The night was coming on the new Marigot land. Or more like the Jean/Marigot land, since Alfie was living in the Hougan's daughter's cabin in the jungle. Where was she living? Where was she, at this precise moment? Alfie didn't know. She always showed up on point but he had no idea how. Somehow, he believed she had some kind of dark spirits leading her. When he had drank his potion last time, he had felt something dark around her, not an aura, more like a dark cloud of heavy energy wavering around her. Cold, restless, terrifying.

The cabin itself was a nightmare. The first night, he had thought about sleeping outside, but the swamps were full of predators and not all of them were under control. Only one or two crocodiles, and only when Alfie performed a little ritual (he had to do it outside and he hated that part where he was totally vulnerable but it had to be done and it fuelled it with such a negative energy, he felt ready to destroy the world.)

But at night… The noise of the swamp, the smell of the cabin, the skulls here and there and those horrible bottles full of Gods knew what, those paintings on the walls… He had to cling to happy memories to sleep quite decently, and even right after the betrayal, when his heart was still bleeding, all of his thought went to Charlie. Why? Why were his best memories attached to the kid? He had thought about it over and over again, and he had tried to persuade himself that it was due to this particular state of wealth. He was rich, he had the best situation he could dream of, he had a good situation in the order and faithful friends (who had not let him down despite his loss)… And love.

Or so he thought. So, when it came to finding good memories, it was only natural to think of Charlie who represented everything he had ever wanted in life, since he was old enough to know what he wanted. Money, big house, nice situation, fresh boy in his bed. But in the end, when he tried to cling on these memories, he could only see Charlie's lips. Charlie's hips coming closer to his as he was opening his legs and closing them around his waist when their breathes melted into one. His eyes, revealing way more than anything he could say or show, this cunning sparkle in his eyes, those little scars on his cheeks… And this ridiculous little star he had attached to his hat which was marking every single move of his head, swinging around him. Charlie had been Alfie's own little star, first glimmering quietly as the boy was quite shy and then shining like the sun, giving him a new warmth he had not imagined. But the sun had turned into a black hole, taking everything from him and leaving only darkness behind. But he tried not thinking about it. Not at night. At night, he needed the boy's warmth, the memories of his smile and stupid jokes, and most of all, the feeling of his body against him. Sometimes, he could focus on him so much he could almost see a light, feel the warmth and hear a laugh, maybe due to this strange paintings on the walls. Sometimes, he was only left with the cold, the darkness and the hideous sensation of being stabbed right into his chest. Lately, since he had not seen the boy in a while, all that was left was hatred and resentment and he barely slept at night. When the trio had reached him in the woods, the lack of sleep in this cabin full of occult items and his brain going round and round about the betrayal and his own misery had taken him to the brink of an abyss of insanity.

And yet, as they were about to leave for his plantation, he could barely remember the boy's face. He was blonde with a bright smile and look but where were the scars on his body already? Was he right or left handed? Alfie guessed it would no longer be a problem once the crocodile would have eaten one or two limbs. This thought made him shiver with excitement as it made him nauseous. A part of him wanted Charlie dead and crucified for what he had done and another part just wanted to get back in time and to cuddle with him for a whole week, and fuck him until none of them would be able to walk for a few days.

"… We going to find our way now ?

- Pardon ? asked Alfie trying to get away from his thoughts.

- I said, how are we going to find our way back to your plantation now? The night will be there in a while and it's already dark with this damn vegetation, Renardo sighed.

- You're daydreaming Alfie? No need to dream mon ami, your plantation will be yours again soon, said Flint patting the Dandy's back gently.

- And by what means? Getting the house back is a fact, how do I get my title back ? he snorted.

He appreciated this help, despite his gloomy mood. The trio seemed really involved in the rescue and none of them seemed to be judging him as he had feared. If only everything went back to normal…

- That none of your problems, to be honest, said Flint. I know the man who's in charge of administration in Kingston. He made Charlie's request invalid a few times, the boy is not count yet. As long as I give him a tip, he won't make the boy a count. And I still have plenty of money left for this, those bureaucrats are so cheap to corrupt ! Hilary said with a laugh.

- I'm still… The comte de Marigot ?

- Officially, yes. For as long as I'm in charge of covering you.

- Why did you do that?

Flint raised an eyebrow, as if he wasn't understanding the question.

- Why are you even asking? You're a fellow templar. A friend. And I never liked the brat anyway. He can be much of an arsehole, but so can I, and I wondered which one of us would let it go first. But since you made him afraid of leaving the house, it's no longer a big deal, sadly, the game became a bit dull. Not that I'm complaining... But...

- Hilary, je... Merci, said Alfie unable to say anything more.

- De nada ! said Flint amused to see the Dandy about to cry.

- That's Spanish, Flint, not French, said Manuel rolling his eyes.

- Damn. How do you say –

- You'll take Spanish classes later, amigo, we need to find a way to get out of here alive, remember?"

Alfie looked at the three of them arguing with a growing feeling of joy. Seeing them being, well, human, arguing like they always did, with Renardo trying to get Flint and Mendoza to work (the two of them tend to act like teens when they were together and Aguilar always had to remind them they had work to do)... Suddenly the feeling inside the cabin was less gloomy, more human, simply... alive. He could almost feel the carved bones on the walls shivering in front of these demonstrations of love and friendship, as if they had fed on his hatred and now were surrendering in front of a more powerful force. The painting on the walls looked less bright and the light looked more... Present. He wouldn't have been able to explain, but the fact was simple: he was feeling better and the forces nourishing on him were retreating for a darker place. He clapped his hands, making the conversations (now about whether or not it was vital to learn some new Spanish or French words right now in the jungle) stop at once.

They all looked at him, and he saw in their eyes that something had changed for them too. The comte de Marigot was coming back, slowly. He was still frightening with his shaggy look but the storm in his remaining eye had disappeared and now only a fierce determination was to be seen. Flint put his hands on his hips, ready to listen and Manuel who was still laughing about some joke Alfie had missed put his arm around his friend's shoulders, ready as well. Renardo, still sitting at the table, was looking a bit crossed at his friend's stupid behaviour, but Alfie knew he wouldn't replace them for all the gold in the world. He smiled.

"I know how to get out of here. I've done it many times at twilight.

- And how? It will be a miracle if I can get out of here without breaking my leg or getting eaten by mosquitoes, or something bigger and... Fanger.

- It has nothing to do with miracles, maître Flint, said Alfie, it's something... Darker.

- No me gusta, groaned Manuel.

- Me neither, but since we're out of other strategies...

- Come with me, said Alfie taking a bottle of yellowish powder and another one with several layers of brown, disgusting liquid.

- No me gusta, Manuel repeated with a frown.

- Shush, hermano, wait and see."

They followed him outside where he stopped near the pond, at a place that looked to flat and neat to be in a natural condition. Every time he had to summon some dark force to help him, he did it there with painting and blood but every time, when he went back, the place was neat and tidy, with no trace of anything. The trio had remained near the cabin, a bit afraid to come near a place from where any crocodile could jump and bite your arms if not worse. Alfie kneeled and opened the two bottles. The noises of the forest started to vanish, one after the other, slowly. The bird stopped singing, the insect remained silent and any trace of any wild activity stopped as if nothing had ever taken place in a virgin jungle. A wind coming from nowhere made the leaves in the trees rustle as if they were whispering things to each others, disregarding Alfie's actions. In the mud, he was drawing complicated symbols and filling them with the powder Dominique had given him. Paint, bones reduced to dust, ashes of unknown things from any ritual he didn't want to know about...

Manuel swore in Spanish squishing his weapon so tight his knuckles went white. Renardo and Flint, arms crossed, were waiting, without saying a word. Flint was looking unimpressed (but a little tense) and Renardo who had been raised with a strict catholic education was feeling very nervous about all this. But they had no choice now.

Alfie took the second bottle and the wind stopped. Everything was frozen, and the trio unconsciously hold their breath when he poured what looked like blood in a circle he had drawn in the mood around the inscriptions. He looked at them, and smiled.

"Chicken." He said as he saw Mendoza with a look of disgust on his face, when he saw the blood spilled.

"That's what she said..." Flint whispered with a smile and Renardo shoved his elbow in the redhead's ribs to make him shut his goddamn trap.

Alfie took a flask in his pocket. This one had no alcohol in it, but this stinky and disgusting potion the Hougan told him to drink to connect to the spirit world and control the forces he was summoning. But this time... His anger and hatred were still here, oh, for sure, but they were coming to find Charlie, and he wasn't so sure he wanted the boy's death or suffering in the end. Damn, he still loved him, there was no need to hide it now, what was he supposed to do? He hesitated for a while, in the silence of the jungle which looked like a dead zone now, and drank it. Only a half of what the Hougan had told him to drink, but it should be enough to control the spirit as long as it was needed to fulfil their plan, but not enough to make him blind enough to kill the boy. Or so he hoped. He was shivering so much when replacing the cap on the bottle that it had to give it two or three tries before he finally closed it and put it back in its pocket, once full of gold.

Hands in the mud to cover his shaking, he started singing in a very low tone in an unknown language. It sounded like Creole but in a much throaty way. He had always been a good singer and sometimes, during his infamous parties, people asked him to sing French smutty songs and most of his guest had to admit it, even the dirtier words looked nice with his voice. He had always been a pretty good singer, due to his experience at la Comédie Française but anyone who would have heard him sing on a stage would have been shocked to see that horrifying clown now singing occult lyrics in a muddy swamp in the New World.

The singing lasted a few minutes and then a thunder made the three templars jump of their feet as the tension in the air was almost unbearable as time went by. With such a heavy atmosphere and now the thunder, they put their head down as they were waiting for the rain or something worse, coming from the sky, but nothing happened. The noises of the jungle came back, insects first, and with them, a fat crocodile went out of the swamp. He had some painting on his ribs and a symbol on his head, painted with God knows what to resist to water.

"Follow the leader!" said Alfie with a bow to the crocodile. His French accent was stronger than before.

"This is officially the worst idea you ever had, congrats, señor." Flint whispered to Renardo as he was heading to Alfie, trying to look self confident but terrified inside.

Manuel followed, still holding onto his weapon and Renardo closed the walk silently approving Flint, for once. What had they done? He could feel his heart beating in his ears and the catholic cross on his chest, made of the purest Spanish gold, was now feeling heavy as if it had been made of stone. He had been wearing it 24/7 since he was 14 and was so used to its contact that he forgot he had it under his clothes but now it was too heavy not to feel like a warning.