Epilogue
Mambo Igbe danced amid the wreckage of what once was San Zanita. Her grave-born children watched with dead, uncaring eyes. The but the dark god of the crossroads was not appeased by Mambo Igbe's offering. So the old crone whispered to the winds a name, your name.
On a small cay off the eastern coast of the place the Spanish call the land of flowers sat a shallow grave. Once the resting place of a brutal puritan. Now an empty hole.
To be continued...
Holy shnikeys!
The 'land of flowers' is Florida!
I'm in trouble now....
*invokes the name of Marie Laveau for favors asked*
(http://img514.imageshack.us/img514/1374/marielaveau5am0.jpg)
By the way, the name on the crypt says 'GLAPION' and not Laveau.