Concerning The Ending

   They met at the crossroads, between Deepwood Cemetery and the riverbed, far from where the lights were ropes of dangling stars and the tinny washpan blues were a whispered memory. The moon was a sunken ship crushed on the forest horizon, casting ghostly light in wan strips over the gravel. Even the insects had ceased their castanets. He slid from the soul of the shadows, the nail ever-present in his hat-band gleaming like a diamond, like the smile beneath the twist of his moustache. He had been expecting his guest all along.
  A barter, one for stakes he could never guess, but one he knew was inevitable. Here another crossroad stretched, set evanescent above the road and river; the future yet un-traveled, save perhaps by the Houngan. Potentially he could have walked away, returned to bed, shut the door on the voice of magic, and mystery and danger. On the music itself.
  Hoell stopped before the tall man. "Well," he said, "I'm here."
  Rhodius nodded solemnly. "And I suspect you're not interested in the world."
  "Too many problems with it already," Hoell said, shaking his head. He removed his fedora, raked a hand through his hair.
  Rhodius smiled briefly, teeth glittering in the moonlight. He waved an arm behind him, a showman inviting inside. "There's a door here, Mr. Hoell. It opens only one way. No charm or totem will matter within. No veve has power except what is already there. Are you willing to step through it?"
  Hoell stood still for a moment. He looked at the moon, tracked a progression of notes moving through his mind like an amorphous cloud of migrant birds. Listen to the spell of the music.

  Come to the crossroads, it bids. Come to the crossroads, and master your own destiny. All he asks is something dear you don't really need. Will you really miss your second sight? Your inner child? Your last kiss? So much more could await in this world. So much that should have been, will be, could be. All that is asked is a token. A fair price for youth, beauty, and knowledge.

  He fumbled in his pocket, held forth the bullet, and stepped forward.


FINIS
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