Finding Savannah

     Hoell waited until nightfall, then ventured to the old town in search of Savannah. The streets narrowed into brick capillaries with the history of mud, and tall orange brick buildings sloughing off multiple lots. He had entertained the thought of returning to the apartment in hopes of finding the Houngan, but the rusted bullet weighed heavy in his pocket. Besides, the big man would be the best hope of finding the shadow walker.
  The moon was out, cutting through the hazed city ozone, drawing long and jagged shadows from the bricks to loom like fairytale creatures in a manmade forest. Night sounds stretched thin.
  He found Savannah down a street of sinking French Revivalist, a half-hearted if well-meant attempt at replicating Montmartre, slowly falling to the onslaught of entropy and neglect, seasons of fashion replacing another idol. Savannah was in the furry overcoat, inspecting a scavenged half cigar. Hoell approached with a proffered match.
  Savannah muttered a thanks around puffing nauseating plumes of acrid smoke. "To what do we owe this visit?" he asked.
  "I need it back."
  Savannah raised an eyebrow. "It's time?"
  Hoell fished the bullet from his pocket. The moonlight glinted off the brass. Savannah nodded slowly, and scratched the hairy underside of his chin. "Then the rumors are true."
  Hoell hid the bullet again, and scanned the alley nervously as though speaking brought out nightmares.
  "They say a carnival set up in the fog last night," Savannah continued. "Out of season and from far away."
  "Whitechapel is scared. One of his creatures was waiting for me. They've been following me."
  "If He has returned, he should be. A good steward our Fred was not." Savannah made a face, and handed over the cigar remnant. "Are you sure this is what you want?"
  Hoell didn't answer immediately. He looked for the source of the moonlight, then at the cobbles, then into the darkness. "It's the only way," he finally said, thinking of the absence of the Houngan.
  Savannah seemed to sigh deep within himself, but reached into the coat and pulled a grizzled skeleton key on a piece of shoestring over his head. He looked at it balefully for a moment, then passed it to Hoell. Hoell took it from him soberly, held it to the light for a moment before stowing in his jacket.
  "Thank you, old friend," he said. Savannah grabbed his arm as he started to leave.
  "Be careful. He has traveled so long, and Whitechapel is above nothing."
  "I know. But I have no choice." The big man let him go, and Hoell retreated into the deep.