Yay! Another chapter! I almost forgot to upload, so sorry that it's a little later than normal

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It was midday when Elizabeth and Menefer decided to finally take their excursion into the Quarter. Neither one knowing exactly what "Mardi Gras" entailed, they were not prepared for the crush of bodies on the sidewalks or the noise that accompanied it all. Brass bands blared out from every street corner and music fell from the doors of the shops and pubs that lined the narrow roads.

It was no secret to the women that Prohibition was in effect; but it didn't seem to matter to the people of New Orleans. The bars were open and liquor was flowing freely. The police were as often spotted with a drink in hand as a parade-goer. Elizabeth was having a hard time trying to comprehend this, as well as explain it to Menefer, who had no concept of national-law and the enforcement of such. The only thing that eclipsed the shock of openly denying the Prohibition law, were the countless barely-dressed women (and men) that made up a large percentage of the crowds. There were even blatantly topless women roaming about, allowing strangers to look or touch them in exchange for trinkets gotten from the parade floats.

Lizzie and Menefer wandered around in a fog, both trying unsuccessfully to slither through the sea of writhing people without touching anyone or specific parts of anyone. Their excursion, to say the least, would have to wait until this Carnival was over.

Ciel was safely ensconced in the study of the townhouse on Dumaine, the cries and shouts of revelers and blaring horns and jazz a muffled afterthought at his distance. It did serve to annoy him a bit; and he wondered if the women were alright out there on their own. He'd elected to stay behind and study the texts Sebastian had left him, but the worry for Lizzie and Menefer nagged at the back of his mind till he couldn't concentrate on the tiny images before him that made up the ancient Egyptian language. He convinced himself as he tugged on his jacket, that he was retrieving the ladies because Menefer could read Egyptian far more quickly than he could decipher it; and he only briefly considered the fact that he may not be able to find them at all.

"I'm a demon, for chrissake," he muttered to himself as he locked the door behind him. "The least I can do is find a blonde Brit and a damnable Mummy."

An hour into his "rescue mission" he wasn't so sure anymore. He passed the street sign for Rue Dauphine and thankfully, the sidewalk here was not so crowded as the others. He shuffled along, tapping his cane as he went, keeping a keen eye on the eccentrics around him-and gods, he had never seen so many breasts in his life, facsimiles or otherwise. His attention was momentarily diverted as he passed the shop front of a candy store. Oh, how he wished he could taste the heavenly sweets he so craved in his childhood! He tore his gaze away though, and continued, slipping through the throng of people toward St. Anne.

He didn't have any particular idea what he was doing, but he thought if he concentrated hard enough, perhaps he could tell where the girls were. He frequently squeezed his uncovered eye closed, hoping that the faint glimmer that steered his course was not his imagination. He liked to think that he shared some kind of bond with Lizzie, at least, so she was the one he concentrated on. St. Anne took him to Royal and he caught a glimpse of blonde curls where the crowd thinned and he turned blindly onto St. Peter and tried to catch up without actually running. The head disappeared into a tiny shop on the right and as it did so, he was convinced he was looking at Elizabeth's profile.

He rushed to the store front and nearly tripped over the exceedingly steep threshold. Catching himself, he peered around the shop, wondering at the bizarre and surreal wares packed inside. Some things were extravagantly grotesque while others were incongruous and strangely beautiful. There was an old woman dressed entirely in white behind the counter. She sat on a stool that barely allowed her to see over the counter proper. And what could she see? Ciel wondered, but the unnatural collection of whatnots and curiosities that flooded the entire little store.

She grinned at him, toothless and seemingly very pleased with herself over something. He straightened and reminded himself he was an earl, a noble, and above all else, a demon. There was nothing this old ninny could do to him... he hoped. "Madam," he greeted and something about the word he chose, or maybe his perfect English accent, made the old woman cackle merrily.

"Petit enfant," she said, and he supposed it was her reply to his greeting. "Parlez-vous francais?" Her voice was raspy like she gargled with broken glass and though Ciel nodded because it seemed his tongue was stuck in his throat, she continued on in that conglomeration of French/English that everyone in the city seemed to use. "Lookin' for someone, non?"

Ciel's attention at that point could not be diverted from the altar he spotted in the back of the store. A beaded curtain hung between the main room and the altar, but the flickering of hundreds of white candles in all shapes and sizes could not be blotted out. He suddenly remembered wandering into the dining room when Lizzie had covered the table with all those dozens and dozens of candles and when prompted 'why', she had no logical answer. He felt himself drawn to it, and he was taking steps in its direction when he realized the granny was on his heels.

"Assez, fils," she grunted, reaching out and putting a weathered brown hand on his shoulder. Ciel spun to face her and almost demanded she unhand him. But he didn't, and by the look that shadowed her face, he was certain he would have regretted it, too. An instant later, she was dropping her hand from him as if she'd been burned and she clutched it against her chest. Shooting him withering glare, she shuffled over to her counter and disappeared behind it for a moment, emerging with a rosary and tiny vial of what Ciel could only assume was holy water.

"Diable!" she screeched, flinging the water at him, and truly, it annoyed him more than anything. "Demon!" and the rosary was held in his face. He could only imagine what the expression he wore on his face looked like, as he stood there before the old woman, hands folded carefully over the handle of his cane, eye half-shut as he gazed at her with the utmost contempt but made no move whatsoever to retreat. A look of confusion crossed her face and the rosary was stuffed into a pocket on her long white skirt. She blinked a couple of times. She lifted the vial of holy water and splashed him with it again and besides an annoyed look as the liquid hit his face, Ciel didn't flinch. The granny looked accusatorially at the vial and recapped it, stuffing it in another pocket. She met his gaze again. "Diable, non?"

"If you are asking if I am a demon, I think you already know the answer to that. As for splashing me with holy water, and shoving a rosary down my throat, you've done nothing more than irritate and inconvenience me."

"I see," she offered in accented English, then waddled toward the counter again. "Pardonnez-moi. It's not often we come across such beings as you," she explained, hoisting herself up onto her stool again. "And you are not what you appear to be, on many different levels..."

Ciel nodded and turned back to the altar again. "What is that?" he pointed the tip of his cane in the direction of the flaring candles and she shrugged.

"It is a place to offer prayers and ask for prayers."

Ciel turned a skeptical eye-for that was all he really possessed-on the old woman. "What about the rest of this?"

"Voodoo talismans and saints and charms... Anything you need for whatever you seek. Are you going to tell me who you seek?"

"My fian-friend," he amended quickly, "and another woman with her. I could have sworn I saw her come in here..."

"People say such all the time. I think the spirits guide them here. There is something in my shop you need."

"Perhaps." He started toward the altar again, then deciding against it, turned his attention to the thousands of knick-knacks and such that littered the place. "Is it true that a Voodoo doll is not for the cursing of an enemy, but rather bestowing blessings on a loved one?"

"That depends on who has the doll," she remarked pointedly. "It started that way, I think. But I know some Hoodoos that use them for evil. Anything can be evil. Or ambivalent. I think in your case, indifferent. Le nom de votre ami, huh?"

Ciel lifted a statuette of some unknown saint and said, "Elizabeth and Mennie." He responded to her absently, suddenly wondering if this woman had more knowledge about him than she was letting on. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her draw something from one of her many pockets and toss it up on the counter. He returned his attention to the saint; not that it interested him, particularly, but that the old woman very much gave him the creeps.

There was rattling and rustling and the old ninny cackled again, raising his hackles in ways that the Undertaker had never done. In fact, she very much reminded him of that eccentric former reaper now that he'd thought of it. Cryptic and eerie. He shook his head and focused on the shelves of saints again. "Ah ha!" she suddenly cried and he nearly dropped the damned statuette. "Your lover and her friend are close... very close!"

"Lover?!" Ciel spat. "What the hell-"

"Well, she is, isn't she?" the old woman stared at him through squinted eyes, her face a mask of indiscriminate aloofness.

Ciel grumbled under his breath and finally set the saint back on its shelf. "I suppose."

"Ah Ha!" she barked again, and she stuck a small cheroot in her mouth and chewed at its end. "You look a boy. She's definitely a woman. Which means, Diable, you are much older than you look."

"Or perhaps she is a perverse fetishist. You can't claim to know."

"I know, boy. I know you haven't lain with her. I know she knows what you are. I know her friend isn't human, either. I haven't lived ninety years as a Voodoo priestess to be told I'm wrong!"

Ciel could only shake his head at her diatribe. "Then tell me, since you know everything Madame, how do I make my thirteen year-old body into the man I really am?"

"Humph!" and for a long moment, that was all Ciel expected her to say. She dropped off her stool once more, and her hunched-over shuffle took her toward the back of the shop where the altar was. Her little dirty ballet flats that used to be white kicked up a shimmering veil of dust as she neared the back of the shop. Her hair was a short cloud of wiry white curls that stuck out in all directions from her skull and it bounced awkwardly with her movements. She sidestepped into a little alcove before she got to the altar and the darkness in the back of the store seemed to swallow her whole. For a long time, Ciel stood rooted to the spot, wondering what the old granny was up to.

After several minutes, curiosity got the better of him, and Ciel crept to the back where she'd disappeared and found her hunkered over a rickety little table, pouring little bits of crushed herbs into a small sachet bag. He watched her for a while, unaware of how many moments passed-he could have been there for hours, he supposed-as she measured and poured and recapped the little glass vials and dug through the drawer in the table for other ingredients.

When she finished making the sachet, she set it aside and pulled out a tiny bundle of Echinacea flowers, dried and some kind of dried vine which she used to knot it all together into a stick. An actual stick of incense came out next, then a vial of what looked like bath salts.

She worked quickly for someone her age and with her obvious rheumatism; her hands were deft and practiced as she put together all the things he would need for her ritual. She drew out a sheet of paper and with slow strokes, penned out the ingredients of the bag and what they were for, how to use the vial of salts and when to light the incense. She wrote everything in proper order for him, then set the list aside and, reaching into a large basket at her feet, retrieved a large bundle of sage. To his amazement, she started working the sticks into arms and legs, bending them over and binding them until she'd produced a small doll. Then she carried everything back over to the front counter and climbed atop her stool and finished the instructions she'd made for the demon boy.

She "Humph"ed several more times as she painted an eye patch on the head of the doll, then peered over the counter at Ciel with narrowed eyes and fidgeted with the doll some more. When she appeared satisfied with that, she drew out another sachet and added more words to her instructions. Ciel was far beyond curious at that point, and he waited for her to finish as he wrung his hands on the handle of his cane.

"Garcon!" she barked suddenly and he nearly jumped out of his skin.

"What?"

"I am doing this for you free of charge a une condition."

"And what is that, Madame?"

"When you are restored to your rightful self, I want you to come see me again. I would very much like to see how beautiful you will be a maturite," she cackled in that cracked and raspy voice. She laid everything out on the top of the counter for him-two sachet, two sticks of incense, the bath salts, the doll, and a single leaf of sage. She tapped her crooked finger on the list. "You pay attention, now, and do not deviate from my instructions. The white bag is your charm, the brown bag is chili powder. Your charm will do you no good to scatter in the house, and the chili powder will not help you if you wear it, comprendre?"

"Not quite, but I'll follow your instructions to the letter," he swore, stepping up to the counter.

She threw a piece of burlap down on the counter's top and proceeded to stack everything neatly in the center. She folded the ends over the corners and tied the parcel with a piece of twine. "Remember. Do. Not. Deviate."

"You have my word, Madame."

"You will need help with the ritual. I would suggest you use that lovely friend of yours-not the blonde. The undead. She will not be affected by the process. Your demon friend-he cannot participate. His essence will prevent the ritual from taking effect-"

Ciel cut her off. "How did you know there was another demon?"

She grinned. "I know everything. Your lover is next door looking at hand-blown glass."

Ciel whipped around and started for the door of the shop. "I will not deviate. But I must go. Thank you, Madame," and he was outside in the blinding afternoon sunlight and as he turned to his right, Lizzie and Menefer came out of the French doors of the shop next door, giggling.