Chapter One - Into the Bayou
It took me an entire season of watching people I cared about pull away with hollow, compelled eyes to realize that my entire world was being systematically hollowed out by his vampire thralls. Because yes, that was indeed what they were. Once THAT realization hit, I started to do some more research and figure out how to escape the supernatural prison I found myself in. I knew I couldn’t just walk away… I had to vanish completely. I bided my time, gathered hidden cash, and used a quick burst of raw, purple static to shatter the club’s main grid, and managed to slip into the darkness of the rainy Chicago midnight completely undetected. I didn’t stop running until I got to the bus station and took a bus as far away as I could go until I hit swampland.
The humidity of the Louisiana Bayou was oppressive, but welcoming at the same time. From what I had read online, the swamps were a legendary, hidden haven where the dirt itself vibrated with ancient covens, supernatural communities lived out in the open, and the villages within the swamps are filled with endless apothecaries and pubs where all are welcome, including several neutral areas where the old accords still held some respect. It would create an occult shield loud enough to drown out Victor’s tracking spells for good, as well as keep out any of his little pawns from finding me. I hoped.
The first thing I needed to do was get some food. I was exhausted and running on pure adrenaline, and I knew that if I didn’t find something to eat soon, and a place to sleep safely, I wasn’t going to survive my first night on my own. As I stepped off the bus and looked around the small village, the first thing that hit me was the sense of safety. There was almost a protective vibe to the place and I knew that I had found Acadia VIllage - the small, quaint town set in the middle of the swamps where a girl on the run could blend into the background.
A single, narrow road cut through the heart of the town, lined with crooked, two-story buildings made of cypress wood that had stood the test of time and Louisiana weather. Overhead, ancient weeping willows and cypress trees formed a sort of canopy so dense that it hid the moonlight, their branches heavy with thick drapes of Spanish moss that brushed against the roofs of the buildings.
There were no tall, sleek high-rises or sterile glass fronts here, like in Chicago. Instead, Arcadia was a labyrinth of flickering gas lanterns and shadows that felt alive, pooling deeply between the buildings where swamp water crept right up to the floor boards. As I walked past the darkened storefronts, I heard a strange sort of music coming faintly from down the street and headed that way. I didn’t even know how to describe the music other than clunky and very odd. And yet there was still something familiar about it that drew me closer. As I walked down the boardwalk street, the air made the hair on my arms stand up. It wasn’t from the cold - it was the magic. Behind the dusty glass of the shops, I could see handwritten signs advertising tarot cards, shelves packed with amber apothecary jars, and thick lines of black salt laid precisely across the doorways. It was a town built completely out of secrets, suffocatingly humid and fiercely protected.
Hanging directly over the heavy screen front door was a large, tarnished horseshoe that was turned upside down. To the casual viewer, it was merely a piece of southern decor. But to those with magic running through their veins, like me, it hummed with a dense, heavy protection spell. I had read about such things, in preparation for my journey here, and knew that it was likely acting as a spiritual metal detector - dampening active hexes and aggressive magic the moment anyone stepped inside.
The door clinked as I walked inside, and looked around “The Laughing Gator”. Worn, deep-emerald vinyl booths ran along a wall of scratched glass windows that looked out into the dark swamp. The main counter was a cracked, yellow laminate, lined with heavy chrome stools that squeaked whenever someone pushed them along the black-and-white checkered linoleum floor. The place had a welcoming vibe, but the staff behind the counter looked like they refused to allow any sort of drama to happen under their watch. It was perfect.
As my boots hit the floor, every eye turned on me in an agonizing, calculating moment, and then everyone turned back to their conversations, clearly deciding that I was no threat. I took a few deep breaths to calm the nervous energy around me and stepped over to the counter where a girl that looked to be about my age was talking with a waitress behind the counter. The waitress had a steady, calming presence that instantly made me feel more relaxed. She was wearing a faded canvas apron over a simple, dark-colored shirt with sleeves rolled up to her elbows, and her hair was loosely pinned up. She looked comfortable behind the counter, like she had worked there for ages. The other girl wore a rugged, grease-stained denim jacket over a faded tee, dark jeans, and worn-in work boots. Her hair was darker and a bit wild and wind-blown, and her eyes were more intense, like she was reading everyone’s movements around her. She smelled faintly of ozone, river silt, and woodsmoke. She seemed completely comfortable in her own skin, and I couldn’t help but feel a little jealous.
The waitress looked up when I sat down on the nearest stool and smiled softly. “Sit, honey, before your legs force the issue,” she encouraged in a friendly tone.
I sat, smiling shyly at her and nodding to the brunette beside me. “Just coffee. Black,” I said with a raspy voice. “And a muffin, I guess. Surprise me.”
The waitress poured the hot, steaming liquid into a black mug and set it down on the counter. “You look like you’ve been runnin’ down the Mississippi with a hurricane on your heels, dear. Drink up. You’re safe here. The Gator is neutral territory - no hexes, no drama.”
The brunette chuckled a little and leaned forward against the counter, studying me. Her eyes were bright though, with genuine curiosity and a welcoming smile. “We haven’t seen you in here before. I’m Rylie, and this is Evangeline,” she beamed, nodding toward the waitress in introduction.
I hesitated and looked between them, debating if I could really trust them. But what choice did I have? “I’m Tyra,” I admitted, pulling my bag a bit closer as I drank the coffee. It was absolutely perfect, and I knew this was going to become my regular haunt.
“Well, welcome to Arcadia, Tyra! If you’re looking to get lost, you’ve picked the right place! The air down here is thick enough to hide just about anything.”
“Is it that obvious?” I winced, wondering just how pathetic I looked. “So where’s the cheapest place to sleep safely tonight?”
Rylie let out a soft, dry laugh. “Safely? In Arcadia? That depends entirely on what kind of trouble you’re trying to keep out of your bed, honey.”
Evangeline set her towel down on the counter with a grounding thud, eyeing Rylie sharply before handing me a blueberry muffin on a white plate. “If you’re looking for cheap, there’s a roadside motel just a three-minute walk from here called The Emerald Inn. It’s cheap, the sheets are clean enough, and Old Man Miller runs the place like a bloodhound. No one gets in or out without him knowing.”
“Oh for sure! He’s the sweetest old man too; you’ll just love him! He knows everything about everyone in this town and he is *very* good at keeping secrets,” Rylie nudged me. “You’ll be just fine there, I promise.”
The door clinked as another girl my age came into the diner, and I instantly noticed the look of exhaustion and tension lined in her eyes. She had clearly just come through a rough night, which was proven as she came closer to the counter and announced, “I always turn up like a bad penny, ladies. I’d survive a witch trial, I swear.”
I blinked and couldn’t help myself. “You look like you found some kind of trouble tonight,” I observed of the new arrival.
She laughed and leaned against the counter, taking the coffee from Eva without having ordered it. “Oh honey, trouble finds me. I’m Laurel,” she introduced herself to me, holding out a heavily-manicured hand. “Welcome to Arcadia.”
“Tyra,” I smiled, shaking her hand. “We were just discussing safe places to spend the night.”
“Ahh, well… The Emerald is an easy first choice,” Laurel drank her coffee pensively. “But if you are looking to join a coven, you should look closely at what kind of power you are actually into before you bind yourself to any particular group of witches. There are three main covens in Arcadia: The Aquarius Coven, The Icarus Coven, and the Taurus Coven. They all have their own separate brands of magic and perspectives on the arcane arts.”
I nodded, having already investigated these covens before my arrival. Information was power, after all, and I knew that the more information I could have coming into this new place, the less like a naive traveller I would appear. “I have been debating this already… I did a bit of research before arriving,” I grinned at their impressed looks. “I think my first step will need to be to meet people and get comfortable with my new surroundings. Thank you all for making me feel welcome on my first night.”
“Just tell Old Man Miller that Eva at the Gator sent you,” Eva smiled at me as I set some bills down on the counter for the coffee and muffin. “I hope we see you again, Tyra. It was lovely to meet you.”
“Yes, do come by again!” Rylie beamed at me. “And do make sure that you find your way to the Hall tomorrow morning. We have Tribunals early here, and all residents and newcomers are required to attend.”
That had me stopping in my tracks. “Tribunals? Required?” I looked at all three of them.
“The Conclave is already aware of your arrival,” Laurel insisted. “You have heard of them, I hope?”
I sighed at that. “Yeah, them I’ve heard of,” I muttered. The Conclave were the judicial system of witches and wizards that acted as jury and judge of all those with magical abilities. I had done well to stay clear of them so far, thanks to Victor’s oppressive protection, but I supposed I would have to deal with them now that I was on my own. “What are the Tribunals?”
“They’re lessons about survival, Tyra,” Eva looked at me with soft eyes. “The Conclave likes to call them instructional forums that teach boundaries and covenant laws of magic. It is merely a way for them to make sure that you young witches do not accidentally trigger an elemental localized war in the middle of the village. They’re not exactly mandatory, but it’s highly encouraged that you attend as many of them as you can… Especially if you are new to the area.”
“Highly encouraged is putting it lightly,” Rylie chuckled with an easy grin. “Keeping the Conclave happy is the only way you keep your head down.”
Laurel sighed, folding her arms. “The Tribunals are where the Archivists educate us on ancient precedents, regional treaties, and the exact legal limits of what sort of casting is permitted within Arcadia’s borders. Knowledge is power, darlin’. If you play by the rules, it’ll give you the right to breathe freely.”
I snorted. “I’ve heard that before.” I shook my head, but I knew that they were right. Knowledge *was* power, and I intended to soak up as much of it as I could. Besides… the last thing I wanted to do was get on the Conclave’s radar.
I waved to my new friends and left the diner, walking back out in the thick, warm night. As I found my way to The Emerald Inn, I knew that Arcadia Village was going to be the perfect place to not only hide, but maybe even learn about these magical powers that I had been suppressing all my life.
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