Elzbieta and Petronilla DuBois entered the large brick home of their High Priestess and Aunt Corinthia DuBois with a dispatch pouch they’d just liberated from a courier headed to Rubidoux Island.
“The Madam is in a meeting with the Choctaw Chief,” their cousin Reina said in a hushed voice as she offered her sweating cousins glasses of cooled lemon water rather than the hot mint tea she’d prepared for her aunt and the Chief. “There is something bad going on out there in the bayou,” she said, “and the Choctaw are in a frenzy over it.”
“We’ve all been feeling the power drawn from the swamp creatures,” Petronilla, who preferred to be called Pete, said as she took the tall cool glass and ran it across her forehead for relief from the oppressive summer heat. “I’d wager it’s a full circle doing
