Desiree faded in and out of consciousness. She had been in labor for over twenty-four hours, the last six spent on the floor of the kitchen at the Bradford Hotel. As with Evangelina's pregnancy, Desiree's had accelerated supernaturally fast, and it was taking a toll on the woman. With little to eat and virtually no sleep, she was growing delirious. She kept slipping into visions that ended only when another contraction began.

Once, she thought she was back in New Orleans. It was the night of the zombies and she was trying to tell her grandmother not to be afraid because Desiree had been rescued by one. Her grandmother just wanted her to hide in the bathtub, like it was a storm that would blow out. When the birthing pains subsided next, she believed she was in a cave with a handful of fallen angels waiting to take her baby when it came.

The reality wasn't much different, only instead of angels, Pieter and Fiona were there, along with Meg and Tisi. The younger women were both dressed in old ivory linen chemises and had plenty of towels on hand. A pot of water was on low boil. Sharp medical instruments were scattered on the countertop.

Fiona hung back near the window, looking like a widow in her black pencil skirt dress and netted pillbox hat. Her black stiletto heels flashed red soles when she moved to snub her cigarette in the lead crystal ashtray on the table.

Pieter was seated there at the table, barefoot and wearing a black silk lounging outfit. He was completely unconcerned with the pregnant woman's moans of pain as another contraction brought Desiree up from her delirium briefly. Realizing where she was, she tried to get up, but Tisi pushed her back down again.

"If you keep doing that," Pieter warned her mildly. "We'll have to tie you up. You wouldn't like that."

Desiree gave a strangled sob and looked around, desperately searching for help that wasn't forthcoming.

"Don't fight," Tisi murmured, her tone gentle even though her grip was not.

"I can't have the baby here," Desiree wept. "Oh, God..."

"None of that," Pieter admonished.

"Shouldn't you be praying to Legba or something?" Meg said. She had grown tired of the witch's hysterics a while ago.

"Kalfu," Desiree gasped. The intense pain was starting to fade, and she was fading again with it.

Meg said something, but Desiree didn't understand her. She was falling into darkness.

It was dark. Dark and cold. Wet.

Something slithered nearby.

Desiree opened her eyes and saw the glistening long tail of something with the form of an alligator, but the flesh of a rotted newt slip off the end of the pier. Fog choked the water. The creature vanished with barely a sound.

Then the boards behind her began to creak. She was collared and chained to the pier. Her hands were bound before her. She couldn't flee. So, she braced herself for death at the jaws of whatever was stalking her.

Only the dreadful bite never came. Instead, she found herself looking up at a dark figure clothed in black. His tall top hat was adorned with red and black feathers, its brim hiding his face in shadow.

"Maitre Kalfu!" Desiree said.

He turned his head then, allowing moonlight to strike his face. It was not Carrefour but Baron Samedi who had come to her: Baron La Croix. It was surreal to see this other guise of his. He looked somewhat like Baron Cimitière, but more dignified. Younger. Better clothes.

She could smell cigar tobacco on him when he stood over her.

"You owe a debt, chère," he said. His voice was baritone honey butter.

"To Kalfu," she said.

Her hands were still tied. It made sitting up awkward, but she tried anyway. He put a hand on her shoulder and pushed her back down.

"I am here to collect the debt for him," La Croix said, and his hand slid down over her breast.

Her captors had left her in her underwear; at his touch, the bra strap popped free. He took full advantage of the easy access.

Desiree knew she should pull away, but his touch wasn't repulsive as it had been the last time she had encountered him when he was in Cimitière guise. Quite the contrary. She found herself wanting him to touch her more. She wondered if his lips tasted like the tobacco scent that clung to him.

"How do I know you're not lying?" she asked, trying to stall for time to think.

He laughed and his other hand went down her panties. She squirmed and gasped when his fingers found her slit and began to stroke.

"You will just have to trust me, chère," Baron La Croix murmured.

He kissed her deeply, and she tasted rum and smoke. Then his fingers were replaced by his huge cock.

Desiree was a virgin before the encounter on the pier. Any sizable penetration would have been uncomfortable for her, but his girth was almost more than she could bear.

The pain was such that it brought the witch back to reality: She was on the floor of the hotel kitchen, about to give birth to the child of a dark spirit. One of Pieter's albino ghouls was holding her down.

Desiree tried to twist free, but the pain was too intense.

"Tie her up, Meg," Pieter said dismissively.

Meg was only too glad to follow his command. She wasn't gentle about the bondage.

"I see the head," Tisi said. "Get her in position quickly."

—

Twenty minutes later, the baby's angry cries echoed in the tiled room. The child needed no assistance to breathe: She took her first breath on her own.

"It's a girl," reported Tisi.

Fiona huffed a short breath and lit another cigarette. Pieter went over to inspect. Tisi had the squalling baby in a towel stained with afterbirth. Pieter plucked up the infant and held her aloft.

The baby hiccupped herself to silence, looked at the warlock unhappily, then started to bawl all over again.

"I think she likes me," Pieter smiled.

He passed her back to his apprentice carelessly. The baby cried louder; Tisi, no expert with babies, tried to shush her.

"Are we going to sacrifice it?" Meg prompted hopefully.

"Is she a male?" Pieter asked.

Meg sat back on her heels, expression darkening. "No."

"Does she bear the mark?"

Tisi quickly checked the baby in all the usual places: Forehead, neck, hands, feet. Then she looked up at Pieter. "No."

Pieter's brows went up in a pointed look at Meg. "There's your answer."

Meg frowned deeper but had the sense to train the look on the unconscious Desiree. "What should we do with her?"

"Alec will move her to her room," Pieter said.

"What about the baby?" Tisi asked.

"Clean her up then bring her to me," Fiona interjected. "Make sure she's got a Pamper on and a blanket. I don't want her naked."

Tisi looked to Pieter, who gave a little nod. The woman hurried away with the squalling infant.

"Megaera clean this mess up," he instructed. "Then clean yourself and come to my room. You've been overdressed for too long."

Meg's whole frame wilted a little. She had almost allowed herself to forget she was still being punished. Pieter noticed the shift in her demeanor and stifled a smile. He loved it when she inevitably reached her breaking point. It would be a good night for him indeed.

—

The first thing Desiree sensed as she came up out of blackness was the scent of cigarette smoke. Cloves. She inhaled deeply and the spicy smell of tobacco brought with it thoughts of Carrefour, Samedi, and Michael.

Then pain started to creep in. Immediately she remembered: "My baby!"

She sat up and a wave of nausea overtook her. Her system tried to reverse, but she hadn't had anything to eat or drink in hours. She got caught in a series of chest-wracking dry heaves.

"Calm down," Fiona chided. She put out her cigarette and pushed herself up from the chair where she'd been sitting. She had a small, very old book with her that she slipped into her purse.

"My baby," Desiree said again when she could speak. Her voice was raw.

"..didn't survive, I'm afraid," the Supreme said without an ounce of pity. "You wouldn't have wanted it to. It wasn't human."

Desiree sank back down on the bed, surprised at how numb she felt in response to Fiona's news.

"As for you," Fiona went on. "You're confined to the hotel while you recover. The restraint will come off when you've proved your loyalty to the coven."

Desiree's hand went to her neck and her fingers brushed the collar fastened there. It was the same kind Kyle and Zoe had been fitted with. The same one Pieter put her in on the pier. She was completely powerless.

"How do I prove my loyalty?"

Fiona stared at her. "That's on you, isn't it?"

...

(Music cue: Donovan – Season of the Witch)

12 hours ago...

Fiona slid out of the passenger side of the Bentley. It was one of the only gas-powered vehicles in town, driven by an acolyte from Michael's church. It wasn't technically Fiona's car; it and all of the vehicles in New 'Salem belonged to Michael. But Fiona rode around in it the most, so she considered it hers, privately.

She paused a moment to sweep the neighborhood with a long glance over the top of her fashion sunglasses. Apart from the flock of blackbirds roosting close to the Montgomery Mansion, the street was still as death.

The bright sunlight seemed perversely inappropriate in its wholesomeness. Ever since the mist had started to recede, there were more and more sunny days. Fiona preferred overcast conditions and missed New Orleans again.

"I hate California," she muttered.

Then she opened the back passenger door and bent to unfasten the seatbelt that held the baby seat in place. With a soft grunt, she lifted the carrier.

—

Inside the house, the carrier sat on the kitchen island, between Fiona and Constance. The twins eyed one another like predators.

"I'm not taking that thing," Constance said emphatically. "I've already got my hands full with Michael's brood. I don't know why you'd even think I would."

"It's what you were meant to do," said Fiona loftily. "The mother of the new world, remember? You used to be so proud of that prophecy."

Constance's jaw set. "I'm doin' my job. Michael's boys are my only concern. Find some other wet nurse for your foundling. Give it to the Montgomery woman."

"This child is the offspring of Baron Samedi," Fiona pointed out.

"So, give the baby to him."

Fiona rolled her eyes. "You are such a bitch. How can you be so heartless toward a tiny babe?"

"If you love it so much," Constance snarled. "Why don't you take care of it?"

Fiona looked genuinely affronted by the suggestion. "Me? Ha! I've never changed a Pamper in my life and I am not starting now."

"Now who's heartless?"

"I never claimed to have a heart, dear," Fiona smirked. "I buried that long ago."

"In Haiti," Constance said.

Fiona's smile died. "Just take the god-damned baby." She pushed the carrier toward her sister.

Constance pushed it right back. "No."

"Oh, for the love of Christ!" Chad exclaimed, appearing near the end of the island. "Give me the baby."

He grabbed the handle of the baby carrier and plucked it up from the island. Both women stared at him. He shot them both a nasty look.

"I can see the family resemblance."

Feelings aired Chad left the room. He half-expected to be hit in the back with something, but he was allowed to leave with the car seat. He got about halfway up the stairs when the baby started to fuss. He looked down at the swaddled bundle, then back toward the kitchen.

"Fucking hell."

He shook his head at the insanity of it all, then went to find Patrick. They needed to scrounge up another crib.

...

Author's Note:

Boy, did things get weird quick. Not in the story; in reality. I've been writing this since 2013. Looking back, some of what I wrote seems almost tame compared to what's really gone down since 2019. Which is, ironically, the same year the world ended in this fanfic.

I probably won't be writing about Desiree's baby in the future. Just needed to get that plot line tied up. As we're getting near The End, I'm trying to get all those loose ends put to rest. The whole reason I started this 8-year-long project was because I was left with too many questions.

Next time: Michael finds Wormwood.

Which sounds really weird out of context.