CHAPTER TEN

Nothing Instills More Confidence in a Plan’s Success than Watching the Blind Lead the Insane.

Amelie scratched her head. “I don’t understand.”

“In certain areas of the Lower Worlds,” said Odile, “the fabric connecting our two dimensions stretches thin. A door can be generated in such a unique location, but can’t be detected by the creatures within. Feu De L’enfer could have hunted for an eon and never found the right spot. However, once Clovis arrived, the demon sensed a human approach and realized an escape route was possible.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Clovis said meekly. “I believed I could kill the demon quickly. Anyway, Feu De L’enfer can’t open the door or find the exit alone.”

Odile harrumphed. “Which made the creature more determined to locate a person who could.”

“Like Esther, you mean.” I added bitterly. “The story keeps getting better and better.”

Odile was furious. “Feu De L’enfer readily struck a deal with Pike because the demon needed a servant on this side to find someone with Esther’s unique gift. Clovis, people have already died because of the conceited belief in your own invincibility. Esther’s cousins were murdered. Her life is in danger. Peter was nearly killed—not to mention what happened to Lucy.”

Clovis hunched over in remorse. “I didn’t want—”

“You intentions don’t matter now.” I leaped to my feet. “We have to set things right. Are you going to help us or not?”

Clovis stood, towering over us. If he thought to use intimidation because of his height, he miscalculated. Amelie stood beside me shoulder to shoulder. “I’m with Peter.”

Odile joined her. “As am I and the rest of my family.” Mrs. Hart barked her two cents worth, too.

Clovis caught and held our determined expressions. For the first time his demeanor held a glint of amusement. “Revolt, eh? So much for the power of the throne. A shaman may be in you yet, boy, if you can get three females to stand by your side with no argument.” He rubbed his chin. “We’ll need a plan.”

“Which doesn’t have to be devised here,” said Odile. “Chris will return to Andre’s cabin soon with the boat. If we leave now, we’ll arrive before dark.”

“Andre’s not expecting us to stay for dinner, is he?” Clovis asked with a shudder. “I don’t suppose his cooking improved over the last six years?”

Odile patted his arm sympathetically. “Unfortunately, not. Don’t worry, I’ll make our excuses. Is there anything you wish to take from the cabin?”

Clovis scanned the remains of his tattered life and heaved a resigned sigh. “No.” He tapped the side of his head. “Not to worry. Everything of importance is right here.” Understandably, the words held no comfort.

We packed the gear and left. Clovis took the lead, insisting he knew a shortcut to bring us to Andre Savoy’s homestead in half the time. I had doubts and kept a wary eye on the Frog King in case he decided to detour into the Turtle Kingdom to launch a final shell-flipping sneak attack.

Clovis’ shortcut was no easy amble along Canal Street. We slogged through dense foliage. The clouds gathered again and Odile warned us to expect another afternoon shower. We pressed on to beat the storm and soon arrived at a cut, a shallow channel between two sections of the swamp. Clovis pointed to the opposite bank. “Through there. Andre’s cabin is no more than a mile ahead.”

Clovis, Odile, and Amelie waded across. Mrs. Hart pawed at the water. Although not deep, the steady current held concern for someone her size.

“Want a lift?” I said. She wagged her tail.

I bent to pick her up and froze at the sound of a gravelly hiss. Two beady eyes glinted from the vegetation. A gator raised a massive head from no more than a yard away. A deep rumble issued from the maw. The jaws gaped open to expose wickedly sharp teeth. The spell broke when Mrs. Hart growled.

“Don’t,” I whispered.

Whether spooked by my voice or the sudden realization of an angry dog nearby, the gator tensed, choosing the strike spot. Blood pounded in my ears. The monster would charge. At this distance the gator couldn’t miss.

A rifle cocked. Amelie shouted across the water, “Peter, move!” I couldn’t have picked a worse spot. I was between Amelie and the gator, blocking the shot. A rush of primal fear flooded my senses. Run, my mind screamed, but my legs refused to obey.

My skin tingled. Mystic forces gathered around me.

“A wall…” murmured Clovis to the gator as he waded through the water. “stone…smooth surface…nothing you can climb…nothing the danger can get over…” The illusion of a sturdy granite barricade three feet high instantly appeared separating the gator from Mrs. Hart and me.

The gator hissed again. “This place is not safe,” Clovis said. “You are penned in with no escape. You don’t want to be here.” He conjured a series of splashes leading to the channel. “Follow the sound. Plenty of good fish are nearby.” The gator hugged the wall, slid into the cut, and then submerged underwater. A trail of bubbles broke the surface, leading away from us and into open water.

The wall disappeared. Amelie ran to me. “The illusion was amazing, Peter. Even the gator believed.”

“Peter didn’t do it,” Odile stated with confidence.

“She’s right,” I said. “The magic was all Clovis. That was a heck of a lie. I never knew you could tell one that others could see.” I faced him with gratitude. “Thanks.”

Clovis’ complexion was pale and drawn. “You’re welcome. I’m a bit rusty, I’m afraid. It was merely a simply illusion, but took far too long to set in place and the texture and color were all wrong.” He shook his head ruefully. “Sloppy, very sloppy—wouldn’t have fooled a third-rate conjurer for a moment.”

Amelie regarded Clovis with newfound respect, although nothing dulled her brute honesty. “You may not be as useless as you appear.”

To his credit, Clovis took no offense. “Merci. I will endeavor not to disappoint.”

Once we reached dry ground again, Clovis led the way through the brush. His once brisk pace now slowed to a shamble. In his weakened state, the small bit of magic obviously wore him out. After pausing a third time to rest, I worried whether we’d make Mr. Savoy’s cabin by nightfall. Traveling a mile through the harsh conditions of a bayou was a lot different than strolling along paved city streets. The sky had darkened considerably while thunder rumbled in the distance. I had no desire to spend another night in the swamp without the benefit of at least a crude shelter.

With an exhausted sigh Clovis plopped onto an old stump I swear we had already passed twice. “Odile, his concentration is failing,” Amelie griped under her breath. “He’s running us in circles. Do you know where we are?”

“I haven’t been this way before, but I don’t think the path to Andre’s is far. If we keep heading in this direction we should arrive soon.”

“If we don’t?”

Odile shrugged offhandedly. Spending the night here didn’t bother her one whit. Amelie scowled, wiping a sweaty hand across her brow. As the humans in the party clumped together waiting for Clovis to recover his strength, Mrs. Hart pointed her nose in the air and sniffed. Suddenly, she yelped an alert and tore into the brush.

Amelie was instantly on guard, dagger in hand. “Where did Lucy go?” she demanded of me.

Between the heat, humidity, and the encounter with the gator, my nerves wore to a raw edge. Amelie’s insistence on lickety-split information bugged me. “How should I know? I don’t speak dog. She didn’t sound worried, though.”

Amelie swatted impatiently at a persistent mosquito buzzing around her face. “Oh, you can tell from a bark? Aren’t you clever?”

The sudden brush with death finally took its toll. I was tired, crabby, hungry, and done with slogging through the bayou. “If you paid more attention, you’d know Mrs. Hart always warns with a growly yelp and that was definitely a…a…yelpy yelp.”

“You’re ridiculous,” she sputtered. “You’re making everything up.”

I did, but refused to admit the truth. So I attacked with a clever retort. “Am not. You’re ridiculous.”

“Mine was a perfectly reasonable comment,” she hissed, sounding a lot like the gator.

“Reasonable for you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she said between gritted teeth.

“I don’t know,” I hollered, not sure who or what I was angry with, “but it means something.”

“Enough,” ordered Odile. “We’re all tired. Clovis, we must keep moving. Not much daylight remains.”

He struggled to his feet and took a staggering step forward. “I can make it.”

Amelie marked his wan face and stuffed the knife in the sheath. “No, you can’t. Lean on me.” She slipped his arm over her shoulder. “No arguments.”

“I make it a point never to argue with a mademoiselle prepared for combat.” He poked me in the ribs. “Good advice, boy.”

I sighed and slipped his other arm around my shoulder. With Odile leading the way, we stumbled along half-dragging/half-carrying the shaman.

The bayou held no sign of Mrs. Hart. My worry grew as the sun dipped toward the horizon. Amelie and I were at the ends of our strength. Could we help Mrs. Hart if she was in jeopardy? Just then, a familiar arf sounded behind a clump of bushes.

“Mrs. Hart,” I called out in relief. “Over here.”

The foliage rustled and a sandy brown terrier emerged. On her heels were Renny and Chris. They quickly traded places with Amelie and me.

“Am I glad to see you,” I said, relieved to be free of Clovis’ weight.

“Same here, mon ami,” said Renny. “I thought we’d have a long walk through the bayou, but Lucy was at the pier when we arrived. She led us to you.”

Amelie couldn’t hide her relief. “We’re not far?”

Chris motioned ahead. Barely visible through the trees was a narrow well-worn path.

Andre Savoy waited at the dock with a grease-stained paper bag. “I see y’all got his royal frogness,” he grunted. “I reckon now the rest of my okra be safe.” He handed Odile the bag. Although hungry, the rancid oily smell made my stomach turn flip-flops.

“Chris said you couldn’t stay for supper,” Andre continued, “but I fried a mess of beignets. Are you sure I can’t convince y’all to stay? I made me some rabbit stew two…three days ago. If I throw in more hot peppers, the meat will freshen right up.”

Odile thanked him, but insisted firmly we must go. Chris and Renny loaded Clovis onto the Sweet Marie. They made a resting place for him in the stern with the bedrolls and a canvas tarp over his head to keep off the coming rain. He collapsed with a grateful sigh and promptly closed his eyes. Chris started the engine. As soon as we were out of sight of Andre’s cabin, Odile promptly shook the contents of the greasy paper sack overboard. The beignets plopped like lead sinkers into the water, plunging directly to the bottom.

She wrinkled her nose. “The only thing they good for is gator bait.”

“A gator is pickier than that,” called Chris from behind the wheel.

Hunting and fishing had been good. Chris sold his catch and then returned home for provisions before setting out for us. Odile dispensed long crusty loaves of bread packed with ham and a spicy relish. As the first raindrops hit, we crowded into the cramped wheelhouse to eat. She brought Clovis a sandwich which he accepted with gratitude.

The meal lasted as long as the rain. Once the sky cleared, the others piled outside to enjoy the breeze. Chris volunteered another lesson in steering the boat. Eagerly, I gripped the wheel and piloted Sweet Marie down the channel. Chris gave subtle corrections and encouraged me to get a feel for the current.

“The bayou is a living thing, Peter, with moods and rhythms. If you learn to read them, the water will carry you as gently as a mother carries her child.”

Under Chris’ patient guidance the wildness of the swamp grew less threatening. He pointed to landmarks we passed yesterday. When I recognized a gnarled cypress tree, he clapped me on the shoulder and shouted, “Bon! You are learning, Peter. Soon, traveling the bayou will be no different than visiting an old friend.”

Food and rest improved everyone’s mood. Amelie admitted she no longer feared imminent drowning when I took the wheel, which for her was a compliment. When we arrived at the Benoit’s, Chris let me pull to the dock. I gritted my teeth and flushed in embarrassment as the boat scraped against the pilings.

“Sorry.”

“One little bump—not bad for a first time,” he assured me.

The door of the house whipped opened and a cascade of Benoit’s tumbled out with Esther and T. Chris in the rear. Chris greeted his family while I got caught in Esther’s viselike grip. She clung like a burr, her words colliding into each other.

“I missed you, Peter, and Amelie and Odile and Mrs. Hart, of course. T. Chris and I caught lots of fish. I helped Marie cook them, but there aren’t any left. You don’t smell very good. You need a bath.”

I peeled her off. “Hi, Esther. Good to see you, too.” Amelie and Renny each gave her a hug. When Esther bent over to greet Mrs. Hart, the dog licked her nose.

Esther giggled. “That tickles.” She then straightened up and demanded, “Where’s the crazy man?”

“Esther,” I whispered, embarrassed. “Don’t be rude.”

“Nonsense,” Clovis said. “She’s simply honest.”

He hung back while the rest of us greeted each other, but now climbed cautiously off the Sweet Marie onto the dock. Rest and food returned color to his cheeks. He strode up to Esther. “Fortunately, my dear, although my brain may be a bit scrambled, I have nothing wrong with my hearing.” He considered the little blind girl. “So, you are the see-er.”

“Uh-huh,” she chirped. “You don’t sound crazy. Are you?”

“Not as much, thanks to young Mr. Whistler and his lies.”

“Yup, they’re mighty powerful. They saved my bacon, for sure. Are you going to help us with the conjuror?”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Okie dokie.” Esther grabbed his hand. “You best come to the house. We have lots to talk about.” Bemused, Clovis allowed himself to be dragged away.

“Nothing instills more confidence in a plan’s success,” quipped Renny, “than watching the blind lead the insane.”

Marie scrounged more old clothes for Clovis. The worn overalls were too short for his lanky frame, but a definite improvement over the gunny sack. After we all squeezed around the kitchen table, Amelie asked, “What’s our first step?”

“We must determine the procedure to open the door,” said Odile. “Clovis, do you remember the incantation?”

“Unfortunately,” he said wryly, “some magic is impossible to forget.”

“Hang on,” I said. “I’d like to know how to keep from going nuts once inside. Not to mention, how to kill Feu De L’enfer.” I turned to Odile. “I don’t suppose a rifle shot—”

She folded her arms. “No guns.”

“Guns are useless in the Lower Worlds,” said Clovis. “They are earthbound weapons. You need something with a supernatural kick. What are you good at?”

“Pardon?”

“What did they teach you at school? Sword fighting? Axe throwing? Bullwhip?”

“Mostly how to diagram a sentence and the times tables to twelve.”

Clovis was aghast. Renny noted sympathetically, “They have funny ways up North.”

“Differences in teaching philosophies are no excuse for an appalling lack of education.” Clovis shook his head in disgust. “No wonder so many travelers on the dark road originate from New York City.”

“Let’s get back to the weapon,” I urged. “What do I use to kill the demon?”

Clovis blinked in surprise. “Why the choice is entirely yours. The only sure way to destroy a demon is to create a mystical object to attack the weak point.”

That was good news. “The demon has a weak point?” I said.

“Of course, nothing is indestructible. Feu De L’enfer’s vulnerability is the flaming eyes. Annihilate them and the creature is doomed.”

“Flaming eyes? Like Pike?” I shivered, recalling the horrific fire at his command. “How the heck do I do that?”

“Well, I’m sure I don’t know. You must magic a weapon into existence after entering the creature’s domain. Of course, you should create something familiar, but since you haven’t had martial training I’m stumped where to begin.”

“What did you use?” asked Amelie.

“An epee.” Clovis answered smoothly. “I’m quite competent with the blade.”

“So, what happened?” I said. “How come your weapon didn’t work?”

His shoulders slumped. “I wasn’t strong enough to hold the spell. The flames from the eyes were blistering. The epee melted from my hand. The heat was so intense, like being drawn into the sun. I couldn’t concentrate long enough to create another.”

Clovis shuddered. “Feu De L’enfer isn’t the lone horror behind the door. Once you lose your focus in the Lower Worlds, the demon has every advantage. The hellish realm is nothing but a whirling maelstrom shrieking inside your head, ripping thoughts apart, and destroying your sanity. I lost control. Fear overpowered me. My mind slipped away.” He hung his head. “The single option left was to run.”

Odile patted his hand. “It’s a wonder you escaped.”

“Pure luck. Your sense of direction is all twisted about. I created a spell to track my steps, but the energies pummeling me were so great I could barely hold my thoughts together. I stumbled upon the exit in the nick of time. Feu De L’enfer was right behind me, but I slammed the door in its face.” He shrunk from the memory. “The last thing I recall clearly is the unearthly howling from the other side. The spell broke. The door vanished. Everything afterwards is a bit foggy.”

“He means a bit froggy,” Amelie muttered under her breath.

I blew out my cheeks in disgust. “Great. Flaming eyeballs…what kind of weapon can fight those? It’s hopeless.”

Esther tugged impatiently on my sleeve. “You can out-think the demon, Peter. Like you did in the cabin when you freed Clovis.”

“How did you know?” I asked, startled, and then realized the obvious answer. “Esther, you were peeking!”

She at least had the decency to put on a show of guilt. “I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not. You’re just sorry to get caught.”

All pretenses disappeared. “I worried about you, so peeked for a few seconds and, anyway, I’m right.”

Clovis studied Esther with intense interest. “My cabin is quite a distance, young lady. Can you see as far with others?”

“I don’t know. I’m not exactly supposed to without permission.”

“Which doesn’t seem to stop you,” I griped.

“I said I was sorry.”

Odile rubbed her chin in thought. “What Peter needs now is practice. He does not yet have the ability to face the demon on his own. Clovis will teach him. Meanwhile, I will concoct a potion to protect against the madness, but such a complicated elixir will take time to devise and requires special ingredients. Marie and Amelie can help.”

Everyone was agreeable, but I said nothing. Odile and Clovis immediately huddled together deep in arcane discussion. The younger Benoit’s grew bored and dragged Esther away to play. I wandered outside and sat on the porch swing. My thoughts drifted as I listened to the sounds of the bayou.

Amelie sat beside me. “You didn’t speak out in there about the plan.”

“What plan?” I shot back. “Find the demon...somehow. Whip up something to kill the demon…somehow. Kill the demon…somehow. Swell. Terrific. What’s not to love?”

Amelie kicked at the floor and set the rocker off into a gentle glide. “When I was seven my father took us on a trip to San Francisco. One night we went to the theater. The huge lobby had walls decorated in gold leaf and red velvet brocade. Suspended from the ceiling were massive crystal chandeliers. Everyone dressed in their finest clothes. The women wore diamond tiaras and strands of pearls, the men in tuxedos. The evening was my first grown-up event. Like entering another world, I didn’t know what to expect.”

“Going to the Lower Worlds,” I grumped, “is a little different from dinner and a show.”

Amelie ignored me and continued. “The bill had several acts, but everyone came to see the main headliner.” She chuckled. “He was a world famous entertainer whose name completely escapes me. The sole performer I recall is a juggler. The spotlight hit center stage illuminating a man and his female assistant. The orchestra began to play slowly. She tossed the man three balls. He caught them and juggled. Three balls—nothing special, you see. She threw him another and another. The music went faster and faster. Soon the juggler had ten balls in the air whizzing around so quickly I was certain they flew.”

Excitement laced her voice. “Next, he juggled breakable objects; plates, bottles, glassware. The tempo increased. I dug my fingernails into the armrest. Surely, he’ll miss, but the juggler didn’t drop a single thing. For the finale, the assistant arranged razor sharp items on a table, everything from a tiny stiletto to a lumberman’s axe. She called to the audience to choose. People yelled, ‘Hacksaw! Butcher knife!’ The woman tossed each one in turn. The music blared. The audience screamed. The noise was so loud I barely heard myself think, but nothing distracted the juggler. He instantly compensated for the difference in weight and balance of each item until everything spun around in the air at the same time.”

I yawned and stretched. “I suppose you have a point to the story. Don’t tell me, let me guess. There’s no business like show business?”

Amelie brushed off the sarcasm. “The juggler didn’t know what came next, but the order of the blades didn’t matter. His instincts and skill allowed him to adjust his approach each time.”

“You can’t seriously draw a comparison between a stage act and fighting a demon.”

“On the surface—no, but the same abilities serve a purpose in both. No one told you how to free Clovis. You had the gift and instinct guided you in the right direction. Like the juggler, you found the rhythm to keep all the balls in the air, so to speak. You’ll find the rhythm again when you confront Feu De L’enfer.”

“Thanks.” Warmth rushed through me at the knowledge Amelie had faith in my abilities. I wanted to tell her how much her confidence meant, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead I said, “Have I mentioned today you’re nuts?”

Amused, Amelie flounced from her seat. “Not yet. Good night, Peter. Best turn in. Clovis aims to get an early start.”