section7mfu | The ABC Affair 2019- X is for Xavier

Illya and Mark had enough of the sightseeing; Kuryakin because of the extreme humidity, and his stitches had becoming annoyingly itchy. Slate because...well just because.

To him you could only take in so many sights in a few day’s time and he was just plain bored and tired.

They both begged off the somewhat guided tour. Illya wanted to go back to the hotel to shower; despite the light linen clothing he was wearing, he was feeling uncomfortable in the humidity. Mark wanted to just go take a nap.

Slate finally spoke up, “Look you two, Illya’s fairly knackered from this weather and don’t you go trying to take the piss out of me because I want a bit of a kip.”

“Heaven forbid,” April tried not to laugh.”Do you mind if we keep going darling,”she said to Napoleon. “I’m enjoying seeing the sights but it’s also educational as I’m learning my way around the city. That’ll help, just in case I’m sent here on assignment.”

“I have no problem with that, as long as we’re back by five o’clock. Waverly is sending in a new agent to replace the spot vacated by La Croix and I need to meet with him before he begins his duties.”

“And we can be assured this agent has been thoroughly vetted by both Security and Mister Waverly himself,” Illya added.

“What’s his name?” April asked.

“John-Baptiste Angelus,” Napoleon said.

“Now there’s a mouthful if ever I heard one,” Mark snickered.

“I think it’s a rather attention-getting name,” Solo replied.”Nothing wrong with a name that has panache.”

“Hmmm, this coming from a man named Napoleon,” April said.

Napoleon’s chin jutted out and he looked at though he were going to say something prideful. Given it was Lent, he decided against it. Illya was right when he said his partner needed more than forty days to repent his sins.

He supposed being in a city oriented to Catholcism reminded him of that, and even though he was very much attracted to April, it was better that he not scratch that itch. Granted she’d be a willing participant, as the two of them had already been intimate; perhaps it was a good time to not go in that direction right now.

Illya’s instincts kicking in, even though he wasn’t sure about what just yet, made Napoleon remind himself that he needed to not be distracted by any libido driven thoughts.

Even though he sounded dismissive of any further THRUSH involvement after the fact, there was always the possibility they’d show up and try to build another nest for themselves. They didn’t take kindly to being driven out of a particular area which held interest for them.

With the port of New Orleans, Lake Pontchartrain and access to the Mississippi river. they offered quite a bit of opportunity and expansion for the Hierarchy.

“Our newest agent’s file should have arrived in a sealed courier pouch, so I’ll have the opportunity to familiarize myself with his background, before I meet him,”Napoleon said. “Go ahead you two, April and I will catch up later.”

Solo and Dancer continued on, taking in a few more sights, though finally April brought up the subject of Marie LaVeau and wanting to see where she was buried.

Napoleon relented on the subject, and given it was still early afternoon he decided it would be all right to take her to see it.

As they made it to the gates of St. Louis Cemetery no. 2 and inside Dancer was amazed at the monuments there.

“It’s a whole different ball of wax at night April, and honestly it’s pretty creepy. The things Illya and I saw here on assignment last year...well let’s say we didn’t include any of it in our mission report as Waverly would have had us sent off to the booby hatch.”

“Really? Oh tell me please? I won’t share it with anyone.”

“You promise?”

“Cross my heart and hope to...well cross my heart.” No agent would ever jinx themselves by finishing the saying with 'and hope to die.'

“Well, where do I start...the St. Louis Cemetery # 2 is the oldest burial place in the city, with its twisted paths, crumbling corners of tombs, and dead ends that add to the feeling of loneliness. It sent shivers up our spines. If you listen, it’s oddly quiet here, apparently the walls and monuments keep it isolated from the sounds of the city. Our voices seem as if they were entombed as well”

“Napoleon, this place must be pretty eerie at night. I bet it felt as though someone or something could jump out at you at every turn from behind those mausoleums. Why are there so many graves above ground?”

“As my encyclopedic partner explained to me, it’s because the city’s position in relation to sea level makes it hard to bury the dead. The water table here would sometimes make coffins literally float to the surface, so the city fathers opted for these forms of internment instead of seeing the dead float away.”

“ No wonder it smells so damp and moldy here,” April said.

“Are you sure you want to keep going?”

“Oh what’s a little mold and mildew,” she laughed.

Crosses, statues on tombstone tops, and angels cast ominous shadows as the light of the day faded the father in they walked. Votive candles dotted some of the graves, a flickering reminder that the dead had living relatives that still cared about them.

“This place isn’t that bad according to Illya. He said Russian cemeteries, are so full that there’s no room to even walk among the crypts that date back much further in time than here. He said the mouldy stink of death there made this place smell like a rose garden.”

“Hmm, I was thinking that’s what I was smelling, old rotting death that is.”

“Really April we don’t have to go on if you don’t want to.”

“If I didn’t know better I’d say you’re a bit nervous about being here. So what exactly happened to you?”

Napoleon led her directly to the grey mausoleum of Marie LaVeau. In front of the grey stone mausoleum offerings were still scattered as last the time he saw it. There were gifts of Hoodoo money, cigarettes, bottles of alcohol, votive candles, Mardi Gras beads and dried herbs. The outer walls of the crypt were covered with small letters, XXX’s that had been scratched into its surface by supplicants asking favors from the ‘witch of New Orleans’ as she was sometimes called. Even in death she was supposedly powerful.”

“Now this is interesting,” April leaned forward to examine some of the gifts. She’d seen the likes of many of them in the hoodoo shop where she bought the doll...which of course she didn’t mention to Napoleon.

“So what happened to you darling?”

“I was sort of...well, the victim of a voodoo doll curse and we made arrangements to meet a woman named Mama Luc here to help remove the curse. He was almost embarrassed to tell her the story but he proceeded will describing Mama Luc to April.

“She was a grizzled sort of creature, with deep creased in the skin of her face. Her head was covered with a bright yellow tète en l’air scarf tied up into a number of peaks concealing most of her grey hair, across her shoulders and covering her worn black dress was a crimson shawl. Draped around her neck were long strands of bones and feathers, amulets and talismans, and hanging from a simple cord was her gris-gris bag adorned with a powerful mystical symbol of the ve-ve to protect her and allow her to practice her voodoo rites.”

To April that sounded very much like the woman from whom she’d bought the little voodoo doll the day before.

“You should have seen the doll April. It was in a small black box, resembling a coffin and inside it was a cloth doll made of burlap with crudely stitched cross-hatched eyes and mouth, and Spanish moss for hair. Its arms and legs bound were bound and a picture of my face was pinned to the head. Mama Luc told me it just might be a warning, and even though we told her we didn’t believe in the power of such things, she reminded Illya and I that was we did seek her out. She said ‘Just because you don’t believe in something doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.’ She concluded the best thing to do was for her to get rid of the doll so it couldn’t be used against me.

“She held it up, pointing out that the hands and feet were bound, which meant I was bound. The man who bound the doll against me protected me from doing him harm. If I were attacked by him I couldn’t protect myself.”

“Really, now that is very interesting.” April nodded. She’d file that bit of information away for further use.

“To make a long story short, after performing a ritual with herbs and vials of liquid, and human bones, chicken feet...well she asked me if I had anything that belonged to the man I suspected of making the voodoo doll of me. Which I did...it was a bloody handkerchief with which the THRUSH agent had used to staunch the bleeding after he’d been wounded.”

“She produced another voodoo doll telling me blood was a powerful magic and good djudju for me. She wrapped the bloody handkerchief around her doll, then did the same with some sort of ornate necklace she had hidden in the folds of her skirt.”

”Dis now be a voodoo-mirror doll and dis a curse remover charm. Now we send dat curse back to him and give him someting more,” Solo imitated the woman. She began to chant, turning the doll above the burning cauldron in a trance-like state and called on something called Sousson-Pannan.”

“Oh I know what that is. It’s called a loa, one of the demon-spirits of the voodoo religion,” April said.

“How would you know that?”

“I read a few things while I was in that hoodoo shop.”

“Oh, well anyway a mist appeared around her, changing from white to red, then it took a more visible shape as some sort of creature. It looked human, but had an elongated neck, with the face of a skeleton. On its head was a weather-worn top hat. She told us not to move or it would attack. The mist moved over us and enveloped that very mausoleum,” he pointed to the crypt of LaVeau.

“Mama Luc tossed the mirror voodoo doll into the flames while she continued to chant. “I forge dis image, I bewitch it...da malevolent aspect, da evil eye, da malevolent mouth, malevolent tongue, da malevolent lip. Da finest sorcery...Spirits of da heavens, conjure it! Spirits of da earth conjure it! Sousson-Pannan I summon you! Drinker of blood and l’acool.”

"Mama Luc let out a long moan, and tossed the black voodoo doll into the flames. A blood curdling scream came from behind the crypt. A man staggered out and was enveloped by the mist. His hands were running all over his body as if he were on fire, trying to put out the flames until he collapsed. It was the Thrushie and he was dead.”

“A bottle of whiskey flew past us, shattering on the grave slab in front of of Marie LaVeau’s crypt, the red mist followed the whiskey as it seeped into the earth, disappearing after it. Suddenly there was a shrieking cackle, and Mama Luc was gone along with all her accoutrements.”

“Napoleon you’re right, that is a frightening story, Did Illya believe it once it was all over...you know him being a pragmatist and all.”

“At first he was is usual skeptical self, but given the numerous supernatural experiences we’ve had since then, I think he’s softened his beliefs regarding such things.”

“Numerous supernatural experiences? You’ve been holding back on me loverboy...speaking of which, why haven’t you tried kissing me at all since I’ve arrived.”

“It’s Lent, I had to give something up and since lovemaking is one of my favorite things in life I thought it appropriate. Lent as Illya said is a time to ask God for forgiveness and to atone for one’s sins. Given my long list, I figured it couldn’t hurt me to be a good Catholic boy and do my penance.”

“Napoleon, I knew you were a man of conviction but even this surprises me. I’m proud of you darling. Now if you don’t mind I think I’ve had enough of this place, and besides it’s getting late. Don’t you need to prepare for that interview with the new agent?”

“Thanks for the reminder and for the promise to keep what happened here private.”

“Anything for you darling. I’d give you a kiss but I wouldn’t want to tempt you.”

“Thank you April. It’s not an easy task behaving myself around you.”

Napoleon returned straight to the field office while April headed to the hotel to freshen up and see if Mark and Illya were up and about.

The table and chairs were back in the courtyard and Napoleon took the sealed personnel file there to sit and read over it.

Jean-Baptiste Angelus was of Creole heritage, orphaned at a very young age and grew up in a Catholic orphanage here in in the city. He attended Xavier University in New Orleans; it was a private, coeducational, liberal arts college with the distinction of being the only historically black Roman Catholic institution of higher education in the United States.

There he apparently learned to speak French, Italian, Spanish, Basque as well as a smattering of Russian and German. After graduating with honors he joined the U.S. navy, did his tour of duty and was recruited to the U.N.C.L.E. by none other than Waverly himself.

Napoleon smiled, recalling the Old Man doing the same to him when he’d gotten out of the Army after Korea. Waverly’s direct recruitment meant a lot.

Angelus’ Survival School records indicated he finished at the top of his class; it surprised Napoleon that the man wasn’t immediately selected for Section II. Instead he was being sent here to a field office. Napoleon found that odd, but Waverly had his reasons for doing things.

The door to the office opened and Kripke called out. “Mister Solo, you have a visitor outside, and I don’t think you’re going to be happy with who it is.”

Napoleon looked up, seeing an all too familiar platinum blonde standing on the sidewalk in front of the gate.

He pinched the bridge of his nose as he shook his head.

“Not happy to see me darling?” Angelique’s voice oozed with its usual sensuality...