In Morte, Aerternitatis

In Morte, Aerternitatis (Ch. 1): Begin

New Orleans, LA 1995

Storm clouds bordered the edge of town, a distant rumbling threatening to disrupt the merry making taking place only days before Mardi Gras in the jubilant city of New Orleans. Anastasia Fyodorov drove her cerulean 1966 Ford Mustang through the cobblestone streets as the radio played softly in her ears.

Are you with me, New Orleans? Do ya hear me? This is the Kingfish coming to you at 96.2 FM. Anointed and appointed. Just three more days, Crescent City, three days until Lent. So let's have it, the merriment before the penance, and the feast before the fast! The Kingfish gonna keep y'all company all the way down. Hey, brothers and sisters, y'all know what "carnival" means in Latin? Well, the Kingfish went to the good schools, so he can tell you all about it. Carnival. Farewell to the flesh. That's what it means. I like that a lot! Farewell to the flesh. Yeah, you right. And farewell to all that floodin', as far as I'm concerned. That's right. Look at it. The banks of the mighty Mississippi are ready to spill their seed. Just look at that sky out there. It's ready to rain on us again. And the clouds? Well, now, brothers and sisters, they're not the only thing threatenin' the Crescent City. We're talking murder, mes amis. Or so we've heard before, the hook man, kerchunk. So when you pull on your costume and turn to admire yourself in the mirror, please keep those lips locked tight. Do not call his name.

Anya let out a chuckle before pulling onto a side street and switching the car off, her mind swam with thoughts of young teens daring to utter the infamous name all for a few bragging rights amongst their friends.. True, her brother had always flirted with the idea of attempting the same, often trying to goade her into calling upon the vengeful spirit. Their mother, however, had taught her far better than to mess with anything associated with the supernatural. Better to let the dead stay that way, after all.

'Speak of the Devil.' She thought with a chuckle as she spotted a familiar face leaving her dance studio. She retreated from the car and locked it with a smirk.

"Missed me already, Vadim? What would your employees think of you leaving the brunch rush just to see your sister?" She teased.

"I'll have you know that Doc has the rush handled just fine, thank you. Plus..." He reached behind his back and pulled a pair of keys out, "You forgot your studio keys at the bar." He chuckled as Anya's whole body untensed and she threw herself into his arms in gratitude.

"I know I give you so much shit, but I really have no idea what I'd do without you, moy brat." No matter how long the siblings spent in America, their native tongue of Russian would always be a part of their lives.

"You'll never have to worry about that, dushen'ka," Vadim squeezed his sister fondly and relinquished the keys to her when she pulled back, "Now run along, your students await and Doc will be expecting me back soon." He patted her cheek fondly and chuckled when she scrunched her face in mock annoyance.

"Okay, okay, enough touchy feely time. Get back to it and swing by the house later, I'll cook you some gumbo and biscuits as a thank you." She laughed and began walking to her studio keys firmly in hand as Vadim voiced his agreement at her offer, turning and making his own way back down town.

Anya unlocked the door and began to prepare for the day's classes, the smell of last night's shoe chalk still fresh in the air to accompany her thoughts.

Vadim had always been an attentive older brother, even as far back she could remember from her time in Russia. Constantly watching out for her and being the responsible male figure in her life when their father could not. Not that it was their father's fault, of course, what with his family's safety to worry about.