The Road to Wilton

## ***Chapter One Five Hundred Miles***

Touchdown in the land of the delta blues in the middle of the pouring rain. There was a massive snowstorm brewing in the southern US. All flights into Jackson had been diverted to the international flight carrying  Saffron Dupont and Blitz or rather Brian Morgan as it said on his passport had instead taken them to Atlanta where they’d managed to get the last Delta Airlines flight to Memphis to get them a little closer to their families in Wilton Mississippi. Saffron's mothers Evie and Harleen were hosting an all-vegan tongue in cheek Thanksgiving celebration. Her grandmother Cerise, the matriarch of the Dupont family, was coming in from Louisiana. Flying internationally without a private Jet and a road crew might be quicker but not in these conditions.

In the first class lounge in Memphis Saffron swapped out their phones to near Identical ones that weren't BT Cellnet but AT&T Mobile.  As she was walking around with her wedge heeled boots off wiggling her toes in a manner similar to what Detective John McLaine was attempting early on in *Die Hard*.

“Now Mate, are you trying to tell me that all the car rental agencies at this bloody big airport haven’t got anything at all that isn’t reserved? Nothing for first-class passengers or VIPs?”

Blitz paced the first class lounge. He was apparently a little older but was ageing much like his Uncle Nick. As in the style of *A Picture of Dorian Grey.* I.e not at all apparently. He was taller, perhaps broader, and was wearing a military-style trench coat similar to one Simon Le Bon owned.

The first-class lounge attendant shook their head. Stifling an emotive sigh. The man with the strange dense accent was jabbering something about rental cars. There were none and there were no chauffeur driven cars wanting to take them over three hours to the middle of the Mississippi backwoods. That was even without looking at this odd couple. Who looked like they’d both fallen face-first into a makeup counter. The women's purple hair was very strange shaved down in parts with a punk Mohawk on top. The attendant tried to avert their eyes as staring was rude.

“Next you’re going to tell me no one can cash a traveller’s cheque”

Saffron sat back on the plush leather airport seating. Resisting the urge to curse in French. The attendant said a silent prayer for the wellbeing of his leather. This young woman wore a myriad of vicious-looking spikes that adored seemingly every aspect of her clothing, and visible extremities.

“Good because I’ve never bought a car with a cheque in my life.”

Saffron replaced her boots and zipped them up in a businesslike manner

“Is the shuttle bus still running?

She continued

“It’ll drop us at a nearby used car lot?”

The rather discombobulated attendant nodded like one of the dogs Saffron would never have on the parcel shelf of a car she was associated with. That was if it wasn’t a nodding Cerberus with three separate articulated heads.

The airport shuttle dropped them in front of a place called *Lazzarus’ Last Chance Autos. A* dubious-looking used car lot, and the only business still open, unlike the rest of the city as they battened down the hatches in preparation for the storm. Nothing on the lot was from this decade. That was a good sign and a bad one simultaneously. Saffron would for choice have bought a Jeep from an army surplus store, in a heartbeat over patronising this place or a well maintained Wagonner on an AMC Eagle. Now she was looking around in the inclement weather trying to look for the best of a bad lot. Saffron strode up and down the rows of the lot. In a leather trench coat that reached down to her ankles and what looked like a WW2 flyer’s helmet in black leather covering her Death Hawk, with just the hint of a purple strand of hair showing.

Blitz was still on the phone trying to get the Wilton Mississippi Operator or a CB radio operator to patch through a call. All the circuits were down back home in Wilton, in pretty much the whole county. His Mother and Father Queen Vic and Del could be out driving around the airport in Jackson looking for them. They had the flight details and it was unlikely that British Airways knew they’d taken a Delta flight to Memphis ahead of the weather system. Queen Vic was going to cause a sweary Scottish scene in the middle of the international terminal and they’d be lucky if the whole extended Morgan clan wasn’t banned from Jackson International Airport for life!

A greasy looking salesman in a rain slicker and sow wester ushered them into his cramped office. With a grin on his gold-toothed face that looked as if his ship had come in.

“My friend. My name is Ms Dupont this is my partner Mr Morgan. We’re looking for something to get us three hours home across the state line into Mississippi, without dying on the interstate. I’m flexible but would prefer A Willys Jeep truck or a Jeep Gladiator with a CB radio, something with four-wheel drive, or a commercial, even an old county school bus with good tires and chains.”

The car dealer perched on the edge of his desk stuffed with takeaway containers and Tennessee state registration documents.

“Afraid ah don’t sell trucks or commercials, Mam, I sell only the finest luxury automobiles”

That was clearly a blatant lie from all the junk on the lot that should be at an auto wreckers yard. Saffron rolled her eyes.

“Best ah can do for you is a 1955 Cadillac Fleetwood Series 60. The paint is a little rough. It's white now but was once pink Like the King’s gowd rest his soul. It’s around back I just got her in purrs like a clowder of kittens am telling you.”

Saffron shot him a good hard stare. Did it look like she owned anything in white? Blitz kept on trying to make his calls. Or he was certain to have interjected.

“It has a CB radio in it, isn’t that what your fella is looking for? Seems an odd thing to put in a Caddy that fine, right in the glovebox. Real discreet.Might have once been a limo.”

Yeah, that guy wore pants, even if he didn’t wear the pants in this relationship, and she called him *Mister*, so the used car dealer assumed he was a fella. Lazzarus grabbed the keys from the desk. Cadillac logo on one keychain and an Elvis Presley Gold record on the other.

In the dark of a tumbledown workshop sat the 55 Cadillac, Hastily repainted in a peeling white paint. Looked like primer white. It was a very similar year to the one belonging to the local mortuary back home. Just no custom coachwork. Saffron had pretty much rebuilt that engine in a weekend, back in her teens. She didn't need Lazzarus to know that.

“If it will cold start and get me around the block, then to the nearest O’Riley’s and isn’t as they say in England *as Rotten as a Pear*. I’ll give you four hundred dollars for it. Cash.”

Saffron came in strong with an initial offer and the dealer looked like he’d been hit with an electric shock

“Why it cost me five hundred, not the other day, and I’ve put over a hundred dollars in parts into it”

Saffron shot him a serious look before she squatted down to inspect the tyres, flipping out a small set of black steel feeler gauges to check tire tread depth.

Blitz was off the phone, as Saffron continued to walk around the car.

“Look Mr Lazarus, my partner may be young, and incredibly beautiful, but she’s forgotten more about cars than most people learn in a lifetime.”

The car dealer didn’t know about this imposing woman's great beauty, maybe if spooky and looking like death was your thing Or if you were a big fan of the Elvira woman from late-night TV. Though considering the woman’s clear interest in death then this might be just the right car for them.

Saffron took the keys from the man's sweaty paws and inspected the interior and odometer the engine. Searched for the logbook and any recent receipts and the like.

“Four hundred and ninety .. four hundred and eighty”

Saffron appeared suddenly just as she would loom and appear to unwary customers at *Del’s Doughnuts*. She was had stood back up after hitting the exhaust and undercarriage with some unseen tool to check for rust, her gloved hand extended with hundreds and fifty dollar bills in it, she began to count back in increments of ten with the crisp green bills beneath the man’s nose

“Okay okay, four fifty you got yourself a deal young lady I’ll go and get the title”

He held his hands up in surrender. He was glad there weren't many women like this in Tennessee, or he’d go out of business. Where was she from? Didn’t look like anyone he’d ever met from Mississippi. Only a fifty per cent profit? With margins like that, no steak dinner for you tonight Quincy!

## ***Chapter Two. Is it good to be King?***

The forty year old Cadillac sprang into life and made it around the block and up to temperature and freeway speeds effortlessly. It lost quite a bit of primer white paint in the rain and started to take on more of a pinkish hue. Odd that Quincy Lazzarus couldn’t sell a Pink Cadillac in Memphis. Even without the bad weather you’d think Elvis fans would be tripping over each other's blue suede shoes just to get a chance to buy it. Maybe this wasn't a terrible deal. Maybe Saffron’s Uncle Arron would want the car after she’d tidied it up. It seemed like his scene.

At the local branch of *O'Reilly Auto Parts* Saffron quickly had the staff marshalled into a well oiled car maintenance force. It made sense she seemed to be buying almost one of everything in the store. They were going to hit they’re sales target, and more, and receive quite the festive bonus. They’d eagerly donned they’re wet weather gear and got stuck in. Engine oil and radiator coolant was changed as was the cabin air filter. All the spark plugs and HT leads changed, distributor cap as well. Blitz tried to avoid getting under his beloved’s feet as he covered her with an umbrella as she worked on the torrential downpour in the parking lot. Then the car was jacked up, tyres removed and brake pads changed as if the O’Rileys staff were a Nascar crew on their evenings off and weekends, then the tyres were rotated and tracked and balanced as well as could possibly be achieved in a carpark.

Unbeknownst to most, a rotund gentleman in a white suit and gaudy belt observed the work with a look of approval on his face from the lee of the building opposite, seemingly sheltering him from the deluge. As not a single droplet of rain hit his linen suit. He looked like seventies Las Vegas era Elvis Prestley. This was The King's hometown so that shouldn’t sound so unlikely. It would be hard to throw a rock in Memphis and not hit half a dozen Elvis impersonators and three people who believed he was still alive. That world wide celebrity suddenly made you exempt from massive coronaries.

Some months ago, last winter in fact, out on the Memphis country road a large Mac Truck marked *MoSH* *The Memphis Museum of Science and History* was nearly hit by a falling tree. In a storm very similar to the one today.The truck stops abruptly, the driver visibly glad of the near miss. Unbeknownst to our lucky driver, the Gnarled figure of a Mummy wrapped in decaying bandages forces  its way out of the rear doors of the van. It screams into the howling wind and spiralling snowstorm as it flees, and if you spoke a little ancient Egyptian or know your Afro-Asiatic languages well, you would know that it swore an oath by all the deities of the Egyptians to end the life of one *Elvis Arron Presely*. A man much of the modern world believes to be dead.

The Mummy flees into the night. It was not enough to be abandoned as a museum exhibit in this strange time. Denied the pleasures of the afterlife. Then to be tormented on the road to Memphis with a terrible dream, a vision of the future where your earthy vessel is burned to death by a fat man in close fitting  white vestments. Silly hair that had been around since the nineteen fifties. It could only be one man. The King of this age wanted to slay him. Clearly the fame of his touring exhibit was troubling this petty monarch. He would be shown who the true Pharaoh was!

The Cadillac now in the temporary possession of Saffron Dupont and Blitz Morgan rocketed along highway fifty five south out of Memphis.

“Well the radio only seems to pick up Christian stations”

Saffron hissed and pretended to recoil in the driver's seat

“Also it appears there’s tape jammed in the radio as tight as the skin on a gooseberry, it seems to be someone’s Cher MixTape, and they’re very into Walking in Memphis right now.”

This was music Blitz knew music far better than he understood mechanics.Sure he knew what all the sounds meant in a Crystler or AMC car of a specific era. That just made Saffron's life easier when she had to fix it.

“That’s a symptom of a diseased mind. My Grand-mère Cheries bares some resemblance to *Cher* and people haven’t shut up about it since the mid 60’s”

Saffron explained wishing she’d had the foresight to get herself under the dash to cobble together an auxiliary input into the stereo while they were still in the parts store parking lot.

“I’m glad that I don’t have a passing resemblance to any famous person living or dead, that has to be a drag.”

Blitz flipped down the passenger side sun visor with a creak opening up the mirror and the face or near-identical facsimile of a twenty-eight-year-old Nick Rhodes of *Duran Duran* fame looked back at him.

“No replicating this mush. They broke the mould when Queen Vic and Skipper Morgan made this one”

Blitz blew his reflection a little kiss. He was a gorgeous boy. Stunningly talented too, no wonder Saffron loved him.

“I for one and very glad that you don’t have any siblings or half-siblings from your parents' wild-child youth. There’d be vain-offs at every family gathering!”

Saffron dryly scolded. It was a full-time job holding onto this egomaniacal big head’s ankles so that his inflated ego didn’t transport him into the stratosphere, like a weather balloon. Blitz never changed in that respect even if they hadn’t put out a couple of top hit records and an album or two, he’d still think that he was the divine’s gift to the world.

“If you can stop being a vein *salaud* for just a few seconds you might get on the CB and see if you can find your folks before we have to go home, pick up my truck and drive back to Jackson to bail them out of jail”

Blitz had almost forgotten. He was hoping his parents wouldn’t rip the Jackson airport apart. It Was still surprising that after nearly eleven years in the states that his parents' reputation from being on the road all those years didn’t precede them. So he did as instructed, yet the radio was having frequency problems and kept getting interference from a frequency broadcasting Elvis songs, particularly a cover of  *Suspicious Minds*.He thought nothing more of it.

Saffron didn’t have much faith in this Cadillac, she’d bought it without getting it in the air. Who knew what hidden horrors there would be when she finally did. They wouldn’t know that until they got back to Wilton and got into the shop at *RJ Priest's Gas and Service*. The sooner that happened the better. The rolling chassis felt okay, not hazardous and even  parting this old thing out with a better coat of primer white on the bodywork should easily cover the initial investment.Hopefully the old Limo company had babied it, and she was concerned over very little.

Blitz caught a look in the rearview mirror again, and tried not to show his dismay. For fear even a driver as skilled as Saffron would hit something, or someone else. It was that Vegas era Elvis impersonator in his white suit on the backseat.He winked at Blitz.

“Saffron I don’t mean to cause alarm, but could we pull over for just a few moments?”

She shot him a stare

“You don’t need to piss again? How hard did you go on the complimentary beverages while I was asleep?”

Saffron found a rest stop to pull over in

“Make it quick, we were making good time. We need to stay ahead of this weather front. ”

Blitz tapped his love on the shoulder indicating he wanted her to join him and exit the vehicle.

Outside the car he hugged her close whispering into the ear perforations on the leather of her flying cap.

“We’ve got a hitchhiker, or the spectral variety. Elvis imperator from the seventies Vegas era. I can see him, he can see us”

He explained as calmly as a man can. When this isn’t the first possessed vehicle he’s had to deal with.

“We’ll he’s not done anything yet, maybe we find out what he wants”

Saffron explained rationally not quite ready to send for an old priest and a young priest to exorcise the Cadillac.

They turned back to the car, then the engine fired up, but the keys were in Saffron’s hand.  Then the lights went on capturing them in the new bulbs of the headlights. *Cher Walking in Memphis* began to play again, and there he was sitting on the hood of the caddy, spectral acoustic guitar in hand. It was a Martin D-35 to Blitz’ triaind eye. Did Guitars have immortal souls now? It made him glad he’d never engaged in any Jimi Hendrix style stage antics.

“I want to thank Y’all for coming out tonight, and braving the weather, and I want to welcome you to the show.”

The Elvis impersonator began in a pretty good facsimile of the real Elvis’s voice

“It’s so rare these days I find an audience that can see and hear me. I’m so happy to see you that I’m … *all shook up*”

He began to play. And Saffron strode forward to interject. Blitz caught in her wake.

“Now Listen here pal, I’m after *A Little Less Conversation and a Little More Action*. I want to go home, and when we get there we’ll see what we can do about your unfinished business.”

He recoiled a little at her approach, that was common enough amongst the living and the dead. If you’re the Queen of the Southern Death Rockers, people alive and dead could find that intimidating. Even without Saffrons wild purple hair, on display.

“You can see me uh little lady”

Saffron towered above the prone Elvis lying prone on the hood.

“My name is Dupont, and there is, and never will be a Dupont that has ever lived that does not possess *The Sight*.”

Saffron explained. What had this guy spent his recent death doing? Had he not read his *Handbook for the Recently Deceased?* Or had an auto valeter or Q Lazzaruss moved it? She was pretty certain that the ghostly community should have been frowarend about her familial line.Her mother was the odd one out, the Scientist with endless patience, the rest of the Dupionts were famed for they’re hot tempers, and mystical abilities.

“I think it would be best for all concerned Mr The King, if you got back into the car and explained it to us on the way back to Wilton Mississippi”

Blitz interjected

“Ahh sure, let’s do your thing first”

At the *Ahh Sure* the accent became less pronounced and Elvis-ish

“I’m glad we have reached an understanding.”

Saffron glowered. As much as she hated Tof-ukry. Nothing from this or the other side of the veil was stopping Saffron Getting back to the weird set of former summer camp cabins deep within the swamp that she called home. Part Botanic Garden and Scientific research station, thrown together with part spa and wellness retreat. The elements of her Mothers personalities and vocations. A Botanist and Psychotherapist. Saffron and Blitz wondered what Harlean would make of giving therapy to the recently deceased.

So two became three as they set off once more on the interstate in what news and weather break on christain radio was calling the storm of the century.

“I’m really appreachive that you bought my car from that Quincy Lazzarus Fellow… ”

Before he could say Thank You, Thank you, Very much

Blitz and Saffron stared him into submission, and gladly a reluctant silence. As the pinkish Cadillac continued towards the Mississippi state line.

## **Chapter Three Season of The Witch**

Elsewhere on the roads approaching Wilton from the south, Illumined by cool moonlight a distinctive black *Berlinetta* style sports car weaves along the roads of the Panther Swap. Its distinctive four headlight set up adds extra sinister-looking shadows to the already eerie swamp. The car is moving almost impossibly quickly A haunting rock and roll version of *Season of the Witch* originally recorded by *Donovan* plays, the vocalist of this cover is female, and to our ears, it sounds curiously familiar. The wet roads do not seem to impede the small rally cars' progress even by an iota. Lighting strikes somewhere further afield deep within in the swamp and the car is illuminated briefly revealing it to be from out of state with its red and white Louisiana plates *Cerise* the plate reads. In the split second, we see a parking permit in the corner of the small windshield that reads *Dupont Chemicals.*

After many miles on a winding country road into the middle of the swamp, where many brave citizens of Wilton dare not tread. For fear the rumours of bigfoot were true, or various escaped genetic experiments from the Loop roamed free out here. The car, an Alpine 110A pauses under floodlights by an ornate wrought iron gate. One that seems completely out of place out here. Like it is some portal to another realm. The lighting gives things an almost sinister glow. An illuminated sign read *Dupont Wellness Retreat by Appointment Only*, with a local area telephone number below. There’s a sign just under that which reads *Guard Gators on 24 Hour Patrol*. Not a joke in these parts. The woman in the driver's seat flicks her slender hand with immaculate black nail polish and the gates noiselessly swing open before her. She has the look about her that Alligators would rightfully fear her. The paved driveway towards the Dupont home lays in front of her. She could sense it as she threw a lock of wayward curly black hair off her forehead. Occult bullshit was about to rain down upon her family again. As usual, she would be the one standing in the way of it, and the total destruction of the family line. It wasn't the Mad science run amok that this little hamlet was notorious for, it was certainly the other thing. There is a certain knowing glint in the eye of Cerise Dupont. The inscrutable Matriarch of the Famallie Dupont. As she slips her Renault Alpine back into gear and heads towards the garage and boathouse that serves what she thinks of as The Northern Dupont Estate, this outbuilding that also served as her granddaughter's quarters. Thinking of Dear Saffron, well it wasn’t the Morgan boy that would bring ruin to house Dupont. She wished she’d put money on that. He wasn’t a bad boy, he did what he was told when he was told to, on most occasions, and Saffron adored him.

A shorter Blond Woman, her thick glasses streaked with rain. Flicks open a large golf umbrella as she steps out from her waiting spot in the shelter of the boathouse, and open-sided slipway with an airboat in it. She wears all synthetic fibres, down to her Doc Martin rain Boots. As she walks over to the car the intensity of the rain lessens to a mild drizzle as Cherise exits the car. Though only five foot six she seems to tower over her daughter in law.

“*Belle-fille*, have Saffron and Brian not arrived from Angleterre yet?”

Harleen Dupont shook her head well used to being addressed at least partially in french by her Mother in Law. Cherise saw everything, even in the half-light and of the garage she could see that Saffron’s Jeep wrecker truck was still under a cover, at the front. In case it was required. It would not be like that where Saffron here.

“They weren't on the flight at Jackson. *British Airways* had to put down the Birmingham flight in Atlanta. We think they took a flight on to Memphis instead, because of the storm. The phone lines are all out there and the cell networks are overloaded”

Cherise cocked her head slightly

“Well then. So much for the family gathering. These cellular phones are all well and good when they work”

Cherise grabbed her own clamshell Siemens phone from the cubby in the car. The board insisted she have one for when she was away from New Orleans. Cherise Stuck the phone indignantly in a pocket of the short studded leather motorcycle jacket she wore. Even if her Daughter and Daughter in law were committed vegans. Cherise was not.

“Evve is still on with the state police”

Harleen tried to reassure her mother in law. They lived so far off the grid here that they found themselves often reliant on CB radio.

“You have interstate road maps in the library?”

Harleens nods

“Then It is high time that my daughter learns that science and modernity are all well and good, but the old ways still work equally well.”

Cherise and Harleen strode up the small incline towards the main house. Designed to alleviate flooding. An elaborate mansion of an eco-home.Built-in and around established trees. The clouds seemed to part as Cherise Dupont walked as if a celebrity were parting a crowd of admirers. So as rain fell elsewhere, very little made contact with the Matriarch of Famille Dupont.

An equally impressive figure awaited them in the doorway. Illuminated from behind and casting a long shadow on the covered porch. There was quite a family resemblance Between Saffron Evve and Cherise. The key difference being Evve has long flowing red hair down to below her waistline, an accident with an experimental red henna dye in her girlhood. She wore a jet black bell sleeve gown of layered silk. The synthetic silk was of her own design.

“Mamam”

Evve embraced her mother

“Let us find our lost lambs, my child”

Cherise was ushered by her daughter into the house. Up the grand central spiral stairs, arranged around the trunk of an ancient magnolia tree. Into the library in the canopy of the same majestic tree, lightning continued to illuminate the large room.

“Ma Fille I require fresh herbs from your garden, and your very best candles”

Harleen dutifully fetched maps, How curious she wasn’t wet at all even with the storm outside. The three Dupont women assembled around an interstate highway map of the southern US. Cherise thew off her jacket with a flourish revealing the Onyx Dupont family pendant on a long silver chain, she carefully removed it with reverence.

Harleen looked to Evve, and grasped her lover's hand. This sort of stuff frightened her she comforted herself with the thought of what Evve usually told her A quote from one of her favourite writers, whose books lined these walls Arthur C. Clarke had said, "*Magic is just science that we don't understand yet."* Harleen didn’t think she’d ever understand it. Even if she lived to be one hundred years old Harleen didn’t think she’d grasp even the basics. The unknown depth of the human mind was Harleens territory.

After herbs and candles were lit, words in ancient Greek were uttered by Harleens wife and mother in law, a drop of blood was provided by Evve and Harleen both, this made the latter wince. A mixture of they’re blood just like Saffron. There was suddenly silence and suddenly a loud thud. The moon caught Cherises’ eyes for a split second, the moon reflected in them and The family pendant landed on the map along the Humphreys County Line on the 49 West outside Silver City. Then the pendant continued to move under its own along the interstate. Moving this way. As moonlight illuminated it from the churchlike windows of the Library.

Cherise sat in silence as if to regain some of her expelled energies.

Evvie held Harleen close, and put a hand on her mother's shoulder, wordlessly affirming that she was right.

“Well Mon Amour, we were worried for nothing, they’ll be in range in a few minutes, they’ll probably stop at Priest’s if RJ is still open”

Evve assured her wife. It’s what Saffron always did on her way into Wilton to stop at RJ Priests' gas and auto service at the crossroads, to ensure whatever she was driving would make it through the swamp and home. Usually, she’d call from the payphone, to say she’d be home in twenty minutes. This time with an unwelcome houseguest in tow.

## **Chapter Four: Always on my Mind/Heart of Stone**

The hatches were well and truly battened down when the pinkish Cadillac and it’s living and dead passengers, well one of the people that looked *dead but delicious* as Blitz might say but was actually quite alive. arrived at the crossroads outside Wilton that was home to *RJ Priests Gas and Service*. A place Saffron was more than familiar with. She had her own locker and tool box here. Thought not being an employee. Del paid better than RJ ever could.

Saffron gets out of the car in her usual graceful fashion and goes to Knock on the door of the ramshackle cabin of a house behind the shop and service station. All the buildings of the service station where wooden, covered in weather enamel signs. Probably the only thing keeping the buildings up.

“RJ it’s Saffron let me use the Shop”

Saffron whalloped the door with her fist.

RJ finally appeared, he always wore a hat, he was a perpetually spry and youthful African American gentleman who couldn’t be more than thirty years old. Except for the fact that he had lived in this town for as long as anyone could remember. Long before The Loop had been built. Blitz had been blown away when he’d herd RJ picking away at an acoustic guitar one day his talents were wasted as a gas jockey. Blitz hadn’t pried. Saffron had given him a certain look. RJ never said anything about the Dupont clan and how Cherise never looked a day older every time she rolled into town. So the Duponts offered him the same courtesy.

RJ opened his shop to them. Though the place looked rustic every possible tool or piece of equipment was perfectly maintained and present and correct. RJ Provided a pot of fresh coffee, with an easy smile on the house. As well as fuel and fluids check. The use of his workshop lift. Turned out the car was not as Del Might say as Rotten as a pear. It might need a little bit of TLC on the undercarriage. Otherwise it wasn’t bad at all. Saffron was a little relieved. She’d hate to have embarrassed herself in front of her mentor.

“It’ll get you home”

RJ declared sagely. Saffron Blitz got back into the Cadillac. Unseen by then RJ turns to they're passenger.

“Good luck with your business King”

He tips his hat to the spectral Elvis who almost jumped out of his ectoplasmic skin, another human could see him?

“Never been to the sweet forever after myself, my soul and I went our separate ways, some time ago. Heard good things though.”

Elvis strikes his famous pose

“Why thank you, kind sir”

Then he shimmered and shifted back returned to the back seat of the car. Saying nothing to the new acquaintances he was bound too by fate.

With the Cher megamix out of the tape deck and the frayed radio antena repaired. The radio finally picked up something that wasn’t a Christian music and the local rock station fader played and even Saffron and Blitz found themselves rocking out to *Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me, Kill Me by U2*. The first bumped as Saffron took to the familiar swamp backroads. She still longed for the *Purple Peril, her* own car, but the Peril was back in Los Angeles. As they rocked out to U2 they felt fortunate that dead men tell no tales.

They concluded the familiar journey though what our Elvis would consider a creepy old swamp it  had him *all shook up.* That and his recent encounter with Mr Priest. Could pretty much everyone in this weird backwater town see him? He’d read stuff in *The National Enquirer* about this place back when he could turn the pages. Weird creatures in the Swamp. Calves with two heads being born on the regular. Freak show stuff. Now he was dead, and dead scared as his car was being driven by this Death Rock Goth woman back to her coven.

At the gate Saffron rolled down the window and entered the code, she turned back and locked eyes with their spectral passenger.

“So as you can’t manifest very far past this car, I’m going to park the Caddy in The *Bat Roost*”

She said that and he shivered

“It’s where I live, it’s the garage and boat house, but when we tell you to go back and haunt the car, I mean it. Or Goddess help me I’ll strip it down for parts so quick, and you won’t have any earthly tether to manifest to.”

Blitz gave her the look that said *Now Try to be kind my Beloved*, but wisely said nothing.

Spectral Elvis followed his lead and didn’t speak either.

The rain had passed as the Pink-ish Cadillac rolled through the former summer camp to the stone-built Bat Cave, Saffron's exclusive territory on the property. Since she had reached the ripe old age of eleven and tired of living at her Mother's beck and call in the main house. Saffron wise at any age had not tried to run away from home, to her Grandmother in New Orleans and had instead packed up and moved to the duplex apartment in the bell tower-like structure above the Garage and boat house that served the former summer camp now turned estate.

Blitz opened one of the eclesatical gothic doors so that they could move the Cadillac in and it wouldn't block in the Jeep Wrecker Truck.

“Behave“

Saffron hisses to Elvis, she jumps out of the Cadillac and removed the heavy boat tarps from her shiny black Jeep wrecker truck.

*Wheels On Fire Roadside Recovery and Repair Wilton MS Proprietor S Dupont*

Was sign written upon the doors and bed of the wrecker truck. The scary young woman meant business Elivs could tell. There was a gas axe sitting right there on a bench. He crossed himself and stayed where he was.

Safrons noticed thatr Cherise’s car was also pressent.

“Come on Blitz lets go and see my Mums”

She beckoned him with a slight gloved fiimger.

“I hope she’ll chill out after we’ve seen the family mate, I’ll do what I can. I know she can seem a bit foreboding.”

Blitz explained. Elvis thought he could understand some of those worlds, he was pretty certain it was English.

“The cases can wait”

Saffron instructed they filed back out of *The Bat Roost* up to the main house. It was nice being here without any of her parent’s clients cluttering up the place. Wandering into off limits areas to earn her ire.There wasn’t really a high season for creative struggling.Yet Evve and Halreen closed the doors to the public around Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Years. Family time was important. Particularly now they’re daughter was grown and spent a fair bit of the year travelling the world or in Los Angeleas.

“Fille chérie, you’re here precisely when we expected.”

Evve hugged her damp leather clad daughter. Reuniting with the flesh of her flesh and joy at seeing her overshadowed Evve’s usual instinct to flinch when she came in contact with the hide of a former animal. Saffron had been her own person since she could walk unaided. It was clear that they’re plans of homeschooling they’re miraculous little girl would not last. Evve and Harleen couldn’t shield her from the outside world. With the swamp in between her and it. So she had gone to the local schools In Wilton, even if she hardly fit in.

“Hello Blitz, would you like some tea? Come in and take off those wet things”

Evve put her arm around the boy she should maybe start thinking of as beau-fils, son in law.

If recent conversations were anything to go by.

Harleen reached the bottom of the stairs and Saffron practically picked up her shorter Mum

“Tell us about your trip. How’s your family in Birmingham Blitz?”

Harleen enquired. She could not resist open questions. Force of professional habit and all.

“Ohh it’s funny how you don’t miss the smell of fish. Still if it smells, it sells as the old Fishmonger’s Philosophy goes.”

Harleen tried not to shudder, her recent reading had supported her long held beliefs that fish could indeed feel pain.

Saffron rolled her eyes at the awkward conversation. Her Mums knew full well aware that all the other Morgan’s were Fishmongers. Their stall on *The Bullring Market* had been there continuously for almost one hundred and forty years.

“I’m going to put my hair up, play nice.”

Saffron sheded her long leather coat and Aviatrix style hat and gloves picking up her Coffin carry on shoulder bag. She’d feel better with her Death Hawk the way it should be. Not that her Mums cared, but appearances mattered. Blitz hadn’t seen her without makeup or her hair done for a considerable amount of time when they had first met. Nor she him. Not until they had begun official dating. It wasn’t as if Maman, Evve's volumous backcombed hair was natural even if it ended up being because of Dupont chemicals planet kind all-natural hair care products.

Saffron strode back into one of the ornate glasshouses up in the treetops of the main house. She hadn't removed her boots. She’d just swapped her wet leather ones out for a PVC pair that didn't make her Mums flinch every time they creaked.

There was a tea service laid out, Pâtisseries with a pretty decent cream substitute, sandwiches, and a huge spread of vegan cheese. Salads and fresh berries from the other glass houses. Blitz stood up from the table pulling out a rattan chair for Saffron.

“Blitz probably hasn’t told you but we’ve run into a little problem, on the way back”

They where Saffron’s family; they deserved to know the truth. He just hadn’t been able to explain they’re resent experiences in words.

“Where's Cherise?”

Saffron asked

“Ma Mère Is off communing with the energies of the swamp. I think she was out on the pontoon by *The Bat Roost.”*

Evve sipped her tea looking extremely *Morticia Addams.*

“What seems to be the problem? Blitz was just telling us that you were forced to buy an old Cadillac from a strange local character in Memphis called *Quincy Lazzarus*”

Harleen had listened Intently to Blitz's tale

Saffron arched her fingers over her tea cup

“That’s just the start of our problem. He didn’t tell us that the car has a permanent passenger. A spectral hitch hiker. Grand-Mère isn’t going to be happy because he dressed and act like Uncle Aeron’s stage persona.”

Saffron explained a grave tone in her voice. Glad the Cherise was off doing her own thing, so they might all be able to prepare her. If she were surprised by the vexatious spirit who knows where she would cast him. She was the unrivalled occult powerhouse of the family.

“Merde” Evve exclaimed as elsewhere on the Dupont Estate an imposing figure with wild permed hair, in simple leather jacket fitted T-shirt and jeans wandered back into The Bat Roost. The cover was off the Jeep truck and there was this dilapidated Cadillac here. It was a very odd colour.

The ghostly Elvis appeared, removing his sunglasses and looking sincere.

“Girl I'm so sorry, I was blind, You were always on my mind my sweet angel, I can’t believe you’re here Georgie, tell me can you see me? It’s Jessie”

Though the Cher megamix was out of the tape deck in the Cadillac the car seemed to turn back on and play *If I could turn back time* by *Cher.*

“Georgie If I could only turn back time I would have never left you. The Elvis gig turned out to be the Death of me.”

Cherise was aghast, suddenly the moonlight fell on her though the stained glass windows of the Bat Roots’s tower giving her an otherworldly bluish hue.

“Look, Monsieur…. Jessie.”

When could Georgia speak with a French accent? The Jessie Elvis wordnerd, it had been too long. He had so many things to make up for.

Cherise started the spectre down. Georgie sure was sore with him, he thought. Though he couldn’t blame her. Not with the way he’d left things all those years ago.

“My name is Madam Dupont, Cherise Isabella Dupont. I advise you, address me as Madam Dupont. Also be extremely careful what you say to me. Or I will expel you from my family's land.”

The blue light of the moon flickered across Cherise’s eyes.

“I am profusely humbly sorry Madam Dupont. You just look so much like my ex wife. I think Georgia might be my unfinished business. Please have mercy on a lovesick old fool.”

Jessie had the look of a very guilty looking hound dog. This woman had a heart of stone.

“Very well”

Cherise hissed. She moved her fingers and hands in circles creating a small white light that disappeared though one of the walls shooting up the main house,

All at once the Dupont Woman and Blitz suddenly finished they're tea. How odd. As one they looked into their respective tea cups. The tea leaves swirled and a message formed.

*"Bat Roost at once"* it read in English in Blitz and Harleens cup, and in French in Evve and Saffrons. Cups clattered and they all jumped up looking for coats and shoes.

## **Chapter Five: Heartbreak Hotel**

Some foul beast trugged the back roads to Wilton, A Hitchhiking Mummy made for an unappealing passenger to most motorists. Thinking it was some sort of joke, or skit for *Candid Camera* type TV show The storm headed for a while and in a beam of light like a sign from Ra himself The Mummy saw it’s salvation. Illuimated in Ra’s divine light was a  Mississippi State Highway Patrol Harley Davdison, the officer's helmet sitting on one of the pannier bags, as the officer went to dry off, in the rest stop.

If Mummies could look ecstatic this one was. A Mechanical Camel would make the journey less arduous. The bedraggedld Mummy hopped on the machine transforming in a flash into a form familiar with fans of the *Terminator* Franchise, the form of actor *Robert Patrick* kicking the machine into life with a shiny black boot. They really had done great things with footwear since sandles were the fashion back in Egypt.

The real Officer ran from the convenience store coffee cup still in hand, dropping his newspaper, his uniform name badge read *Officer J Connors.* No one at headquarters was going to believe he’d had his bike jacked by the T-1000. He’d just lost his job.He’d be lucky to get a job as a night watchman at this rate. Johnny Connors was not having a good day. The newspaper was caught in the wind and flicked open to a help wanted advert it was a full page advert it read “*Situation Vacant Head of Security Dupont Chemicals would suit candidate with law enforcement experience.”* Connors caught the advert well, you never know. Sometimes the gods smiled upon him. He tore it from the page. Binning the rest of the wet newspaper. Just like Mum says The Goddess *Trivia* would empat knowledge onto her followers. whenever she could, and when they were in the greatest need. Connors department issued motorcycle disappeared, as he stood there debating his next career move.

Meanwhile further into the Missassipi swamp at the Dupont Estate and wellness retreat. Five figures of the earthly plane stood around  the translucent form of an Elvis impersonator.

“Why must ma fammile act as a lighting rod for ghosts?”

Chersise asked putting a hand through her curly black hair hair.

“Just a few days of peace with my kin, and my in laws is all I ask”

Cherise thought the unrivalled matriarch of Famille Dupont had been accepting of the Morgans, she saw a kindred spirit in Queen Vic. Blitz’s Mother, even referring to her as *Reine* and had begun referring to the Morgans collectively as her In-Laws some time ago.

“If I may speak”

Elvis took of his sunglasses, to try and seem more sincere. Doing a little bow in Cherises direction. Trying to appear humble. The moonlight illuminated The Bat Roost. Cherise nodded curtly.  He felt like he was playing the toughest crowd of his life. There was something very different about these Dupont women.

“I’ve been stuck in my car for most of my afterlife. Georgia didn’t reclaim my car from the impound lot, and I was afraid my vessel would be parted out or crushed, I’d become a wandering wraith. It went to auction and that Lazzarus fellow bought it.”

He looked distraught recalling Saffron and Cherise's earlier threats.

“We understand Mister…?”

Harleen asked as she was sitting on the spiral stairs up to Saffron’s Duplex wrapped in Evve’s arms.

“My name is … well was, Jessie Lafayette”

He had to think about that it seemed so very long ago

“Well, this must be a very confusing time for you. My wife and my family can see and hear all spirits. They can often find it trying and bothersome, but you seem like a reasonable person. So if you want to talk it through. Feel free to talk to me”

Harleen was so kind and generous. Saffron didn't think they were traits she had inherited. Though you wouldn’t be able to tell that from the way Blitz looked at her. Mortal problems her Mother could bill for but not a spectre's problems derived from they’re earthy ones.

Harleen had wanted to shoulder all of the burdens of the Dupont line. That included the ghostly apparitions that sometimes plagued them. As a wedding gift, Cherise had bestowed to Harleen a pendant forged by her very own hand, in white gold. It was a maze-like wheel with a star in the centre of it. So that whenever her wife saw a spook that Harleen could share in the sight. Try and help the poor soul some way using her tranning and years of experience counselling Loop employees, locals and celebrities alike. It was this pendant that she wore now.  Harleen hadn’t asked how Brian Morgan could see Jessie Lafayette. That would keep until another time.

Jessie Elvis continued

“I used to be a Sonny Bono impersonator, with my wife Georgia as my Cher. So I mistook you for her Madam Dupont. The real Sonny went into politics and Cher like the real Cher went solo. So I took up this gig.”

He did a little hip swivel that had been banned on international television.

“Do you mind me asking a question in front of my family? Or would you rather we talk in private?”

Harleen continued, Jessie shook his head.

“How did that affect your relationship? You used to be on the road together, playing on the same bill.”

Blitz and Saffron were intimately familiar with touring schedules, and trying to live their lives around them. Rock and Roll world tours had very little use for the expertise of a world leader in *Forensic Vehicle Examinations*. Saffron's academic field. Not that Saffron wasn’t musically talented. She just had a preference for popping into the studio and helping out with the machines. Saffron had leactured to police forces the world over.  With a standing offer to lecture at the FBI Training academy at Quantico Virginia. Instead she divided her time between LA and the ancestral home in New Orleans. The band were often rehearsing or working in the studio in LA. Vinnie would be found holding court at The Whisky. Giving an impromptu seminar on the evils of capitalism. So LA was where they spent the majority of their time. Too far from Saffron's mothers, who rarely closed the retater or travelled. That’s why they’d moved heaven and earth to be here now.

“Real bad Doc, real bad. Infidelity, we were both guilty of that”

Jessie hung his head, he wasn't proud to admit that.

“So we ended up divorcing, times were good to me though I bought this car. Had it fixed up real nice,”

He looked at Saffron guiltily. As he stood in her shop surrounded by her immaculately maintained and position tools.

“I had work lined up all the way to Reano. Then I got bumped off one night after playing at a bar in my hometown. Didn’t see who or what killed me, doubt it was a jealous husband, though I wouldn’t like to be whatever it is, if it comes out here…”

He tugged and his collar looked around at the Duponts and Blitz Morgan, they were an intimidating bunch.

“Saffron mom amour, would you be so kind as to go over the Cadillac and find any natural or occult evidence that might help us solve Monsieur Lafayette’s murder, you know the things that the Memphis PD couldn’t see or overlooked”

It felt good to be considered a mister to Cherise Dupont. Jessie had to check he wasn’t hovering over the floor.

Saffron went to the boot removing a flight case with *45 Grave* on a coffin stencilled on the side, her favourite band. This was her work bag.

Cherise held up a hand

“It can wait until the morning chère, you had a series of arduous journeys. I will remain here with you in *The Bat Roost* to keep an eye on our guest. As I need little sleep.”

Cherise spoke, her right eyebrow slightly raised.

“Maman, you should rest too, for at least a few hours I will share watch with you”

Evve interjected

“If you insist mon enfant, I am after all a guest in your home. Finish what you were doing first.”

That felt odd for Jessie Lafayette to see. He was still quaking in his blue suede shoes from his first encounter with Cherise. Yet she was doing as her daughter told her.

“I will refresh the wards on the garage”

Cherise announced withdrawing a similar kit to Saffrons from her own Renault Alpine.

“It will alert us to any presence beyond ourselves that has no business being on the property.”

Cherise continued her preparations, as the rest of the family returned to continue eating in the main house. Cherise took the remainder of her luggage up to Safrron’s Kitchen on one of the upper floors checking that a large Goose and a Turkey were properly basted, enough meat to conformable feed a dozen people quietly tucked away in the refrigerator with the door covered in magnets for bands and for *American Motor Corporation* vehicles. Even this spirit would not stand in the way of her and Saffron's little tradition of dining on a few birds raised on  Cherise’s own estate. It didn’t seem to brother Evve and Harleen if they kept their carnivorous desires contained to *The Bat Roost.*

## **Chapter Six: Devil in Disguise**

It was a terrible week to have a statewide annual general meeting recording Secretary Presley thought to himself. As he looked out over the *Love Me Tender Steakhouse and Bar*, from the stage. The premier 1950s entertainment venue in all of Mississippi looked perfect. The bar was a passion project located directly in front of the Secretary’s other more prosperous business *The Love me Fender Autowreckers* of Isola Mississippi *.*

His brother Elvises or is that Elvisi? Should be putting on they’re glad rags, cleaning up they’re blue suede shoes and doing the rubber legs over here. Yet in this weather blue suede would be destroyed, rain and snow didn’t mix well with they’re footwear choices of the near mandatory blue sued variety, or stretch lycra jumpsuits. Secretary Presley was glad that he was a GI Blues era Elvis as he looked down at his shiny army issue boots. His friends called him *The Sarge* because that had been his own military rank.

Very strange even with the weather, more of his brothers should be here by now. He’d bought racks of prime rib just for this. Those good ol boys could certainly put it away. His friend Aareon couldn’t make it this year despite not being from Mississiip but Lousianna, he was an honorary member. He had a family commitment his niece was flying in from England for Thanksgiving. To the Sarge his fellow Kings were his family, his brothers.

Suddenly a bedraggled Priscilla arrived in the bar locking and barricading the door behind her an elaborate Colt 45 with blue pistol grips in her hand.

“Elvis is dead Sarge”

She yelled horsley, collapsing onto the Secretary. His wise ass self wanted to correct her and say that sadly already happened in 1977.

The Sarge directed her to the bar and got her a drink. She wasn't putting down that hand cannon though.

“My Elvis … Terry Mulligan.”

Ptiscilla elucidated, though that wasn’t her name it was Grace Mulligan Terry's wife. Terry was a lucky man, or rather had been a lucky man, his wife lived for this stuff too. She had all the replica Priscilla Presley clothes. Made them herself.  Dab hand with a sewing machine,

“How can Terry be dead? He was the fittests 70’s Vegas Elvis I ever met. He had to fat suit up just for his pants to fit!”

The secretary poured himself a stiff drink. This was some heavy news.

“He was shot”

She began sobbing and he patted her on the wet mohair sweater-ed shoulder and it began leaking onto the bartop. That sweater was going to shrink.

“What, how?”

Sarge knew that Terry only kept the 45 Gracie was carrying because he was afraid of Alligators and other Mississipi wildlife. He’d never want to use it.

“We gotta call the law”

Sarge went to check his own gun safe Tommy gun, Rifles. If whoever got Terry came for them they’d be in for a time.

“It was a cop that shot him! We were pulled over in the T Bird up the road by a highway patrolman, and he just shot Terry. I managed to get away”

The poor thing was almost out of tears.

“I shot at the, well it wasn’t a man. I unloaded a clip from Terry's gator gun into him and he didn't die! He didn’t care about me.”

Grace knocked back another shot

“There’s a creature killing us, Elvis Impersonators? I heard about a few of the Tennessee brothers dying recently. Though one was a heart attack in his car, though. If that's true then I need to get on the radio and warn the Other Kings, get them out of state.”

Unbeknownst the the occupants of *Love me Tender.* Outside further up on the highway was a small pile up of abandoned Pink Cadillacs, Stutz Blackhawk and Ford T Birds. What should have been a King convecmtion, and one of the highlights of the year of the Elvis impersonators callander had fast turned into a mass regicide. A case for the *FBI Behavioural Sciences Unit*. yet unfortunately no one had yet managed to summon the real authorities.

The Highway Patrol Mummy threw his head back and laughed. This had to be every one of the modern day Kings in the state. No he could sense another, one undercover. A very dangerous one. He must be eliminated then this state would finally be safe. This one had the smell of Hequa about them of what he’d learnt the modern people referred to as Magic. He’d been near an exhibition about magic before back at the museum. Save the most challenging kill for last. Perhaps finally an adversary worthy of a warrior such as himself.  The Mummy slipped his aviators back on and kicked the Motorcycle back into gear *Wilton Mississippi 40 Miles* the sign read.

A little further up the road a man breathed a sigh of relief as the rain in the swamp ebated. Finally running off the overworked windscreen wipers of his rusty grey Citroen DS. The passenger side one seems to be moving slower than the driver's side one. Still Aeron Dupont was almost at his sister's and her equally odd Wife’s weird Hippie commune. He wondered why he was missing The Sarge’s prime rib for this, freaky Vegan Hippie Love in. Sneaking Turkey in that Shrine to *Siouxsie Sioux* and *Dinah Cancer* that his Niece sometimes called home, wasn’t quite the same as kicking back with his friends sinking a few cold ones. That and Mother would be there, Cherise was everywhere and knew and saw everything, plus the weird English kid in the makeup that his Niece was engaged to and went to LA with. Mister I sell out venues across the globe and make smash his albums. The family seemed to like the English kid more than him, sure he was rich, so he wasn’t about the squander his Mums old money. Despite Mum having brought them a 10,000 square foot mansion in Hollywoo, a few years.

Militant vegans to the one side of him and his weirdo Mum to the other. This wasn’t going to be a fun Thanksgiving. All of them ganging up on him wanting him to get a good job with the family business. He made a good living in French speaking countries. Sure mister haircut Morgan in the silly clothes could buy and sell him. Aeron had his pride though. Even if he couldn’t write original songs. Who could hold a candle to the King of Rock n Roll anyway? Not the Blitz kid and his friends the Ridiculous Rockets, or whatever they called themselves. They were not Rock Gods worthy of the *Rock n Roll Hall of Fame.* No matter what *Rolling Stone* and *Melody Maker* said.

He tried to calm himself with the King's own advice *Don’t Be Cruel.* He was stuck with his relatives until at least the other side of the weekend. Maybe he could convince that old witch to up his allowance, he was missing lucrative work just to be here. His old Citroen was barely holding together in this storm. Areon was surprised that the rust patches had not dissolved entirely in this weather. He’d rather not be beholden to his Niece for any repair work. She’d take no payment but insist that he was more than civil to her Fiancé but not only him but to Cherise. They had never seen eye to eye. He’d never taken to any of the things the rest of the family was good at Sciences or that Louisiana voodoo mysticism bullshit that Cherise peddled despite being at the head of a fortune five hundred chemical conglomerate.

Aeon finally arrived at the gates of the Wellness Retreat. Accompanied by some quite haunting music on the radio *Born of Frustration* by *James*. Oh, more English boys becoming multi-millionaires in the music business. He breathed deeply and tried to centre himself, oh no the hippie wellness crap was catching.

“Entrez-Vous?”

His Sister's voice asked over the speaker

The Citroen stalled, Areon nearly flooded the engine.

“zut alors”

he cursed, and finally got the car limping into life again. The car makes it slowly up the driveway.

Meanwhile, in the main house, the Dupont family was relaxing in the formal drawing-room. Cherise was still on Ghost watch.

“Saffron ma fille, will you take a look at your Uncle's car when he’s distracted? You know I know very little of mechanics but it sounds like it’s in pain.”

Evve asked

“I’ll need a few hours at the very least maman. The Cadddilac needs my attention first, Then I can work on the DS I could do it when he’s asleep up here”

Saffron had heard the car herself even over the intercom and on the other side of the living room she could tell it needed new plugs, new HT leads and the timing sorted.

“Put any parts you need on our account with Mr Priest, I Insist”

Evve concluded.

Harleen lent over the back of the sofa and kissed her wife

“You’re so good to that brother of yours. I’m not even sure he likes any of us.”

Evve and Saffron gave her a knowing look. Harleen was the easiuest person to like out of all of them.

Blitz couldn’t quite comprehend Saffron’s Uncle didn’t like him, or his own amazing family? They were all lovely and none of them nearly constantly reeked of fish. Anything else was a bonus. The Duponts were so kind that Cherise had put into development a deep cleansing exfoliating shower gel that could tackle the most stubborn odours. It would go on to be used by people in the fishing and fish mongering industry worldwide.

## **Chapter Seven: Separate Ways**

Aeron’s embarrassment of a motor car finally splutters to a stop by the Bat Roost. He got out and began rummaging in the back for his suitcase. Unbeknownst to him, the shadowy figure of Cherise detached herself from what appeared to be a realm of shadows.

“Well Well, look what the storm blew in, mon fils.”

Aeron, shocked by the sudden company, whacked his head on the tailgate. Then began rubbing his head, particles of rust flew out of his hair.

“Mother”

He acknowledges in English. His intention seemingly to undermine family tradition.

“I see you’re doing well, still driving the heap you leave abandoned at Moisant Field”

Cherise replied matter of factly not wasting any venom on her wayward son. Anger had long been replaced by deep seeded disappointment.Though love was still there somewhere.

“I came, didn’t I?”

He shook his head

“Well yes all the pawnshops in the South know better than to accept any of the family silver, it leaves you with so few ports in a storm.”

Cherise smiled a smile that the local alligator population would find incredibly domineering.  He’d been young and he couldn’t afford to attend that Elvis auction any other way. To try and have a piece of his hero to treasure for eternity. Yet he paid a high price that day. That or his mother’s affection. Cherise had a long memory.

“Very funny Mother, as always.”

He acquiesced to her indomitable force of will. This is where his sister got it from.

Cherise opened her arms and hugged her only Son. Despite his actions, his insolence, and defiance of tradition. He still was her son. Aeron Dupont shared the family's stubborn streak.

“Cher garçon”

She hugged him

“Now go up to the main house and get warm. I have things to attend to down here, do try to be civil to the Morgan boy. Saffron cares for you she even drove this here all the way from Memphis.”

Cherise stepped aside and one of the overhead lights flickered on, seemingly of its own accord to illuminate the pinkish Cadillac limousine.

“That’s a mighty fine looking car”

Aeron whistled, resisting the temptation to strike an Elvis-like pose. Or let slip any further Elvis-isms from his lips.

“It just needs a few  more mechanicall issues fixing, and a paint job. See Saffron and her Beau think of you.”

Aeron’s frown was turned upside down as he left his mother and headed for the main house. Maybe this enforced family time wasn’t as bad as he feared. Even if his Mother and Sister weren't enamoured with his career choices. His Neice and the English boy seemed more open to his vocation.

After Aaerons departure Jessie Elvis manifested himself once more.

“If you don’t mind my opinion Madam, I don’t think you’re boy is such a bad sort. I don’t think he’d be such a bad owner of my old car when I’ve moved on.”

He removed his sunglasses and tried to look as humble as his stage wear would allow

“You’re too kind”

Cherise stated in a seemingly uncharacteristic show of benevolence. Jessie looked shocked.

“I know I’m going to be around for a long time. I just wish he could stand on his own two feet like his sister. Evve and Harleeen might have started off working for the wrong people in the name of progress, but look around you at all they have built and accomplished together. Saffron being the prime example of what they’ve achieved.”

Cherise sighed and Jessie listened

“Perhaps it is hard to be a male Dupont”

She admitted to the spector

“If you don’t mind me saying so, the Dupont women are equally impressive and … menacing. I think I’d have put my life right back on track if I’d met just one of you while I was alive.”

He gulped. That was mighty brave and mighty foolhardy. Cherise shot him a look, but not one of fire and brimstone.

“I shouldn’t get attached to you, Monsieur Lafayette, you are destined to leave our realm, to play your greatest performance ever, accompanied by a chorus of angels.”

Cherise words continued to be the nicest he’d ever heard in his afterlife. He had miss judged her, and she him.

“We may seem fierce, if we were not we would be inundated by more restless spirits than we could ever assist. So if we seem imprudent it’s merely a defence mechanism.”

She seemed so human all of a sudden. She gestured to take a seat. Perching upon Saffron’s mechanics stool. Jessie floated in a sitting position to maintain the illusion.

“I don’t think I would have liked all the constant interruptions from the other side myself, when I’d been on the mortal coil. You have your own problems.”

Jessie admitted.

“Despite me living such a long life. I don’t have any answers to any of life’s big questions. Nor do I have the tools to easily resolve the problems I do have.”

To Jessie Cherise didn’t look very old at all. Younger than he had in life. Yet she spoke like she had experiences far beyond her years. The Duponts clearly aged well. Must be that anti ageing cream they made that his Georgia had sworn by. Yet there was something more. Something almost otherworldly, that Jessie couldn’t quite put his semi-transparent finger on. As a ghost, he didn’t know the first thing about the supernatural. He really wished he’d had more time with that Manual that Saffron had mentioned earlier.

“I know enough to admit when I’m entirely ignorant about all those things”

Jessie knew when his problems seemed insignificant to this epic family saga he found himself in.

“Oh I think you got the most important thing in your life right, you had love.”

Cherise seemed introspective. There wasn’t a Monsieur Dupont, was there? Jessie knew enough not to pry. If Cherise was going to say anything about that she would when she was good and ready. Evve and Aeron didn’t say anything about a father either. Not that Jessie had known them for that long and he tried not to spy on them. Because of course, they could all see him.

“I suppose I did. For a while Georgie and I were very happy.”

Why was talking to a ghost who in life had impersonated the same celebrity as her only son easier than talking to her son? Cerise mused.

“I think I’m going to need a drink to continue this conversation”

Cherise continued to seem so human, so normal. Not the woman he’d met a few hours ago.

“Make sure to have one for me, in spirit.”

Cherise cackled at the accidental pun and went to find some of Wilton’s local *Swamp Water Biter* that she’d seen in Saffron’s fridge earlier.

## **Chapter Eight: We Can Make The Morning**

Unexpected visitors were not a usual phenomena at the Dupont estate, not like last night,  alligators crossing the property were something of a deterrent to live visitors. Yet the day dawned anew in the Panther Swamp. The dawn bringing with it new opportunities and challenges.

Despite not having a restful night Evve was out attending to the plants and animals that called this corner of the swamp home. The rescue alligators waddled around like ducklings behind Evve as she doted on them and fed them. This was what Saffron called her *Goth Disney Princess routine*. They were another carnivore Evve tolerated. How would you explain the benefits of being vegan to an alligator? Or to one of the many cats that had free rein of Evve’s polytunnels. Between the Gators and the feline pest control specialists, very few pests bothered the rare often engaged plants.

From the rustic gator enclosure Evve moved on to the futuristic polytunnels They looked like the sort of thing NASA and the IASA would be using on the Mars missions. Naturally, the Botanics division of  Dupont Chemicals had the contract to develop plants for the missions. So Evve had to have an identical growing set-up. She depressed her palm onto a scanner and entered an airlock. In the centre of the polytunnels was a cattery. A cat tree intertwined with a native tree. A ragtag clowder of cats waited for her. More strays that had found their home here. They chirped, purred and meowed at Evve’s approach. She cooed and spoke to them in French, they seemed to understand every word.

“Good Morning my fluffy pest control experts”

She greated them, as a cat wormed its way affectionately between Evve’s legs. Other people would say most of these cats were too feral to exist as pets. That they were half or more wild cat and could not be tamed. Evve would laugh at such a sentiment. She had Alligators following her around like man’s best friend. A few cats were no trouble at all. The humidity in the swamp plus her plants made an ideal habitat for mice. The cats were a necessity. She was very glad that *The National Park Service* had its own vet. The gruff Doctor Swanson, who’d take no nonsense from any creature .The animals of the swamp where a part of Wilton. Someone had to be a steward for the creatures most townsfolk feared.

Evve grabbed a bag of kibble and began loading a large feeding trough. Stroking the cats of all shapes, sizes and colouring of fur as she goes. Wishing them “*bonne journée”* as she did and hoping that last night's hunt was prosperous.

Back in *The Bat Roost* Cherise was cooking bacon, with Jessie almost hovering over it like a Bisto Kid. Wishing he could smell and taste. As Saffron and Blitz took up the entire breakfast bar. The bar was decorated with Americana style metal signs and licence plates to continue the auto shop theme. Saffron and Blitz faced each other with sticker-covered Apple PowerBook 5300s open between them. With a rats nest of cables between the machines connecting them to a modem. Cherise, Saffron and Blitz all where dressed immaculately with full makeup even this early in the morning. These people never took they’re costumes off. It made Jessie feel less of a prat, in his stage attire. How could Saffron make a mechanics shirt look so chic?  On a completely different level to *Billy Joel* in the *Uptown Girl* video.

“Well I feel like I could eat”

Jessie admitted licking his transparent lips

“Sorry mate, from what I can gleen of the situation it doesn't work like Slimer in *Ghostbusters*”

Blitz explained. Movies where not the best place to take you’re ques about the spirit world

“If you’re feeling better I’ll have belle-fille, Harleen come back and you can talk to her after we’ve aired the house out”

Chersie continued to cook. Jessie was a little surprised that Cherise wasn’t cooking, well french foods at breakfast. She had the air about her of someone that had a staff. Yet she drove herself and fed herslef.

“I’m collating all reports of paranormal sightings in the tri-state area. The FBI has a hotline for this sort of stuff so I’m talking to my friend at the Bureau”

An ICQ instant message popped up on Saffron's screen as she spoke.

“Ghost has something. She needs to get clearance from her boss to send my Mothers the file.”

Jessie looked shocked they had ghosts working for the FBI? He hadn’t realsied his post morten career chocies where that vast.

“She’s not a ghost, That’s her hacker name.”

Saffron tried to explain to a puzzled Jessie

“Like the Movie”

Blitz tried to help it from the look  like Jessie hadn't seen a movie since the Elvis documentaries in the 70’s.

Saffron rolled her eyes

“They say you can’t trace her if she’s been into a computer system. Like a ghost. Also she’s goth and her makeup is ghostly white.Her name is Sonya, We’ll try and call her that when you're around.”

Saffron conceded.

A while later they all crowded around another larger kitchen up in the main house. Saffron and her Mums had all been called upon with mixed regularity to consult for the FBI in they’re specialist fields.So it wasn’t unusual to receive a classified file, by fax or email..

“It’s real messy Blitz. You don’t have to look at this stuff”

Saffron examined the crime scene pictures with her trained eye all colour and with many different hues of blood. The finest Hewlett Packard printers could manage. She focussed on the mashed up cars as she ordinarily would. One had hit something human shaped. If that was the mystery assailant it had not been slowed down at all. Saffron grabbed a magnifying glass. There was some decrepit looking piece of what looked like bandages in the grill. She checked that the sample of cloth had gone to be processed at the lab in Jackson. The assialant hadn’t left any obvioouse trace evidence in Jessie Layfayet’s Cadilac. Almost as if he’d seen soemthing so terfying that he’d beenn scared to death.

His future wife was always trying to protect him from the realities of the world. Blitz busied himself with Coffee and vegan croissants. Much like she’d tried to protect him every time the occult had reared its ugly head when they were teenagers. Now she insisted she did it so he could focus on his job, art. Much like his Mother dealt with anything above day to day cash receipts at the record store. While Del was the face of the business.

Thinking of his parents, they’d gone straight home to their own beds after working out he and Saffron where safe the other night. He was sure they’d be by some time. Or want some sort of help in the record store. Blitz feared his modicum of celebrity made him more of a hindrance than a help when he tried to work the floor of a branch of Del’s Doughnuts these days. It wasn’t like he was the sort of fellow capable of going incognito. Saffron wasn’t particuially camera shy either. The LA branch on Hollywood Boulevard felt like a home away from home. Just not once he and Saffron could clock in and start working the register at. That was another life.

Meanwhile Gracie Mulligan awoke with a start. In a hunters blind deep within the swamp. The Sarge was gone but hot spam, eggs and coffee was waiting for her. If she could bring herself to eat. They’d lead the Corrupt murderous cop a merry dance last night. The Sarge had insisted they take his Willys Jeep. As they're a getaway car. They had been laying low here in the blind protected by claymore mines and tired to get a few hours of restless sleep. If a claymore triggered it must be the murderer havign caught up with them and they had to flee.

The Sarge hauled himself riffle first up into the blind.

“Grace, you're awake. We’d better move out. We’re not far from a friend's house. We can seek help and shelter there”

Sarge explained gruffly getting himself a coffee

“I don’t want to bring this down on any friend of yours”

She stuttered

“We need to warn Aeron anyway. He’s the french Elvis and could be next”

He explained in his usual stoic tone

“Oh, in that case I’ll get ready”

Grace Mulligan was no longer dressed as Priscilla but for war in Sarge’s smallest fatigues. She checked Terry’s old Colt 45 now freshly loaded with armour piercing rounds.

“Well if what Aeron tells me when he’s had a drink or two is true. His kin are the only people in Mississippi that can possibly help us with our pursuer. Bullets barely slow him down”

Sarge had pumped everything he had from his Tommy Gun into the bulletproof cop last night. Only a grenade or six had bought them enough time to flee.  The Sarge was grateful that he owned more guns than even The King had.

“We can’t fight without intel Gracie. We need to get justice for Terry and all the others.”

It sure sounded good when he said that more Clint Eastwood than Elvis Aaron Presley

“Do you think the people we’re going to see will know what we’re up against?”

Grace asked

“I sure hope so, it’s our only move”

Without much more conversion Grace ate quickly and they packed up and the large hunting blind looked as if neither of them had ever been there. Now all they had to do is continue giving they’re persuier the run around. It was the high of impropriety to arrive as not only as an unannounced guest, but with a murderous persuer in tow.

## **Chapter Nine: Where No One Stands Alone**

Gracie and The Sarge looked like a couple of rejects from a casting call for a Vietnam War movie as they arrived at the gates of the Dupont Wellness Retreat. *Old Faithful* the Sarge’s Jeep with a fifty cal machine gun mounted to it covered in weapons and ammunition boxes.

Sarge checked his army regs version of pompadour haircut in one of the Jeeps mirrors. He had a feeling that the occupants of this estate knew they were here before they turned up on the security cameras.

Gracie looked a little nervous even under the flack jacket and M1 helmet she was wearing.

“Are you sure?”

She asked in a small voice just audible over the Jeep’s loud engine. Sarge nodded. Pressing the intercom button.

“Good Morning, am I in the right place for Madam Dupont? I was hoping you could help us we’re in a heap of trouble, I’m a friend of your brother Aeron.”

“Oui, I am Evve Dupont”

A hint of a french accent. There was a pause when the intercom went silent as another person spoke

“Ma Mère says she foresaw you’re arrival. You’d better come in”

Sarge pulled the Jeep up at the end of the driveway, in the turning circle. This was the right place that was Aeron’s Citroen DS. Though if he knew his friend he would not be awake for another five or six hours at the least. Aeron was not an early bird like Sarge. Though he was glad that Aeron’s family where birds of a different feather. Ravens apparently to look at the woman who awaited him. Still any port in a storm.

“Leave you’re hands where I can see them mon am. Get out of the car slowly”

A woman who looked like a dark gothic version of Cher instructed him in a calm commanding tone

“Whatever you say”

The Sarge agreed. Gracie didn’t seem nervous she just did as she was told and left her holster on the seat. He did the same.

“Pardon for the greeting but guns make myself and my family nervous”

The woman continued so authoritarian Sarge had met officers that didn’t sound even half as commanding.

“It’s okay I wouldn't like people packing fire power rolling up at my family's place either”

To Sarge it didn't seem like this woman needed a gun.

“Well you’d better come up to the main house”

She concluded

“Are you Areon’s Sister Ma’am?”

Sarge had to ask

“Non, I am his Mother, Cherise.”

Sarge’s jaw hit the floor. This woman was far too young to be Aerons mother. She’d have to be his much younger sister. Cherise’s face of thunder cracked into a little smile. This happened often but it was still quite a compliment.

She looked the pair of them up and down

“You both look like you could use a shower and fresh clothes. I’ll see if Belle-Fille has something that will fit you”

Cherise Dupont indicated the young woman

“My name is Grace Mulligan”

She replied still seeming uncertain of herself

“Gracie tres bon, my daughter in law Harleen will take care of you”

Cherise ushered the newcomers back to the main house.

“That thing might not be too far behind us, it looked like a cop but it’s something far more blood thirsty than any man.”

The Sarge tried to explain

“We should have just enough time. Your concern is appreciated and laudable. My Granddaughter is still awaiting lab results to confirm what we face.”

Cherise spoke clearly and precisely. No sign of concern. Grace and Sarge both found this quite hypnotic.

“It acts like it’s possessed by a demon. It’s killed so many Elvises like my Terry”

Grace lamented

“Both are strong possibilities, and I won’t rule them out at this early juncture.”

Cherise spoke matter of factly. Those where really possibilities? The Sarge might have guessed it where some black ops super soldier project gone badly wrong. Something MK Ultra level. Yet they were still men and couldn’t shrug off as many bullets. Something beyond his understanding was happening here. Then he found himself being invited in for coffee by three witches.

A young woman with sky high purple mohawk hair was working at a kitchen table, there was a laptop and a pile of computer printouts. An older woman with deep red hair in what looked like a ballgown with a plunging neckline was talked on a phone. Something about egyptology. Gracie was met by a petite blonde woman who seems if anything more nervous than Gracie. Then escorted off to wash and change.

“I’m Saffron”

The young woman with the gravity defying hair said

“That’s my Mum Evve on the phone, you’re friend is with my other Mum Harleen.”

Saffron explained

“People call me The Sarge, I’m a friend of you’re Uncle Aeron, expert he’s still dead to the world at this hour.”

Saffron nodded. The woman who dressed like *Vampira* that he now knew to be Evve his friend’s sister hung up on the phone

“Café?”

She placed a cup in front of Sarge at a breakfast bar big enough for sixteen. This place was fully geared up for guests.

“Mercie”

The Sarge remembered some basic French from his time stationed overseas in Europe. It seemed like points would be awarded for politeness and courtesy. Speaking of Europe, this coffee tasted as good as it did on a sidewalk cafe off the Champs-Élysées in Paris.

Silence was broken.

“Bad news Mon-Frilles, my Egytologist friend at at Loyola University thinks those lab results indicate this is a cursed Mummy.”

Of Course someone who went to a university that Dupont Chemicals funded would have no qualms talking about ancient mummy curses.

“They need to get some photos from various digs together, they hope they they can have a translation of what we' can do.”

Evve explained a deadly serious expression on her face.

“Stick him back in his sarcophagus and bury him? Worked last time”

Saffron didn't sound at all surprised or concerned by what her mother had to say. Murder Mummies just didn’t seem to bother her.

“Er Miss. I’ve seen what this thing can do first hand. If you think you can convince this creature to just curl up and die I’d really like to see that.”

The Sarge mused. That would be a thing indeed. All of mankind's weapons of war did nothing.

“Unless you have the Goddess Isis’ Cell or Pager Number and a scroll of truth, this seems like a logical plan, because those things worked in the Boris Karloff Movie.”

Saffron smiled sweetly or should that be sinister-ly?

“That was a good flick, but the Mummy was looking for a bride then, if I remember rightly”

Sarge was at least on the same wavelength as the purple haired daughter.

“Well my parents are together and I’m engaged to an English simpleton. Afraid there are no nubile Egyptian princess types in these parts, or reincarnations of same.”

Whatever Saffron was a reincarnation of it certainly wasn’t some rank and file Egyptian Princess. Given Her Mother and Grandmother's skillset it would be a little more esoteric. Though that’s not the sort of topic to broach with newcomers. It wasn’t the sort of stuff that she discussed in front of Blitz either, though Saffron was sure he suspected something. He wasn’t nealy as stupid as he looked or acted.  He had graduated at the top of his class from the *New England Conservatory* for music without really trying. Though the sweet moron had only even applied there because she was at MIT the other side of The Charles River in Cambridge.

“Then is there some anti-mummy sword?”

Sarge was grasping at straws

“A Khopesh? No probably not”

Saffron shook her head once more

“We’d need to find the sarcophagus to force it back into it’s tomb, so that’s out”

She continited

“It seems to have gouged itself on our new friend and Aerons fellow Elvis impersonators, so I doubt it requires sustinance”

Evve spoke and Sarge shuddered at the thought. He was glad they didn’t need to defeat the Mummy in a singing competition and dance off he doubted his rendition of *Blue Suede Shoes* could beat the collective talent of the legion of late lamented Elvis impersonators this Mummy had consumed.

“This leaves us with having out Egyptologist work out the details of the curse, then we concoct an appropriate counter curse.”

This seemed perfectly appropriate to the younger woman.

“Does this mean you have an ancient Egyptian high priest tucked away somewhere?”

When he thought that nothing in this bizarre place could phase him anymore they doubled down on the strage.

“Wouldn’t need one”

Saffron seemed confident and that was good rough for him. Sarge wasn’t one for vibes or a belief in occult energies and powers. Yet Aeron’s Mother seemed to exude those energies, as if she bathed in them like they’re mutual enemies old pal Cleopatra in sour milk. Like it was those energies that sustained her and kept her youthful. Even a meer moral such as he could sense those occult energies a mile off. Like hairs on you’re arms standing up because of static electricity.

“I think I know what you mean, and I won’t ask any more questions”

The GI Blues Elvis uttered sagely.

“Probing questions are never the problem, some people just don’t like the answers”

Evve seemed quite mystical herself

“My mother is very proud that the famille Dupont have been practising the occult arts in Louisiana since well before the Louisiana Purchase. We predate Marie Catherine Laveau’s arrival to what would become the French Quarter.”

Saffron proudly informed him. Well the Elvis routine did attract a certain amount of weirdness, you’re normal work a day King conspiracy theorists, but this was his weirdest encounter by far. A family of real live witches here in the Mississippi swamps. Reruns of *Bewitched* certainly hadn’t prepared him for this.

## **Chapter Ten: What Now, What Next, Where To**

Most young men Blitz age would be intimidated at the prospect of hanging out with they’re future Grandmother in law. Blitz wasn’t phased at all. As he and Cherise sat on the Sofa in  The Bat Roost with the ghost of Jessie Lafayete between them giving a running commentary in the style of a fight announcer as they played *Mortal Kombat Two* on the SNES. Chersie playing as *Kitana* was kicking Blitz's character arse all over the screen.

Chersise had her own gold controller in a shaped leather case in her hand luggage. To say she was good at this was an understatement. It was like a masterclass ass whooping. It was pretty much every time they played fighting games. Saffron had an unconfirmed  theory that she went to hussle school kids at local arcades and bowling alleys for fun. What other grandparent and CEO considered a *Sega Game Gear* and a *Nintendo GameBoy* essential equipment when travelling? Even if Cherise didn consider mobile phones a waste of time. Who wanted to kill they’re battery playing greyscale Tetris?

“I hope you have a finishing move lined up for that Mummy fella”

Blitz thought out loud

“We have plenty of time mon garçon.”

Cherise assured. Those Egyptian screw ups couldn’t keep their hands on their own. Osiriis was getting complacent in their old age.

“Just a case of the correct counterspell, I assure you. Those Egyptians weren't as good as spellcraft as Hollywood might imply. It’s only an ancient curse because no one with any sense has ever bothered looking into it.”

Cherise smiled using a special move while Blitz was thinking.

“I’m not really very good at you know spells. I really want to help.”

Blitz wasn’t too worried about his game performance

“A ritual is like any performance, and you understand those. It’s rhythm choreography and lyrics. More than that it’s belief in yourself and your abilities. You know all those things better than almost anyone I’ve met.”

Cherise translated into concepts Blitz could more easily understand. Blitz looked a little shocked.

“Well that’s really rubbish, my band are nowhere to be found stranded by this storm. Just when we have the chance to play a once in a lifetime show.”

Cherise didn't quite let on that Blitz had brought forth a wonderful idea. She didn't want him getting an even further inflated ego. It wasn’t his musical success that gave him such a sense of self worth, it was the love, unwavering support and understanding of her very serious granddaughter.

“Summon you’re Mother and Father, I’m sure they can lend a hand, as we have no temple I think the emergency sound stage you’re Father keeps on the trailer of his Oshkosh will suffice.”

Cherise’s word was law. Yet she remembered that old Skipper Morgan kept an emergency sound stage.

“You want to put on a show? Then I think we can help.”

Nothing Chersie could say was a shock to him now. She wanted to put on a festival for an audience of one undead Egyptian Prince dude. It was sure to blow his mind.

“I know your family are as you say *the best in the business*. So I’ll leave it in your capable hands.”

Cherise clearly had confidence in him and it felt good.

“We can get everything set up at the camp aduetorum.”

Blitz continued in his usual unrelenting speaking style. The old amphitheatre was mostly used for beginners yoga classes and the like.

“Yes, that will give us enough space for Aerons friend to set us up a few extra defences.”

Chersie spoke of a back up plan as if it was just for peace of mind.  The amphitheatre was the other side of an open field that had the camps old baseball field and various other pitches for sports. The local baseball team *The Wilton Swamp Things* still used the diamond for practises.

“Yeah that GI Blues Elvis guy. I wonder why Elvis Presely annoys this Mummy fella so much.”

It was weird why go after the devotees of perhaps the most famous musician in the world. Particularly when the real danger came from The Duponts.

“Let me worry about that. If this is the final showdown, Areon will be one of the Mummy's targets.”

She assured Blitz. Jessie was doing some moves down the hallway from the lounge. He was excited. His feet itched. A big show with a real live rock star. Bigger than any show he’d played in his life. The kid who’s guitar playing they called a *Blitzkreig*. Jessie just wished he could take to the stage or at least help out somehow.

Quicker than lightning everyone at the Dupont retreat went from promoting serenity and inner peace and mediation to focussing on stun volume and cranking it up to eleven. The Huge ugly military truck belonging to Del Morgan rolled into the estate. Containing himself and Queen Vic.

Jessie sat opposite Harleen at the kitchen table of the bat roost. Harleen had every idea what had killed Jessie but she knew better than to reveal it before he was good and ready. She knew that the Mummy would be upon them soon. Thought also wanted to give Jessie as much time as humanly possible to come to terms with how he deid.

Cherise went to great the two-person world tour crew. Cherise stopped and elegantly curtsied in front of Vic

“Ma Reine”

Queen Vic looked Cherise up and down critically

“Are ya getting younger ya dafty?”

Vic purred in her Glaswegian accent Cherise just smiled and they hugged.

“As they say here I will have to plead the fifth amendment”

Del Morgan jumped down from the back of the truck checking that nothing had moved in the transit across the swamp, everything was as it should be. Ofcourse it was. This Oshkosh was streets ahead of anything they’d had when he’d done his national service. He didn’t act like a man of sixty.

“Blitz said you wanted to blow the roof off, round here”

A decade in American had not dulled his Brummie accent

“Oui, the two of you are family and and I would not ask anyone else to do this”

She looked serious

“What’s going on?”

Vic perched on the gargantuan bumper of the truck.

“We’re in an occult situation. Life or death. Blitz and Saffron bought a car with an unexpected permanent hitchhiker to get back home. That was the only way we got any warning.”

She explained as quickly and simply as she could. The Morgans were people of action. They’d seen enough on the road over the year to know that there was more to life than the scientists could easily explain.

“A second haunted motor?”

That would be his son’s luck. Two paranormally afflicted cars in ten years. Attract haunted cars and have trouble attracting spooky young women.

“Afraid so, I’ll tell you more up at the main house then Saffron can get you hooked up with power and we can begin. I’m afraid we’re pressed for time. I’ll explain as much as I can now.”

Cherise didn’t want to reveal anything about the Mummy around the Bat Roost with Jessie’s mortal teather there. He might overhear and that could be disastrous for his recovery from trauma.

## **Chapter Eleven: We're Comin' In Loaded**

Twilight began to settle over the Panther Swamp. The Duponts and the Morgans together had not needed a road crew to set up a stage that would be envied by any arena in the world. Between the six of them they’d had a canopy erreted by the time Aeron Dupont awoke. He’d humbly taken on the role of guitar tech. Ensuring that his future nephew in law Blitz’ needs where met before Del could get around to it, Both Morgan men were impressed. If a little surprised.

Though Queen Vic had rarely taken to the stage as a performer in most of Blitz’s life, her Rickenbacker electric six string 660 model in a custom Scottish St Andrews cross paintwork sat at the ready for rhythm guitar duties.  *The Hip Highlanders* had dissolved after a disagreement with a manager back in the 60’s. Punches had been thrown and Queen Vic on usual form hand ended the dispute by breaking a pint glass over the manger in question's head. *The Highlanders* lead guitarist had broken his hand in the scuffle. *Triple M* had been born that day, *McElhone Music Management*. Where the artist came first, someone who would go head to head with the likes of *Big Don Arden* and win. Get bands out of unfair and unlawful contracts. Deal with the bully boy tactics head on.

“You good hen?”

Queen Vic looked to her companion on the stage. The Wild haired ball gown wearing Evve Dupont. Paced the stage trying to get the feeling for her Gothic Takamine Bass, it had been a gift some years ago from Saffron. Evve Looked spectacular and these were not even her stage clothes.

“Oui, I’m just trying to get my sea legs back.”

Evve sounded nervous but she didn’t show it on her face.

“Been a long time for me too.”

Queen Vic gave her a reassuring wink

“*The Poison Ivys* and I mostly played for very chill crowds of hippies.”

Evve confessed

“I’ve got your album it’s full on psychedelia you’re base lines are probably better than Cream and early Floyd combined. We could have really gone places if I’d managed you.”

The Poisons had only released one record to fund environmental research and create a fund to combat corporate polluters. In the Louisiana Bayou.

“What can I say? I’m … honoured”

Was all Evve could manage to utter.

Harleen was in a world of her own up on the drum riser. There was something she liked about being behind all the huge drums and cymbal stands like she was the pilot, the driving force behind this whole stage. She’d played drums in her school marching band and only really returned to them when doing research into youth culture for her book on Teeangers and subcultures.

When Punk had made its presence felt in the USA and most parental groups had lost their minds. Even as the parent of a six year old. Harleen had kept her head, and found herself taking a lot of stylistic cues from the Punk kids she interviewed.  It made her feel less timid and bookish being with the loud young people. She had felt almost as brave as when she had taken Evve’s hand for the first time. It was better to be a part of something than studying it like someone might explore alien life that had just landed on earth.

Saffron had turned out just like the other Dupont women. Some might say dark brooding and gothic. She had none of Harleens timidness, and that made her very happy. Saffron had been so bold and brave from a very young age. More like Cherise than either of them. Harleen would like to think her studies in developmental psychology had played a part in that. Not just the Dupont genetics taking over.

Bitz walked onto the stage as if he owned it. Well his parents did, Wearing a simple Black Suit and shirt.

“Mum, Future Mothers in Law.”

He addressed them

“What do we feel like playing?”

He asked as Cherise encouraged an uneasy looking Saffron to take the stage

“You are the pscion of Famille Dupont, all our energies focus and flow through you Mon Frills”

They caught the end of what Cherise was explaining.

“You’re telling me I have to sing”

Saffron looked aghast. Blitz looked a little uncomfortable at his love's behest. Saffron did not like the spotlight. She would help out with Synthesizers if called upon but shows weren't her thing. Not playing in them.

“We Know our audience will hate whatever we do. It’s quite liberating if you think about it”

Queen Vic explained a devilish grin on her face.

“Thanks… I think”

Saffron curled her lip

“You’re really very good”

Evve assured

“Yeah, At Forensic Vehicle Examination. I leave this performance stuff and making an exhibition of yourself to him”

She poked Blitz on the shoulder with a bony finger. Why was his band not here? Kylie would slay this Mummy with her vocals. Of course the phones were all still down, so Kylie couldn’t talk Saffron though it either. Saffron had taken vocal lessons for a lot of years but she didn’t feel like *Siuioxie Sioux*, *Dianna Cancer* or *Gen Vincent* even if she dressed like them. Or even *Shirley Manson*, that girl dressed like the cover of a fashion magazine with a perfect contralto voice, coupled with such dark emotive imagery in her lyrics.

“There are many burdens I can shoulder for you my love, I’m afraid this isn't one of them.”

Blitz moved to support his Fiancée. Saffron gave him a certain look.

“Even if you are a Dupont in our hearts Blitz the familial power will not flow through you, not alone.”

Cherise explained

“I’d feel a lot better about this with you at my side you know.”

Blitz whispered, all his bravado, gravitas and stage presence removed. Saffron took his hand.

“Time has come Today, by the Chambers Brothers”

Saffron spoke after a pause

“Très approprié”

Cherise smiled the sort that light up the stage without lighting.

“Lets run though it a few times then”

Aeron appeared out of thin air to reverently hand Blitz his prized O'Hagan flying V. Maybe the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. That was a move straight out of his Mother’s play book.

Blitz nodded

“Cheers”

“Then it’s curtain up when the moon is at its fullest. When we are at the height of our power.”

Evve knew that even if her daughter's gifts did not function like the rest of the families, that her gifts were still the most powerful. The way she bought cars that should be scrapped back from the brink on a regular basis, that was one of her skills.  How she tamed the cursed vehicles that had crossed her paths like some sort of horsepower whisperer.

They all held hands in the centre of the stage and embraced. Saffron feeling uncharacteristically timid as she went to her Synth set up. It was truly a wondrous sight to the initiated, *Korg, Roland. Moog* One of them was a signed gift from Blitz’s Uncle Nick. There was a Roland Keytar in a stand with all black keys, the strap had bats and crossed wrenches on it. It could belong to no one else but Saffron Dupont.

They began to practise and the music flowed out over the open air auditorium. Del continued to work checking lights and audio. Cherise waited in the wings for the que.  Auto working around her. She ruffled his hair affectionately as he passed. Gracie and Sargee where out toward the baseball field checked they’re defences and the automated turrets Saffron had rigged up earlier. She was quicker than the corps of engineers.

## **Chapter Twelve: Witchcraft Part 1&2**

The Mummy was most displeased. Ruining these new foot coverings trudging through the swamp. He had rolled up on the cops motorcycle and had no answer from the gate of this odd swampy compound. He had hoped that *Open Up Police* would work. Then he would kill the final two potential assassins and return to his accursed afterlife in peace. Yet here he was ducking aligators knee deep in the deep dark Mississippi swamp. This compound was inaccessible and impervious by any other means that gator infested swamp. This security was perhaps greater than any of his own royal palaces. Impressive. He bet this middle of nowhere town didn’t even have a *Rite Aid*  to acquire new dry badnagas from. Still they did not make them as they once did. These had lasted thousands of they’re mortal years.

In the swamp gases he saw a light, it was not the moon that was to his rear. He began to hear instruments the unmistakable sound of a sistrum, the wail of guitars, multiple pianos and drums. What was this what they called a rock concert? The mummy climbed the bank to the sports field. As soon as he made landfall he snagged a whire and signed emotively. Another Mine, he heard the pin fall, even in this din. A minor hindrance as the explosion lit up the night sky, merely winding him. He chided himself to be more careful as he proceeded. These people were not to be trifled with.

A haunting female voice, full of fury and passion began to sing *Time Has Come Today*. We focus on stage right Saffron Dupont stands there behind the racks of synthesisers in a stunning outfit of fishnet and leather with chains hanging off it and spectacular purple and black fringing.  Del had done even himself proud as the sound system dominated the explosions in the outfield. He focused on keeping his Sistrum playing in time. It was an instrument he dabbled in but Cherise had said it was just right. It had been a gift after an all night heart to heart from his mate Yusuf Stevens, or as he was maybe known better to the rest of the world Cat Stevens.

Blitz Morgan knew his wife to be, had this in her, as he wailed away on his O’Hagan. This felt right. His Mother circled him showing him who was the true showman in the family. The stage lights glittering off the studs in the red leather jacket she wore. Queen Vic plating her old Rick at all sorts of creative angles. One boot up on a stage riser. Blitz had to focus on what he was doing or he’d laugh. And miss his limited back up vocals of singing “time” off beat. Evve and Harleen Dupont where to the side and behind them maintaining perfect rhythm. With the metronome style ticking clock of one of Saffron’s Synths fading in and out as required. If anything the Synth made the sound deeper and more mysterious. The sound stage sounded as good as one of *The Rockets* albums. Or the time Blitz convinced his old band *The Venus Hunters* to remaster and re-record their original material. Because his fans were all over the message boards seeking out crappy bootlegs.

Blitz looked out to where the crowd should be. There was Jessie having the time of his afterlife throwing moves down before the stage. Then Blitz caught a shadow or rather a shadow of the night. In a flash of a mine and in profile it looked like it was Pat Benetar in her 1980’s prime. Short tightly cropped black hair. Immaculate tailored suit. Or maybe a tailored jacket over a dress. In the half light and the Shadows Blitz couldn’t be sure. Was this the mysterious, even by they’re standards, Dupont family friend by the name of Lucy? He’d been told about her after the Chrstine affair of ‘85. Never thinking he’d ever lay eyes on her himself.  Like the professional he was, he kept playing. It must be important if Lucy was making a personal appearance. She was perhaps the only power greater than Cherise herself.

Cherise had of course spotted Lucy from her backstage spot. Apparently ridding the earth of an immortal mummy was considered the hottest ticket on the planet now. Cherise focussed. Saffron needed her support now, more than ever. Cherise sang along with the lyrics. The irritating Mummy who was impervious to bullets well his time had come at long last.

The performers could feel a tremendous power emanating through them. Like no other stage they’d ever set foot on.

“Hi audience of one back there. In case you want to know the name of our band so you can buy our merch, it's *Counter Curse.”*

Saffron spoke no fear in her voice as she stood here supported by her family.

The Mummy was caught in the spotlight he topped over backwards at the sonic power that had emanated from the stage. Almost like a delayed reaction. A short woman in a versement black as night, was watching him with a grin upon her face. He’d seen her at the museum before. Only fleeting glances but he knew that face. She was some sort of jailler. Or was she an executioner?

The music cut out. Was it over?

A shot rang out as the Sarge took his shot. This was for Terry and all his other

brothers. A perfect shot straight through the bandaged head of the Mummy.

The banahed forehead absorbed the shot and the Mummy tried to crawl back to a sitting position.

“You mortal fools, no weapon forged by man can do me permanent harm”

He hissed. Cherise could hear him though even from the stage

“You watch whose family you insult by calling us mortals! ”

She stepped from the wings of the stage and howled this at the top of her lungs like a banshee, this slight would not go unpunished. Queen Vic was impressed Saffron’s ability to wail was clearly hereditary.

Areon appeared from thin air on the stage once more. A phone in his hand

“Maman, Famille. It's the Egyptologist with the translation.”

He uttered softly and quickly

“They say the what the Mummy says is right and in addition no man born of woman can slay it”

In his other hand was a guitar bag. That he laid down. He bent and unzipped it.

Saffron looked to her assembled family

"Doesn't everyone know I have two mums? It's not new news"

She shook her head

“It’s not news to us, we were there mon chéri”

Evve assured

“If I’d known this situation would arise I’d have ensured your birth had foretold by an ancient Egyptian seeyer or two.”

Cherise was her normal self.

Saffron removed from the bag a very sophisticated looking flamethrower she’d built for an up and coming German band some time ago. *Rammstein*. They where very into pyrotechnics.

“If he wern’t a murderous Egyptian Mummy  and he could read the English on your birth certificate I would volunteer to show him a copy my sweet"

Blitz kindly offered. This Mummy suddenly wasn’t so fearsome.

“You lot give me some cover fire. I'm going to have to deal with our trespasser.”

Saffron readies the weapon

“Can I offer you a light?”

Del produced a zippo cigarette lighter, given to him by his old mate from Stoke Lemmy and somehow managed to light the pilot on the flamethrower without maiming anymore. He was a professional and had clearly done this before.

Saffron nodded and left the stage.

The  rest of the family swapped instruments for guns. Evve didn’t lay down her guitar but started playing a bass line. On the outfield plants began to grow, two giant venus fly traps grew from nowhere.

“Franc, Franche protect ma fille and don’t get in her way”

Evve’s whole body caused with occult power. The floral tattoos just viable beneath the dense fishnet of her sleeves of her gown coursed with a green energy.

Cherise took centre stage and balls of translucent flames appeared in both her hands as she snapped her fingers.

Saffron solowy approached the Mummy as it was distracted with her mother’s giant venus fly traps. Chasing it hither and yon.

Vow by Garbage began to play as Queen Vic had reached the stage auxiliary sound booth.

“I came to shut you up, I came to drag you down

I came around to tear your little world apart and break your soul apart”

Saffron uttered under her breath along to the music. Her future mother in law had impeccable timing.

“Excuse me ah. May I have this dance?”

It was the voice of one of the Assassins the Mummy spun around as he was chased Tom and Jerry Style by two huge snapping venus fly traps, with deadly razor sharp fang looking cillia.

Jessie Elvis struck a pose

“Now uh don’t be cruel”

Jesse quipped and winked

That was the last thing the Mummy saw apart from fire pain and the woman in the black suit, as they all clouded his vision. He was afraid of the latter day King when he should have feared the Purple haired young woman. She must be the finest warrior of her generation, and command all the armies of these United States.  The Mummy screamed he ran around like a headless chicken, and eventually landed slap bang back in the swamp. He could feel his body being contorted by bullets as Serge and Gracie unloaded on his retreating form. Along with larger calibre bullets that did really hurt from Saffron’s hastily constructed auto turrets.

## **Chapter Twelve: Alright, Okay, You Win**

Del arrived on one side of Saffron extinguishing and safetying the flamethrower. Blitz took his fiancee in his wiry arms. He’d ditched his O’Hagan and sprinted out here with a similar athleticism to his far better built mountain man of a father. Del didn’t seem to break a sweat. Perhaps it was the fact that he never wore a shirt. Only a vest or a leather cut. Perhaps both in winter. When the Morgan’s had first arrived in town Del had had a serious row with a local establishment that had a *“No Shirt, No Shoes, No Service”* Policy. The owner had been banned from buying records until an exemption was made.

Some might think his father was a total nutbar for having M-60 Browning machine guns starge left and right as “crowd control” machine gun pillboxes. Then they’d never seen this show.  Saffron had automated the turrets to fire in three second bursts, so they didn't overheat. The Mummy had certainly felt that.

“Are you okay Saffron my dear? You really toasted that Egyptian fellow. Wildest thing I’ve ever seen at a show, and I’ve seen some shit in my day. No one will believe this story.”

Del announced flamethrower in one hand and fire extinguisher in the other, as he put out the slightly smouldering already damp swamp grass, still alright with an occult looking fire. Whatever bluish fire Cherise had been loving out.

Blitz just held his Fiancee. This might have been the first time he’d kept his mouth shut in they’re decade long relationship,

“I’ll be fine Del”

Saffron assured burying her face into Blitz broad shoulder.

Cherise was still at the front of the stage while everyone else was distracted by the aftermath of the batte. She caught in the corners of her eyes a short woman was sitting on the edge of the stage, swinging her legs over the side casually.

*“*Ma douce moitié, your family have made me proud, once again.”

Lucy purred approvingly

“I wish you could stay Lucy”

Cherise stood looking away from her, not wanting to turn back for fears she’d be gone again.Lucy was almost always shrouded by the night, and an air of mystery.

“You’d like me to make an appearance for your daughter’s Thanksgiving celebration on Thursday wouldn't you? Now that Evve and Aeron have buried the hatchet. As I did when they were still small.”

If it was possible Cherise looked emotional. Lucy had read her mind.

“It might be nice if you could arrive by car, and at last pretend to be a normal Lucy. Even if that’s far from the truth when we are involved.”

Lucy tried to remain casual, non committal, but a pained expression crossed her face for a brief tenth of a second.

“If you so will it. Then so shall it be. I’ll bring gifts and everything.”

Lucy replied complacently

“Is this a deal? Thursday all of it and nothing in return?”

Lucy was even more obsessed with deals than Cherise was with business deals.

“It is, but I may never want to leave after Thursday. That’s the only problem I have. Well until then mon chéri.”

Cherise felt a kiss on the cheek as Lucy disappeared. For the observant, the bedraggled banaged remains of the Mummy disappeared along with Lucy. Leaving a legion of Alligators and two gargantuan Venus flytraps a little disappointed.

"Until then mon Angélique”

Chersie went to regroup with the rest of her clan and the Morgans.

“Looks like you didn't need my sax solo encore”

Cherise looked at her granddaughter with pride in her eyes. Any sign of tears from her prior conversation, well camouflaged.

“We’re good to go if you want Cherise”

Blitz was always eager to play anything.

“Could we play *The Heat Is On.* by *Glenn Fry?”*

Cherise asked, pleased for the distraction from her own complex personal affairs

Saffron shrugged an affirmative as they headed back to the stage. It was going to get hot for the Mummy fellow if he was in that warmer than the desert climate that they felt he was destined for.

All the craters from the claymore mines in the outfield of the baseball diamond had already been filled by earth and mystical flora.

Everyone took a brief breather. As there was now no audience apart from Jessie Sarge and Gracie.

“Hello Jessie, it seems we where right about you’re unfinished business.”

Harleen sat with her denim jacket draped loosely over the shoulders. Wearing a yellow and black Vultures T shirt just visible below it. It was chilly without the stage lights for warmth.

“It felt mighty good seeing my killer get his just desserts. I remembered it was him then I haunted him good n propper. Gave him a real scare.”

Jessie was quite proud of his newfound haunting prowess. That Dang Ol Mummy had seen and heard him.

“You still need to see Georgia before you can cross over?”

Harleen was sure of it

“If I were a gambling ghost, I’d bet the farm on that Doc”

Jessie agreed.

“Afraid I’m going to be needing someone with physical form to drive me home to Memphis again.”

After all of this he really hated to be a bother.

“I’m sure we can help you with that. The national weather service seem to think the storm front will clear up after Thanksgiving.”

Jessie nodded. If he had known there where head shrinks as kind and patient as Doctor Harleen Dupont when he’d been alive, Jessie doubted that he'd be divorced, dead and buried now.

## **Chapter Thirteen: A) Hell is for Children…**

Elsewhere in space and in time the Mummy found himself sitting in an airy air conditioned waiting room. There were bonsai trees on shelves, a coy pond and a large leafed ficus plan dominating a corner. There were brand new magazines on a glass topped table, some translated into latin greek and Egyptian. He caught him reflection in the glass; he was a Mummy no longer. He was back in his body. He did look spalding in his Pharo’s vestments.  He caught stencilled in the glass a message *Welcome to the Retentions Department* It read in a cheery font. He did not recognise the corporate logo. He could see out the floor to ceiling plate glass window down to a city below him. This was neither Memphis he kewm, there where palm trees,shoppers on sidewalks, traffic on the freeway, a beach in the distance.

A young woman in a business suit with her reading glasses resting on small demonic horns on her forehead approaches him.

“Pharo Ho-Tep?”

She asked, in a patient tone, he nodded the affirmative. Having lips again was odd.

“Miss Lucy Feure is ready to see you now, just his way.”

She held a door for him and he caught sight of a pointed tail coming out of a ventilation hole in the woman’s chic short miniskirt.

So if he was here, where was Osiris? This was certainly not *The Duat t*hat the priest and his tutors had described to him. The pretty young woman picked up a stack of papyrus as they went past a desk that looked at first glance to be *The Book of The Dead.* Oh no this was all very bad, very bad indeed.