Dr. Facilier has left. My shop is quiet, and in everything is in place. There's finally time for me to think, but I don't want to. He came in here and babbled in that smooth voice that slinks across the air and slides effortlessly into your ear about his shadow and voodoo for an hour. It's a lot to absorb, working for evil without realizing it. I won't go back.

Upstairs the warm bath overflows. The best thing I can do now is turn the water off, get in, and think about nothing. Absolute fluff.

Enveloped in warmth and darkness, my sleep is interrupted by a harsh knocking at my door. My body aches and my mind feels numb. Quickly, I roll onto the floor, throw on a robe and race to the door. The brass knob is freezing, a bitter taste of what lies just outside the door.

Outside in the chilled winter air, stands the Monster. Dr. Facilier. His frame against the muted colors of the shops outside is such a stark contrast, his clothing so bright and festive. He smiles at me quizzically and my mouth drops slightly in shock as the memories flood back from where they were hiding.

"Just what are you doing asleep?" His shadow lurches forward haphazardly, exasperated.

I clutch the robe to my throat. "I quit. I thought you would understand when I never showed up today." "Well I didn't, now did I?" He looks down at me in disapproval, lips pursed and eyes narrowed.

"I'm sorry for your inconvenience." I step back behind the door and start to close it, but all too quickly, he thrusts his dark, polished cane in the port.

"And just what do you think you're doing 'chere?" The shadow grabs the back of my neck and forces me out.

"I could ask you the same thing! Unhand me!"
"Don't make a scene darlin." He snarls "You signed a contract."

He holds out a hand and a crisp piece of paper that materializes in it. The paper I wrote my name on . . . agreeing to terms of work . . . that I didn't read through.

"Lemme see that!" I snatch the contract from his rough brown hands.

"I _Leora Friedman_ hereby state that I agree to the terms of practice stated below by my future employer, DR. FACILIER. {One year's time.} I will follow them unconditionally and know that if I deviate from DR. FACILIER's orders I will be punished accordingly, death by black magic and my soul will be donated for use."

Signed

X_Leora A. Friedman_

_

"What did I just agree to?" Shocked out of my wits, the contract floats to the ground and my knees buckle. A sharp laugh butts out of my mouth. "Magic isn't real! Hahahah! This is a joke! Hahahahaa who put you up to this?"

Dr. Facilier pushes my knees together with his cane. They were thrown outward when I sat, and I didn't think twice about it. "Indecent . . ." he mutters and the shadow hands him the contract.

"What you signed here, is not a joke. It is real, more real than it should be." He smirks "you're almost my servant now daaarlin'." He lets the last word tumble from his tongue seductively.

"FUCK!" I yell at the top of my lungs. His smirk grows. "No thanks, not now. I suggest you go inside and get your ass ready for work."

Dr. Facilier tips his hat with a grave look, turns on his heel and disappears around the corner. "Fuck." I mutter underneath my breath.

At the entrance of the emporium, in a clean rough black dress, I pause. It's impossible to walk through that door. . .

*Creaaak* The door opens on it's own and a force pushes me inside, I stumble and fall on the tattered carpet. "Ooof!" Incense and musk fills my nose.

"Are you ok? I knew you wouldn't do it on your own." His voice a contradiction, strong and rough, but underneath smooth like silk. Dr. Facilier holds out a coarse hand for me to take.

His eyes are so vibrant purple in the dark, and as much as I want to, I can't look away. He takes his hand away sharply. "Follow me." He walks up a winding iron staircase, feet clanking.

The walls are covered in an assortment of dangerous and ominous items. Draped cloth, masks, voodoo dolls, symbols, necklaces, amulets ect.

Upstairs it is the same way, but a little neater. Off to one side there is a red door, cracked slightly. Through it is a purple bed with thick red drapes. On the opposite side is a wash room. Ahead of us it a little closet.

"Do you know how to make yarn dolls?" he asks me over his shoulder. He's taken his hat off and for the first time I glimpse his hair. It's a huge poof of dark brown curls and tangles.

"Uh-hu" I manage.

He hands me a ball of black yarn. "Show me."

I sit down where I stand and kick of a shoe. I tie a loop; slip it over my toe and start winding. Dr. Facilier looks down at me, confused.

"It's easier with both hands." He nods and leans against a wall.

In twenty minutes, she's finished. Carefully and painstaking, it's worth it to have a doll look so perfect. I hand it to him and he looks over it with gentle curiosity.

"Good. Go into my room," he points to the red door "and get my scissors out of the top drawer of the night stand." "Yes doctor."

Inside his room, my thoughts wander to his bed. They make my eyes caress every detail, every funny stain and fold. They go taboo- and it must stop! I force myself to think of something pure. Sooomething . . . sheep! Sheep, they're white and . . . sex. No! Small children with their sticky hands. . . What's wrong with me? It's not like I've never seen a bed before. But I want to be in his . . .

In his drawer are a variety of blush-worthy things, namely the picture of a woman spread eagled on a . . . A year will be long, I think in dismay. I rush out of his room and kick the door closed once my hand comes in contact with the scissors. My face is flush and I push my thoughts away.

"I gotta 'em." He takes my face in for a moment and cracks up.

"I forgot that was in there! Ahahaha! You look like you never seen-" His expression change from delight to curiosity "Oh, you've never seen anything like that have you?"

I shake my head, wide eyed. "No. I wish I'd have kept it that way.'

He shakes his head, amused again. "I'm sorry chere' C'om'ere. I've got something to show you."

He better keep those damn pants on or I'll shoot him.

Dr. Facilier takes the scissors and snips the loops of the dolls arms in half. "You take their arms and braid them, see like so," he divides the doll's arm in three pieces, braids it, rips a piece of yarn of the ball, and ties it off. "Now you have her hands, see?"

"Yes, I see." He hands me the doll and the scissors. "Your turn Leora."

I make a messy interpretation of what he's done. "Tighter on the braids, ok? Now you take . . .

It's 3oo in the morning when I finish the pile of dolls. When we had finished practicing he handed me 4 balls of yarn and sent me to work making part of a voodoo kit that sells well to tourists.

They look innocent enough, yet he tells me that any negative thoughts while making the doll could turn it unnecessarily evil. This was, subtly and diabolically evil, because now, I can only think awful things. That bastard. I hate this joke he's played on me, having me send bad karma to wayward strangers.

Speak of the devil, I finish the third bundle and he strides into the backroom adjacent to the showroom, whistling. "You should have gone home already darlin'."

"You told me to finish the dolls. All four of the bundles."

He pulls me up by the arm into a standing position. I'm so close to him for once and I'm so intoxicated by the way he smells, his rough skin, the warmth of his body. It's tempting to lean into him and put my arms around his neck, and for a moment I'm almost convinced to. Wrong. It'd be so wrong.

He lets go. "Are you ok? Leora, you don't look right." Dr. Facilier's brow wrinkles.

My body wavers. "I'm ok."

"No you're not. You need sleep." He grabs my waist from behind and pushes me to the door. "I can't have my employees sick."

Employee . . . that word . . . it has hollow meaning. He doesn't want me.

Again, the walk home is slow and never ending. The sky is still velvety black, like a sheet. It's so cold, but I have weak protection from the winter. He notices and, wordlessly places his coat on my shoulders.

I hide a smile. Once at the door, I hand him the coat and smile assumingly at him. "I'll be ok."

He lifts my chin up at him and gives me a stern look. "You better be ok tomorrow." His eyes are like stones, so distracting. I barely notice him kissing my forehead until his eyes are out of my view.

I spin around and head inside as quickly as possible to hide my blush. "Good night."