((Background music for this chapter: Arkham Horror: 1 Hour of HP Lovecraft Creepy Music by Graham Plowman works great. Again.))

"I know what you're trying to do," Madison accused loftily.

Her target was Desiree, and the charge was made from the bed she was chained to. It was a long chain; she could roam about the room freely and even enter the small bathroom. But she was still tethered to the bed.

"What?" Desiree said, trying for innocence.

She was in Madison's room, bringing her food as an excuse to take some to her basement friends, so naturally her thoughts went there first. She wasn't far from right.

"I know you're trying to help those guys in the basement escape," Madison clarified, using an obnoxious 'it's so obvious' tone . She didn't like it when people played dumb, especially when they weren't.

"I—" Desiree started, flustered by the blatant truth.

"Don't bother denying it," dismissed the chained girl. "We both know it's true. Only you can't do it on your own or you would have by now."

Desiree set the tray down and came over to the bedside, wringing her hands. "I haven't done anything. I swear! Please don't tell Fiona."

Madison rolled her eyes. "Get me a cigarette, will you?" Then: "I won't tell anybody your stupid secret. I brought it up because I'm going to help you."

"Help me?" Desiree was lost.

"Yes. Help you. Cigarette?" Madison wiggled her cigarette-less fingers impatiently.

Desiree went to the console to grab one of the cloves and the book of matches, bringing both back to Madison. "How? Why?"

Madison put the cigarette between her lips and lit it. The flame from the match was weak and went out without her having to put it out. She took her time exhaling the smoke and gave the girl a critical look.

"Because I want to," the blonde dead girl said with a tone of bored detachment. "Just make sure you're down by the cages tonight after sunset, ready to do your thing. I can't do help with the collars, but I can distract Pietre long enough for you to work your voodoo, so you can get Kyle and Zoe out of here. You'll have to figure out the collars later when you're out of this dump."

—

That evening, Madison made sure she looked nice. She washed and brushed her hair, dabbed on a little makeup, and put on the most flattering black nightgown the warlock had provided her with. Since her death and subsequent resurrection, very little had an emotional impact on her or stirred significant feelings. She had expected to be nervous about this deceptive plan, but she felt as she typically felt these days: Bland.

Pietre let himself into the room around sunset, when the natural light was fading behind the blinds that covered the window. He was dressed in a black silk shirt with long sleeves in a loose poet's cut and snug black pants. He was barefoot as always, despite the fact that it was winter.

"Good evening," he said to her with a smile.

"So, I know I'm not an expert about this 'end of the world' shit," Madison said by way of returning the greeting. "But Meg said you're the Antichrist. I thought Michael was the Antichrist."

Pietre paused mid-step on his way over to the bed and cocked his head, studying her with a curious smile. "Meg told you that, did she? Interesting. Yes, it is true I am an Antichrist. One of several."

Madison hadn't meant to throw Meg to the proverbial wolves. The youngest triplet hadn't acted like she was revealing a secret when mentioned it. "One of several? Michael's not the only one? I thought he was supposed to, like, destroy the world or some shit like that."

Pietre laughed, seeming to be genuinely amused by her interpretation. He came around the bed to where she was sitting. She had come to associate his approach with pain and discomfort and had to force herself not to tense up. It wasn't a fear reaction; she wasn't afraid. She just wasn't fond of spending her time getting friction burns satisfying his lusts.

"There are many," the warlock reiterated. He started unbuttoning his shirt. "Some will choose to engage in the Armageddon battle. Some of us…choose other paths."

"What path have you chosen?" she prompted. She needed to manage the conversation better, to keep him talking if this was going to work.

"Isn't it obvious? Self-pleasure," he grinned. "Let the others fight for this place. I'll side with whoever wins."

Intrigued in spite of herself, Madison said: "But you support Michael."

"For now," Pietre agreed. He dropped his shirt on the floor and unfastened the fly on his pants. "He seems to be the strongest contender. That may change when the battle begins."

"I don't want to be chained up if there's going to be a battle," Madison said, giving the chain a token tug. "You've kept me tethered to this bed for ages. Let me go. I won't run, I promise."

He laughed and slid out of his pants, like a snake shedding its skin. "That's a thin reassurance. You have nowhere to run to." He sat down on the edge of the bed, close to her hip. Then he leaned over her middle and put his hand down on the mattress on her far side, caging her with his body. "What would you do if you had your freedom, I wonder? Would you immediately try to free your friends downstairs? Or would you wait a bit and try to gain Fiona's trust first?"

Madison tried to laugh off the unexpected question, but it sounded false, even to her. "They're not my friends."

"Then why are you plotting with Desiree to free them?" Pietre asked smoothly. He reached out and stroked her jaw, letting his thumb linger near her mouth.

"I'm not!" she protested.

"Shh," the warlock said, moving his thumb over her lips. "Don't spoil the fun with crude lies. You're planning to keep me busy while your little coven-mate hacks my wards. It's okay. We'll let her think things went according to plan. It will…give her a sense of accomplishment. I don't mind being kept busy for a while." He plucked roughly at the neckline of her negligee, tearing the lace. "We'll let them have, say…two hours? Let's make it three. Then we'll call a Wild Hunt on them. It will be a brilliant way to end Yule. Perhaps the start of a new tradition, thanks to you, my dear. Well played."

He crawled on top of her then and she actually welcomed his voracious sexual appetite for a change. It kept her from dwelling on his words.

—

The thick smoke from the small fire on the basement floor irritated Desiree's lungs and made her want to cough. She resisted the urge; she didn't have time to succumb to a fit of asthma. She was stronger than that. She had to be.

She had positioned her sacred point in the space midway between where the two cages were located. She could see both from where she knelt but neither occupant could see each other. She wasn't sure how long she had so she tried to work quickly and quietly, but there was a verbal component to the ritual of summoning that she had to go through with or else it wouldn't work.

She started the incantation, and as she spoke the old words to draw the attention of Carrefour, she took a small sack of gunpowder and sprinkled several pinches of the black stuff into a tall glass of rum. Then she waved seven tobacco leaves over the glass before casting them into the fire. The green leaves added more smoke to the room, making it difficult for her to see either cage.

The temperature seemed to be rising. Desiree could feel sweat prickling her skin as she continued to chant. The air grew heavier as the tobacco perfumed the basement. The voodoo witch finished the incantation and sagged in on herself for a moment, winded. She was dizzy and slightly euphoric. It was hard to catch her breath. She knew she had to focus, though, or she would quickly be in trouble.

As if sensing her weakness, a shadowy figure separated from the dark recesses of the basement. Desiree blinked against the sting of the smoke to see him better, but it wasn't until he stepped into the firelight that she could make out any distinguishing features. She knew it was him, not only because he looked as the descriptions claimed, but she was suffused with the sense of who and what he was. He gave off a cold, otherworldly presence that couldn't be denied.

He came around the fire to stand over her. It was a terrifying experience to look up into the face of raw, dark power, but Desiree met his stony gaze without wavering. He was incredibly handsome, albeit inflexibly serious. He appeared no older than she, which was a guise as he was immortal. His red t-shirt and black pants could belong to anyone; the fancy red cape and jaunty black top hat were accessories only he wore. The lining of his cape was patterned with large diamonds in darker red, a Mardi Gras flavored design that belied his humorless gaze. His braided hair hung midway down his back and rattled with beads and bones when he moved.

"Maitre Kalfu," the witch said, finding her voice. She knew not to waste his time. "Thank you for answering my call, Monsieur. I beg a favor."

He assessed her and folded his arms. "Are you prepared to pay de price?" His words were accented thickly Creole. His straight teeth were shockingly white against his ink-black skin.

"Yes, Maitre," she answered without hesitation.

"Widout namin' de price?"

"Please, Monsieur, whatever you require. The coven here have imprisoned two people I wish to free. The magic on the cages that hold them is very strong. A warlock's spell. I can't free them without your help."

Carrefour looked from one cage to the next, sensing the entities within. Then he looked down at Desiree again. "A great war is coming. Dey are safe here, wid de bitch-hive."

"But they're prisoners, Maitre," Desiree insisted. "They can barely move. It's not good for them to be so cramped up all the time."

"So make dey cages biggah," the Master of Crossroads said, his tone suggesting she should have thought of something so obvious.

The conversation wasn't going at all the way Desiree had pictured. To placate the Loa, she offered him the rum. His dark red eyes slid to the tall glass and he considered the liquor. She was vastly relieved when he accepted it. She noticed he was wearing several rings on both hands, including a large one on his thumb in the shape of a skeleton that looked like it was made of real bone.

"Monsieur, I beg you to help me," she tried again. She knew the Petro spirits could be very tricky. Persistence and confidence were key. "Will you please free them?"

Despite his aloof attitude, Kalfu gulped the rum eagerly, draining the glass to the very last gunpowder-infused drop. Then he crushed the cup to powder in his hand like mortal men would crush a beer can, with no injury to himself. The powdery sand glittered as it sifted between his long, ebony fingers. He gave her plea only a few seconds of consideration. He already knew the impact of the choices she was making and could steer her any number of ways. The decision lay in which direction he wanted to point her.

"De bargain," he declared. "Is made."

He spread his arms and tipped his head back and an eerie red light shone from his eyes. The doors of both of the cages dropped off their hinges, landing on the floor with a loud metallic clatter.

"Oh! Thank you," Desiree exclaimed when she'd recovered from the surprise of the doors coming off. She had only hoped he would remove the wards on the cages. "Thank you, Monsieur! What payment—"

Carrefour drew his fancy cape around himself and fixed her with an icy stare that made her shrink into herself. "When it is time for you to pay, I will tell you."

He turned then and was gone. Just like that, right before her eyes. It was so sudden, for an instant she wondered if she had just imagined the conversation. But a quick look around assured her the cage doors were indeed on the floor. Kyle was slinking out, looking around suspiciously.

"Kyle!" Desiree said, scrambling to her feet.

She hurried over to him, noticing as she reached him that his collar was missing. Apparently the Master of Crossroads had removed that as well. Despite her immense gratitude for his help, Carrefour's cold stare haunted her. She felt uneasy but tried to dismiss it. She still had work to do and she had to do it fast.

"What's going on?" Zoe called from her cage.

She poked her head out and, seeing Desiree and Kyle together, emerged from her prison as well. She winced as she tried to hurry and found her muscles too stiff to cooperate without aches.

"I got you guys out," Desiree told them. "Now we just have to get you out of the hotel. Once we do, we have to run, Okay? Get out of here. Out of New 'Salem, California…if we can get off this continent, maybe…We just need to get away. Something—something really bad is coming. I think it has to do with Michael."

"Shocker," said Zoe with mild sarcasm. She was quite a sight, not having been allowed a brush or basic hygiene items for too long. "How'd you get past the wards?"

"No time for that now. Come with me," Desiree said. "I have a couple of backpacks of food and stuff hidden outside. Just follow me and if you see anyone—"

"We'll kill them," Zoe promised.

"Let's try to get out of here without a fight," coached Desiree. She headed for the back stairs. "This way."

—

Author's Note:

"Deal with the Devil" is a literary trope so well-known, it has an entry on TVtropes-dot-com. The entry cautions those who are facing such a trope to "Read the Fine Print", which our two gals in this chapter don't seem to have taken time to do. It also says:

"If you should find yourself suckered into a Deal with the Devil, The Power of Love may be your best bet at defeating the infernal contract. Or you can try your luck (literally) with a Jury of the Damned."

So. Power of love or a jury of the damned could potentially fix everything. Anybody wanna lay odds?

Next chapter's the last one of this Episode. We'll see if Kyle and Zoe get away in the finale chapter. Then, next Episode, all Hell breaks loose with "Gehenna".