BROOD - Part 1

[x-gambit.livejournal.com]

Louis Armstrong International was quiet in the early morning. Most of the business flights had already departed, and the vacationing tourists who transferred flights through the small hub wouldn't arrive until noon, so their hotels would have a chance to sell them an overpriced breakfast buffet or the IHOPs, ubiquitous on every exit ramp to all US airports would be able to make their mornings. They collected their baggage quietly, ghosting through the terminal. Remy had already flatly refused flight by the Blackbird, opting for a commercial carrier for reasons he wouldn't explain.

Both girls had noticed that both his passport and credit card had names other than Remy LeBeau on them, and had wisely stayed silent through the check in and check out.

"Welcome to de Big Easy." Remy said as he collected the keys to the rental car and stalked through the lot, both girls in tow.

Marie-Ange silently raised an eyebrow, glancing over at Amanda. "I still say we could have flown on an airline a little less... " She wrinkled her nose in annoyance. "Cramped. cheap. crowded. I could possibly find other words that begin with C to use to describe it."

"Oui, but de best word to describe it starts with an A. Anonymous." Remy unlocked the truck for the girls to throw their luggage in. He was only carrying a medium sized duffel bag which he'd brought as his carryon.
"'Crap' was the C word I was thinkin' of, but I"ll give you the anonymous thing," Amanda said with a slight shrug as she tossed her bag into the truck. "Any chance of some food soon? The Bottomless Pit needs fillin'."

"We'll stop before we reach Tante's. Dats one thing dat you won't have any problem getting, chere. New Orleans is a city of eaters." Remy gunned the engine as the girls crowded in. "Hot in de summer. Too hot to make love even, so den you turn to food and magic and sin and everything dat comes from dat idle energy. Like no place on de planet."

Sometimes Marie-Ange wondered if Remy actually believed half the things he said. Because really, some of them just sounded silly. Maybe it was the accent. She bit back a snicker and shoved her bag into the trunk. "Doug gave me the speech about how jealous he was about 'authentic cajun food." She smiled and shook her head. "I really think he would eat anything if someone made it spicy enough."

"Den he's going to miss out." Remy waited for Marie-Ange to pull the door shut before pulling out of the parking lot and on to the expressway. New Orleans was built on the delta of the Mississippi; a shifting network of sand bars, channels and thunderous brackish water emptying into the Gulf of Mexico. Pillars of concrete and steel had given the illusion of taming the mighty river mouth, but it was a false image. The girls watched the scenery as Remy shot up the road.

"Some ground rules before we even get to Tante's, femmes." Remy said as the vegetation began to grow darker and more wild as they passed by the tenuous suburbs of New Orleans and approached the bayou. "Most important, do not piss her off. Seriously. If she feels dat you need a lesson in manners, she'll give you one, dat will remind you every time de weather gets cold. Take her very seriously, or you not goin' like de results."

"What, the threefold rule don't apply to her?" Amanda asked, perhaps a little irritated. Sometimes it seemed everyone else got a 'Get Out Of Karmic Retribution Free" card. "Usin' magic t' punish someone - that usually has some nasty backlash."

"Who said anything about doing magic? Tante just likely to smack de teeth out of your head."

Amanda blinked, and then her expression closed off. "'Cause that hasn't happened enough in me life. Fine, I'll make with the nice - I don't really want t' lose another piercin' 'cause someone thinks they're fun t' yank."

"Remy just warning you femmes. Tante is not de person to act smart around or waste her time. When she talks, you listen. If you don like dat, you tell me and Remy send you home. She not like de Professor, or any of de other teachers. She got no reason to like you, and no reason to put up wit' anything." Remy said, uncharacteristically serious. "Remember dat."

Ah, that talk again. "Understood," Amanda said briefly, exchanging looks with Marie-Ange that clearly said 'why are we putting up with this again? Oh yeah, 'cause we need to.' "If I didn't know better, Remy, I'd say you were scared of this Tante person."

"Oui. Remy more scared of Tante Mattie den any other person on de planet. Now shut up and let me drive."



The bayou seethed, even under the cool winter air. There was something in the heavy swamp, the organic nature of the thick vegetation that seemed to steam no matter what the exterior temperature was. In the heavy, soupy air, the sound of insects filled the space under the tree canopy, between the heavy curtains of Spanish moss and the sickly roiling algae-thick waters of the swamp.

The shack on the edge of the bayou was verdant, almost sagging under the weight of the vines and moss growing on it. The rusting tin roof was a rust colour, silver only where the smokestack thrust up through the roof. A jumble of benches were around a dead fire pit outside of the dilapidated porch, but there was no sign of life in the little home when the truck pulled up. Remy parked haphazardly and got out, the smell of the bayou back in his nostrils; a false nostalgia for a home he'd never really had.

Amanda looked at Marie-Ange, raising her eyebrow slightly. "I think I've lived in squats that were less shite than this," she murmured - she'd been taken by Remy's confession that he was scared of Tante Mattie enough to take the warnings at least a little more seriously. Louder, to Remy, she said: "Anyone home?"

Marie-Ange was taken aback, not at all sure what to think. She'd -seen- things like this - usually on the news after some natural disaster. She'd expected something less... completely run-down and scary. This was beyond scary. This was someplace she'd had nightmares about. "Merde. Why do t! he! ones I do not want have to come true?"

"Murphy's Law?" Amanda suggested, but giving Marie! -Ange a comforting little nudge with her shoulder. She didn't tell Marie-Ange she didn't have to do this, that they could go... both of them knew that wasn't an option, and hadn't been from the moment they'd accepted the invitation. But she did say in a low voice. "Don't worry, roomie. In this together, yeah?"

"Welcome to de bayou, femmes. Dis part of de world is 'bout de poorest you going to find and still be in de States. We kicked out of France first, den Canada," Remy paused. "'magine what it take to get kicked out of Canada? Den stuck in de swamps in de malarial part of here. Mostly runaway slaves, ignorant day workers, and de kind of folk dat don't quite fit in no where polite society." Remy grinned as he got out of the truck. "Sure you gon' feel right at home."

"Does he ever just talk normally without all the grandstandin'?" Amanda muttered to herself as she hauled her bag and Marie-Ange's out of the back of the truck. "You sure she's still here? I don't see any signs of life."

"Maybe the swamp ate her and we can go home..." Marie-Ange said, nearly under her breath. She hefted her bag onto her shoulder and tried to remind herself that the air -was- actually breathable. Even with that smell, and the humidity.

"When de swamp eat, childe, it chew." The deep voice seemed to fill the clearing, reverberating in the heavy air. Both of the girls jumped, looking around in shock as it rang out, from everywhere around and seemingly nowhere in specific.

Remy rolled his eyes, a slight smile coming to his lips. "Guess dat mean you home den, Tante?"

"Dat can' be Remy LeBeau. Dat cause dat Remy know dat Tante no wan listen to his smart lip. Know dat Tante don put up wit' dat. So who is dat?"

"It Remy. Brought de femmes."

"Gowan bring dem inside, jah cabron." There was still no apparent source of the voice, but the door of the shack swung open slowly. Remy looked at the girls.

"Dat was de sound of you last chance to back out flying 'way. Come on in."

A smartarse reply about not being able to understand a word her last chance was saying died on Amanda's lips. The voice held power, even she could tell that. A lot of power. Straightening her shoulders as she hefted her duffle bag up onto one, she tried hard not to look rattled. "Um, thanks," she said lamely as she followed Remy up the ramshackle steps. "For the invite an' all." It was odd, speaking to the air in general, but then again that wasn't a first for weirdness for her.

For the thirty-seventh time in the last hour, Marie-Ange sighed and followed behind Amanda. Amanda knew magic people, and if she was being quiet and respectful, then there was zero way Marie-Ange was going to do anything stupid. Even if that accent was doing horrible things to English, and she didn't -even- want to think about what it would do to French.

The inside of the shack was as sound in appearance as the outside wasn't. The roof above was shored with steel reinforced wood, the floor clean and covered in rugs. A wood stove dominated the room, part of a large kitchen that took up half of the living area. The rest was taken up by a rectangular table, mismatched chairs, and a circle of old sofas. The walls were hung with violently coloured art; multi-media pieces made with bottle caps, nails, broken toys, bits of wood, sections hacked from cans, all splashed with garish colours. Over the kitchen hung pots, cooking materials, and bunches of drying herbs, smoked meats, and all manner of bizarre and unfortunately organic materials.

Standing by the wood stove, stirring a large pot, stood a large black woman. She wasn't so much fat as simply built a quarter size larger than everyone else. She turned from the stove, her face ageless under a mass of black hair in dangling tight curls.

"Now, dat's better. Jah keep da chile in de cold, LeBeau? Tante taught jah better manners den dat."

"Oui, Tante. Dis is 'manda and Marie-Ange. De ones Remy told you 'bout."

God, they -all- talked in the third person. Marie-Ange bit down on her lip and looked around carefully. And made a mental note that if she came home and was talking in the third person, she was going to have Nate throw her in the lake until she stopped doing it. Catching a cold be damned, it was better than any funny mental disease she'd catch down here.

Amanda blinked, startled by the difference between inside and outside, part of her brain trying to identify and catalogue the uses of the hanging herbs whose scents mingled with woodsmoke and the smell of whatever was in the pot - it smelled good, even if she couldn't identify it at all. "Um, hello," she said, unsure of what to make of the woman Remy was addressing with such respect. She didn't look like anything overmuch.

This was entirely outside of Marie-Ange's realm of knowledge. This was nothing like her comfortable home with her parents, exactly the opposite of the mansion and school, and she was entirely off her game. Were they supposed to say something, to remain quiet, to make idle chatter? She had no idea, and had no idea how she'd even go about finding out. Staying quiet seemed like the best bet, the safest, and so she did, staying close to Amanda and continuing to look around curiously.

"Bonjour, child'ren. De room t'rough dere is yours. 'pect dat you want to put jah t'ings 'way 'fore we get to de real introductions. Je'mapple Mattie Deveroux, but everyone jus' call me Tante."

"Dat an' crazy ol' swamp witch." Remy muttered under his breath. The girls stood in shock as Tante moved like a snake, her hand slapping across Remy's jaw with a crack that echoed in the small shack.

The thing was that Remy LeBeau was virtually untouchable. His own preliminary testing almost a year ago in the Danger Room had shown the incredible spatial awareness that simply allowed him to track and avoid virtually anything aimed at him. Doug had downloaded a file from the Danger Room camera archives once, and it had gone around the students as they watched he dodge practice laser fire with almost contemptuous ease.

But the old woman had caught him with a slap that sounded like a reasonable equivalent of a punch from Nathan, and it had landed.

Which meant LeBeau had let it.

"Jah know better den speakin' like dat, Remy. You in need of 'nother lesson den? Last time still not sink in?"

"Non, Tante." Remy said quietly, wiping the blood from his lips.

"Bein. Get de femmes phones, computers, anyt'ing dat resembles a video game or a radio. Dey got no place here for de next week. Take dem out to dat t'ing you rented, and den Tante have words for you ear 'lone, homme." Remy nodded and followed the stunned girls into the small guest room.

Amanda had flinched at the sound of the slap, memories surfacing of a hundred such strikes she'd received herself. For Remy to stand there and take such a hit... She kept her mouth clamped shut until they were in the guest room, and then handed over her phone and the PDA the boys had given her without a word, knowing Remy had already seen and noted the way her hands were shaking. Only when she was sure her voice wouldn't betray her over much, did she speak. "I've got one question for you." When Remy nodded, she went on: "If somethin' happens, an' we need an out, would you be able t' do that? Or should I be makin' escape plans now, just in case?"

"Dere not a place on dis planet safer den wit' Tante." Remy said, as he fished out the mp3 player from Marie-Ange's bag that she'd 'forgotten' about and dumped it into the bag. He saw their looks of disbelief and grinned. "Dat slap? Dere been worse, femmes. Remy keep telling you. You don disrespect Tante. She teach you, den she not gon spare de rod. But she not gon' hurt you for no reason."

Remy tossed the bag over his shoulder, taking a quick look around the small bare room, that held only two cots, a battered old chest of drawers with an old radio on it, and a few rugs. "Been long time since I slept here. Can't say I miss dat. Look, you both listen to Tante. Do want she says wit'out acting like you somet'ing special, and you gon' learn somet'ing. You decide dat you already know it all, den you goin' have de worst two weeks of you lives."

"So, we do whatever she says and do not speak unless spoken to?" Marie-Ange said, sighing. "Wonderful. It is like my old school all over again." Complete with psychotic old bat, though Marie-Ange didn't think Tante was exactly Catholic.

"Non. It means use your brains and stop acting like de place is beneath you." Remy was suddenly very close to Marie-Ange's face. "Tante been in dis place best part of sixty years, Remy figure. She's where de poor and de forgotten come because de police and de politicians just as happy to let dem die. You don't understand a t'ing bout dat, and Tante not 'bout to take your contempt. Remy spent six months as her slave learning dat lesson, petite. You listen, you learn, or maybe she send you home with nothing but hell coming through from de future for you."

Which sounded to Marie-Ange a lot like what she had just said. Shut up, listen, and do not talk back. She shrugged, convinced Remy was exaggerating. "It is very hard to do anything but ask questions if we do not know what to expect..."

"She's got power." Amanda said unexpectedly from where she was sitting on one of the cots, testing out the spring, or lack of. "I can feel that without even tryin'. What kind..." She shrugged. "'S hard t' say. Feels different t' anythin' I've come across, but that makes sense, don't it?" Restraining the urge to chew nervously on her thumbnail, she gave Marie-Ange a look. "Remember Asgard? She's not as bad as Sif, I don't think, but not by much. But I think she'll be able t' help."
Remy pinched the bridge of his nose, mentally wondered if he'd been that dumb as a teenager, all of three months ago, and sighed. "Remy be back in a few days, check on you. Make sure dat you listen to what she has to say, femmes. Getting you down here wasn't cheap for me, and if Tante put you out de door 'cause she t'ink you wasting her time, Remy not gon' be happy, oui?" He swung the bag over his shoulder and turned from the room, knowing that he'd be getting his own talk once he made it outside. Just before he left, Remy rummaged in his pocket and dropped a bottle of bug repellent on the side table, the industrial DEET stuff used by military jungle units.

"By de way, you gon' need dis. Have fun." And he was gone.



“How young dey, Remy?”

“Too young, Tante.” LeBeau sighed and tossed the bag into the rented truck. Tante had sat herself down on one of the outside benches, watching him with hooded eyes as he prepared to head back into the city. He’s spent six months in this cabin years ago, and wasn’t particularly interested in spending another night.

“And jah, LeBeau? How much of dat inside is de murderer and how much is de childe?”

“You tell me.”

“Know better den dat, Remy.” Tante smiled and got to her feet, prodding over to LeBeau and regarding him critically for a moment, looking him up and down. “Dat’s what I thought. Ken see it now.”

“Que?”

“De part dat kept jah alive years ago, homme. De man dat wasn’t built. Dat don mean dat you clear yet, Remy. De death cling t’ jah, de loa ’fraid dat round jah. Be rare part of de man dat live wit dat.” Tante’s face hardened. “See jah got dem good and scared.”

“Figured dat dey deserved a warning. Even from you, Tante.” Remy’s crooked smirk was back, but it didn’t earn him a second hit. The quip showed his own respect for her; the fear bourne out of realization of person and purpose.

“Jah tied together, jah know. Been inside dem, body and mind. Dere’s a link ‘tween de three of you.” Mattie closed her eyes, hummed lightly for a moment before opening them again. “Jah gon save dem, and dey gon save jah. ‘member dat in de future.”

Remy nodded mutely. The fact that neither of the girls liked him much, or to be honest, at all didn’t mean that Tante wasn’t right. Even if she wasn’t, arguing with her was not high on his list of intelligent moves. “Said dat dere was ‘nother reason dat jah wanted Remy here, Tante.”

“Dat right, Remy.” Mattie looked off for a moment, thunder clouds rolling across his expression. “De families are gon t’ war.”

“What?” Remy scowled. “Dat don make sense. One of de families have a coup? New players?”

“Somet’ing more. Incidents ‘tween each one, like someone escalating it.”

“How bad?”

“Simmering. ‘bout ten or so gon missing in de last few weeks. Attacks on dere fronts. Heard dey called a Guild Council dat turned into a screaming match.” Tante said, and Remy rolled his eyes. There were five major crime families in New Orleans, controlling everything from drugs to murder. They had been around for over two hundred years, grown out of some of the oldest families to settle in the city. About a hundred and fifty years ago, to prevent a meltdown during the American Civil War, the families had struck an accord on how to divide the city and the surrounding areas.

Each family had always been closely associated with one form of crime or another, so they codified those relationships into official charters. Each family took control of one area of crime, officially supported by the other guilds, as they styled themselves, to the exclusion of all others. Acting as an independent judiciary to the guilds were the voudoun leaders, supported by their magic and the massive human resources of the Creole and Carrib population in the city.

Freelance criminals, other gangs, and foreign interests were dealt with surprising efficiency. Even the occasional quarrel between the charters, when new criminal opportunities emerged, were dealt with effectively. When LeBeau had first returned to New Orleans, the D’Armade family, or the Assassins Guild as they called themselves now, challenged him. Gambit had made an impression, and with Tante Mattie’s backing, had been granted an independent charter by the Guild Council to operate in New Orleans freely, as long as he was willing to recognize the primacy of the guilds.

Remy clamped down hard on the other memories of that time, refusing to let them creep out. If Tante was right, the Guilds would be moving without listening to the voudoun, which meant that a gang war would see thousands dead. Most of those would be the creole footsoldiers and minor Haitian gangs controlled by the guilds; Tante’s community.

“Don know what’s causing it?”

“Non. It something dat’s hidden to me. Something different.” Tante said grimly. “Dats why it time for you to use dat charter, Remy.”

“It don mean dat dey interested in talking to me.”

“Convince dem.”

“You gon get Remy killed, Tante.”

“Tante risk it.” Mattie pushed him towards the truck. “I look after jah femmes, LeBeau. You go look after Tante’s city.”

“Merde.” Remy cursed softly as he got in and drove off.