February 29, 2028, 11:06 pm – Lafitte's Blacksmith Shop and Bar, 941 Bourbon Street, New Orleans.
"Bonjour, Jean." Mademoiselle Charlotte raised her wine glass, pale skin glowing in the mild, moonless night. "Welcome to Mardi Gras. You're just in time." Her gown was beautiful and her French was perfect.
Jean Laffite stepped from the shadowed side door into the small courtyard beside the crowded bar. His eyes went from the familiar brick-between-post exterior of his old blacksmith's shop, to the heaven-touching skyline glowing in the night, to the brick archway that looked out on a milling stream of boisterous pedestrians.
The air was crisp and clean, lacking the miasma of smoke and barnyard smells he remembered. A band struck up "If Ever I Cease to Love" not too far away, and Jean could hear people whooping along. Fairy sparks on an overhanging banana tree were barely enough light to guide his feet to the table.
"New Orleans has changed," he said, "but she still has her roots. How long?" Jean made no move to sit.
"It seems like only yesterday, mon amour." Mademoiselle Charlotte sipped her wine and waited, but Jean did not sit. "One hundred and fifty-two years, Jean. That is how often Fat Tuesday falls on Leap Day. Please, sit. You'll be happy to know they named this tavern after you and your brother.” She chuckled. “But they didn't spell your name right."
"Over two hundred years since you. . ." Jean paused, ". . . since I died." He pulled out one of the two empty chairs and sat. He took some comfort from the familiar sound of a piano coming from the bar. "Did any of my descendants survive?"
Mademoiselle Charlotte's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Of course, Jean. In fact, here she comes now." Laughing lightly at his startled look, she stood and waved. A dark-haired young woman waved back from the street and shoved through the revelers.
Jean was stunned by the woman's appearance. She was a fairer twin to the young Marie Laveau, with the same finely cut features and rich curves. Habit brought him to his feet.
"Pleased to meet you," Jean said automatically.
"Me, too," she said, hesitantly putting out her hand. "Can a ghost shake hands?"
Jean took her hand and bowed over it, then looked at Mademoiselle Charlotte.
"She knows?"
"Of course. She is, in fact, the one who arranged this meeting. Please, let us sit and be comfortable, for Penny's sake." A gangly youth came from inside the bar as they all sat.
"Hey, nice costumes, folks," he said. "Got a masquerade later, huh? What can I get ya?"
Before Jean could frame a retort about the waiter's ragged dungarees, Mademoiselle Charlotte winked at the waiter.
"Tell me your name, boy," she asked with salacious charm.
"Uhm, Zack," he replied vaguely.
"Waters all around, si vous plais. And a salt shaker." She gave him a hundred-dollar bill. "Keep the change if you make it fast, Zack." He left in a hurry, but not without a look back her.
"I know why you are here, loa.” Jean had to control sudden anger. "It seems unladylike to gloat." For a moment the sea-glow lit his eyes. “I want to know why Mlle. Alvarez is here.”
"Gloat? Hardly." She discarded the notion with a languid wave.
"Then, why? My only revenge is that you haven't gotten what you want and never will. Why should I change my mind? Why trade uneasy death for undead slavery?"
"Ah, Jean. Always so dramatic." She sat back and cooled herself with a fan that appeared in her hand. "Will you not consider a compromise?"
"I did." He feigned a relaxed slouch. "Then I had a century or two to reconsider."
Penny/Marie followed their expressions closely, gauging and measuring with more than human wisdom in her eyes.
"Come, Jean. What would it take to rekindle your interest?" She made the potential objects of his interest obvious. Penny snorted before Maried could stop her.
"Make me a loa." Jean crossed his arms. "Only as an equal will I consider renewing our . . . relationship."
"You've been thinking about this, I see. So have I."
The waiter hustled to their courtyard table bearing bottles of water and glasses with ice.
"Anything else?" His attention was fixed solely on Mademoiselle Charlotte.
"Yes, Zack." She batted her eyelashes. "Please make sure we have privacy for a few minutes?"
"Locked in. I'll check back in, say, ten minutes?"
"Perfect." Charlotte smiled at the boy as he stumbled away. When he closed the door she returned her attention to Jean. “Which brings us to why your granddaughter is here.”
Mademoiselle Charlotte shook salt into her palm. With a puff of her breath the grains scattered, spreading into a surrounding globe. The cacophony of Mardi Gras dulled. She turned her gaze back to Jean.
"I have a counter-offer. Penny here will have soon bear a son, I will get what I was promised, and you will spend eternity regretting it."
"Impossible."
"Oh, no, Grampa Laffite," said Penny. "I got around that damn curse, no help from you." She patted her stomach with a tiny, satisfied smile. "Ten weeks along, and definitely a boy."
"A lie.” He studied the women. “You cannot conceive a boy child if you are my descendant."
"Technically, I didn't conceive it." Penny's smile became a mischievous grin. "That part happened in a test tube." She held out a folded slip of paper. "Here's the proof."
"It's all quite clever," said Mademoiselle Charlotte, “and quite incomprehensible, mon cher. Be assured, Jean, that it is also quite true. Now. . ." She picked up the salt shaker again and sprinkled the table. Dancing grains instantly formed Mademoiselle's voodoo symbol. "Place your hand to my veve and swear yourself to me if you want to end this curse, save yourself, and allow this girl her child."
"What the hell," blurted Penny. "What do you mean, 'allow' me my baby?"
"Hush, child," said Mademoiselle Charlotte, holding up her hand dismissively. "Allow your betters. . ."
"Betters, my ass! Better bitch, maybe." Penny rose to her feet, calmly furious. "I'm NOT giving you my baby, understand? That wasn't the deal. You asked me to help with Laffite."
"Well said." Jean stood also, enjoying Mademoiselle Charlotte's discomfiture.
"Hey, asshole," she snapped, pointed at Jean, "I'm not on your side. This whole crappy thing is your damn fault." She bumped the chair back. "Thanks for the invite, Charlie, but you won’t get my baby, ever. So, adios." She backed toward the street.
Jean remained silent, suddenly aware that he was changing; his time was almost over.
Mademoiselle Charlotte spoke as if to a slow child. "Penny, dear, leave now and I promise you will regret it forever. Remember I am a goddess."
"Yeah, I've been thinking about that, y'know?" She struck a pose of exaggerated thought. "Technically, as the only remaining child of Marie Laveau, I'm still under Damballa's protection. Also, I still have this," she dangled an ancient amulet of owl feathers, "so you can kiss my ass."
"How unladylike, cher. Please reconsider. You may be safe, but your baby. . ." Mademoiselle Charlotte’s smile was cold.
"Here's another thing I've been thinking about. When my baby comes, that'll break the big bossman's curse, right? Don't ya think that's gonna get his attention? I don't know, but if it was me and I was the head voodoo god, I might be just a little pissed at you for screwing with my mojo. So you and your raggedy pirate ghost can just blow.”
Jean's laugh bubbled and echoed. A hard woman, and fitting child of Marie Laveau. Now what, Mademoiselle loa? My time is short, and so is yours.
Concern showed on Mademoiselle's face as she noticed Jean's deterioration. She rose, smoothed her rose-pink gown, put a delicate frown on her face.
"Jean, you will stand with me if I make you a loa." Her voice held no question.
Standing beside you is all I ever wanted, mon ami.
"Your damned pride and stubbornness kept us apart." Her voice was sharp.
Would I be the man you wanted without that pride? Jean reached across the table.
"Of course not, sweet Jean." Smiling, Mademoiselle Charlotte took his skeletal fingers in hers. "So shall it be."
So shall it be, echoed Jean.
The veve glowed and rose from the table to entwine their hands. Sparkling grains swirled up Jean's arm, spread over his body, and where the light touched, Jean was renewed. In moments he was whole, his youth returned. Light coiled over Mademoiselle Charlotte and the two began to fade.
“Wait!” Penny yelled, “what about the curse?”
"Do not worry, girl," said Jean Laffite, "you will remain under my protection."
"Such drama, Jean." Mademoiselle Charlotte's voice was petulant, but her smile fond. The girl heard their laughter for long moments after they left.
Tired and bent, she shuffled back to the table and sank onto her chair.
"Well done, Penny dear, though a bit impulsive," Marie said in their shared consciense.
"I just got so mad," Penny said repentantly. "Did it work?"
"Almost, mon cher, almost. Now, time for you to sleep." But not time for me to rest yet, Marie told herself, and unscrewed the lid from the salt shaker. Muttering mojo, she expertly drew a veve on the table with a thin stream of salt and placed a glass of water in the center. A huge white snake slid from the tiny tree and coiled beside her.
"Satisfied, Marie Laveau?" Damballa’s voice rumbled like the lion's growl. The snake changed to a man black as night on the African veldt and strong as the elephant.
"Oui, Father Damballa. I am weary, and imagine Penny here is just as weary of this old woman's follies. It is time for me to leave, my lord."
"Your service to me has never been folly, Marie. And your presence in this girl's body honors her." He held out his hand. "In fact, you should pity me."
"Why is that, my lord?" She laid her hand in his.
"I envy you.” He drew her up from the chair and she was once again strong with youth. “You now go to your reward, whilest I must continue a useless struggle to keep my children in check."
“If it makes a god weary, imagine my exhaustion, lord.”
People in the street looked worriedly to the night sky as Damballa's thunderous roar of laughter echoed across the city. Lightning flashed nearby and thunder rolled again as Damballah disappeared.
Penny jumped at a touch on her shoulder, looked up to see Zack standing over her with an umbrella. She had no idea how long she'd been standing there. At least she wasn't in some unfamiliar part of New Orleans.
“Sorry, ma’am, but it’s gonna rain. You might wanna come inside.” He smiled. “You okay?”
She didn’t have to think at all about her answer.
“Yeah. Yeah, I am.” Bobby was dead and there was nothing she could do about it, but she was okay now. The curse was lifted, a weight she’d never been aware of gone, and with it her grief.
Bobby left her with everything he could and the rest was up to her. Marie had left Penny with utter confidence that would be enough. All that was left was for Penny to chart a course and set sail with her life once again.
Oh my god, she thought, where did that come from?
The End
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