In moments he was on the highway, speeding toward the city of voodoo and magic. When he got off the interstate it took him an extra thirty minutes to find the right street, and another fifteen to find a parking spot.

It was 2:00 am by the time he arrived at Old Demonica Alley, the place where the shop was located. The scent of rain was in the air, and clouds shrouded the stars and moon. He stood at the entrance to the narrow street, alone in the dark of night, staring into a passageway between buildings with no street lamps. What should he do? Feel his way through?

A rat scurried out the shadow-filled alley, shrieking. It zipped down the street and into a drain.

After it was gone, Jerrold listened. The only sounds he could hear were distant laughter.

Well, he hadn't come all this way just to turn back. He set foot into the alley. It felt as if he'd crossed the threshold to a dangerous and magical new world. No. Not a new world. An older and more mysterious one. A place that was one with the pyramids, sites of human sacrifice in South America, and Stonehenge.

He shook his head. The fear of the dark getting to him. After his vision adjusted, he'd be fine. He paused and stared until he could make out a dim path between the buildings.

Of course, he could just use his cell phone to illuminate his path, but it was low on power again. Besides that, he had the impression there were things in that darkness, things best left unseen.

Several more steps. What was he looking for? He wasn't sure. Some kind of illuminated sign, of course, but nothing like that was visible.

The clouds chose that moment to slip away and wash the street with moonbeams. Apart from the shuffling beggar, the cars, and a profusion of empty cans and bottles, the alley was empty. Where had the beggar gone? Where could he possibly have gone?

He glanced at the door. A white glittering face stared up at him, as if it were coated with sugar crystal. Eyes, hauntingly life-like, stared up at him from the sculpture. At the ground was a simple black mat with the word "Welcome." When he saw it, he let out a nervous chuckle. Yes, he felt very welcomed.

With a shaking hand, Jerrold reached for the knob and turned it. He was surprised when it clicked open.

He stepped into a small candlelit shop. The scent of incense inside was thick as shag carpeting. He stared around.

Most of the store held trinkets: rubber skeletons, a few bumper stickers that read "Make Zombies, not War," and a collection of bobble-headed witches with bone white faces. There were wicker baskets filled with brightly colored feathers, balls of yarn, and packets of glitter and sequins. Why would anyone come here after midnight to buy such junk?

He turned a corner and saw rows of oddly colored powders in fancy glass jars. Half of them were different kinds of cocoa. He'd known there was more than one kind, but what was "Fire Cocoa?" What was "Moon Fermented Cocoa?" Did that even make sense?

A slender woman in a black cloak stepped into the aisle. Her skin was white as porcelain, as if she were a china doll come to life. Her eyes lingered on his and her smile--her smile suggested that she shared a secret with him. Did he know her?

He blinked and she stepped away.

It was only once she'd gone that Jerrold realized he was holding his breath. Why? Was it the unnatural whiteness of her skin? He was being silly. This was New Orleans, after all. Face paint was not such an uncommon thing. The darkness and the shadows were getting to him.

He summoned his nerve and walked between shelves filled with face masks and noise makers until he came to the register. The person there, at least, didn't have unnaturally white skin. Indeed, her skin was a gentle brown. Her costume--that was the only word that described her attire--was a dress and cape, both crusted in glitter and peacock feathers. She stared at the ground fixedly.

"Hello," Jerrold said, pulling out the wrapper he'd found with his paint supplies. "I came here looking for some of these chocolate roses."

The woman reached for a stack of yellow postits and a pen. She rapidly scribbled a note and handed it to him--all without lifting her eyes to meet his.

He squinted and read the message on the small yellow square.

"Bring me a drop of your blood and a drop of the person's blood you wish to seduce, and one thousand dollars, and I will make a chocolate rose for you."

Several times his gaze retraced the words as he mumbled them, not believing what they said. Maybe he hadn't been clear in his request.

"I don't know what this is about. I'm not looking for--looking for a love charm, just candy."

The woman scrawled another message. "We sell only one kind of chocolate rose."

For several long seconds all he could do was stare. Had Charlotte really made trips to this store in the middle of the night with a thousand dollars and a drop of his blood to make love charms? No. It was insane and stupid.

"The only woman who I would want to seduce has been dead for three years." He laughed nervously, hoping to convey that his comment was a joke--although as he said it he realized how it might sound. He wiped his brow.

Again, the woman scrawled a message and handed it to him.

"We don't do that kind of magic here anymore. Leave at once."

What kind of magic didn't they do anymore? But a crawling sensation in his brain told him the answer.

"I think you misunderstand. I wasn't asking you to do any magic at all, much less raise the dead. I only want to buy this candy."

Another message. One word. "LEAVE."

"But--"

At this, the woman lifted her head to look him in the eye. Her face was thin, almost gaunt, and her too-small, child-like eyes huddled like frightened church mice in the shadows beneath her brow. Her mouth, however, was what startled him the most. Bindings thick as shoelaces wove her lips together, threading the skin. Crusted blood clung to the places the cords pierced her skin.

Part of his mind was telling him not to be afraid, like the other two people he'd seen tonight, this was only makeup.

But when she reached a slender brown finger to point silently at the yellow postit, his knees shook.

"S-S-Sorry to have troubled you," he mumbled and turned to the door.