The Bayou hummed around them, a sweet song of crickets chirping, racoons chittering, the gentle slap of the river and the croaks of bullfrogs. Michonne stared into the murky surface of the water for a moment, observing her hazy reflection.

"You ready?" Rick's voice was low, but he was close enough that she could feel him just behind her.

"Ready," she tilted her lips up in what she hoped was a comforting smile. Not that Rick was in particular need of comforting. Magic might not have been his element, but a manhunt was. He was perfectly at ease as the sun rose higher, the afternoon stretching before them. His skin was tinged with a hint of pink, the first signs of what would surely be a burn. She suddenly felt glad that he wore that hat of his.

"Then let's go," he winked at her. Even in the cool, heavy air between the trees, she felt herself flush. Rick stepped one foot into their boat, reaching for her. Michonne took advantage of the moment, muttering a quick spell to herself to save the US Marshal's considerably paler complexion as their fingers touched. He helped her on board. "Do you by chance know how to drive this?" he asked, settling beside her on the narrow bench.

With a thought, she turned on the metal fan, guiding their vessel out onto the waters. Rick winced at the noise. She laughed, steering them out of range of the boatstand before silencing the still rotating blades with another thought.

"Impressive," Rick observed. "You don't have to do a spell or anything?"

"Not all magic requires spells," she told him, enjoying the breeze as it rifled through her hair.

"Wand?" he pressed.

She laughed all the harder. "No," she clarified. "It's just...the will of the thing is enough most times."

"So then, could anyone be magic?" Rick asked, turning his face away from the scenery to gaze at her.

"Sure," she searched for a way to explain. "Things have the power we assign to them," she said. "Like...your badge."

"My badge?" Rick reached into his jacket for the item. He handed her the wallet, flipping it open. The silver metal caught the light as they glided beneath drooping willows dripping with Spanish moss.

"It's just metal," Michonne turned it over in her palm, smoothing her thumb over it. "But you give it importance. You make this badge what it is. Magic is like that. It can be used for good or for evil to influence the world around you." She handed it back to him.

Rick's hand lingered on hers. "Didn't know you were a philosopher too," he teased.

"Comes with the territory of being a witch," she smiled.

"So if I wanted to learn magic, could you teach me?"

"To an extent," she answered.

"And you said it's passed down from genes. Your mama was one, and grandmama. But what about the men?"

"What about them?" Michonne patiently answered his line of questioning, guiding the boat through the maze of the swamp all the while. They were attracting attention from the Bayou's residents, even with a silent boat. Raccoon and alligators peered curiously at them as they went by, and even a doe glimpsed them for a moment before skittering back into the brush.

"Say we were to have children," Rick hedged. "You're a witch, I'm not. Would our kids have magic?"

The question, asked casually, disarmed her somewhat. "The girls certainly would," Michonne answered, hoping she sounded calmer than she felt.

"No doubt," Rick sensed her humor, grinning. "Poor boys though. They're gonna be just as normal as their daddy."

"Hawthornes aren't known for our sons," Michonne reminded him, laughing.

"Ah well," Rick shrugged. "We could give it a try." He stretched his arms backwards, sliding the sleeves of the jacket she bought him off until he could shrug out of it. He leaned over to drop it behind the bench, shaking out the thick flannel of his shirt. As he adjusted his holster, his shirt rode up at the waist, revealing a sliver of pale, but toned abdomen. Michonne quickly looked away.

She turned instead to the Bayou, focusing her efforts. The Governor and Merle were nearby, she could feel it.

"What happened there?" Rick whispered suddenly, moving closer to her so he could point. "Lightning or something?"

In the midst of the lush green, a grove was blackened and dead, withering into the swampy recesses of the water.

"He's close," Michonne whispered back, slowing the boat until it bobbed along. She edged them in closer.

The tranquil silence of the afternoon was interrupted by a sudden splashing, Both Rick and Michonne looked quickly to their right, farther into the Bayou. A massive pontoon was moving towards them, taking no care to be quiet. Tourists were crushed inside, pointing their cameras outward, hoping for a glimpse of a gator.

"That normal?" Rick asked, moving his gun stealthily to the side, hiding it between them.

"They'll move on soon enough," Michonne said confidently. Still, the noise was making her nervous. "Just wave like everything is ordinary."

Rick raised a hand, giving the boat a friendly acknowledgment. The guide spotted him at once.

"Whew, boy, what do we got here?" he asked loudly through his microphone in a thick cajun accent. "You two need a tow?"

"We're good," Rick assured them, giving them a forced smile.

"What about you, chere?" the guide asked brightly. "You two lovebirds gonna fry floating out here in the sun like this. Better hope the gators don't like barbeque." He laughed heartily, his chuckle echoing over the water. His customers joined him, some even lifting the camera to take pictures.

Rick threw his arm over Michonne's shoulder, blocking them from a clear view. "We're good, I promise," he shouted back, adding in a fake laugh for good measure.

"Well if them gators don't get you, be careful. I was just telling these good folks that these waters are known for witches. Don't want to go stumbling on any, do we?"

Michonne stiffened, irritated. She glanced at the motor of the pontoon, speeding it up with a wink.

"Whoa there," the guide shouted in surprise. "These waters are crazy today. Sit down folks, buckle up."

His group paid him no mind, instead rushing for the edge of the boat. They began to point and shout at once, lifting their cameras.

"It's a crocodile!" someone shouted.

"There's no crocs in these Bayous, 'cept for the shoes," the guide deadpanned. "Might just be a big ol' alligator." He leaned over to look.

"Michonne," Rick hissed suddenly. "I don't know much about New Orleans, but that doesn't look right to me."

She peered from around him. It took her only a moment to see it. Cruising below the waters, silhouetted, was a crocodile that could give Jaws a run for his money.

"Is that something Merle would do?" she asked urgently, already drawing on her strength.

"A giant fucking crocodile?" Rick asked. "Yeah, that's something that dumb shit would do."

"I need you to hold on tight, Rick," Michonne drew in a deep breath.

Rick reached forward, gripping the bench. "What are you gonna-"

His question got lost as Michonne reached out, tugging at the beast with enough force to send it careening back. It recovered quickly, yanking them forward. The tourists began to scream in earnest aboard the boat.

"What the everlovin' hell?" the guide yelled. He began to throw his vessel in reverse, maneuvering the massive craft around at the speed of molasses in January.

"You want me to shoot it?" Rick asked, clinging to the side as the boat thrashed backwards and forwards with the force of the crocodile.

Michonne gritted her teeth, holding on. "No," she managed. "Merle, he can't be far. He's not skilled enough to do this from a distance."

"No skilled enough, huh?" Merle's wheezing laugh echoed. "Haven't you heard, darling? I'm a serial killer!"

Something rammed their boat with enough force to break Michonne's hold. The crocodile shot like a bat out of hell towards the tour boat. Without hesitation, Michonne dove in after it.

"Fuck!" she could hear Rick cursing up a storm above the surface of the water, but she didn't break stride, propelling herself forward. Even in the brown water, she could see the outline of the crocodile's great spiked tail. She reached out, grabbing hold. At her touch, the mummer's farce of an animal went up in flames. It glowed a brilliant orange, spreading from tail to tip. In seconds, it was not more than ash, drifting harmlessly to the bottom of the river.

Michonne resurfaced to be met with looks of abject shock from the whole of the boat and Rick alike.

"Holy shit," the guide whistled into his mic. "That's a genuine witch, folks."

It was Merle's turn to curse. From somewhere unseen, he let out an inhuman howl. His rage sent the pontoon spinning like a rubber duck in the bath. Michonne raised her hands to steady it before it ran aground. With a grunt, she forced it back up the river, away from the fight.

"Damn bitch," Merle lamented. "You ruin everything."

From the airboat, Rick whipped his head around, spotting his enemy in the distance.

"Michonne," he yelled for her, pointing. She saw him gathering himself, tossing his hat to the wayside, preparing to jump.

Michonne propelled him forward like a dart, clearing the path for him. Merle shouted again.

"You ain't playing fair, Miss bitchy witchy," he crowed. "Guess I gotta bring in my teammate too."

Michonne lifted her hand to level Merle with a blow that would shut him up, but another voice interrupted them.

"Well hello there," cultured southern tones assaulted her ears. "Michonne was it?"

She spun in the water, treading. Someone had joined them from the shore, a tall, pale man. He was grinning, the very swamp beneath his feet dying with his every breath.

"Governor," it came out as half a snarl.

"You know," he grinned, eyes going scarlet. "You look just like your great aunties."

-l-l-l-l-l-

Rick emerged gasping on the other side of the swamp, at least 100 meters from where he'd first jumped in. He chanced a glance over his shoulder, noticing Michonne still bobbing in the water. Even from a distance, she looked like a nymph, commanding the elements around her with flawless precision.

"Ohhhh weee," Merle chortled. "Someone's got a little crush, huh Officer Friendly?"

Rick looked up, spotting Merle ahead, hidden among the trees. He hastened towards him, drawing his Colt.

"That ain't do much the first time, remember?" Merle taunted. "Just got your ass kicked in a damn graveyard. Or did you forget?" He ducked behind a tree and out of sight. Rick reached it, leveling his Colt, but Merle had disappeared.

Something hit Rick hard from the side, nearly knocking his feet out from under him.

"So damn cocky," Merle lamented. "Guess we need to teach you that lesson again."

He hit Rick a second time before disappearing, his laugh echoing around him as though from all sides. Another blast sent Rick flying, sliding through the mud and grime ankle deep. Merle laughed in earnest.

"Ain't got your chickadee to come help you, do you now?" he taunted. "Pretty little thing has got her hands full, I'm afraid."

He struck again and Rick stumbled backwards, grunting in pain.

"Now that's more like it," Merle grinned, advancing.

-l-l-l-l-l-

"You know," The Governor walked towards Michonne over the water as though it were stone. "It took three of them to put me down, and as you can see," he gestured to himself. "It was only temporary." The Governor raised a hand, drawing Michonne out of the water as though with an invisible fist. "What makes you think you can do better?"

Michonne shut her eyes, quelling her fear. With laser-sharp focus, she struck out, aiming straight for the Governor's heart. He yelled, dropping her, but she caught herself before she went back under, moving for shallow waters. Before he could recover, she hit him again, tossing one of the blackened trees he had killed directly at him. It swung like a baseball bat, its charred bark hitting her adversary with a satisfying smack. He went flying, but quickly righted himself.

"Not bad," the Governor wiped blood away from his mouth, reaching in his pocket for a handkerchief. "Not bad at all, Miss Hawthorne."

He flicked it. The forest around them ignited, smoke clouding the air. The animals, previously hidden, began to panic, all of them running, diving for the water in frantic piles.

Michonne gathered the river beneath her, raising her hands. The elements followed her command, extinguishing the flames. It was not until she released it that she realized the Governor was right in front of her.

"You witches are so predictable," he snarled, striking her with the palm of his hand.

-l-l-l-l-l-

Rick heard Michonne's startled scream even through the ringing in his ears. He sat up, spitting muck away from his face.

"Uh oh," Merle gasped, grasping imaginary pearls. "Sounds like your lady love is in trouble."

Rick swung out, managing to connect. Merle yelped, moving away.

"You can't save her if you're chasing me, Officer Friendly." Merle struck out again, lightning quick like a cobra. Rick's vision ran red. "I don't think you can save her at all," he goaded, bearing down on him.

A sudden thought occurred to Rick. Grappling in his shirt pocket, Rick drew out his badge and thrust it forward. It hit Merle right in his outstretched hand.

The effect was instantaneous. A burst of light exploded at the contact. A searing sound filled the air and Merle began to scream, the skin of his hand burned clear away. He retreated, but his movements were slower.

Without hesitation, Rick raised his Colt and fired.

-l-l-l-l-l-

The sound of the gun was unmistakable, even through the cacophony around her, Michonne honed it on it, clearing her mind.

The Governor was on top of her, holding her below the surface of the water. Michonne lashed out, but her attacks fell to the wayside like he was shooing a fly. The Governor's face was above her, split into a cruel smile.

"Should have tried this the first time," he chuckled. "It's a much quicker way to end that damned line of yours."

Anger filled her. The Governor noticed.

"How many of you have witches killed over the years?" he asked. "I'm curious. Your daddy for sure, I'd wager. But how many have you lost?"

Mike. His face came to her mind, young, untroubled, idealistic. She hadn't believed in the curse, not then, not really. Then Mike got in a motorcycle accident one night coming to meet her. It hadn't been rainy, he hadn't been drunk, and no one else was around. The police said there was no one to blame. That was a lie.

Michonne relaxed her body, shutting her eyes until she went limp. The Governor pushed her down even further.

"That's right," he soothed in a voice like a lullaby. "It ain't worth the fight, girl."

She waited until her back hit the soft ground beneath her, The Governor pushed harder still, leaning over her. Michonne struck as quickly as she could, palm out, fingers curled. She prayed her aim was true. The Governor's eye came out clean as a whistle. She evaporated it in her hand, determined to turn the rest of him to dust as well.

He screamed above her, releasing her. He began to thrash in the shallow water. Michonne sat up, panting.

"You were made from ashes," she began, releasing the fistful of flakes. "And to ashes you will return."

For one sweet moment, she saw terror register on the Governor's face. Then, from the forest, his acolyte began to scream.

In a gust of wind, the Governor fled.

-l-l-l-l-l-

"You can't kill me, Grimes. Face it," Merle spat, crawling away from him. The wet mud beneath him ran crimson with his blood.

"You sure about that?" Rick asked, pursuing. "Cause it looks like you're dying, Dixon."

"I ain't the one limpin'," Merle countered.

"Nah," Rick agreed, cocking his gun. "Just crawling."

Merle looked up at him, grinning that ugly, crooked smile. "Feels good, don't it?" he asked. "Holding the power like that. Ready to take a life. No better feeling in the whole damn world. Better even than that chickadee you got back there. Didn't take you for the kind to mix, Grimes."

Rick said nothing, only pulled the trigger, shooting Merle in the leg as he attempted to stand up. He cursed.

"Well kill me then!" Merle demanded.

Rick hesitated. It would be easy to put Merle down like a dog in the mud out here. But Rick never had been much for doing the easy thing.

"Merle Dixon," he began calmly. "You're under arrest."

Merle laughed all the harder. "You gotta be kidding me. Officer Friendly to the end." He looked above Rick's head. "Should have killed me when you had the chance."

The winds hit like a hurricane, knocking the pair of men flat to the ground. Rick knew instinctively, that the Governor had arrived.

"Bout time you showed up," Merle crowed. "I'm bleeding to death here!" He thrust his hand out. "Need some help."

Help was not forthcoming. Instead, the wind funneled upwards, taking Merle with him. He raised ten feet straight up in the air, then came crashing down into the mud, a limp, bleeding pile. The wind whipped away faster, leaving the Bayou silent, and Merle, unconscious, behind.

"Rick!" Michonne called his name, relief palpable in her voice. She rushed to him, helping him up from the ground. She had his hat, but Rick barely noticed. She was soaking wet with large, ugly welts forming over her slender neck. Rick reached for her at once, touching them.

"What happened?" he questioned.

Michonne clasped his hand. "The coward ran away," she spat. She turned her eyes to Merle. "And he took his magic with him."

From a few yards away, Merle groaned, wiggling feebly.

"You'd better finish your arrest," Michonne said, bending to touch Rick's swollen ankle. It healed at once. "I'll clean up the mess back here." She offered him a strained smile before retreating, heading back to the water's edge.

Rick turned away from her with difficulty, walking instead towards Merle. He bent, handcuffing him behind his back. The click of the metal cuffs left a satisfaction Rick had rarely felt before.

"You need me to read you the rest of your rights?" Rick asked, the limp and bleeding killer. "Or do you got 'em memorized by now?'

"Fuck you," Merle groaned.

Rick sighed. "You have the right to remain silent..." he began, hauling Merle to his feet.

-l-l-l-l-l-

Michonne had just managed to put the Bayou largely back to rights when Rick emerged, dragging Merle behind him. The trees where the Governor stood were blackened beyond saving, a desolate desert in the midst of the swamp. Michonne wondered whether anything might ever grow there again.

"Do you have him?" she asked, looking back at the two men.

"He's not going anywhere," Rick assured her. He holstered his weapon. With his free hand, he tilted her chin up, inspecting the bruises. "He touched you," Rick's voice was filled with venom.

"I pulled his eye out," she informed him, gently pushing Rick's hand down. She looked at Merle. His right palm was burned beyond recognition, a familiar star shape imprinted there. "The badge?" she asked, impressed.

"Guess you were right," Rick grinned.

Michonne drew the airboat towards them, this time helping Rick into it with his captive. They stowed Merle at the base.

"I'll heal that hand when we get back," she told Rick lowly, pushing Merle into unconsciousness with a nudge of her mind. "That might draw questions."

Rick scoffed. "Don't waste it on Dixon," he told her. His eyes found her neck again. "Take care of yourself."

"I'm ok," she promised, sitting beside him. The motor started up again, silently propelling them away. Michonne took a moment to inspect her partner. She laid her hand over a particularly nasty gash on his forehead, sealing it shut.

"Yeah?" Rick gathered her wet locs, tossing them behind her shoulder so he could get a better look at her. Satisfied that the Governor had done no permanent damage, he released her, pausing only to drop his hat on her head.

"Yeah," she promised. She was exhausted and still reeling, but she was alive. Better than that, she knew now that the Governor could be injured. Perhaps he could even be killed.

"Then I'm ok too," Rick told her. With a sigh, he settled in next to her. "We're gonna need a week-long bath after this," he muttered, tugging at his wet and mud-slicked flannel in disgust.

Michonne shook her head, hiding her smile.

"You really pulled out his eye?" Rick asked.

"Turned it to dust," Michonne said with satisfaction.

"So we caught one killer and half-blinded the other," Rick recounted. "It ain't a bad start."

Michonne sighed. "Let's hope it's enough," she whispered, steering back towards the car.