[Vignette 2/11] Midnight in the Pastry Shop... (Cimitiere)

[Dr Archeville]

Midnight in the Pastry Shop of Good and Evil

Time: October 22nd, 2007

Place: Savannah, Georgia

His hair was slicked back. His breath was minty fresh. His teeth were flossed to the point where they squeaked. His shirt was well-ironed, his jeans were clean, and his boots were polished. So why was Eric LaCroix so nervous? He took a deep breath, and knocked on the door.

You’ve done this plenty of times before, he thought. There was Christy, Linda, Jane… what makes this time so different?

He knocked once more, and Adam Duquesne answered. He was wearing a white short sleeved shirt, ripped jeans, and Chuck Taylors. He looked like he’d gone through the same preparations as Eric – though maybe not with the same level of angst. “Glad you could make it,” he said.

“Me, too,” said Eric. He gave Adam a quick peck on the cheek. “So, where to?”

“There’s a place on Harris and Abercorn,” Adam said. “Sandwiches are pretty good, dessert’s even better. Then I thought maybe Club One – I mean, if you’re cool with that…”

“I’ve seen drag before,” Eric said. “I’d be up for it.”

“Cool.” Andy walked out into the hall. “Let’s hit the town.”

---

Eric had known he was bi since high school. He just didn’t really find much of a chance to explore it back then. Sure, he’d been in the school’s Gay/Straight Alliance, but that had pretty much been it. Besides, he’d been with Linda back then, and everything was cool until they decided to go their separate ways at graduation. He’d come to SCAD and enjoyed a brief thing with Jane freshman year – at least, until his “nightly activities” left him with little time for her, and had resulted in a screaming fight that sent the relationship down in flames. After that, he decided to focus more on helping the dead and less on romance.

All that changed when Adam came along. They shared a class on art theory together, and Eric stuck around after a queer student group meeting to talk to him. They shared similar tastes in music and the slightly morbid – Adam was a big fan of Fifties horror movies – and had decided to make a date. Even after Adam agreed to it, Eric was still nervous; he didn’t exactly know the protocol on this one. There were so many ways it could go wrong…

And those are just the mundane ways…

---

Reflections was a small café with a Southern home atmosphere. The smell of chocolate and croissants wafted out of the kitchen, mingled with more savory scents like bacon and mustard. Eric sampled his mocha as he and Adam talked about things – life back home, plans for the next semester, even old movies. A discussion of White Zombie had somehow turned around to voodoo.

“My aunt swears that she shares blood with Marie Laveau,” Adam said, downing his latte. “Mind you, the only spirits she tends to see are bourbon.”

"There anything to it?” Eric asked.

“I don’t know; family genealogy got a bit hazy around the war period. I just think it’s one of those things she does. She said she saw Elvis once.” Adam considered the glass. “I’m telling you, I’ve grown up in this city, and I’ve never really seen the strangeness. There’s always this… feeling, I guess. Like antiquity. But for all the talk of ghosts and gods, it just seems like any other city. A bit wetter, a bit hotter, but any other.”

Eric didn’t say anything about the Confederate war dead he’d seen in Ellis Square, or the girl who flung herself from the clocktower nightly and did not want to go anywhere else, or the visitation by Baron LaCroix to an old church a few months back. “Yeah,” he said. “I guess it’s just the Southern mystique.”

‘Well, I guess it was the book,” Adam said. “That couldn’t have helped. But strange travelogues aside, Savannah’s not a bad place to live. How’s Freedom?”

“It’s probably where all your strangeness went,” Eric said. “Aliens, gods, heroes -- ”

“Hey, Savannah’s got heroes, too.”

“Yeah, I’m not knocking Zenith. It’s just when you’re in Freedom, it’s like being nowhere else. It’s risky, sure – we had supervillain drills growing up. Just in case someone set fire to the school, or decided to take us hostage.”

“How’d those go?”

“Something like -- ”

Eric was interrupted by the sound of breaking glass and the roar of flames. Panic descended on the café as a voice split the night. “COME OUT, FAGGOTS!” it yelled in a clarion call. “COME OUT AND BE PURGED!”

Adam and Eric quickly hit the ground as the diners panicked and ran for the rear entrance. “What the hell is that?” yelled Adam.

“I think I’ve got a good idea.” Eric raised his head to look out the window. Sure enough, there standing in the street was a man in a white tabard with a red cross, wearing a similarly decored hood. White flames jumped off his body, not consuming his clothes but turning the asphalt under him into tar.

“White Knight,” he spat. “Big name bigot back home. God, what’s he doing down here? Shouldn’t he still be in Freedom?”

“How would I know?” Adam yelled. “We should get out of here -- ”

A second blast of flame came roaring in, splitting the timbers over head and setting off the sprinklers. Eric looked up to see a large part of the roof about to collapse onto their table. He pushed Adam away just as it came crashing down, separating the two.

“Get out!” he yelled to Adam. “Just get out now!”

“But what about you?”

“I’ll find a way. Just go before the door gets blocked!”

Adam nodded and ran. Eric surveyed the scene; the concussion from the first blast had knocked down a few patrons, and the falling pieces of ceiling had knocked out a few who’d been making their way for the door. They’d be sitting ducks when White Knight came in.

God, what can I work with here? he thought. No ghosts, no shadow, nothing. Just a lot of pastries and some ash –

Oh. Oh, there we go.

Eric made his way over to the pastry case. Despite the falling wreckage, it was mostly in tact, and the goods within were protected from the sprinkler system. He found a dry place in the kitchen, carrying a box full of éclairs and cupcakes in one hand and a mound of soot in the other. He sat down, opened the box, and drew the veve on the floor.

“Erzulie Freda,” he intoned, “beloved of the three, mother of fineries, she of the sweet and the bitter, come. Mother Dahomey, your children call for salvation in the face of hatred. Maitresse Mambo, come!”

Eric’s senses flooded with the scent of expensive perfume. It had worked. Out in the main restaurant, he heard the sound of combat boots treading over wood. White Knight had entered.

“Looks like I fared better than I thought.” He picked up a young woman and roused her awake. She looked on his masked visage with fear, and tried to get away. “You know what they used to do to you in the old days?” He opened his free hand, and fire leapt to life in his palm. “They did what was right.” He brought it close to her. “Time to bring back that old time religion…”

A woman’s trilling laugh split the air, distracting White Knight from his quarry. From out of the flames emerged a woman with skin like black coffee and eyes like emeralds. She was dressed in a pink gown that left little to the imagination, especially under the torrent from the sprinklers. The fire around her only served to radiate her beauty, dancing around her like a band of suitors.

“Old time religion?” she asked. “Funny thing, that. Me, I’m in one of the oldest in the book.”

White Knight dropped his quarry, and looked towards the loa. “Who the hell are you?” he shouted.

“I,” she said, “am the maiden of the three rings. Beloved of serpents, of iron, of the sea. The guardian of lovers, whether they find joy in men’s or women’s arms.” She slinked forward. “You did a bad thing tonight.” Even from here, Eric could hear her pout. “Why would you do something like that? You almost broke my heart…”

“I… I…”

White Knight was frozen, unable to do much more than stutter. Eric watched as Erzulie danced around him, tracing her finger down his tabard. He’d heard about using sex like a weapon, but Erzulie Freda tended to use it like a rocket launcher. “It’s okay,” she said. “I don’t hate you. Entirely. I mean, there is so much to work with here. You must be so strong…”

“Guh… uh…”

She brought her hands up to his mask. “Why don’t we see what you look like under that cheap little cloth,” she said, “and you can give me a kiss?” She lifted her hands to the edge of the mask.

“G… get…” White Knight lifted his hand, wreathed in flame, and struck Erzulie Freda across the side of the face with it, sending her reeling. “Get your hands off me, you unholy black bitch!”

Erzulie picked her head up off the floor… and even through the smoke, even across the room, Eric could see her eyes glow red. “Bitch?” she hissed. The scars from the burn seemed to grow unnaturally, coating the sides of her face. “Oh, honey… you don’t know anything about how much of a bitch I can be.” She raised her head and turned to White Knight. Panic welled up in his eyes, and he let out a terrified scream.

Eric knew that, like some of the loa, Erzulie had two aspects – the Rada, the benevolent and merciful side… and the Petro, the aggressive side. Erzulie Dantor, like Erzulie Freda, was a protector of the queer, favoring lesbians where her other half favored gay men. She was also fierce, strong, and fond of blades.

After that, there wasn’t much besides screaming, and that soon gave way to the sound of fists on flesh. Eric watched as Erzulie Dantor picked up the unconscious White Knight – his tabard torn and blood-stained, his mask torn away to reveal a scarred and ugly face – with one hand and tossed him back out into the street. She looked back to the kitchen. “Well, child?” she asked. “These ones will need help.”

Eric helped the loa move the unconscious patrons out into the street, just as the fire department arrived. The paramedics were on them, checking for smoke inhalation, as Erzulie turned to Eric. “Thank you, my child,” she said. “I hope the rest of your night goes better.” She faded away with the smoke, leaving Eric there.

“Eric!” Adam ran across the street and grabbed Eric by the shoulders. “Jesus, what happened in there?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “The woman… she just came out of nowhere and started kicking the crap out of White Knight. I didn’t even get her name…”

“I’m just glad you’re okay.” Adam gave Eric a firm kiss on the lips; Eric no longer seemed to mind the fire, the smoke, or the sirens. He broke off. “Well, I guess that’s the night.”

“I… had a great time, y’know,” Eric said. "Well, except for this part…”

“Me, too,” Adam said. “Some other time?”

“Yeah. I’d like that.”