out.

Brown's spelled trees placed her on the murky land and then she grinned. "Listen here, boy. Yuh will obey me, yuh slime." She then took hold of Riley's mud-caked face as if it were a delicate piece of fruit.

\--

You see, this was her prized possession, the one ticket she had waited for most of her life.

Back in the eighteenth-century, Brown was a secretive yet well-known Voodoo witch in the swamps of Louisiana.

Riley's mother, Emelie, brought her to her demise, and now she was after her only son.

\--

"Boy, yuh are mine now." Brown bellowed.

Riley's bottom was in pain and he was about to pass out.

Brown called upon her spiritual doers:

From da spirits of above

To da spirits below my being

Assist me in this transition

Smoke in shapes of withered skulls arose from the river. They hovered above the beautiful boy's body.

Brown repeated the spell three more times. Then she ended with the most powerful statement of all:

By powers vested in me

My guides and those who passed of the south

Be sure to enter da boy

With da utmost conviction

Transfer now dear spirits

Dear friends on da dark plane

The skullish smoke was ingested into Riley immediately.

Brown cackled, and the boy's body fell to the ground. All otherworldly restraints that held him up quit their grip.

\--

"Riley. Hun, wake up!" Cody screamed as he slapped his boyfriend's face.

One of the gentlemen in the pair that was drinking with the boys was a trained EMT; he began giving Riley CPR.

###

### Chapter 33

### Awoken from Despair

Frank, the EMT, was another lifeguard on the resort grounds during business hours, and his tanned boyfriend, Tommy, was the guy who approached Riley earlier.

"Riley!" Cody just kept screaming.

Frank performed CPR again until the unconscious boy's throat made a gargling sound. Riley's arms flailed and found their way to his rescuer's head.

Frank went to comment in shock, but Riley's tongue also had made its way down his throat. They were locked in an impromptu kiss.

The guard pulled away and Riley's only response was to howl like a hyena in the wild. Cody looked on in disgust then sprang away from the commotion.

\--

"Cody, come here, boy," his papa rang from across the farm.

Cody was fifteen-years-old and was smack dab in the middle of exploring the old oaks that grew at the end of his family's property line and the wildlife that called them their home.

Today, in particular, the young thing examined a nest – one that had fallen from one of his favorite trees; all but one chick survived. That moment in time is when Cody began his obsession with death.

"I said, boy, get your hide over here. Now!" Papa rang again. Cody moved double-time.

"Yes, daddy?"

His father had a worried look on that old face of his. "Cody, we need to talk, boy. First off, y'all forgot to sow this row of plants right here. I'ma take ten dollars out of your pay for the week."

Cody's head hung low; he knew he'd be hurting for that money soon. He saved up for the usual boyish things: gum, playing cards, and the occasional cigarette. But he'd seen one of those dirty magazines at the back of the neighbor's general store and was intrigued by its content.

He'd stopped there a week before for some buttermilk for his sister's fried chicken and gravy, and the magazine called out to him. He was embarrassed to even be turned on by it, by the glistening older men that lined its pages in all their sexual glory.

He was also afraid that old Mister Kroeger would catch him and tell his mama. That next step in catapulting Cody from boy to manhood would have to wait. The lonely magazine stood on the shelf until years later.

Cody then focused back on his daddy's lecture.

"...and secondly, Cody, I had a vision."

The boy knew it was about to get worse.

"Last night, I was dreamin' and a frighteningly beautiful being came to me. She kissed my cheek and sobbed." Cody got more worried as the prolonged story went on and on from his daddy's memory.

"Boy, I tell ya, this thing told me to be afraid of you, afraid _for_ you. She says you'd be taken advantage of in coupla years and wouldn't survive the heartbreak. 'Run', she said, Cody. 'Run'."

"But daddy, wasn't that just a dream?"

"I tell ya, boy, I already know." Cody just froze in the moment at his daddy's words.

"You like boys, don'tcha?"

Cody had tried his hardest to hide his feelings of the same sex to himself, but not good enough apparently. "Daddy..."

His father stopped him. "Cody, boy, yo... you will not survive this. You'll be a key to a future lover's destruction." Then his father wiped his sweaty brow, put his cap back on, and walked away.

\--

Cody remembered his father's words as he walked solemnly back to Riley's parent's apartment. He knew he'd have to confront Riley the moment he got back to the party on the beach.

###

### Chapter 34

Trippin' **Tremé**

"Hey guys, get out here!" Andrew yelled. He spilled beer as he tripped up the broken steps of his home. Katrina sure did a number on the house, but he was happy that it was even standing at all. Most of the places down in **Tremé were gone, never to come back.**

**"What is it, Andrew?" Riley yelled back in between catching his breath from laughing so hard.**

**He and Cody were discussing something that happened at the club the night before; some queen lost her wig.**

**"Rebirth is about to pass by, guys! Cooome on, get yer tongues out of each other's throats, grab a cold one and get yer cute asses out here!" Andrew hadn't been this excited about anything in a long while. He was even happier since Riley and Cody seemed to have gotten past some differences and were getting along fine.**

**"Asshole!" Riley squealed back. "We** **weren't** **doing anything."**

**Cody just smiled and patted Riley's ass, then put his mask back on. "Go, Rebirth!" he yelled on his way to the front porch.**

**It was that time of year again, and the best music and the best parties were held in Tremé.**

**Andrew's parents moved to Upstate, New York right after Sandy, in the northern part of the country, and left their son the house. They wanted to retire, so it was just as well.**

**Rebirth passed by and a John Boutté tribute marching band, too. The locals hollered and hooted as the distinct smell of game day grills filled the air.**

**Cody suddenly became aware of the feeling of a warm body part nestled in his left hand. Riley was next to him, cheering on the parade with the rest of them, holding his boyfriend's hand. Cody felt safe; he desperately wanted to bring up the dream he had about his dad when he was 15, but now wasn't the time.**

**A gaggle of gays came out of Andrew's home, draped in boas and pirate hats – Andrew led them all. "You two going to the Cradle later?" he said with an especially effeminate tone.**

**Riley turned and rolled his eyes at his friend and Cody replied for the two of them. "Yeah, Andrew, we'll be there. You should see our costumes!"**

**The host chuckled and stumbled back in the house.**

**###**
**Chapter 35**

**Back to Black at Ursuline**

**In a thick, French accent, one of the nurses who was in charge of the** Filles Dans les Cercueils at the convent, yelled at what seemed to be a beggar woman. "But Madame, she's not here! I've told you but several times."

The beggar was none other than Julia Brown; she came to visit Emelie, as they hadn't had one of their visits in quite some time.

"Madame," the nurse screamed again. "Madame, Miss Emelie is not here. Good day!" The large wrought iron door slammed in her face.

To say she wasn't pleased by those working in what used to be the most holy of sanctuaries was an understatement. Brown took her pride and curiosity elsewhere.

Moments passed, and she found Emelie in her work clothes, canoodling with what seemed like a well-to-do man. She thought it was Louis, but had another thing coming.

She hid in the alleyway next to where the excitable lovers were having a moment. She heard everything.

"Oh Augustus, you randy boy! Stop! Stop!"

"But, my dear, you're so breathtaking and well, I've paid handsomely for your time."

It was Mardi Gras season, and Emelie worked overtime to make a fun night for herself later on.

Brown saw the man button his pants and run away with a smirk on his smug face. She then approached little rose as she cleaned herself up with a dirty rag from the street.

"Girl, what yuh doin' here? Where's Louis?"

"Aunt Julia! What the... Where'd you come from?"

"Girl, I got da warning for yuh. No man should be between them legs. Plus, yuh ain't come tuh see me in a long time. What that for, child?"

Emelie got annoyed; all she wanted to do was go home and relax and prepare for Louis's night out filled with fireworks and more canoodling. "Auntie, with all due respect, va te faire foutre!" Then she turned to walk away.

Brown gave her a disapproving look. But Emelie wasn't quite done.

"Tu épines la sorcière, laisse moi tranquille pour toujours."

Brown's nerves were shot and off she went, never to be seen at Ursuline again.

Months passed, and word had gotten out about some swamp witch trying to rape and murder Emelie Cozette. Even though she was a whore, she was still more well-respected than a negro woman who made her living putting spells on people. The news spread to the local newspaper and in those times, swiftly to by word of mouth to neighboring towns.

Back at the rundown shack in the swamp, Brown's main man came into the practice room; he looked worried. "Mah, that white bitch from the Quarter had been slanderin' yer name. Who don she think she is?"

Brown looked up with a slight eye from her stew and smiled. "Oh boy! She'll get hers. It's a fine Mardi Gras night, and da spirits be talking tuh me." She then proceeded and went back to her chore.

\--

Later that night, after Brown made a secretive visit to Emelie, she put the spell on the little rose; she found her in her mind with that boy, Louis.

She blew smoke out into a side street, and bellowed, "Blan femèl chen, ou dwe fè. Mwen madichon vant ou. Mwen madichon lavi pitit ou a, ou pral wè. Lespri, se pou temwayaj mwen sa a jou lannwit Mardi gra!" (Translation: White bitch, you be done. I curse your womb. I curse your child's life, you'll see. Spirits, be my witness this Mardi Gras night!)

She spit three times to the three guides of the dead. Then she summoned and fell to the floor.

###

Chapter 36

This is Your Night

Cody was sick of Riley's bullshit, so he decided to go out alone that night.

Things haven't been going too well lately, and all Cody did was long for how things were – in the past. Take, for instance, the time he had with Riley in the Carolinas.

He could taste the sweet juices of the Jolly Rancher-mixed drink at the beach club, still feel the sun's rays on his fair skin, and still feel his then-loving boyfriend's throbbing member deep inside of him.

Riley had been depressed and a possessed asshole, and Cody was at his wit's end.

Possessive my ass, Cody thought, as he stepped into the shower.

The Cradle was his home away from home, and he'd been off; tonight, though, he was going to make new friends. Plus, being the resident DJ, he'd get in for free as well.

Every crevice of his perfect twink body was scrubbed, and Cody enjoyed every minute of it.

He fantasized about taking to the dancefloor all by his lonesome. The song's gotta be, 'The Summer is Magic', or 'This is Your Night', he thought. He was a '90s kid, so that music resonated with him; it made his soul crash and rebuild time and again.

Cody turned the water off, wrapped himself with a warm towel and started to get ready. He'd already pulled out his form-fitting black polo, tightest jeans, brown belt, and shiny dance shoes.

Teeth brushed and hair smoothed, the boy was ready. He thought about calling Melissa, but this night was about him, for him.

He cabbed it to the Cradle and felt like a king upon arrival; all the queens came out to greet him and all the newbies turned his way; he couldn't help but smirk and blush a little.

Inside, the stand-in DJ, Derick, spun some disco classics, and the Go-Go's were melting all over the bars.

\--

The look in Riley's eyes the past few weeks bothered Cody; they were dark red and had an evil tinge to them. Something dark wallowed in his boy's mind, and frankly, he didn't want to be around when it hit.

\--

Cody grabbed a few shots with his bartender friends, then hit the dancefloor. Some '90s came on, and the kid sure cut a rug.

He was so free, and inside, he knew he wasn't dead yet. He still had so much love to give – so much life to live and so much spunk to spill; he wanted to make a happy home with his pseudo-betrothed, Riley, once upon a time. Tonight, though? He wasn't so sure.

He danced alone for most of the night, until a college-aged hunk made his way over. He sported a backwards baseball cap, letter shirt, and had the faintest peach fuzz on his face.

His name was Karl and he was the perfect distraction. His eyes were light, godly – a great contrast from that of his lover's.

Karl's body was rock solid and shit, he was handsome. He smiled and lit up the room; it made Cody realize he still held the trick of attractiveness.

Derick saw one of his own was having a time, so he continued with the classics. Thirty minutes later, the crowd really filled up the dancefloor and the Cradle was pumping. Hot men flurried around Karl and the drag queens came next.

The place partied for hours. Tickertape fell from Cradle heaven; hands raised in gay praise and freedom.

Cody took out his phone and said it was 3:00AM. Karl was still around; they hadn't spoken a word to each other all night.

"Hey so, here we are," the stranger said.

All Cody did was look into his sweet eyes and said, "Come home with me!"

Karl smiled, took Cody's hands and they cabbed it back to the apartment.

Riley was on a fast-track to becoming a disturbingly distant memory.

\--

The boys got out of the cab a block away purposely, so they could hold hands and giggle down the street. They snuck quietly into the apartment, kissing and tickling each other like teenagers.

What Cody didn't know, though, is that Riley decided to be a human being and come out of his cloud of bullshit. He was on his way as Karl and Cody started to get into heavy petting.

The door creaked open, as the door was unlocked, and he surprised the hell out of Cody.

"Ri-Riley! What the hell are you doing here?" He almost got his tongue bitten off by his new boy toy.

"What the fuck, Cody! What the fuck. Really? I fucking decided to pop by 'cuz I missed you, and this happens?"

"Look, prick. You've been missing in action and I needed to get laid. I'm not dead, Riley!" Cody teared up.

Karl was so drunk, he just sat back down on the sofa and began unbuttoning his pants. "So, uh... are we doing this or what?" he asked.

"Shut up, dude," Riley barked back.

The stranger continued by taking off his underwear and socks; he wanted to have fun, even if it was a solo act.

The room suddenly seemed to slow down, and a curious cloud of smoke filled the air where the boys were arguing.

Riley spoke in creole now. "Ralanti, omoseksyèl. Mwen isit la yo touye... premye ou, lè sa a jwèt ti gason ou yo. Mwen te gen li!"

He came out of the sudden haze, then snapped Karl's neck.

Cody was under a spell but came out of it quickly enough; he was greeted with the look of deadly fright on Karl's mangled face. "Fuck!" he screamed in slow motion.

The boy froze again with the snap of Riley's fingers. He was mid-sentence.

Riley had evolved into a deep, demonic entity. Mama Brown appeared shortly after.

"Yes, boy. Yuh do my killing for me. Yuh my little bitch, just like yuh mama."

###

Chapter 37

### Destination: Death

"Yuh mama destroyed me, boy," Brown explained.

Riley awoke in a hazy, dreamlike state in Brown's bayou paradise. He was held down by tight, floating Spanish moss, which was decorated with glowing skulls. He tried to fight it and break loose, but to no avail.

"You stupid, back woods swamp bitch! Let me go," the boy declared. Brown just pursed her lips and shook her head back.

"Boy, I've got tuh tell yuh a story, and yuh won't like it. That's what I'm counting on."

Riley didn't say a word.

"Back in da 1700s, boy, yuh had da mama. Yes, boy, a whore of the lowest classes, okay?" Brown's body tripled itself and swarmed around Riley.

"She was a prostitute of the Filles Dans les Cercueils, the infamous group of women sent to the new world to repopulate. I met her back then, and she was my girl; she was my little porcelain doll."

There was still no response from the boy; he was under the witch's spell and couldn't be bothered otherwise.

"Yuh mama, she done wronged me. I helped her mama, and then done helped her. She was into da Voodoo like her daddy was; I took her under my wing."

"What the hell does that matter to me, bitch?" The boy's body got weaker with each passing second from the spell. He couldn't hold on much longer.

"She didn't like what I had tuh say on Mardi Gras night; she got real mad. I had tuh put a curse on her, and on yuh, baby boy."

The original witch of the three mumbled an older spell than the last, while the second of the group crushed chicken bones and mixed them with blood. The third witch mumbled, "Boy, she was pissed off. Who'd thought a whore like yuh mama would be such a gossip queen, huh?"

Then original Brown chimed in on the conversation. "She done cursed me just the same. She went to da mistress of Ursuline and done said crazy things about me. Word done spread from village to village, turning those I helped in times of desperation and times of love, against me. They done called me da dark bitch of the swamps! Children hated me because of their mamas and daddies. I was abused and spit at. No suh, I couldn't show my face no more in da Quarter. Yuh mama said I tried to rape her, then done cursed her. Boy, she was wrong." Brown clicked her tongue and shook her head in shame.

Riley didn't budge again; his body and mind were catatonic; Mama was happy her plan was working.

The boy's messiah-like body hung limp in the midst of the dark.

\--

"Voodoo mistress of the swamps, rise on up and breathe da life. Gators swarming, chicken crawl, spread da thorns and crawl the walls. Steep in da stew now, as I pray. Put yuhself in this here boy's body, right away!" Julia wasn't fucking around now. She caught her prize and it was time for business.

The swamp's dust arose around the home where the witch lay, and a din from the swarming bugs became deafening.

After the incantation was said, the original Brown froze; the second Brown put the blood mixture on the third, and they froze, too. The gaggle hung their heads in unison; their bones crackled and popped into inhuman shapes as they crawled back into one body, one soul.

Mama Julia Brown got her strength back and motioned to her man on standby to start the sacred drum circle. As she snapped her fingers, Riley's body stood up off the floor.

The boy had white eyes, opaque, porcelain skin, and tribal Voodoo symbols carved into his body. He was ready to take vengeance on New Orleans on behalf of his new owner.

It would take the biggest toll on his life he'd ever imagined.

\--

Now that Brown's prized possession was prepped for the grand plan, it was time to take vengeance on the world that led her astray all those dark centuries ago.

"Boy, yuh mama conceived yuh on the holiest of nights, Mardi Gras." She shook her hand in his pale face. The dark acts she survived came flooding back to her, and she tried so desperately to forget them in the moment.

White eyes ablaze, Riley was in prime position to learn the truth about his past, too.

"Yuh wasn't supposed to be born, boy. No sir. Yuh was meant to be da death of humanity – an antichrist of sorts, my boy. And yuh mama – that whore – wasn't ever supposed to have no man feed her life inside her. Da night I cursed her and warned her of the impending doom, she wronged me; now both yuh asses are mine!"

Riley's brain squirmed a mile a minute in his deadly unconsciousness.

"Riley, yuh will take vengeance on all the sinner on Bourbon Street, yuh hear me? This will be yuh big birthday bang. Da fates will be talking about it for centuries to come!"

Brown concocted her next spell in preparation of erasing Riley's mind, making him forget about that sorry excuse, Cody. There weren't drums or skulls this time, just Brown's words.

She exclaimed, "Spirits on da other side, take the mind of my mortal enemy, and turn it to dust. This is a must, as he is to forget his lover – the man whom he shared unholy flesh with, whose spittle he inhaled, whom he tasted time and again. This, his ex-lover, must be forgotten forever. I ask this of yuh."

Then Brown slipped between worlds and rang the same incantation in front of Cody and Karl's dead body; she assured the star-crossed lovers forgot each other for all eternity.

Cody was still frozen in shock after Karl's death, and didn't really have much to live for.

"Boy, yuh next. Yuh hear? Yuh'll never remember yuh lover." She continued, "Here and now, turn your mind to dust. Da flesh yuh tasted and fucked of your dear Riley will soon be erased. Unhinge the mind, unhinge your life. Dust to dust, make animalistic pleasures and dreams fall to the depths of humanity. Be gone, here and now."

Cody passed out and began to weep uncontrollably in his slumber.

Karl, poor, unsuspecting, beautiful Karl. The boy was scooped up and dragged to hell, only to be burned unceremoniously by Brown's cronies. Collateral damage, supposedly.

###

### Chapter 38

La Disparition de la Famille Cozette  
(Translation : The demise of the Family Cozette)  
18th-century New Orleans

"Franc, what're you doing back there, darling?" Yvette lovingly beckoned her somewhat-new husband from the front of their plantation. She hadn't seen him in hours, and knew it was almost time for the slaves to prepare one of their favorite meals.

_Please don't let my bride catch me back here_ , Franc thought, nervously. He was tucked away in the slaves' quarters.

One of the servants was forced to teach the master of the house dark magic that'd been passed down from generation to generation in the dirty swamplands.

It had been Franc's third week practicing the black arts. He'd just lie to Yvette whenever she'd ask where he went off to.

She got worried at times, thinking he'd gone and fucked the help until god knows when. But she kept a smile on her face nonetheless, as that's what well-behaved, Southern women of the time and of a certain stature did.

"Darling! It's almost time for our nightly feast. Where could you be?" She then heard a faint banging of African drums toward the back of their family's property. She gulped hard.

The drum noises grew louder with each of her steps and she started to sweat.

"Franc, li lè yo pran fòmasyon ou li nan yon nivo siperyè-a. Touye bèt la fukin." (Translation: Franc, it's time to take your training to the next level. Kill the fucking beast.) One of the slave's sons coaxed the well-off Frenchman to kill the monstrosity they had summoned from hell. It was inhumane, but the creature never should have been created to begin with.

With a swift strike of the dull axe and a possessed glimmer in the man's eyes, Franc attacked the miniature creature until it breathed its last breath.

The slave who taught Franc all he knew dipped his hands into the being's blood and slapped it onto the Frenchman's chest, arms and face. This was a sacrificial offering, of course, and Franc became indoctrinated into the deep-rooted history of darkness.

"Thank you, boy! I feel released from my mortal coils, now." Franc breathed the words out with a sick sense of satisfaction. God forbid his parents ever found out about what their darling son got into. A classically-trained boy shouldn't ever cross-mix religions, sex and black arts. His ancestors would have been devastated, too.

Franc knew that and thought it might tear his fragile relationship apart eventually. However, the tribal rhythm, the spells, were too much of an attraction to the young buck; he lost control the moment the black men approached him but weeks ago.

\--

Drenched in knotted feelings and the aftermath of an otherworldly massacre, Franc blacked out temporarily. Little did he know Yvette was on her way to catch him with his proverbial pants down.

As she turned the corner by the tool shed, she heard the help scamper off with deep howls and laughter. She shockingly stopped dead in her tracks.

Franc's wife caught a glimpse of her new husband now, dripping in blood and sweat, and a foul stench of lingering ritual candles.

"Franc!" Yvette fell to her knees, ripping her hosiery and petticoats on the way down. "Why? Why have you married the devil?" She cried out in French.

The dirty man snapped out of the aftermath of his ceremony and rolled his eyes to the heavens. He didn't say a word; all he did was put his palms to his face and started to cry.

Lightning crashed above the plantation and a thick swamp rain fell. There was no way the water would wash away the spectacle of sins committed that night; they'd only deliver more torturous problems to those living on the sacred grounds.

\--

Days passed, and Franc and Yvette hadn't spoken to each other since the incident in the woods. There was no sign of fast reconciliation or a silver lining.

Yvette was appalled at what she witnessed – and somewhat tempted – for she bottled-up conflicting feelings and saved them for another rainy day. She knew deep down she had to save her fragile marriage, too.

Another day passed, and Franc was found sleeping in one of the guest rooms. Household conditions worsened.

Yvette was stuck between a rock and a hard place; no family was nearby, and no friends would speak to her. She decided to write a letter to her mother in France:

Maman, mon mari avait commis un crime contre sa propre femme, sa propre tribu. Il a été pris dans les arts noirs; Nous n'avons pas parlé dans les jours. Que dois-je faire?

Amour,

Yvette

The letter came back two weeks later, as it was undeliverable. Yvette felt like she was about to break down. She longed for her dear mother's advice – her sweet yet stern voice that kept her in check all these years.

She had known her mother's relationship with her father wasn't perfect by far, but she also knew the underlying love and devotion was there at all times.

The woman said a simple prayer to herself first, in hopes that her mother was safe, despite the frightening lack of response from the letter; she then prayed for Franc.

She felt the entire marriage would fall apart at any second. And for what? A ritualistic mess and total misunderstanding.

\--

After another week passed, Franc started to come to his senses, and missed the company of his beloved Yvette.

He heard her crying down the hall and even faint wailing across the plantation grounds at times; he didn't fully understand what all the fuss was about – the aftermath of the spell – but he knew something was wrong and needed to be fixed.

He pondered a day longer, then decided enough was enough.

"Darling, do you have a moment?" he asked delicately from behind the hard oak doors on the second floor.

Yvette was penning another letter to a family member when he beckoned. She was startled at first by the voice of her estranged husband but decided to come to her senses as well.

"Franc. You may come in," she answered in a low tone.

He crept into the chamber delicately, like a child who was about to be scolded by his nanny. All Yvette did was smile. She had missed her man – his hot breath on her cheeks at night, the touch of his gruff fingertips on her bare skin.

Franc smiled back but knew it wouldn't be an easy feat to get back into his wife's good graces.

The two stared at each other for a while, then embraced long at last.

"Franc, I have missed you. But, calmly, ca-... can you explain why you've betrayed this family? What do the black arts have that I don't?"

Her husband put his bearish paws to his face, took a deep breath, and tried to explain the appeal – the force that was awoken in him – the force that changed his humdrum of his ordinary life to extraordinary.

###

Chapter 39

White Witch, Make Your Debut

About six weeks passed, and Franc and Yvette got along better than they had in some time. A little flirting happened, too, but Yvette wasn't ready to fully commit to her husband in a sexual manner.

She had heard her Franc's reasoning behind dabbling in Voodoo, and she was slightly perturbed he coaxed her into learning white magic. The man didn't give up, even though she was intrigued... that wasn't the point.

She learned herbs and harmless home spells with prayers. She had a "if you can't beat them, join them" attitude. It got the best of her, to say the least, but figured if her husband was happy, he wouldn't stray again. Plus, it would be an activity they could do together.

Yvette became the talk of the town, but the best picture wasn't painted this time.

Her neighbors and other local plantation owners buzzed on and on about how the crazy woman down the oaks hummed to herself with crazed eyes. She'd also been to see the witch doctor and carried heavy spell books around town.

People gave her looks at the market and in church, but Yvette didn't mind.

Her man was happy, and quite frankly, turned on by her newfound appetite for something different. He was also turned on intellectually and sexually because he lived with a rather vanilla lifestyle up until that point. The very thought of mixing things up – living on the wild side – brought joy back into Franc's life.

He also saw a rare spark flare up in Yvette's soul. She'd never admit to it, but she enjoyed taking control of her own life, too. For her parents had dictated everything from who she dated to the way she painted her face.

Yvette was living for herself now.

"Yvette, darling," Franc rang from across the garden.

"Yes, dear?" She stirred a wondrous concoction – a love spell.

"Will you make me sweet tea with dinner? I haven't had it in ages, and it'd be a real treat."

Yvette smiled. This would give her a chance to lace the drink with her spirits. She planned on having the night of her life, no matter at whose expense.

Twenty minutes passed and she rang, "Franc! Care to join me? Tea's almost done!"

His pants tightened at the mere sound of his wife's voice. He dropped the spectacles he used for daily birdwatching and ran to meet Yvette.

As he approached, she dripped five drops of her potion into the tea – Franc's tea. She memorized the spell from the witch doctor's book. With her hands out and her heart full, she said, "Love of my life to love of our loins, take my betrothed, my one and only. Make him come to me tonight, for we are to make love. From the spirits below and spirits high, you're mine!"

Franc's eyes flashed and he dropped in his tracks; proverbial blinders focused solely on Yvette.

"Here, my dear. Sip this," Yvette said with conviction.

Franc did as he was told and his trousers tightened again; he was ready.

"Franc. Are you ready to ravage me?"

"Yes, my queen."

Both their sets of eyes turned gold; they proceeded to go back through the oversized house and into the main boudoir. Clothes came off and moods heightened. The shrieks that came out of the mansion were ungodly that night.

The newly-discovered couple then blacked out until the next afternoon.

Nine-and-a-half months later, Emelie was brought into the world.

###

Chapter 40

Back to Emelie

Not long after Bienville and brother, Iberville, colonized what's now known as the "Crescent City," their friend and confidant, Adrien de Pauger, decided to take deeper colonization into his own hands, and set out to complete a census of the new land.

Rich people who dwelled in ornate homes were not to fear, but those who were of creole descent and mixed blood, and the people of the swamp – namely those who practiced black arts – were to be accounted for and jailed upon capture... perhaps even killed.

Bienville and company didn't know of de Pauger's plans and wouldn't have had any of it had they found out.

It just so happened that de Pauger was in the Quarter on the very first Fat Tuesday, conducting his dirty business. "Madame, hello there," he said to Emelie.

Little rose bustled about, upset at the threats from Mama Julia Brown, and wanted to find a most perfect costume for the night's festivities. She also wanted to impress the perfect suitor, Louis.

"Hey, child. Why the long face?" de Pauger asked Emelie.

She still buzzed about, minding her own business. "Monsieur, please. I don't mean to be rude, but I just don't feel well. Excuse me!"

"Halt there, woman! What are you doing here? No one else is out, as the town is under ordinance to stay put until further notice. Besides, it's Mardi Gras, and not safe. You, deary, are out here and flustered."

Little rose got in his face and just about slugged the brut. "Sir, if you must know, I have a Voodoo witch threatening me, and I have to wash my privates. Okay? I'm tired and itchy, and not in the mood for such gruff conversation."

That shut him up. However, he was still on the hunt for negros that may be caught practicing around town. "Good day, miss," he said as he waved. He grinned from ear to ear on his way back to the street.

"Watch out for the Voodoo lady you were talking about, there. What'd you say her name was?"

"Julia. Mama Julia Brown. She's real pretty and famous. Bye!" Little rose hollered then ran off to prepare both her body and mind for the parade.

Monsieur de Pauger got on the street and immediately went to search for the swamp witch. He'd heard of her around town but needed to jail the troublemaker and make his bounty before it was too late.

Too many locals would be unrecognizable at the parade later that night; 'twas going to be a true night of madness.

\--

One of Brown's toadies overheard Emelie and de Pauger talking, then put himself to trance once they were gone. "Mama, you heah meh?" he communicated. "I say Mama, can you heah meh? You in trouble, gurhl; dat white witch you been trainin', she call you out, Mama."

Julia got a chill up her spine and transmitted back to her man. "Yuh sit back and relax, papa. Yuh hear? Mama's got this under control; I'll put a spell on da bitch and her unborn babies, okay?"

Then Mama and the toady fell out of communication and went on about their business.

Brown was hurt and knew she'd been dismissed by some white whore she once called her own.

\--

Monsieur de Pauger actually knew the great Voodoo witch from the swamp – they'd ran into each other at a busy altercation a few months ago in Congo Square. The negros held their Sunday celebration in the arena – a catholic melody played under the guise of Voodoo gossip and magic just to scare the whities that passed by.

Although de Pauger didn't have the legal authority to take people suspected of practitioners in himself, he had connections.

"You dark demon!" he yelled over the howls and drums in Brown's direction.

"Me, sir? She played coy but had his number. He was out for blood.

"Yes, you. Come here!" he forcefully demanded. Brown did as she was told.

"Yes, sir. Can I help yuh? I was just talking to my friend, Anette, from Swamp Row. We're neighbors."

"Are you practicing black arts, there? I see them chicken bones and baskets." Monsieur de Pauger got rougher.

"No, sir. I'm just into da jewelry. These white women love the exotics." Brown was locked in a lie and forcefully laughed to get the man off her ass.

He looked over his shoulder; no one he knew was in close proximity in case something went down, and he wouldn't be able to nab Brown on the account of making jewelry. He let her be.

"Okay. You best not be lying, there. Be gone, you!" he said with a dismissive flick of his bejeweled wrist and dainty French fingers.

"Yes, sir. Thank yuh." Brown curtsied and walked off unscathed.

\--

Monsieur de Pauger shook off the notion, and Brown received another shiver down her back at the same time across the mighty river. She knew he was coming for her, she just knew.

"Well, shit," Brown said out loud in her hut. "That white witch done sold me out." Vengeance brewed in her blood now.

Back at Ursuline, Emelie powered her pretty little nose and private parts, alike. Rouge was meticulously spread on her cheeks and nipples, then lips.

Louis was on his way and would beckon sooner than later.

"Oh my, how fair do I look?" Emelie said aloud to one of the nurses.

"Girlie, you are the fairest tonight. You make be a dark sinner, but you're pretty.

Little rose turned to her and gave her a disappointing nod, then turned to her ballgown and powered hair the mirror.

Yes, she was ready to let the sin run free. It may have led to more sin than she bargained for.

\--

Louis arrived at Ursuline on time, with a dark blue overcoat, and black French colonial hat and mask. As he entered the gates of the inner chambers, he gulped, knowing he'd been randy earlier, but also curbing his appetite, for Emelie had to be treated like a queen.

This was different, though. He couldn't fuck it up with little rose.

"Hello, my southern belle," Louis rang as he swung open the dressing room door.

Emelie was shocked to see her suitor all gussied up for the occasion. She'd been a bit flustered still from Brown's warnings. She mustered up enough well wishes to proceed with the night as planned, though.

"Shall we, dear?" Louis held his hand out.

"Oh, my prince. Yes. I'm ready."

The maids looked up and down at the couple as if they were the new king and queen of France.

\--

Back in the swamp, Julia Brown prepared a doubling spell; she was in deep, thanks to little rose, and had to catch de Pauger off guard.

From da depths below

To my friendly heavens above

My ancestry power

Don't fail me now

Double me up

Pop and crawl

Let me mirror my mortal coil

Assist me and don't let me down

She drank from her moldy cup, a mixture of human blood and sawdust. The incantation worked right after the witch spoke the last word. Her body fell to the floor and her soul floated to the very spot de Pauger hung out.

"Hello, sir. Don't I know yuh?" Brown spoke softly to the man.

He'd been drinking on the job, and his head was heavy and hazy.

"You! Don't I know _you_?"

His eyes widened, and he spit out the spirits he pounded back.

It was a time of confusion for both strangers. The next play had to be carried out with care.

\--

The true Mama Brown got back on her feet, and began preparing the curse for little rose, the bitch who sold her out.

If de Pauger put her spirit in jail, she was fucked; and she'd been damned if the man were to put her in jail – that's discrimination.

\--

"Darling, look over there." Louis sure did look fine in his costume, Emelie thought. "The flambeaux, they look mighty joyous, don't they?"

Little rose giggled as she pecked on a stale piece of king cake Louis brought for them to share.

"Yes, darling. They look festive, that's for sure.

The intimate party rolled on by, and the couple began undressing each other.

"Why don't we leave, okay?" Louis couldn't keep his snake in his pants any longer. He needed a release with his mistress.

She nodded, as thick powder rolled down her fair tendrils from her wig.

As the bands played on, the soon-to-be lovers snuck off to a corner.

Brown appeared, prepared with one of her strongest spells, to put on Louis and Emelie – the spell where she cursed little rose's womb and Louis' loins. She also cursed the future king of Mardi Gras that never should have been born.

Passion spewed out of Emelie and Louis. If it weren't for the rolling music of the parade, they would have woken up the neighbors and gotten thrown in jail.

\--

Brown's double had kept up the charade for a few hours at this point. She wanted to gut him like a fish, but kept him plump and drunk, just to assure he wouldn't write her name down in the leather book of his.

When the mirrored spirit knew her counterpart was done conjuring, she left in a thick, black puff of smoke. _This is it_ , she thought, and off she went.

Monsieur de Pauger spit out his spirits again, and didn't even know what occurred.

\--

Clouds covered the Quarter as Louis and Emelie made their way back to Ursuline.

Mardi Gras had come to a much darker conclusion then anyone had ever expected.

\--

Months passed, and Emelie got plump.

The Ursuline nuns didn't expect the prostitute to even get pregnant, and didn't truly even want her around, for that matter.

She'd used up their scarce resources – more than most women who'd stayed with them. Now, she was eating for two, and the cunt nuns couldn't stand it.

Louis hadn't been around much, either. After Mardi Gras, he'd been turned off by Emelie, the once-mesmerizing little rose.

Her fat figure had freaked him out – the bloating, the mood swings. Louis wasn't ready to be responsible for another human's life; he also didn't want his family name tarnished because he fucked a village whore.

"Has he mailed?" Emelie asked a nurse.

"No, dear. He has not."

She wasn't happy. Emelie threw the fine-chipped glass pitcher at the nurse because she didn't get the answer she was looking.

"Calm down this instant! You're in good hands here, so don't push your luck."

Emelie rolled her eyes and moved to the day bed.

Brown hadn't been heard from for a while, not since she was banished. She missed little rose – despite getting stabbed in the back, but the damage was done.

Several more weeks passed, and she decided to pay the traitor a visit.

"Hello there, child." Mama came through Ursuline's turret at night, the place whorish Emelie took slumber.

"What the fu-" Emelie screamed.

"How yuh feeling, child? Yuh are pregnant, aren't you?"

Emelie just shook her head in disgust.

As she did on Mardi Gras, Brown left in a dark cloud of smoke. Only her cackling was heard in the distance.

\--

The next day, Brown came across de Pauger.

"Hello there, sir," she said with a smile on her face. "How are yuh today?"

He was on his way to town to troll the city for the census, and jail negros and others who dabbled in the black arts. He set out to set the record straight, to torture and jail said folks.

All de Pauger did was ignore the witch then hastily run by her.

"Yuh know what, sir? Da whore – Emelie is her name – she's at Ursuline. She's mighty pregnant, sir."

"And your point?"

"Aren't you on da mission, sir?"

"Why, yes! But that's none of your damn business."

"Well, sir, my connections at da Ursuline tell me the baby she carries, he is a white demon witch. Okay now, sir?"

Piquing his interest, he jutted off with not so much as a "goodbye," or flip of the cap.

On the way to the convent to kill the whore and the unborn child, he gathered a mob of men; he was on a distinct mission to murder. Those who practiced black arts had to be killed and removed from the earth.

And with that feeling that rushed through de Pauger, Emelie miraculously went into labor.

Monsieur de Pauger knocked down thick doors and sliced guards' necks to get to the pronounced witch within the holy towers.

"Where the fuck is she? Emelie. Emelie Cozette?" he exclaimed brutally and knocked down anything in his way.

"Emelie Cozette?!" he rang again and again.

The nurses couldn't hold he and his mob back.

Then Brown appeared amongst the mess at Ursuline, the spot where Emelie was in childbirth.

She put a spell on Emelie, so that she'd push the babe out faster. "By the powers vested in me, from above, to Legba below, open the portal of hell that hath no fury. Send this beast to a place unknown!"

A nearby nurse caught the spell and pulled the baby from the womb, snipping the cord.

The world outside was a furious shit storm unlike anyone of the time had witnessed.

The nurse placed the babe in swaddling clothes, and tucked him away, never to be seen again.

Brown caught up with de Pauger and sliced his throat as she planned months ago. He fell to the floor of Ursuline with a thick thud.

Then, the witch returned to Emelie and cackled and hissed. She said with a glimmer in her eye, "Baby boy, yuh'll be fine. In the year two-thousand and fourteen, yuh'll be mine. My handsome, deadly pawn, yuh'll be mine."

###

### Chapter 41

### Lundi Mardi Gras

"Boy, I'm sending yuh away now!" Mama Brown blew into the chicken bone, then inhaled her swamp sludge – a mixture of ancient herbs from Haiti, chicken blood, fresh-cut Spanish moss, and the eyelashes of her last victim.

"Hmmm. Hmmm. Hmmm." Riley tried to glug out of his mouth, now sewn shut.

"What da yuh want, boy? I told yuh, yuh are mine. Back when yuh whore mama wasn't supposed to have you, and I sent yuh white ass away." She blew into the bone again.

With the last wisp, Riley disappeared into the nether, just like he did as a baby.

"I will take care of yuh ass, mister king of Mardi Gras. Yuh is a missy highness, my ass!" Brown cackled again.

"Now, time for da lover. What's his name? Fine little ass... smart mouth, though." She grinned and pointed her decrepit finger to her turban.

"Ah! Cody!" His face popped into her head.

She was in a particular mood and needed human flesh to keep going if she was going to pull off the blast of the century.

One of Mama's men prepared another spell – a time-travel spell – so that she could find Cody.

Ah, there he was, in shock from what just happened minutes prior. The poor thing was delusional and dumbfounded; he couldn't handle much more.

A blinding flash and a hardening crash shook; Brown's spell worked.

"Hello, nasty," was all she mustered up.

Cody didn't reply.

Brown's satchel came out, and swamp powder was scooped into the palm of the witch's hand. She spread the granular mix with one hand as she mixed her spittle into it with the other. The sign of the cross was messily swatted over Cody's forehead and his eyes.

Then, she took another fingerful and mashed it into the lonely soul's hair.

"Mister Cody, there yuh go! Travel da time and space. Yuh forget where yuh come from, and don't forget to never have da lover, Riley, in da mind's eye again. It's almost time to die."

With one stiff push of Cody's fair chest, she sent him to the nether – the land between where lost souls could get found once again, but for a limited time and twenty-four hours, maximum. If they were lost longer, the Voodoo deities devoured them.

\--

Melissa, the bubbly bestie of the boys, and the newfound transsexual drank and conversed outside of Cat's Cradle on Mardi Gras.

It was a particularly warm night for the parade, but no one, not even the pesky tourists, complained. It was a local's paradise.

"Yo. Do we know what float Riley's coming in on?" Melissa asked her new friend.

"Girl, I don't know and don't particularly care. The boy's got a pretty face and tight ass, and he sure can dance! That's all I really care about."

Melissa just sipped from her go cup and rolled her eyes.

\--

Beyond the nether, Brown grabbed Cody and spelled him to Bourbon Street. He was sent to the very exact float Riley the Rex was on.

The poor kid didn't know what the hell happened; he felt ether all around him and thousands of decrepit hands all over his torso, forcing him to try on otherworldly costumes. He was too drugged-up on magic to care.

Cody didn't fight back. The "Hail Mary" and "Our Father" were too weak, and it was too late to pray. His fate was sealed.

Not even the slightest thought of his ex-lover crossed his mind, either. Brown's spell must have worked.

\--

Then it was Riley's turn. He was Rex, after all, and had to put on a show.

"Iko, Iko" was the theme of Riley's float, and the song was heard for blocks.

Double, maybe triple the amount of people lined the now-Hispanic, once-actual French Quarter.

Maybe it was the weather, maybe the dank, yet beautifully, magically-charged energy everyone shared – it was a feeling only to be enjoyed by the blessed.

"Come boy, it's yuh turn," Brown coaxed Riley, as she propped him up on the float. Her men magically dressed him in gold, green and purple, with a sly mask and assless chaps.

These guys were parade security officers; she'd spelled them to do her bidding and coaxed them, too, to find the most moist, delicious homosexual morsels New Orleans had to offer.

Brown had to sweeten the pot for her Rex and break Cody's heart with one final stab.

Sixteen young men were escorted to the Rex deck minutes before it took off.

"Iko, Iko" continued to blast from the sound system.

Brown made sure that both boys were awake because the real show was about to start.

"Okay now Mister Riley Cozette, do yuh thing, and make yuh mama proud." With those words, she positioned one of the sixteen beauties by Riley's crotch, and flicked her magic wrist. The pot was stirred up but good.

Riley awoke to the slurping of some twink on his knob, and Cody suddenly remembered his ex-lover, who was now getting head from a stranger.

The sight of Riley with another man broke his heart into a million pieces. Death would have been preferable.

The wails out of the poor boy were earthshattering. No one heard him, for the noise of the float and the Mardi Gras crowds drowned out the pain.

Riley put his hands behind his head and gave Cody a curious grin; he was way too gone to care about anything.

Now the ghost of Mama Julia Brown ran through the Rex, threefold. He got up, snapped his newfound lover's neck mid-slurp, and his eyes turned that glowing red.

Cody hopped off the float; he knew something terrible was on its way. He felt the end was near and made a daring leap. The drunken crowd allowed it to happen and the poor kid physically hurt himself.

A minute later, all that could be heard – even from broken-down Metairie to downtown _Tremé_ – was a ghastly explosion.

No screams, no ambulance sirens were ablaze – just the sound of sizzling city sin burning to the ground, paying for the mistakes of its past.

###

