The Baron's Gate Part 1

She heard the tinkle of the small bell, the hesitant sound of the door scraping across the uneven wood floor. As she closed her eyes from her place behind the cluttered counter, a pair of taxidermied alligator eyes watching her silently.

She inhaled deeply. Fear, uncertainty, need. It was a common aroma worn to her shop. After all, Madame Simone’s was not exactly a tourist stop. Only those who truly needed her traversed the bleak, dismal path through questionable alleyways to her stoop.

She plastered on her best, “Yes, child” face and turned around to face the visitor whose hesitant steps had meandered through the makeshift aisles, ogling her strange offerings.

Practiced eyes sized up her newest visitor. His thinning hair and overworked eyes spoke of middle age. His growing paunch and over-tailored suit spoke of privilege. His pasty white skin affected a sickly yellow tone from the fluorescent bulb which flickered overhead.

Some days when she was feeling particularly bored, she would mentally spin the wheel of ailments or problems that brought his type in. But tonight, she had chicken soup fixins on the brain and all she only wanted to do was to be rid of him.

She smiled her best customer smile, placing her hands out in a welcoming manner.

“Scared little mouse . . . but be careful," her brain whispered.

Madame Simone sighed.

“Let’s hope he’s a quick mouse,” she answered herself, ignoring the warning,

“Welcome to Madame Simone’s apothecary and shop of the dead.” She told him, her voice smooth as a honey-dipped beignet.

Her almond-colored eyes meeting his, a small tingle worked its way from her brain and down her spine. Her methodical mind sorted through the causes. He was not a spirit rider, he’d have never gotten past the door. She inhaled deeply again as they regarded each other in silence. Wincing, she picked up the faint smell of charcoal.

“What can I do for you?” she asked, her voice coming out much softer than she had intended. Reaching one hand casually below the counter, she wrapped her beads around her hand. Something here was wrong.

Cocking her head to the side, she noted the heaviness in the air. The oppressive silence seemed to dim the radio playing in the back room though she had not touched the knob.

“Actually Madame, it is what I, or should I say, my employer, can do for you.” he finally spoke, his eyes darting around the shop, any sign of tepidness gone.

She crossed her arms, the multi-colored strand of beads pressing into her bare flesh. Her rather famous unamused expression settled onto her face. With every moment he stood there, she felt the air around her growing heavier. She found herself fighting for each breath. She felt herself growing fainter as he came closer.

Something deep in her mind triggered her own magic pulling her from his darkness. Her eyes snapped open to the surprise of her visitor who looked ready to catch the woman as she fell.

“That’ll be just about enough of that,” she said, her voice squeezed out between her drawn lips.

“I don’t know who you are or who you think you are, or who your employer thinks he is, but let me tell you, my dear ti gason, it will take a lot more than that to take down Madame Simone Celestine,” she said, drawing back up to her modest five-foot-five, but appearing so much bigger. Blood filled her cheeks causing her creamy Cafe au lait skin to flush.

The creature before her chuckled darkly.

“Fair. I had to try. The word is that you are the last holdout, and you know . . . bragging rights if I could lay you sleeping at Dauphin’s s feet. It might net me a reward, too.” he shrugged as if her kidnapping was nothing more than an everyday errand.

She snorted, her lip curling.

“Dauphin’s giving orders these days? The last I heard he was Bastin Lacroix’s lapdog,” she said, trying to keep her eyes from darting to the door. She knew that any minute Lisette would come through the door with her soup fixins. However, informing this hoodlum of her impending backup was not in her best interests.

Her visitor's jaw clenched as she insulted his boss.

“You have been out of the loop. He’s Bastin’s right-hand man now. Things are heating up Madame and you best make sure you are on the right side of the moon.” he said, slapping down a creamy white envelope, its stark contrast to the deep mahogany of her countertop made it resemble bone peeking through flesh.

She glanced at it a moment, making no signs of showing an intent to retrieve it, she looked up at him again. She watched with aggravation as his eyes smoldered, tendrils of black smoke seeping out with each breath.

“Think about it, cause I guarantee the next person to call ain’t gonna be so polite," he said, his normal tone oozing to a dark grating noise.

Without a word her hand snaked down the front of her red tank top and produced a worn leather pouch. A shimmer of concern passed over the creature's face before it laughed.

The door swung open, the bell screeching in protest at the force before it knocked into an ancient bookcase. Thick swirls of dust filled the air.

His eyes settling on the newcomer, he snarled. Exhaling deeply, a thick black smoke covered his body and in less than a second, he was gone.

“Shadow puppet! I smelled him three blocks away! I ran!” she said as she set the grocery bags on the counter, her cheeks ruddy as evidence to her hurry.

Simone nodded. She was angry with herself for not seeing it; she was slipping.

“I always said you had the best nose in the family,” she said, painting on a fake smile for her niece.

Sometimes just looking at that girl still hurt her. Watching the way the light caught her green eyes and transformed them into emeralds, just the way her sister’s had. She watched a familiar line knit its way across her brow as she went about checking the entire shop to make sure that they were alone.

“He’s got some serious nerve coming in here like that. Brazen, and in daylight no less! I don’t even know what this world is coming to anymore.” she said, eyeing the envelope on the counter with a disdain that was almost palpable.

“You ok, Matant?” she asked, eyeing the woman who was essentially her mother.

“I am, yon ti kras.” she answered, yet they both knew it was a lie.

“Where is that worthless Simon, anyway? He should have been all over that!” Lisette said, throwing her hands in the air.

As if summoned by her angry tones, an enormous orange cat stretched and slunk his way towards the two women.

“Lot of help you are.” Lissette murmured.

He regarded her, as cats mostly do, with indifference and mild annoyance, at her plaintive noises.

“Don’t let him get you so angry. Their kind feeds off of it. Just ignore him, he will find someone else to bother.” Simone said as her fingers moved over each bead.

“This is the third one since the last moon. We can’t ignore them. Word at the Gate is that you are the only one not running for one side or the other.” she said, her fingers working furiously with several pieces of colored chalk as new protection symbols were drawn, only to sink into the boards with a wave of her hand.

Simone’s eyebrows touched her widow’s peak.

“And what, pray tell, were you doing at the Baron’s Gate? I have told you a million times . . .”

“About the lowlife hoodoo scum that peddle questionable wares and even more questionable food,” Lisette said, finishing with a grin.

“However, you know as well as I do, it is the only place to get proper sausage now that Doc Edouard passed over. It’s not like I went to the Wisp or anything!” she said, watching the older woman out of the corner of her eye. She could see the touches of gray at her temple, the scar that ran from her ear to her collarbone. Once it had been an angry dark mark, so fitting of its origins. Now, it had paled. Time was taking its toll on the great Madame Simone.

Simone grumbled a reply, something between acquiescing and aggravation.

“Now, we are closing up the shop and we are going home. I want to redo the protections. Bastian is getting serious and we need a plan.” she said, scooping up the bag of groceries. She tucked the white envelope into the pocket of her sweatshirt while Simone donned her favorite gray cardigan.

Glancing around the shop, Simone caught her own reflection in the window. It had scared her. She could see it. Lisette could sense it and she prayed on her beads that Bastian was ignorant.

The two women double checked the locks. Not that anyone with even an ounce of sense would break into her shop. Her vengeance was just as well-known and respected as her kindness. There was a time when crossing the Celestine sisters simply was not done. They were not known for killing, not like some of the Docs, but the things they did made people wish for death.

However, things had changed. When Solange passed over, Simone’s power was never quite the same. She always believed that because they had shared a womb, their magic was one. She was still respected and none had wished her ill. That was before.

Before the puppet masters had come to the sleepy back streets of New Orleans; dividing the spiritual, the talented, and the gifted. Splitting families and age-old clans of magic users. Drudging the swamps for foot soldiers granted talents only by virtue of bloodline.

Many had fled rather than take being bullied, some like Madame Simone claimed that their hearts only beat in New Orleans and they’d rather die than leave their home.

The sun had begun its casual decent as the two women wove a well-trodden path home. They did not risk conversations as too many long shadows stretched out around them. The distance to go was relatively short, but it was made longer by constant over-the-shoulder checks.

Simone let out a very long sigh as they crossed the threshold to the garden.

“Let’s see Bastian La Croix get in here,” Simone said in a calm tone, her eyes regarding the deep pooling shadows outside around her modest cottage.

Lissette laid her hand on the cottage door, inhaling deeply as she did so. The faint smell of charcoal Simone would have witnessed was here, but it was sharp enough to her to cause a short cough. She paused nearly a moment, but Simone was on the alert, instantly at her niece’s side. Perhaps she had spoken too soon.