Twin moons reflected off of pools of black glass, white razors slicing through an amused grin. St. Louis #1 was quiet in the dark, the whispers of the dead as silent as their visitor's feet. The scent of Cajun spices and the rushing Mississippi stretched the blade of that smile, and soon filled the air with a dancing Creole voice. "And you'll never see my shade or hear the sound of my feet, when there's a moon over Bourbon Street." Then she laughed, the corridors of stone joining in, until she reached her destination. She stood before the weathered gray tomb, reaching out a hand to trace the scars inflicted in the forms of X's, three in a row, set scattered over the granite like flowers across a field. They burned in the night with the ancient blood of voodoo, the chalked and carved lines still murmuring their blessings and curses, still calling for the spirit of the great Marie Laveau. Pulsing streams of energy made their way through the creature's bones. God she loved New Orleans. "How ." She spun at the voice, an unexpected and unwanted intrusion, and found herself face-to-face with a man who was not a man but a fox. A snarl twisted her lips as she stepped back, standing ready to attack. Unfortunately, she was quickly outnumbered, four to one, as the oddest, little congregation met her eyes. "Eh?" the furry one snorted, continuing with the rolling lilt of Ireland. "Don' ya be attackin' me, lass. Ya really think the lot of us chose each other's company? I'll bet my tail ya got a letter, too." She nodded warily. Sighing, the man offered a hand, flashing green flames over a forced smile. "The name's Andrew Kearney." "Samantha Manikowski. Sam." Andrew held out his paw for a moment more, but it was never accepted and soon returned to his side. As the two stared each other down, another man stepped forward. Sam growled with disgust at his blue hair and lack of pupils, but the stranger took no hints, and leaned toward her, laughing. "I'm Jordy Lum!" he giggled in his wind-chime voice, sending shivers through the vampire's spine. Quick to move from this changeling and his melting face, as it shifted to match the features of one member or another of their little collection, Sam turned to the next in line. She could smell on this third man the unmistakable mark of mortal blood. There was no trace of magic in this boy, and the Cajun's fangs pricked her lower lip. Well now, this one she could stand. Then she saw it, him moving as if he could read her mind, as well any hunted beast could. On his throat, adorning either side, was a tattooed cross, the mark of a freeman, one which vampires were forbidden to touch. So much for dinner. He smirked and nodded to her. "Van Corbin." Glaring for a moment past his brown veil of hair, burning into blue eyes, her sunglasses slipped, and Van sank back as the reflected moons shone like steel rings around two voids. Chuckling, she tipped her shades back up. At least now the blood-bag might know his place. So she turned to the last form, pleased with the filthy human's reaction, and found herself sinking in fear, skin crawling. Looking across them, her quick glance had caught at the end of the line only blonde hair, blue eyes, maybe a sunburn. It had appeared to be a second human, or perhaps an elven warrior, but now she saw differently. Four black horns rose through the hair, two from either temple, and those eyes held no whites, just an expanse of blue with a single black slit through the center. As for the sunburn, it was nothing but flaming, red scales, crimson around those abysmal eyes and the edges of the face, slit by a dangerous, switchblade smile. "A drake," Sam hissed, her voice tinged with dread. The beast smirked, whipping its tail out from beneath a patchwork trench coat, which, Sam's panicking mind noted, clashed horribly with its skin, and rumbled, "Drakes are oversize, flying skinks that barely reach my hip and rarely deserve my attention." "We already went through this," Andrew interrupted irritably, arms crossed over his chest, and Sam waited for the carnage to ensue. Nothing happened, however, much to the vampire's dismay. Those black-hole eyes turned to the fox for a moment, and the demon changed. Suddenly, the creature looked absurdly crestfallen, pouting playfully, and stuck its tongue out at the man. "Oh, go sit on a chicken, furball, and let me have my fun," the red fiend huffed jokingly, its voice heightening slightly in pitch and becoming somewhat female, then it turned a mischievous grin back to meet the vampire. "I'm a Dragos, by the way, a dragon of the two legged variety, and my name's H.P. Lovecraft." Sam raised a brow, trying desperately to shake off the confusion. "You gotta be kiddin' me." "Hardly," H.P. snapped. "I was named as such for a distant relative who posed as a human author for quite some time." "I know who H.P. Lovecraft was, firebreath." "I don't suggest you pick a fight with me. Fangs versus 'firebreath' hardly seems fair." From behind them, Corbin snorted. "Great. The two of you can go ahead and duke it out over a name. Meanwhile, I'm the only one here who has to rely on physical weaponry. Not to mention I'm the only one who'll likely end up dead before we all part ways." "I don't know what you're talking about, mongrel," Sam growled. "We're parting now, and you're still breathing." The Creole backed away a few steps before turning. If she'd learned anything in life, it was "never turn your back on your enemy," and she'd been raised well enough to know that the only safe company was dinner. Fangs stuck to fangs, not dragons, cattle, shifters, or furs. That was life. Everyone stuck to their own kind. Even in free zones like New Orleans, most people stuck to their kind. Could've picked better people to change that, couldn't they? The changeling's voice rang through her head in a sing-song tumble. She whipped around, glaring into the intruder's blank eyes and that fake unicorn grin, plastered on a mirror image of her own face. "Get outta my skin, mind-walker! And outta my head!" she howled, tearing her shades from her face to pierce him with a frozen inferno. "I don't even like myself being in here," she tapped a finger violently on her temple, "let alone anyone else!" Lum laughed maniacally, the great stone monuments echoing with delight as his flesh melted back into his own form, and he waved a slip of paper in the air like a banner of mock surrender. "Have you ever stolen treasure from a ghost, dagger-mouth? Have you ever walked halls in search of escape, only to find the captivity was your freedom?" Then he leapt into the air and slammed the paper down on the ground, and Sam's world exploded like a shattered mirror, reflecting the glittering lights of Mardi Gras. When she awoke, Sam's eyes came to focus on nothingness. Everything was white, all lit up like the moon, and it was all empty. Sitting up, she found herself in a box, or so it seemed, a room with no way out. Then there was a groan behind her, and she spun, jumping into a crouched position, only to find the others there as well. The rest of the motley group slowly made their dazed awakenings, as Sam teetered on her toes, searching for balance as her world spun. Beside her, Corbin looked almost green, eyes half-mast and hand over his mouth, shaking on the support of his hand and knees. H.P. gasped for breath, still lying flat on her back, eyes closed to the blindingly dull glow around them. Not far off sat Andrew, rubbing at his eyes groggily, white-tipped ears twitching. Beyond him stood Lum, his head rolling on his shoulders as if his neck were made of rubber. Still grinning, his face frozen in the childish expression, Sam got the distinct impression that, somewhere behind those cue ball eyes, he was laughing. She could almost hear him, giggling from his mask of innocence, and anger rose over her disorientation. With a growl, she dove at the changeling, slamming Lum to the ground. "Where are we, pretender?" Blank eyes laughed at her defiantly, and he shrugged under her weight, a grin slicing his face. "How should I know, dagger-mouth? I only did what the paper said to do, and now the paper's all gone like it said it would be. See? No paper," he rambled like a child. "No paper at all. I suppose, perhaps we're inside it now. You know, there are people who can make little boxes just by folding a piece of paper." Sam howled, leaping to her feet as she glared at the creature in helpless rage. "Torturing him won't do any good," H.P. sighed from across the room, where she appeared to be leaning against a wall though she cast no shadow on it. "You'll never get anything intelligible from a changeling unless they decide to give it to you." "So you're saying I should just sit down and stay down? Lay here and die of ennui?" the vampire snarled. Crimson lips smirked. "Samantha, dear, boredom is the last thing you'd die of in this company. I'd break off my own horn and stake you with it first." "What was it Corbin was saying about parting ways?" "Are you trying to threaten me?" "Perhaps." Andrew huffed, glaring at the two women. "By Merlin's 'ands. Would you two leave each other be?" "Yeah," Van grumbled. "I don't know about dragos and vampires, but humans get headaches." "Freeman or not, you'll be dinner soon," Sam snapped, sliding her sunglasses roughly back into place. No one said a word after that, everyone scattered about the room, Jordy Lum wandering in absent little circles and humming to himself. The concept of dying here was rather unappealing, but what else could they do? In better company it would have been easier, they could have just talked until they faded away, but here they sat, helpless and hopeless, wishing they had never followed those stupid letters to St. Louis #1. Then she thought about it. What was so wrong with her company anyway? So they were different. If they were going to die here, what did it matter? They could die together or die alone. It was their choice. Maybe she would have to put her past aside for once. After all, they were all just people, all stuck in the same hopeless situation. "If we're just goin' ta argue the 'ole time," Andrew muttered, "we might as well just kill ourselves now." They all looked at one another uneasily for a moment, each knowing the other had been thinking the same thing, before H.P. sighed her agreement. "So we're stuck. Who's to say we can't at least know who we're dying with?" No one answered, so she continued, "I already introduced myself, but I guess I'll do it again. People call me H.P. My full name is Heather Perry Lovecraft. I was born in Brazil, but I've lived all over, and I received my letter while residing in Cairo, Egypt." After a moment's silence, Andrew spoke up, "M'name's Andrew Kearney, but friends call me Drew. I was born and raised in Dublin, Ireland, but I've been travelin' the isle lately. The letter was on m'bed when I got home from a trip." "I'm Van Corbin, like I said. I've lived all over America, but I became a freeman while in Arizona when I was ten. I was on my way to a free zone in Virginia when the letter showed up in my bag, so I headed here , to New Orleans anyway." "As I said rather rudely back in the cemetery, which I suppose I should apologize for, I'm Samantha Manikowski, better known as Sam. I've lived my whole life and unlife in Louisiana. I was born in the bayou, but I've been living in Baton Rouge for the past few years." It was silent again, the only sound coming from the changeling's wandering feet, and it was driving Sam crazy. The incessant rhythm pounded in her ears. She had to drown it out before the panic rose again. "So what did you all do in life?" "Ran," Corbin took the hint, shrugging, "and not just away. I really enjoyed running as a sport. It let me forget about everything going on." He laughed. "Sometimes it's great to just be absent minded for a while." H.P. smirked. "I know what you mean. I was a writer and an artist, and I made regular trips with some archeological groups. It always felt good to relax, start a painting, and finish it before I realized I'd begun." "I painted, too," Andrew nodded. "I even sold a few landscapes over the years, but I really loved photography, and I played in soccer to the American born. Coaching the children was my joy, though. My kids won their fourth tourney in a row this year." He sighed, smiling softly, and a tear came to his eye. "They made me promise to come back next season, ya know? Said they wanted me there for their fifth go at it." They were quiet again until Sam laughed nervously, "Well, now I feel real boring. I never did much, and I'd have nothing to go back to, really." "I'm sure someone would wonder about you," the Irishman replied hopefully, but Sam just shook her head with a rueful smile. "Hope someone's worried about me," Van smirked, "but I doubt it. I didn't really have any friends, either." Andrew smiled, tired and sympathetic. "Well, ya got some now, for however long we live." Four sets of eyes met one another, four sets of eyes that had been cold in present company only moments before, and there really was a friendship there. It was a camaraderie born of desperation, one built on common grounds that never would have existed in any other situation, and Sam suddenly found herself wondering why. Why had it been so hard for them all to get this far? Why had it taken such a desperate position? Why had it had to be them? H.P. had talents to share, Andrew had children waiting for him, Corbin had a goal to reach, and Jordy Lum had an innocence inherent in him that Sam could never understand. Any other group of people could have been chosen to die here, any group of people who, like Sam, had nothing to go back to. Why did they have to be the ones for this psychotic moral wake- up call? "I never thought I'd talk to anyone like this," the vampire finally broke the silence, looking down at her hands, "least of all to mention a human." Her laughter was joined by the others, and she suddenly felt more comfortable than she ever had in her life. Andrew smiled. "You're not the only one, lass." "Shame it has to end like this," Corbin sighed with a sad smile, and H.P. placed a hand on his shoulder. "At least we won't be alone," she amended. "Except for whoever lasts the longest." Sam burst out laughing. "You won't have to worry about that, Corbin. You're the only mortal here, remember?" "Yeah," he grinned, "but I can just see you outliving everybody and going totally out of your pretty little head." A joke made in companionship was the last reason Sam would have expected to cause her to tackle a human, but there she was, wrestling and laughing. "Alright, ya bull!" she growled jokingly. "That's it!" The normalcy of the sight calmed them. What they felt was far from hope, but at least they could feel almost comfortable, could almost forget. As the two bickered teasingly, the thought that they had once been enemies was almost impossible to bare. So the four talked and taunted, learning more about one another than they had ever known about any of their friends in the past and growing closer with the continual knowledge that the familiarity was all but too late. It was during this that Lum joined them again, tapping H.P. determinedly on the shoulder. "Come see!" he hissed wildly. "Come see!" The horned creature stared at him, brow raised. "What's got you so worked up, shifter?" "Come see!" was the only reply as he ran back to the end of the wall he had been pacing moments ago. Placing his hands on it, he began to slowly move along the surface. Confused, the others followed, H.P. in the lead. "What are you up to, Jordy?" "Come see! Come see!" he continued to ramble frantically, bursting into random fits of giggles. "It's not a box! Come see! Look! Feel! It's a wall, but not a wall! Not whole! Not whole! Heehee! A wall, but not a wall! How clever! How fun! We're the ghosts! We're the ghosts! It stole our treasure! Hoohoo! What a fine trick! It stole our treasure! It stole our pride!" They frowned at one another, and Sam frowned. "It stole our treasure? Our pride?" Then it dawned on her. She had heard something like that before! "Wait! What was it the changeling said before we got here? 'Have you ever stolen treasure from a ghost? Have you ever walked halls in search of escape.?'" "'.only to find the captivity was your freedom?" Andrew finished for her, catching on as Jordy continued on his incoherent path along the wall he claimed was neither a wall nor whole. "Wait a sec," Corbin piped in. "If we were the ghosts and our pride was our treasure." Sam's smile was so wide and crazed that it nearly split her face. ".then there must be halls to wander!" H.P. laughed, shaking her head. "By the Fey. We're stuck inside a riddle." "And our dear friend Jordy Lum," Andrew's chuckling echoed to them, both its owner and its subject nowhere to be seen, "seems to have solved it!" Then Lum's head popped, giggling, out into the open from a hole in the wall that had gone unseen, a hole that had, by all accounts, not been there before. His seemingly disembodied head was soon followed by Andrew, who stepped out trembling with slightly manic laughter. The fox motioned for them too follow as he disappeared once more. "There are hallways alright," his Irish lilt tumbled over them in frantic amusement. "There are plenty of them, twisting and turning." "So you're telling me that our little box here wasn't a box.?" Sam laughed as well. ".but a maze," Andrew giggled. "By Merlin's 'ands! It's a maze!" Corbin groaned, making his way to the fur's side. "Great. Just great." But H.P. placed her hand on his shoulder once again, and a grin met his gaze. "At least we're not trapped," she offered, "and at least we're not alone." So beyond them, Jordy Lum was skipping away, singing at the top of his lungs. Behind them, their little room still shown like the moon, no flaws visible. They had a choice now, and, as if they all shared one mind, the four new friends followed their blank eyed child into the future.