Carrefour opened its mouth.
“Joseph!” it howled, its voice deep and masculine and terrible. “Joseph, my love! Stop this. We are so near, so near—”
“There is no we!” Mfume yelled. “I am my own, and you will release her. Release the woman and go!”
It was a nice thought, but I was pretty sure negotiation wasn’t going to work. I gathered myself as Carrefour twisted around to face Mfume. It was as good a chance as any. I ran forward, kicking at its knee. It was like slamming my foot into a rock, but Carrefour stumbled. Mfume shifted to the side, the chain pulling at a slightly different angle. I sidestepped and hammered my foot down on the rider’s heel. Carrefour screamed, and it sounded like real pain this time.
For a few seconds, I thought we might win.
Carrefour whipped around, the silver hook in its flesh making a terrible wet sound as it tore free. I saw Mfume stagger and something hit me, lifted me. For an eternal, breathless moment, I was in the air, my arms and legs flailing for anything to grab onto, to find purchase. The ground rose up and hit me like a truck.
Mfume was screaming. I rolled to my side. I didn’t think I could stand up, but I could pull myself. If I could crawl into the dark behind the shed, maybe it would ignore me. Maybe it would forget me, give me time to recover. Carrefour bellowed, and I felt the ground beneath me tremble. I dug my fingers into the wet ground and pulled. The grass was cool against my palms.
We couldn’t beat it. Not the two of us now, not the whole damned mob of us before. And it had no hesitation in killing us. It was practiced. We were dead.
Sabine’s voice came to me like a song being sung in a different room. The words were the same, Legba louvri le pót, but there was a depth to them, a seriousness. Worse, a pain. I shifted myself toward the small prison house, the light, the sound of her desperate voice.
Sabine sat on the floor, chains slack on her wrists and neck. Her back was hunched, her face running with sweat as she strained internally. I couldn’t help thinking of childbirth. Her eyes were the clear, shining black of river stones. She had too many teeth.
“Louvri mwen, Legba,” she said. “Louvri le pót.”
I pulled myself toward her. Something loud happened outside, sudden and terrible as a cannon. I ignored it. I crawled closer to the girl. The air around her shifted and swirled like water stirred by a thousand writhing tadpoles. I closed my eyes and gathered my qi. I pictured the energy rising through my spine, out my arm, and arcing between my fingertips with a golden light. I held out my hand, and I felt Sabine touch me.
Her flesh was burning hot and sweat-slick. Her fingers clenched mine until my knuckles ached, and I felt something within her pulling at me like a riptide. I wanted to fight it, to pull myself back into myself, but instinct said that withholding now was surrendering to Carrefour. I pressed what little of myself I could focus out, into the girl, feeding the rider within her.
And then she let me go. I rolled onto my back, staring toward the ceiling as in the corner of my vision, Sabine Glapion opened her mouth wide, and then wider. Her jawbone cracked, and the serpent flowed out of her. Sabine’s clothing and skin fell to the floor in discarded coils.
The scales shone silver in the bright halogen glow, and the needle-teeth were white as ivory. It wasn’t the Legba that had come from Amelie Glapion. This snake was thinner, faster, and brighter. Something about it reminded me of the awkwardness of adolescence, though its motion was perfectly graceful. It turned to me, and I knew that if it lunged for my neck, I wouldn’t be able to protect myself. The broad head turned to the darkness and the mist. A black tongue flickered.
“Carrefour!” Legba called, its voice a clatter and a hiss. “You have trespassed!”
The serpent swam through the air like an eel in a drowned city. I forced myself up to sitting and did my best to follow.
Carrefour stood in the pathway between shed and house holding Mfume by his neck in one thick, monstrous hand. The others—Aubrey and Ex, the cultists of Amelie Glapion’s congregation—stood still as statues as Carrefour let his once and present victim slide to the ground. I wanted to move forward, to help, but I barely had the strength to keep my eyes open. I wondered almost idly how much granting my will to help Legba’s birth had cost me.
“Legba,” Carrefour said. “Petit Legba. You are born in time to die. The shortest life. Come to me, Legba the brief.”
I propped myself against the doorframe. I couldn’t stand. I couldn’t fight. Carrefour strode across the night-dark, fog-shrouded space, and I didn’t doubt for a second that this new Legba was just as screwed as I was.
The serpent spoke.
“Louvri,” it said, and I knew what it meant. Open.
I caught my breath. Behind Carrefour, Aubrey lifted his head. The motion was slow, like something happening underwater. Aubrey turned. His face looked wrong; thinner, sharper. He stepped forward, and his shirt and pants hung loose on his body. He was skeletal, and when he spoke, it wasn’t with his own voice. It was Marinette’s.
“There is no place for you here, brother.”
Carrefour spun. Aubrey took two steps forward, and the transformation was complete. The burned flesh, the skeletal thinness, the vicious eyes. But there was something of Aubrey in it too. Marinette’s gaze flickered to me and turned back to Carrefour, more angry than before. Man and rider weren’t in conflict this time. They had both come to kick some ass, and I found I had the energy left in me for a grin. In the dark air above me, Legba shifted its silver coils, a thousand colors dancing on its scales like a sheen of oil on water.
“Marinette,” Carrefour said, its hands out before it, the knifelike claws now pleading. “Please, my love, do not stand with them against me. We are Petro, you and I.”
“Your love?” Marinette said. The contempt in its voice would have peeled paint. “Radha, Petro, Ghede. What does tribe matter here? I am loa. What are you?”
“I will not be stopped,” Carrefour said, but it wasn’t a threat. If anything, the rider’s landslide of a voice sounded sorrowful.
“You will,” Marinette said, and Carrefour leaped at her. With a cry like joy, Marinette met its charge, and the impact made the ground shudder. Marinette was thin, but solid as stone. Carrefour didn’t treat her gently. It swung its knives, kicked, bit. Marinette blocked the blows with her forearms—with Aubrey’s forearms—and Carrefour’s claws skittered off them, shredding the sleeves of Aubrey’s shirt, but doing no other damage that I could see. On the other hand, I couldn’t see that Marinette was doing more than holding Carrefour at bay. It was like watching lions fight. Huge beasts, filled with almost unimaginable violence, inhuman and strong and awful.
A movement caught my eye. One of the cultists—Omar, I thought—bent his arm, pressed his hand against the ground, rose up. Then a woman on the other side of me. And another. Changes were taking them as well as they stood witness to the battle. I saw Aunt Sherrie, but she had also become a horribly scarred woman with a baby in one arm and a wicked knife in the other. One of the men whose name I hadn’t known had a wide, jolly face, a tuxedo, and a clay pipe that he was smoking with the bowl turned down. Ex moved, crossed his arms, frowned. His skin was whiter than snow and glittered in light I couldn’t see. A fleur-de-lis was on his skin like a tattoo made from light.
As the transformations came, something in me grew very still, like a mouse trying not to be noticed by a gathering of cats. I had felt riders pressing at the fabric of the world, had felt them trying to force their way into my own flesh. I had never felt the raw power that stood around me.