The witch of New Orleans

age was not a place an

unded by twisted cypress trees that seemed to grow with malice. The swamp never smelled of life, only decay-ear

it wa

e water, the air, the shadows-they bowed to her. And her magic was older than the stree

nto a prayer as she watched the moon rise. Her skin was wrinkled and thin as parch

flickered in rhyt

had unleashed something darker than even she knew. And now, the Ghede Na R

lle knew what

ns bring ruin upon the city-not yet. Not

ircle of protection. She pulled a small vial from her drawer, filled with thick, black liquid-the essence of a

Erzulie. Mwen ko

out toward the altar. And in the deepest co

ade the ri

k echoing across the stagnant swamp. Maman Chantelle's eyes narrowed. No

nd fire-and approached the door slowly, warily. T

hing but a soft wind and t

en-an e

e. Or

rch, too clean for the swamp. She bent down

aled with

tched. She kne

lerose had c

-

cent of roses and bloo

he mantel burned with unnatural light, casting shifting shadows on the walls. The mirrors across the room rippled like water, each one refl

whispered, low and d

very life extinguished. The power was intoxicating, but I

someone-was c

e door then-soft but

g her fingers against t

anding in the threshold. A woman, tall and anc

n Cha

s were alive with fury. Isadora had n

hantelle's voice was a low growl, like wind thro

t here to undo anything. I'm he

her fingers gripping the doorway. "

ld and sharp. "I'm

rn the hard way. The Ghede Na Rouje doesn't care about you, girl. It onl

. "Let it. I've made my choic

ed the door shut in M

lle turned and vanished into the mist, her mind already shifting into a dif

t, she knew-this was

learn the pri

ould not s