Many Paths To Wisdom.

Chapter Three: Paths to Wisdom

Once through the door, they quickly realised the room was, in fact, not a storeroom at all but an alleyway between several large buildings. The crates and drums were trashcans and discarded packing boxes lining the street. City lights winked in the distance.

‘I guess we’re not in Sunnydale any more!’ Xander excelled at stating the painfully obvious.

All three looked back at the door by which they had just entered. It was gone. In its place was a double door with a steel mesh security screen rolled down and bolted. Large, shuttered windows flanked either side and a bright blue neon sign with the words ‘Blues Bayou Bar’ flickered above it.

Panicked, Buffy checked the luminous dial on her watch. The digital read-out showed 12.11. It was still only a little past noon.

‘So, what do we do now?’ Xander asked no one in particular. ‘Any ideas, Will?’ But Willow was not listening; she was staring up at the stars and almost full moon in the clear night sky overhead.

*****

All was quiet at first, eerily so. The scudding of blue-grey clouds across the sky above mirrored the litter of wind-blown papers on the streets below. Twenty minutes of fruitless wandering through deserted back alleys and laneways left Buffy frustrated and increasingly apprehensive. Vanquishing vampires and dodging demons she could handle but this pointless meandering made her jittery.

As the group stepped out onto a wider thoroughfare they were astounded to find themselves suddenly in the midst of an extraordinary street party. The uncanny silence of just moments before was transformed into a whirlwind of sound, colour and activity.

Cacophonous music heavily laden with brass and drums beat out a tempestuous rhythm against which a tide of fantastically costumed merrymakers ebbed and flowed. Voices were raised in cheerful laughter and song; colourful banners, beautifully embroidered and adorned with sequins, displayed designs similar to those on Mama Lucette’s beaded bracelets.

A black and white Pierrot juggling fiery batons stopped in front of the teenagers, lifting one baton to his mouth to breathe a spectacular jet of fire before rejoining the throng. A jovial jester in yellow and red waved his sceptre at them, the tiny jester’s head on top, bearing a distorted image of his own face, nodding and grinning as he skipped away.

Cabaret dancers in top hats and fishnet tights caught Xander’s attention. That is, until a dozen bare-breasted showgirls in feathery sequined headdresses danced by. Cowboys, antebellum ladies and gentlemen, knights, film stars, heroes and villains all whirled past in front of the three astonished youngsters. Then, with a cry of ‘laissez les bons temps rouler! ‘ [let the good times roll!], a rather large man dressed as Cleopatra reached out of the crowd and pulled Buffy into the milling mass.

Fearing they would be left behind, Willow and Xander plunged in after her, the boisterous bubbling river of Mardi Gras revellers sweeping them up and carrying them along in its unruly flow.

*****

Jostled and bounced around inside the lunatic swarm, Xander and Willow fought their way forward through the multitude until they caught up with Buffy. Afraid of becoming separated again, they clasped hands and began working their way towards the edge of the crowd, finally spilling out onto the sidewalk, literally, as the partying crowundeunded another corner.

There they stood, with ears still ringing from the din, as the festival streamed past them leaving them stunned and exhausted in its wake.

They did not at first notice a small dark figure leaning up against an old-fashioned gas lamp post across the road. It wasn’t until the strange little man took a lit pipe from his mouth and began to laugh that they became aware of his presence.

‘I was beginning to think that you weren’t going to make it!’ he chuckled, his ancient smiling face wreathed in wrinkles as he tapped out the spent tobacco against the lamp post and pocketed the pipe.

Small and gnarled but very spry, he bounded barefoot across the road towards them. A slight limp was only apparent when he slowed to a walking pace. His hair was a fine halo of white fuzz; his night-black skin shone like a polished nut. Dressed in dusty green coveralls and a tattered greatcoat of garish rose pink and red, he looked like a street person but spoke like a cultured gentleman.

With slight inclination of his snowy head, he introduced himself. ‘I am called Legba, the Guardian of the Way and Opener of the Gates . . . ’

‘So how do we get out of here,’ Buffy interrupted. ‘The way we came in is blocked.’

‘Get out?’ the old man grinned, feigning surprise. ‘But you’ve only just arrived! Aren’t you enjoying the festivities?’ He spread his arms expansively. ‘It was intended to amuse you, after all!’

‘We’re not here for fun!’ Buffy was becoming more and more agitated. They had wasted almost an hour already and were no closer to finding out what was required of them, let alone made any progress in returning Cordy and the others to their human state. ‘We’ve come here to save our friends, not wander empty streets or join the Mardi Gras!’

‘Very well, then. Let’s get on with it.’ Legba seemed unruffled by Buffy’s outburst. ‘Please follow me.’ He began striding down the once-more hushed street, indicating for them to follow him. ‘Let us talk as we walk.’

Sounds of merriment rose and fell in waves as their travels through the winding boulevards brought them closer to or took them further from the celebrations. As they passed by beautiful old homes, rich with lacy ironwork and surrounded by subtropical gardens, Legba explained what it was they had to do.

‘I am your guide while you are here,’ he began, ‘but it is the three loa who granted Maman Lucette’s petition thou mou must approach to have the favour overturned.’

‘Mr Legba,’ Willow asked. ‘Where exactly is “here”?’

‘A fair question, Willow, ma petit souer. And, please,’ the little man said kindly, ‘do call me Papa Legba!’ Willow smiled warmly in return. The old man had about him a sense of power that belied his frail and shabby exterior. ‘This place,’ he continued, ‘exists only while you are here. Your intellect cannot perceive the true nature of the loa . . . so you see a place which you can understand and accept.’

‘So, we create what we see here?’ Willow asked.

‘Not quite; it is the loa who govern what you experience.’ Legba went on to describe what their contact with the other loa might involve. ‘You are to make a journey during which each loa will come to you in turn. They may require you to make an offering or perform some task to gain their co-operation. You must obtain a token from each of the loa as proof of their agreement to reverse Maman Lucette’s original request. But I warn you,’ he added solemnly, ‘do not anger the loa. The spirits exist to help and guide the living but they can be volatile and fickle. No matter what happens, be sure always to remain courteous and respectful!’

‘Papa Legba,’ Buffy said, a little calmer now, and remembering Mama Lucette’s warning about forces opposing them, ‘will you be travelling with us?’

‘Mai, non, ma jeune meurtrier,’ he replied, ‘this is a path you three must travel alone.’ Legba noticed their uncertain expressions. ‘Never fear. I will be here when you return with the tokens to guide you back through the gateway.’

The sound of revelry grew louder as they crossed a broad avenue into another residential faubourg, but it was not the high-spirited clamour of the happy carnival they had encountered previously. These voices had a darker quality, cries and angry words becoming distinguishable as the mob drew closer.

The tinkle of glass breaking and the rattling clang of something solid being drawn along an iron fence railing made Buffy and the others pause, instinctively looking around for a safe place to take cover if necessary. The last thing they needed now was to get into a skirmish with the locals. They simply could not afford the delay.

Buffy gestured silently to the group to follow her down a laneway that seemed to lead away from the commotion. Unfortunately, it was not so.

Xander let out a startled ‘Whoa!’ as they ran straight into a band of gaudily dressed and made-up ruffians. ‘Clowns!’ he yelled, turning so quickly in his fright that he had to put his arms around Willow and spin her around to stop them both from toppling over.

Everyone skidded to a halt, including the malevolent-looking clowns. Buffy was dismayed to see that each one had in his white-gloved hand a broken bottle-neck, baseball bat or carving knife. Slowly backing up the way they had come but not taking her eyes from the fractious funny-men, she said quietly, ‘Run.’ The others needed no encouragement. They bolted, with the clowns taking off after them a few seconds later.

Papa Legba, remarkably fleet of foot for a man with a limp, sprinted ahead of Buffy and the others. The kids swerved past him when he stopped suddenly in front of an old two-storey cottage no different to a dozen similar houses on that street.

‘In here!’ he called and, without waiting for their response, raced up a flight of narrow steps and in through the open front door. Willow, Xander and Buffy skidded to a halt then ran back to join Papa Legba.

The clowns charged around the street corner just as Buffy slammed the door shut behind her. They milled around for a few moments then began a systematic search of each garden and house in the magnolia-lined avenue.

‘Quickly!’ Papa Legba motioned the teenagers up a staircase at the rear of the house then followed them upstairs. He halted halfway along the hallway on the second floor. Reaching up to grasp a rope hanging from the ceiling, he tugged it, pulling down a set of wooden steps leading up to an attic.

‘Hurry!’ he urged. The sounds of big floppy shoes on the stairs provided all the incentive they needed and the three teens piled up the stepladder ahead of Legba who drew it up behind him so that the rope was wedged hard between the steps and opening in the attic floor.

Moonlight faintly illuminated the cluttered contents of the attic. Broken chairs with torn upholstery, wicker end-tables, trunks and dusty rolled up carpets littered the floor. Willow uttered a sharp cry of surprise when she bumped into an old tailor’s dummy dressed in faded, drooping crinolines. The clowns could be heard a few feet below as they tried to get sufficient hold on the steps to pull them down again. Legba herded the children ahead of him until they reached the very end of the long attic.

‘There’s nowhere lef go! go!’ Buffy looked around for some king of weapon to use when the evil clowns broke through.

Legba opened the door of a huge antique armoire.

‘Get inside!’ he cried. ‘You can hide in here!’ Xander and Willow piled in but Buffy held back.

‘They’ll find us in there!’ she protested. ‘I’ll hold them off while you . . . oof!‘

Legba grabbed Buffy’s arm and pushed her into the wardrobe with the others, slamming the door shut behind them. She pounded against the cobwebbed door-back, only to be startled when it swung open and Papa Legba stuck his ancient head inside.

‘Follow the path!’ he cried, shutting the door again with a thump.

‘What path?’ Buffy called through the closed door. She felt a tap on her shoulder and looked around in the gloom. A moonlit dirt road spread out ahead of them.

*****

A short walk along the path brought them to the top of a low hill. From the crest they watched, fascinated, as the burning orange disc of the sun rose in high-speed time-lapse over a wide slow-moving river. Buffy checked her watch again, unsurprised this time to see it was still only a quarter to two in the afternoon.

Continuing down the other side of the rise, they soon found themselves at a crossroad among the trees in a forested valley. There was no signage to indicate where to go from there.

‘OK, which way now?’ Xander asked.

‘I don’t know,’ Buffy answered.

‘We could toss a coin!’ Willow checked the pockets of her jeans and came up empty. ‘If we had a coin.’

‘Maybe we should split up,’ Buffy suggested. ‘Each take a branch of the road and meet back here after . . . ‘ A strange sound caught her attention, a kind of ‘clicking’ noise, but not a natural sound like a bird or an insect, although there were plenty of those as well. It seemed to come from the path leading off to the right. Buffy nodded to her companions and headed in that direction.

Less than a dozen yards down the dirt track, the road curved away into the forest. As they rounded the first bend the teenagers discovered the origin of the curious sound.

Under a huge tupelo gum, with his long legs crossed in front of him and his back against the tall trunk, stood a man dressed from head to foot in black. He was flipping cards from the deck he held into his upturned hat a few feet away.

Catching sight of the approaching group he bent to scoop up his hat, removing the cards and tucking the deck into a pocket inside his long frockcoat. He picked up an ebony walking stick topped with a silver wolf’s head and began walking towards them, flicking the dust off the silk-lined top-hat with a black velvet-gloved hand. The only things about him that were not black were a small diamond crescent moon he wore pinned to his cravat and his startling deep blue eyes.

Sweeping his hat before him in an exaggerated courtly bow, he introduced himself, in deep and resonant tones, to the three young travellers.

‘I am Master Carrefour,’ he intoned. ‘Lord of the Crossroads, Lord of Demons, Lord of Destruction, Lord of . . . ‘ he stopped reciting his numerous titles and flashed them a huge grin. ‘Well, Lord of lots of things, really!’ Carrefour put his hat back on, giving the brim a tap with the walking stick to knock it up into a rakish angle. ‘I assume you are the krewe who are seeking to undo a task recently undertaken for Maman Lucette?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Buffy was careful to be deferential this time around. Carrefour was an imposing individual, broad and muscular, his six and a half foot frame towering over Buffy and the others. ‘We’d like to have our . . . friends . . . returned to human form . . . please.’

‘Hmm . . . ‘ he murmured noncommittally, stroking his small goatee beard. ‘You must be hungry and thirsty by now. Come with me.’ He began striding off along the track, assuming they would follow.

Buffy turned to Xander and Willow and shrugged, then, with a deep sigh, began to trudge after Carrefour’s departing figure.

*****

A brief walk down a steeper incline led them to the bank of the river they had seen from the hill crest a short time ago. Beached on the muddy banks, its huge stern wheel half buried in the sediment, was a huge derelict riverboat - a paddle wheeler from a century ago.

The four of them walked along the three hundred foot length of the stranded giant. At least four stories of staterooms, luxury suites and pubic galleries, in various stages of deterioration, loomed over them as they passed. ‘Le Grand Bokor’ was painted in peeling gold script at the bow.

‘A shade of her former glory, I’m afraid,’ said Carrefour as they mounted the stage, a broad gangway leading up to the entrance to the main promenade deck. ‘When first she cruised these waters, she could turn on a dime and give you nine cents change.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘It’s the way of all things, I suppose, to run down and decay.’ Carrefour’s grin returned. ‘Then again, if not for that, we loa would have little to do!’

Once on board it was apparent that the paddle wheeler was stranded slightly off-balance with the decks slanting a little towards the water.

A grand staircase, wide enough for all four of them to walk up side by side, led into a long gallery that ran the length of the vessel. Elaborate filigree woodwork lined the cherry-wood walls and ceiling. Ornate chandeliers hung every few yards, albeit at a disconcerting angle due to the pitch of the floor.

Everything had an air of faded opulence; the once luxurious red carpet was worn through to the floorboards in places, furniture was covered with tattered silks and velvets, odd lights were missing from the fixtures.

Even the passengers crowding the galleries and promenade decks looked like they had seen better days. For some, those days must have been long ago! Women and men wore costumes dating through the last two centuries, from doll-like crinolined Southern belles to Jazz-era flappers, from Rhett Butlers to Great Gatsbys, many looking like their clothes had been in constant wear since that time.

Carrefour led the group to a richly appointed room on the river side of the main gallery, a private saloon set up as a casino. It was packed with memorabilia of days gone by; weapons, sepia toned photographs, various bits and pieces from riverboat life adorned walls and sideboards. A five-piece orchestra, strings and woodwind, played quietly in one corner.

The floor had been rebuilt on a level plane that left it at an angle to the tilted walls and ceiling, giving the entire room a weirdly surreal feeling.

Groups of riverboat gamblers sat at various tables playing cards and dominoes or stood around the roulette wheel and craps table. Others merely lounged on the cracked leather sofas, smoking cigars and cradling tumblers of whisky. Waiters and hostesses, also in period dress, wandered amongst the patrons with drinks and flirtatious conversation.

As the kids and their host entered, a beautiful young woman came forward to greet them. Carrefour took her small hand in his and bowed slightly before introducing her to the others.

‘May I present Le Grand Bokor’s Mistress of Ceremonies and its finest ornament, the incomparable Mademoiselle Erzulie.’

Erzulie was, indeed, a vision; an exotic light-skinned girl of mixed race dressed in a flame red silk gown with long trailing skirts and a satin bodice so tight that it seemed to present her full bosom like two luscious fruits on a tray. Her jet black hair, worn long and loose, was held back behind one ear by a cluster of tiny blue violets. Her only jewellery was a circular sapphire brooch in the form of a coiled serpent and a matching bracelet.

Willow and Buffy each shook her hand and introduced themselves. Xander, however, stood dumbstruck. He had never seen a girl so strikingly lovely. Willow dug her elbow into his ribs, twice, before he regained sufficient wit to respond. Well . . . almost.

‘Hi,’ he managed, breathily, ‘I’m Alex . . . I mean, I’m Xander. Pleased to meet me.’ He groaned with embarrassment. ‘I mean you! Pleased to meet you!’

Erzulie lowered her sea-green eyes and giggled, biting her lower lip coquettishly, as though Xander was the wittiest man in the room. She still held Xander’s hand in hers.

Willow shot Xander a look of unconcealed irritation. Why did he always get so goofy in front of pretty girls? She pouted, wishing she could affect him like that . . . just once!

Slipping her arm through his, Erzulie whispered something in Xander’s ear, then they walked over to the roulette wheel to watch the game together.

‘Okay,’ Buffy said slowly, seeing Carrefour’s ready smile had also disappeared, ‘this is all very . . . hospitable . . . of you, but we are a bit pressed for time.’

‘Well, now,’ Carrefour continued to watch the younger couple by the gaming table; Erzulie was laughing girlishly and murmuring sweet nothings to Xander in French. The boy couldn’t take his eyes off her. ‘I assume you’ll be wanting some small souvenir of your visit here to take back to that old reprobate, Legba.’ Carrefour turned to face Buffy. ‘I believe I have just the thing.’ He unbuttoned his frockcoat and reached into the watch-pocket of his black brocade waistcoat, withdrawing a tiny red cloth bag tied at the top with a leather thong.

‘This is called a gris-gris,’ he said. ‘It is a form of good luck charm. This one contains herbs and other . . . remains . . . consecrated to me. Legba will recognise it.’

Buffy put a hand out to take the token but Carrefour held it out of her reach.

‘Not so fast, little lady. Don’t you know that nothing is free in this life? Not even luck?’ Carrefour’s blue eyes had darkened to a deep indigo, responding to his change of mood. ‘Perhaps a game of chance would be appropriate.’ He glanced around the room. ‘Hmm, what shall we play?’

Carrefour began to stroll around the mini-casino. Buffy and Willow followed. Stopping at one of the tables he turned to the girls and said, ‘Craps?’ He shook his head. ‘No. Not really a suitable diversion for young ladies.’ He moved on.

Two men in nineteenth century plantation-style white linen suits paused in their game as Carrefour stood beside them, hands clasped behind his back as he perused the lines of dominoes. He raised his thick eyebrows and indicated the game to the girls.

‘Ooh, dominoes!’ Willow exclaimed. ‘I’m really great at dominoes!’

Carrefour smiled for the first time since Erzulie wandered off with Xander.

‘Something a little more . . . challenging, I think.’ He walked towards the roulette table and placed a large black hand heavily on Xander’s shoulder. ‘Well, boy,’ he asked as Xander looked up in surprise, ‘do you know how to play poker?’

*****

Xander sat at the small card table staring across its green baize top at Carrefour as he shuffled a brand new deck of cards. They were just about the only things in the room that weren’t frayed. He waill ill in shock at the thought of playing against the loa for the gris-gris bag. How did the responsibility for the success of their mission suddenly land on him?

‘You know,‘ Xander said, leaning forward to catch the loa’s attention, ‘I don’t have anything to bet with.’

Carrefour considered this for a moment, then spoke.

‘Seeing how this is just a game between friends,’ he said, sounding anything but friendly, ‘the House will supply the kitty.’ He laid the deck on the table and snapped his fingers. A steward, glassy-eyed and grey skinned, shuffled forward and placed a pile of poker chips in front of each of them.

Xander picked one up. It had white a skull and crossbones inlaid in ivory on the ebony wood disc. The other side showed a quarter moon. Or perhaps it was a ‘C’ for Carrefour.

Another of the strangely silent waiters brought a tray of icy cold drinks, offering them first to Willow and Buffy who were seated nearby on a shabby velvet love seat. They each took a tall glass of tart lemonade with a slice of lime. Erzulie selected a mint julep, adding several cubes of sugar to it from a silver bowl on the tray. The waiter placed the remaining drinks, two iced teas with lemon, in front of Xander and the loa.

‘So,’ Carrefour said. ‘Let’s begin.’

*****

For over an hour hand after hand was played with Carrefour winning most of them. Xander had lost the last seven hands and his cache of chips had grown steadily smaller.

Erzulie constantly paced around the table behind Xander as they played, looking worried, which caused some concern for Buffy and Willow. Perhaps the game wasn’t so ‘friendly’ after all. What would happen if, or more likely when, Xander ran out of gambling chips?

Carrefour stroked his tiny beard again, considering his cards, then threw out two. Xander discarded three. He was down to his last four chips; the last bet had been for three. He had also begun to suspect that his host was palming the occasional card and dealing from the bottom of the deck, but why, or what he could do about it, he didn’t know. He certainly did not intend to accuse the huge loa of cheating!

‘Dealer takes two,’ Carrefour said, after flipping three cards to Xander. ‘I’ll see your three and raise you . . . ’ smiling thinly, he threw several chips into the kitty, ‘another three.’

Xander didn’t bother looking at his final hand but tossed the cards into the centre of the table.

‘Well, I’m out,’ he said wearily.

‘Now, now,’ Carrefour reached over and grabbed Xander’s forearm. ‘What about your friends back in Sunnydale? Surely you don’t intend to leave them as they are?’

Xander looked over at the girls. Willow’s expression was pale and anxious but she could only shrug in response. Buffy, however, looked about ready to explode.

‘How about one more hand,’ Carrefour continued, taking out the gris-gris bag and tossing it onto the large pile of chips, ‘for everything in the pot?’

‘I don’t have anything left to wager with.’

‘Surely, you have . . . something of value?’ the loa suggested.

Xander had seen enough horror films to guess where this was going.

‘You want me to play for my soul, right?’ Xander leapt up from his chair. ‘No way! Cordelia might as well get used to wearing a bell around her neck and snacking on mouse giblets ‘cause I’m . . . ‘ Xander stopped in mid-rant when he realised Carrefour was doubled over with laughter. Everyone else in hearing distance, including Erzulie, was shaking with merriment. ‘What? What did I say . . .’

The giant black man wiped tears of mirth from his eyes.

‘Oh, my dear boy!’ he chuckled. ‘We don’t do that here!’ Carrefour continued to chuckle until the laughter subsided into breathy gasps, then he sighed. ‘How about playing for that?’ He pointed to Xander’s wrist.

‘This?’ Xander held up his hand. He was wearing his yellow and blue tweety bird watch. ‘Really?’ He couldn’t believe Carrefour would play him for that!

Erzulie stepped forward, quickly whispered encouragement to Xander and stepped back again, biting her lower lip. Carrefour gave her a baleful look then returned his gaze to his young opponent.

‘Well?’

Xander undid the watch-strap and placed the cheap bauble in the kitty alongside the red gris-gris bag.

‘OK,’ he said, taking a deep breath. ‘Let’s do it.’

The loa shuffled the deck once more and allocated them five cards each. Erzulie moved to stand with her hands on Xander’s shoulders as he looked what he was dealt. He turned the cards over, flipping them up into to hand as he went - queen of spades, two of clubs, queen of clubs, five of diamonds, jack of diamonds - one pair.

Carrefour sat back in his chair, grinning, as he discarded a single card. Xander kept his two queens and threw in the other three. Carrefour’s grin widened as he picked up the deck once more to deal the replacement cards.

‘Three for you, then?’ he asked. Xander nodded. His mouth felt like he’d swallowed a wad of cotton. He didn’t trust himself to speak, thinking about what would happen if he lost this last hand. He was not worried about Cordy and the others so much as by what Buffy might do here and now if the loa refused to hand over the token they needed to take back to Legba. Riverboat fights were best left to bad old movie westerns, not something to be experienced in real life! He couldn’t bring himself to even look at his cards.

After dealing himself one card, Carrefour began placing his cards face up on the table one at a time – revealing a nine of hearts, nine of spades, ace of spades and ace of hearts.

Two pairs! Xander thought. Maybe I still have a chance!

For several long moments Carrefour held the final card in his hand. With a low chuckle, he placed it on the green baize. Nine of diamonds. He had a full house.

Xander was crushed. No way could he beat that! His best hand so far had been three tens. His heartbeat pounded in his ears; his stomach felt like it was trying to crawl up into his throat. He gulped and started to lay out his hand too. Buffy and Willow rose to stand at his side; Erzulie was still behind him. Most of the gamblers and bar-girls in the room had also stopped to observe the outcome.

Slowly, Xander turned his cards over – queen of clubs, queen of spades, seven of diamonds, seven of clubs. Two pairs. He closed his eyes . . . he could hear the girls behind him simultaneously take a deep breath and hold it . . . and flipped over his last card . . . right onto the floor!

The four of them dived for the card as one, Willow and Buffy backing off quickly as the loa leapt to his feet with a growl.

‘Stand back!’ he yelled. ‘Don’t touch that card!’

Erzulie was already on her knees with one hand on the seat of Xander’s chair and the over the card on the floor. She rose slowly, placing her hand on Xander’s thigh as she did so. He moved his hand to cover hers, and as she removed it he felt the smoothness of the card under his palm. Erzulie turned and walked several steps back towards the brocade couch, where she leisurely took a seat, glaring defiantely at Carrefour.

The big man settled back into his own chair and motioned for Xander to reveal his last card.

All was silent again as the last card came up. Xander slapped the card down on the table, spreading his fingers to expose the face of the card . . . the queen of hearts! Xander had full house too! His three queens beat Carrefour’s nines. He’d won!

Willow squealed in delight. Buffy, all smiles now, started forward to congratulate Xander, his face pale, the relief evident in his disbelieving but exultant expression.

‘That is not the card you were dealt!’ Carrefour’s face turned an exceptional shade of purple as he roared out his anger. Reaching into his coat he whipped out a flick-knife and, before anyone had time to react, slammed it down between Xanders fingers still fanned out over the winning card. Xander jerked his hand away as the loa pulled the knife out of the tabletop with the queen of hearts impaled in the blade. ‘Erzulie, you faithless bitch!’ Carrefour stood up quickly, overturning the table, cards, chips and all.

But the coloured girl was already up off the sofa and screaming as she ran for the door. Carrefour pursued her as far as the exit then stopped and turned back to face the teenagers.

‘No one beats Carrefour, the Lord of Destruction, in his own gaming house!’ From an open display case above the doorway he snatched a pair of old fashioned duelling pistols and began firing in the direction of the three kids.

‘Go! Go!’ Buffy cried, prompting the stunned Xander to action. She grabbed Willow by the sleeve and started running for the French windows leading to the promenade deck outside. Carrefour was close behind.

Faces peered at them out of the other galleries as they raced along the slanted deck towards the huge paddle wheel at the stern of the boat. The angry loa was hard on their heels, still shouting abuse, reloading and firing the pistols on the run.

Crowding together at the end of the boat, Buffy and the others realised there was nowhere else to go. A quick glance over the side showed the river, sluggish and dark, just a few feet below. Buffy began to scramble over the railing.

‘Come on!’ she urged. ‘Hurry!’ With only a moment’s further hesitation the three jumped overboard into the chilly water and started swimming for the opposite bank.

Carrefour reached the stern seconds later but did not attempt to follow or, thankfully, try shooting at them from there. He looked up sharply as Erzulie called to the departing figures from the Texas deck at the very top of the boat.

‘Head for the bridge!’ she called, pointing upriver. ‘Then follow on the path!’

*****

Reaching the other side of the wide river, they dragged themselves, wet and covered in mud, onto the slimy bank. Tiny crabs scuttled away as they slid and scrambled up onto firmer ground.

‘Well this is just great!’ Buffy said sarcastically, trying to wring as much water as she could out of the edges of her clothes. ‘No chance we can get back to the crossroads that way, no token for Legba and no idea where to go next!’

Xander looked crestfallen. ‘Is there any point even going on then?’ he wondered out loud. ‘Without all three tokens how are we going to reverse the spell on Cordelia and Co?’

‘Maybe things aren’t as bad as they seem!’ Willow had her head down, twisting her long red hair to get the water out. She flicked it back over her shoulders and said with a smile, ‘Xander, Buffy, hold out your hands.’ Giving each other a puzzled look, they did so.

Willow reached into the back pocket of her jeans and placed a small, sopping object in Buffy’s outstretched hands. It was the little gris-gris bag! The cloth was soaked but the contents were still intact. Buffy was dumbfounded.

Into Xander’s cupped hands, Willow placed another small article, giving his hand a little squeeze as she did so.

‘Will!’ he gasped. ‘My watch!’

In the melee, Willow had snatched up both the bag and the watch from the litter of cards and poker chips spilled from the overturned gaming table. Incredibly, the cheap little timepiece was still working; the digital read-out said 14.56. It was still early afternoon.

The teenagers’ delight was quickly dampened by the deafening noise of the great steam whistle mounted on the stern of ‘Le Grand Bokor’. A huge cloud of white steam billowed out over the river as the sound of the throaty whistle bounced across the water and off the hills beyond.

Their ears rang as they set off to follow the course of the river upstream towards the bridge.

*****

They found the little wooden bridge about a mile further on. Instead of crossing back to the other side of the river they turned inland in the direction they had originally taken before running afoul of Carrefour. A dirt track led from the bridge straight into a swamp. In minutes the river was hidden from view by a thick screen of steaming vegetation. In the humidity, everything felt warm and wet; the heavy air seemed to amplify each tiny sound. Birds flew shrieking out of the cypress tops as they passed by.

The three tramped on in the oppressive heat and damp, losing the path from time to time as the increasingly soggy ground submerged it for longer and longer stretches. Quite soon they were wading through water ankle deep. Eventually the path petered out altogether.

After a few minutes of unproductive searching Buffy decided to scale one of the larger trees to get a better view of the surrounding landscape. She chose the tallest of the vine-covered giants and began to climb. Up above the main canopy Buffy could see breaks in the treetops and could just make out the brownish ribbon of the river they had left behind. A larger open area far off to their left was probably a clearing or, more likely, a mass of deeper water. About a half mile away in the other direction a thin tendril of smoke threaded up through the greenery.

‘I can see a winding break in the trees about 30 yards away!’ she called down to the others. ‘It’s either a path or a stream, I think. Looks like there might be a hut or campfire nearby.’ Buffy began to make her way back down the tree.

Halfway down the slippery trunk Buffy lost her footing. She slid several metres along the slight incline of the bole before coming to rest in the crotch of a huge mossy limb, her foot wedged in a rotting pit between the trunk and branch, her heart pounding.

‘Be careful!’ Willow called up to her, a little too late. Buffy looked down to see both of her friends’ pale faces staring up at her with concern.

‘Are you OK?’ Xander started climbing up the tangle of roots at the base of the old cypress.

‘I’m OK! Stay there!’ Buffy was shaken but not hurt. No point in having Xander risk his neck too. Her lower leg was firmly jammed in the tree hollow about twenty feet from the ground. She tugged at the mass of vines, old bark and leaf litter but pulling at the vines only made them grip her leg tighter. ‘Xander,’ she called, ‘do you still have your pocket knife with you?’

Xander fished around in his jacket pockets and produced a small World War II army knife.

‘Here it is!’ He tossed it up to Buffy who started to slice away at the vines that were holding her. But it was no use. The blade was pitted and dull and the woody plant stalks sodden and rubbery. This was going to take forever! In frustration, Buffy yanked hard at the constricting stems but this only succeeded in binding her even more firmly. It was starting to hurt. She leaned back against the tree and sat quietly for a moment.

‘Buffy?’ Xander yelled anxiously from the base of the tree.

‘What time is it?’ Buffy called back.

What?’

‘How long have we got?’

Xander looked at the tweety watch. It now read 15.32. ‘We’ve got about two and a half hours.’

‘Then you’ll have to go on alone. Both of you.’

‘No!’ Willow protested. ‘We can’t just leave you here!’

‘There isn’t time!’

‘Will’s right,’ Xander added. ‘We don’t even know which way to go.’

‘Off to the right,’ Buffy insisted. ‘Follow the break in the trees until you find what’s causing the smoke. I’ll come after you when I get this mess untangled.’ Willow and Xander looked at each other miserably.

‘What if we lose you?’ Xander asked. ‘How will we find each other again?’

‘If I don’t see you along the trail I’ll meet you back at the bridge.’ Willow and Xander didn’t reply. ‘Here! Catch this!’ Buffy tossed the gris-gris bag down to Willow who tucked it into the back pocket of her jeans. ‘Take it with you . . . just in case.’

As the unhappy pair set off towards the opening in the forest, Buffy resumed hacking away at the tough green vines.

*****

Xander and Willow waded through calf-deep water. The cypresses on either side of the creek were so close together that travelling through them was almost impossible without constantly weaving in and out of the trees. Walking in the slow moving stream itself was easier and faster.

‘Wa’wassat!’ Willow spun around as something rustled in the deep reeds nearby.

‘Whooo . . . ooo,’ came the reply from a stand of tall moss-covered bald cypresses to their left. Willow froze.

‘It’s just an old owl, Will,’ Xander said, putting his arm around Willow’s trembling shoulders. ‘This place is full of ‘em.’ He felt her start to relax. ‘Along with snakes, spiders, alligators . . .’ Xander sniggered as Willow squealed and pushed him away then chased after him and began punching him in the arm.

Suddenly, Willow shrieks of indignation turned to cries of real fear.

‘Something nibbled me!’ she screamed, kicking up tepid water as she splashed noisily through the shallows towards the firmer edges of the brackish creek.

‘Willow!’ Xander called after her. ‘Don’t run off!’ He waded after his best friend, ashamed now and thoroughly soaked, squelching along as quickly as he could. Just a few metres into the trees, he knew, could easily get them lost. Or worse . . . separated.

When he caught up with her, Willow was standing quietly in a relatively dry area, a raised hump of tussocky ground surrounded by enormous prehistoric-looking trees. Their gnarled roots, sheltering tiny insect-eating sundews and pitcher plants, seemed to reach up out of the swamp, grasping for a foothold on the little island of marsh grasses and ferns. Golden-green light filtered down, dappling the little grove and lending deeper colours to the tree orchids, scarlet cypress vines and purple irises that had established themselves there. Massive curtains of Spanish moss added an eerie splendour to the scene.

‘It’s like being inside an ancient temple!’ Willow was awestruck by the primeval beauty of the place. Everything her eyes fell upon was alive and growing, surrounding and suffusing her with life. She almost felt like the trees were breathing around her - deep, long, slow breaths, each taking centuries to complete.

Xander followed Willow’s rapt gaze up into the high canopy. It was like staring up through the open spires of the tallest chapel on earth, the dizzying perspective making them feel that the earth was spinning under their feet.

It took them several moments to realise that the tuneless humming they could hear was not a part of the almost mystical experience. It was, in fact, coming from a rickety old jetty on the other side of the grove.

*****

‘Se nan bwa, fey nan bwa ye,
Se nan bwa, fey nan bwa ye,
Se mwen menm Gran Bwa,
M pap montre moun kay mwen,
Si m pral montre moun kay mwen,
Yap di se nan bwa m rete.’

[It's in the woods, the leaves are,
It's in the woods, the leaves are,
It is I Gran Boa,
I won't show people my house,
If I go and show people my house,
They will know I live in the woods.]

The old man sang his strange song as he fished off a tree limb overhanging the sluggish river. Strung up next to him was a haul of several huge catfish. A Catahoula leopard dog drowsed beside him, a milky blue eye regarding the strangers sleepily from under one raised eyebrow.

‘Oh-ho! Petro!’ The old man gave the dog a resounding slap on the haunch that caused it to open the other eye and lurch to its feet with a grunt. ‘Our visitors have arrived!’

Xander and Willow watched as the old Creole man gathered up the fish, rod and creel and nimbly scampered along the low branch back to solid ground. Or what passed for solid ground here in the waterlogged bayou.

‘Well, well, well!’ He greeted the two teenagers as if he knew them. ‘At last! Here, take these,’ he said, handing the battered old bamboo rod to Xander and the wicker creel to Willow to carry. The string of catfish he flung over his shoulder, mucky fish-water dripping down the back of the oilskin coat, torn and stiff with age, that he wore over his only other article of clothing, a pair of equally decrepit khaki shorts.

‘Sir!’ Willow called after him. ‘Are you the loa we’re supposed to see about helping our friends?’ She hoped so; he certainly seemed a lot jollier than the last one! Still, Carrefour had seemed pleasant enough at first, too.

‘Surely, surely!’ he called back without turning around. ‘Come on, now, hurry along.’ He waved a thin arm over his head. ‘It will be dark again soon.’ The prospect of being in the bayou after dark was all the stimulus they needed. No longer surprised at being recognized by everyone they met in this weird twilight-zone-world, Willow and Xander obediently trotted along behind the old man and his dog as they led the way towards his shack in the swamp.

*****

The old man’s home was a rough-hewn little hut perched precariously out over the water. The undressed boards of the walls had warped and shifted in the humidity and large gaps showed in between. Access to the hut was over an unsteady-looking jetty that spanned the sixty feet from hut to shore. It creaked and swayed alarmingly as they crossed over it to the sagging porch. Once across, the old dog Petro flopped down with a groan onto a threadbare blanket in one corner and immediately began to snore.

‘I am known as Gran Bois,’ the old man said once they were seated around a small table inside the cabin. The interior was so dark that the loa lit the hurricane lamp hanging from a chain above the table. A blaze in the small stone fireplace just inside the front door was the source of the smoke Buffy had seen from the treetop. ‘You are very late,’ Bois remarked, peering at them intently. ‘And I expected three of you.’

Willow explained why they had had to leave Buffy behind. The old man grunted, clearly not pleased by this turn of events.

‘It’s very dangerous out here in the bayou. You should not have split up.’

‘We didn’t really have much choice,’ Xander pointed out. ‘Like you said, time is getting short.’

‘It can’t be helped now, I suppose,’ Bois grumbled. He took a small stoneware jug from a shelf by the only window, offering the teens a drink. ‘It’s very good,’ he assured them. ‘I make it myself.’ Willow and Xr bor both declined; they could smell the woody tang of the moonshine from several feet away. The loa upended the jug and took a hefty swig, smacking his lips loudly. ‘Ahh, nectar of the gods!’ he grinned.

‘Mr Bois, we really appreciate your hospitality,’ Willow ventured, ‘and we don’t mean to be rude, but our friends are waiting for us and we have to get back to Buffy and then we have to find the last loa and get another token and . . . ‘

‘Of course, of course!’ Gran Bois put down the jug and began rummaging around in an old seaman’s trunk, tossing out empty tin cans, broken kitchen utensils and bits of wood. ‘I mustn’t keep you!’ He turned to them again and smiled a big gap-toothed grin. ‘I don’t get many people dropping by, you know!’

After further rummaging and much mumbling of ‘I know it’s in here somewhere!’, ‘oh, that’s where I put that!’ and ‘if only I’d remembered where this was last Thursday!’ Bois finally produced an item that would serve as Legba’s token.

‘Here, boy,’ he said to Xander as he gave him the object. ‘This should do the trick!’ It was the dried up head of a small alligator, its open-mouthed smile filled with dozens of tiny sharp teeth. Its lower jaw wasn’t much longer than Xander’s hand.

‘It is a ju-ju,’ Bois explained. ‘Very powerful against evil things.’ He looked thoughtful for a moment. In the quiet the two youngsters thought they heard, or rather felt, a deep, low thrumming sound. Bois became suddenly agitated. ‘Turbo!’ he cried. ‘You must go! Quickly! Now!’ He hustled them towards the doorway.

Outside, the ancient spotted dog barked excitedly, his stiff old legs trembling as he scrambled up and down the narrow jetty, his pale blue eyes fixed on the far shore. As Bois pushed the children out onto the porch there was a mighty flurry of water about thirty yards up-river as something pale and huge slid into the creek. Whatever it was began moving through the water towards the little shack, heaving up a bow-wave in front of it like a submarine just below the surface.

Before they could set foot on the jetty the creature struck the little cabin, shaking shingles from the roof and knocking everyone to the floor. Petro was pitched into the water by the impact. The dog scrambled frantically to haul himself back onto the porch as a massive white shape cruised below the hut then turned back for another pass at the ramshackle building.

‘What the hell was that!’ yelled Xander as he helped Willow to her feet. She clutched tightly onto his arm, speechless with terror.

‘That’s Turbo,’ said Bois, ‘the ancient Guardian of the Bayou. He senses you do not belong here. You must leave now. Across the boardwalk. Quickly, before he comes back!’

But the huge albino alligator was already surging towards the jetty. Both kids regarded the unstable structure fearfully, not wanting to risk being on it when the monstrous reptile struck but unwilling to remain where they were. The old hut looked about ready to collapse into the water. It could not withstand another battering like the first.

‘Come on, Will!’ shouted Xander. ‘Run!’ Not waiting for her response he started out across the boards, dragging the whimpering redhead along behind.

The jetty shuddered violently as the alligator rammed the spot where they had stood two seconds before, shearing the porch-end clean away. Posts collapsed and slats tumbled into the bayou like dominoes as the thirty-foot long beast turned and ploughed its way towards them directly through the length of the boardwalk. Willow screamed over the sound of snapping wood, the loa’s cries of encouragement and the roar of the angry saurian.

The few seconds it took them to reach the shore were the longest of their lives. They stood on the high bank, shaking from adrenalin overload as the pallid shape of the giant alligator swam up to the river’s edge then circled back and disappeared into the indigo waters.

Then Xander realised he had left the ju-ju behind. It had fallen from his grasp when Turbo hit the shack the first time. Gran Boa waved at them from across the wreckage of the jetty, holding up the baby gator head.

‘Ahoy!’ he called unnecessarily. ‘Catch!’ With that, the old man tossed the object in a high arc out across the water.

Xander leaned out to catch it, almost overbalancing into the river. Willow grabbed the back of his jacket and they both started to slide towards the mossy edge. With a mighty bellow, Turbo launched itself up out of the water, its vast form filling Xander’s field of vision with the terrifying apparition of a gaping yellow maw full of teeth like turrets atop a tower of ivory-white scales. The albino’s mottled jaw snapped shut with a crack like a lightning-struck branch, barely missing the boy’s hand as it closed around the ju-ju. Xander clutched the token to his chest as he fell backwards on top of Willow . . . and blessedly solid ground.

Both of them crawled forward to stare over the bank in time to see the ghostly image of Turbo as it sank back under the water with a bubbling groan, its tail ridges creating a V-shaped wake as it returned to deeper, quieter waters.

‘Well done!’ called Bois across the murky stream. ‘Now you must return to the crossroads! Take the right-hand path!’ Then added as an afterthought. ‘Good luck!’

*****

‘Return to the crossroads’. That was easier said than done. Although it was only mid-afternoon, the light was fast fading to a brownish twilight and Willow and Xander could not find their way back to the place where they had left Buffy. They decided to follow the creek downstream to the main branch of the river then back to the bridge, hoping Buffy had freed herself and was waiting for them there.

Buffy, in fact, was still lashed to the tree. No matter how many of the thin vines she managed to cut through with the rusty blade, there were yet enough of them to keep her securely bound.

*****

Elegant snowy egrets and pretty water hyacinths did nothing to comfort Willow and Xander in their passage through the boggy landscape. Xander’s earlier talk of swamp creatures had spooked them both, especially now that the light was almost gone. Tales of water moccasins, snapping turtles and quicksand, along with the knowledge that they had a scant two hours left to get back to Sunnydale, had both of them picking their way as quickly as possible along the sloping creek bank. Although the waterway meandered erratically, neither of them was game to venture back into the trees for fear of losing their way when the darkness was complete.

Xander was walking at arm’s distance behind Willow, watching the uneven ground just ahead of him when the girl stoped dead in her tracks.

‘What’s up, Will?’ Xander stepped around her, putting a hand on Willow’s arm as he turned to face her. ‘What’s wrong?’

Willow just stood there, looking into the distance, open-mouthed, pale and panting, making odd little strangled-sounding noises.

‘Will? Say something!’ Xander, fearing she may have been bitten by a snake, took her by both shoulders and gave her a little shake. ‘What is it, Will? Come on, you’re scaring me now!’

With a visible effort, Willow finally managed to get out the word ‘F-f-f-frog!’

Xander stepped backwards and looked around the spongy ground where they were standing.

‘Frogs? Where? I don’t see any frogs, Will.’

‘N-not frogs – frog!’

‘What, just the one?’

Willow, staring past Xander, slowly raised her arm, pointing a shaky hand toward the trees a few feet in front of them. Xander turn to look but couldn’t make out anything among the trees. That is, until he looked straight up and saw two gigantic red bulbous eyes blink lazily from either side of one of the mighty cypress trunks.

‘Holy sh . . . !’ Xander’s voice was drowned out by a deafening croak that rumbled out of the huge vibrating throat sack of the twelve foot high bullfrog. Willow and Xander stood rooted to the spot for several long moments as the echo of the mighty ‘burr-ruup’ died away, then turned and ran as fast as they could back the way they came.

*****

Somehow, in their panicked flight, blind luck led them to recross their original path into the bayou. When they unexpectedly emerged from the swamp beside the main branch of the river it was only a short walk upstream to the bridge Erzulie had indicated. Night had fully fallen - for the second time that day - and Buffy was nowhere to be seen.

*****

Buffy at last ceased to struggle against the plants that restrained her. Exhausted, frustrated and afraid for the safety of her friends, she collapsed back against the tree trunk, finally giving herself up to tearful hopelessness. She slipped down into despair, all the fight gone out of her. As she relaxed the constraining tendrils loosened and fell away.

*****

Once over the bridge Willow and Xander headed back towards the crossroads. In the far distance they could make out the lights of ‘Le Grand Bokor’. Distant music floated to them on the still night air. Worried, they had scanned the bushes by the path at each end of the bridge, even risking to call out her name, but Buffy was not waiting for them asy hay had hoped. They continued on to the crossroad itself, hoping Buffy had gone on ahead.

‘She isn’t here,’ Willow said miserably. ‘What should we do now?’ They had less then two hours left and no idea how long it might take to work the reversal once they returned to the school library.

‘We’ll have to go on, Will,’ Xander said. ‘Maybe we can come back after we give the tokens to Legba.’

Neither of them wanted to press on without Buffy. Once they left the strange bayou world they might not be able to return. What would happen to Buffy then? Would she still be able to get home? If they stayed beyond the time limit, might the place cease to exist? The bubble of this reality could collapse around them . . . or take them with it.

‘One of us could go to the library while the other comes back here,’ Willow suggested. It seemed a sensible alternative . . . if they had enough time.

‘We’d better get a move on then.’ They took the right hand path as Bois had instructed.

*****

They might be travelling though a dimensional anomaly but it was certainly well populated with night life. Cicadas sang in the warm night air, fireflies winked on and off, occasionally extinguished forever when a tiny bat swooped in to snatch one out of the dark sky for its dinner.

The going was much easier along the smooth dirt road so Xander and Willow decided to jog part of the way, making good time in the full-moon light. They had not travelled far when they came upon a low stone signpost, leaning crookedly and half covered in moss and leaves.

Xander cleared away some of the debris to reveal the deeply incised words ‘Cimetière de la Croix’ and an arrow pointing onward in the direction they were headed.

‘A cemetery,’ Willow said glumly. This was not exactly the kind of place they had hoped to encounter next, especially in the darkness, but the sign was the only indication so far of . . . well, not ‘life’ exactly, but some kind of establishment at least.

‘Nothing in this place has turned out the way we expected, Will,’ said Xander encouragingly. ‘Maybe the graveyard here won’t not be such a scary place after all . . . ‘ He trailed off, not believing it himself. Willow gave a deep sigh. They continued on.

*****

The cemetery was immense, a vast metropolis of the dead. A pair of massive wrought iron gates stood open at the entrance, the road between as wide as a four lane highway. Walking through them, Willow noticed the intricate designs making up the gates included several of the vevers carved into the bracelets that Mama Lucette had given the unfortunate Cordettes. Inside the cemetery, streets wound through acres of mausoleums, obelisks and all manner of tombs and gravesites. It seemed as though all the architecture of the world was represented somewhere within the expanse of the great necropolis. ike ike everything else in this dimension, the graves were in various states of disrepair. Paths, wide and narrow, twisted around sun bleached tombs, crumbling walls jutted out into the walkways, decorative ironwork was rusty with age and neglect. Crosses and statues on tomb tops cast deeper shadows onto the night-blackened ground while dead ends added to the eeriness of their stroll through the boneyard.

As before, they were guided to their next encounter by the sound of singing. A nasally voice led them down one of the wider thoroughfares where stone and marble tombs appeared to be better maintained. One ornate crypt, shaped like a small church with an arched doorway flanked by columns and topped with a Christian cross, was surrounded by dozens of tiny votive candles. To the left of the entrance was a small font, its basin overflowing with fresh fruit and flowers. On the right was a curved marble seat on which sat a tall man, deathly pale and skeletally thin, plucking the feathers from a black rooster’s carcass. A fat old cat, once also black but now grizzled with age, curled at his feet, purring as the man sang:

Si koko te gen dan li tap manje mayi griye.
Se paske li pa gen dan ki fe l manje zozo kale!

[If pussy had teeth, she could eat roast corn.
Because she is toothless, she eats peeled cock!]

‘Fuck me!’ he exclaimed loudly as the children approached, dropping the half-plucked chicken. He snatched up a top hat and cane and strode over to meet them. ‘Do you know what fucking time it is?’ Xander and Willow were frozen with surprise. ‘Been chatting with that old piss-pot Bois have you?’ He threw his arms around Willow and Xander’s shoulders, hugging them close as he conducted them to the crypt. ‘The old bastard!’ He grinned at the children in turn. ‘Hides all the fucking year in that damned swamp, then stuff me if he doesn’t complain that no cunt ever visits!’ All the otloa loa spoke like gentlemen, most of the time at least; this fellow was jovial enough but he swore like a teamster!

His appearance was as remarkable as his language. He wore a long black tailcoat over a purple velvet waistcoat, skintight black pants, pointy-toed lizard-skin boots and a tall undertakers top-hat with long black ribbons hanging down the back. Strangest of all were his glasses; in the almost pitch dark among the tombs he wore a pair of sunglasses with the right lens missing.

Shooing the old cat away, he pushed Willow down onto the seat, handing her the partly denuded poultry.

‘Here, finish off that fucker. We’ll need it soon.’ Willow’s eyes grew wider, but she did as she was told.

The loa picked out several bananas and a handful of small, hot red peppers from the food heaped in the marble font. These he handed to Xander along with a small iron knife.

‘Chop those up, lad!’ He clapped Xander hard on the back, popping a handful of the volatile peppers in his own mouth and chewing noisily. ‘Try some while you’re at it. They’ll put lead in your pencil!’

‘Umm, sir?’ Xander hesitated to interrupt, fearing what the loa might say if he were actually annoyed! But something had to be said. ‘We’re not actually here for dinner.’

The loa threw back his skull-like head and roared with laughter. It was not a pretty sight.

‘Why, boy!’ he snorted, holding his emaciated sides as though they would burst, ‘you’re a fucking comedian!’ Through chuckles that he could not quite suppress, the loa explained that the chicken and other ingredients were needed to properly consecrate the token he had provided for Legba.

While the youngsters prepared the sacrifice, the loa sat down beside Willow. From beneath the seat he took an unlabeled bottle of rum in which a string of the tiny red peppers were marinating, removed the cork and took several deep swallows of the doubly potent liquor. Then, from his inside coat pocket, he drew two tailor made cigarettes offering one to Willow who shook her head in refusal. Shrugging his narrow shoulders, the loa lit them from one of the candles and proceeded to smoke both at once. Between puffs, he introduced himself to his guests.

‘Baron Cemetiere I am called by some, also known as La Croix, but you may know me as Baron Samedi, Master of the Cemetery and Guardian of Ancestral Knowledge.’ He drew deeply on the cigarettes, inhaling the blue-grey smoke that, oddly, was not expelled when he exhaled. ‘Those whom I punish sometimes call me Baron Criminel.’

Willow, who had not spoken up til now, asked, ‘Did you punish Cordelia and the others?’

Xander stopped cutting up the peppers and bananas and looked up, afraid that Willow’s question might anger the man. The gaunt loa, also surprised at the little redhead’s audacity, only grunted.

‘You’re a plucky little bitch, aren’t you!’ he said heartily. ‘I like that in a young girl!’ He reached across and pinched Willow’s cheek fondly, much to her distaste. ‘No, I did not punish them. Not that the little shits don’t deserve it! I merely performed a favour for Maman Lucette.’

‘That’s a bit of a fine distinction, isn’t it?’ Willow mumbled, pulling the last few feathers from the dead chicken.

‘Any houngan or mambo who wishes to change someone from human to animal form must first gain my permission,’ said the Baron. ‘But I do not govern their actions nor their intentions.’ He continued, levelling his cadaverous gaze on the girl, ‘I am also the power behind magic that kills and I control the souls of those who die by magic. So I would suggest, little sister,’ his voice took on the cavernous timbre of rolling gravestones, ‘that you don’t fuck with me! To konprann?’

‘Yes,’ Willow said meekly. ‘I understand.’

‘Well, I’m all done!’ Xander announced enthusiastically, hoping to break the mounting tension. The last thing they ed ned now, having come so far, was to have this loa refuse to help them.

‘Bon! Then let us continue.’ Opening the door to the crypt, Samedi disappeared inside for a few moments, emerging with a small goatskin drum in one hand and a ceremonial asson rattle in the other. Around his high collar was a long necklace of red clay beads. Handing Xander the drum and rattle, the Baron unwound the necklace and motioned Willow to step forward.

‘It will be your honour, child, to perform thremoremony to sanctify the kolye necklace and activate its power.’ He wrapped the string of beads in a figure eight around Willow’s waist and neck, crossing it in the middle of her chest. She felt the dusty beads; they were rough and porous. A little of the unfired red clay rubbed off and stained her fingers. Willow looked directly into the Baron’s sunken eyes.

‘What do I have to do?’

‘You must consecrate the kolye in fire and blood.’ Samedi picked up the plucked chicken and handed it to Willow along with the iron knife Xander had used to s the the fruit. ‘Firyou you must present the sacrifice to the four points of the compass, then pour its blood upon that tomb.’ He indicated a slab-style grave in the next plot. On the flat table-like base was a representation of the Baron’s own ve-ve; at the head was a simple white marble cross.

Willow looked to Xander to bolster her courage. Samedi noticed and said darkly, ‘Come, come, little sister, you will do much worse than slit the throat of a fucking dead chicken before you and I meet again at la Ville des Morts.’

‘What do you mean!’ Willow was unnerved by the loa’s words.

Xander stepped forward and grasped her by the elbow, whispering urgently. ‘Go on, Will, you can do it,’ he said. ‘He’s just trying to shake you up.’

Willow walked over to the grave and lifted the chicken carcass over her head, lowering and lifting it again and again as she presented the sacrifice to each of the cardinal points in turn. Then, taking a deep breath, she sliced through its narrow neck, the still-warm blood spurting out onto the cross, drenching it with the thin red liquid. Willow laid the remains on top of the vever design.

Samedi stepped forward, splashed the tomb with rum and set it alight wit a cigarette end, throwing a handful of the peppers and bananas into the flames. The chicken was quickly consumed and the cooling ashes covered with a white silk cloth.

The loa began to chant a slow wordless tune. Nodding to Xander to beat the skin drum, Samedi provided a counterpoint rhythm with the snake vertebrae rattle as the three of them paced solemnly around the tomb. Willow clapped her hands in sync with the drumbeat until the Baron cried, ‘It is done!’

The loa stepped up to the tomb and scooped up a handful of the greasy ashes, smearing them on the kolye and a little on Willow’s cheeks and forehead.

‘Wear the necklace until Legba tells you to remove it,’ he told her. ‘Now you must hurry. Your friends are waiting.’

The teenagers began to walk away when Xander remembered that Buffy was still missing. He decided to chance asking the Baron to help them find her but when he turn back to ask him the loa was gone. Willow continued on a few metres before she realised the boy was not with her. Looking back to see what was keeping him she saw the same uncanny scene that had given him pause. There was not a light or flower to be seen. The crypt itself was a mass of crumbling blocks almost entirely wrapped in the close embrace of long-dead ivy. In the far distance they could hear a mournful refrain.

Veye le a piti, veye le a,
Veye le a piti, veye le a,
Loa yo pa nan rans, O!

[Watch the time, child, watch the time,
Watch the time, child, watch the time,
The loa are not fooling around!]

Time was indeed growing short. Less then fifty minutes remained to get to the crossroads then back to town, loc