Bad Choices (Hypernaturals 8)

The Witches in the Park

Morgan skillfully piloted the ginormous rig onto the oddly narrow roads in long term RV park where we had sent the Sisters. Performing my assigned job as spotter, I located the decrepit Avion in the mix of old and new units in the park. It is at the far edge, away from the entrance. 

It is not a huge RV park, maybe forty or fifty slots, most are occupied. I am guessing from the mix of things I can see that some are full-time residents with roots down, some are full-timers that landed here for a while, and some are tourists. Every kind of RV, every age, every level of maintenance or lack thereof.

I can see it: Retired people coming to live in and around New Orleans on the cheap. Make your money last. Be close in for Cajun food and the real Mardi Gras. Fresh Abita beer and beignets. We are very near the brewery.

I am feeling a calm, peaceful serenity. What would come would come. The tension between Morgan and I that had cropped up is gone. In its place is warmth. I see the way she looks at me, and it is the way I look at her. Banked fire.

I am not religious, but it is easy to wonder how I came to deserve my family.

"We should tour Abita while we are here." I said, not at all randomly.

"Jessica will be so jealous. Absolutely." Morgan agreed.

In a not at all surprising way, the four pseudo-witches we first met on the Bolivar Peninsula replicated their living situation here as much as they could and now sat around a campfire. It's like they had not only transported the Avion but the entire scenario, except that there is no boulder in the middle of the fire. Not even a handy one nearby for Morgan to toss into it.

None of the four looked at all happy to see us, so nothing major has changed.

My clothing identification code is shot all to hell because they are wearing different clothes. Damn it. Oh well. I only need to know which one is Pierre's mother, and I know which one that is easily enough. I bit her. I know her scent. I could find her with my eyes shut.

A quick once over visually, a waft of her scent told me what I needed to know. She has not turned, thankfully. It also brought into question exactly how infectious I am. Since Morgan turned in a flash, our second data point says that it is not a sure thing. Either that or I was really good at not injecting anything into her when I bit her. I tried, but we are talking about the tiniest of life forms here. Some would say not actually living at all. I am of the opinion that anything that can self-replicate is life, however simple. This is a problem of classification only.

Morgan walked up to the four Voodoo wannabes, her very recently tamed pet Vampire in tow. She paused and looked around for effect I thought. "I like this spot better than that place you had in Galveston. The Mississippi is over that way, lots of canals, good gulf breeze, nicer grass. A real upgrade." Her hands went to her hips. "So. Tell me, ladies. How are you making amends?"

That got some very dirty looks. Under the brow glares that attempted to shoot visual needles into Morgan's full size, living and breathing Voodoo doll.

Morgan pointed at the one I call 'Yellow'. The one that did not turn. Pierre's mother. I have them resorted and back to their original names despite their cleverly trying to mess with my organization system by changing what they are wearing. 'Yellow' is now 'Blue' today, but screw that. She is still 'Yellow'. "You first."

"Me and her are working at the food bank. Them other two are working at Goodwill." Yellow reported, with some anger.

"Thank you. Saved me some time. Good. I approve. I assume you go in pairs to save transportation costs, and because you only have one car?" Morgan inclined her head very slightly in the direction of their beater.