Chapter 5
Baron Samedi loomed over Alex, the painted skull on his face twisting into a wide, grotesque grin that seemed to stretch impossibly far. The cold, oppressive air of the crossroads thickened as the Baron threw back his head and erupted into a booming laugh. The sound was deep and gravelly, like stone grinding against stone, and it echoed unnaturally, as though the shadows themselves carried his mirth.
Alex stumbled back, his shoes scraping against the uneven ground. His hand instinctively clutched the faintly glowing tattoo on his chest—a mark that had burned into his skin mere days ago. He hoped it might somehow act as a ward, though he wasn't sure against what. The oppressive atmosphere wrapped around him like a shroud, and the unnatural laughter only heightened his sense of dread.
"I can't keep up dis charade no more!" the Baron bellowed, slapping his knee with such force that it sounded like a thunderclap. His Cajun drawl rolled over Alex like a slow, mocking wave, each syllable deliberate and teasing. He doubled over, his skeletal visage contorting in ways that shouldn't have been possible, making the already nightmarish figure even more unsettling. "Cher, you shoulda seen ya face! Like a cat caught in a storm! Priceless, I tell ya. Absolutely priceless!"
Alex's throat felt dry, his words caught somewhere between his chest and his lips. Finally, he managed to stammer, "What—what is happening?! Who are you?!"
The Baron straightened slowly, his laughter fading into a low chuckle that resonated in the back of Alex's skull. He waved a hand as if dismissing Alex's panic entirely. "Ah, calme-toi, boy. Don't let dat heart of yours give out just yet. You ain't dead—not yet, anyway." He grinned, his teeth gleaming unnaturally white beneath the dim, flickering light of the crossroads. "Now dat would be a tragedy, wouldn't it?"
With a sharp clap of his hands, the Baron's presence seemed to shift. The oppressive air lightened, and the terrifying skull paint began to melt away, as though it were running ink. Beneath it emerged a face that was no less striking but far more human. His skin was a deep, rich brown, smooth and unblemished, and his sharp cheekbones gave him an air of undeniable authority. His hazel eyes sparkled with mischief, and his neatly trimmed beard framed a wide grin that, while still unnerving, lacked the malice it had held before.
His black suit shimmered, the fabric rippling like water as it transformed into a long, flowing black robe embroidered with intricate green and silver patterns. The designs seemed to move faintly, as if alive, glowing softly with an otherworldly light. He adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves with theatrical precision before tipping an imaginary hat toward Alex.
"You can call me Baron," he said, his voice now smooth and rich, the Cajun accent still present but softer, more refined. "Or better yet, Professor Jean, if ya wanna be proper about it. Been at dis long enough to know when it's time to drop da theatrics."
Alex stood rooted to the spot, his thoughts racing to make sense of what he was seeing. His instincts screamed at him to run, but his legs refused to move. "What... what are you?" he managed to ask, his voice barely more than a whisper.
Jean's grin widened, and he spread his arms as if inviting Alex to take it all in. "Ah, cher, dat's da question of da hour, ain't it? Some folks call me Baron Samedi—lord of da dead, keeper of da crossroads, master of life and death itself. But here?" He gestured toward the swirling mist that surrounded the crossroads. "Here, I'm just a humble teacher at Verdemire College, one of da fine schools at da University of Haverix."
"Verdemire... Haverix?" Alex repeated dumbly, the words foreign and strange on his tongue. "What does that even mean? What is this place?"
Jean chuckled, shaking his head as though amused by Alex's confusion. "Dis ain't just any school, boy. Da University of Haverix is da finest in all da multiverse. We exist outside time and space, pluckin' da best and brightest from every corner of creation. And you?" He pointed to the glowing tattoo on Alex's chest. "You? You got da spark, cher. Enough to see da threads of life and death magic. Maybe even weave a few, if you got da guts."
Alex stared at him, his mind reeling. "So you scare me half to death just to tell me I'm special?" he asked, his frustration bubbling to the surface.
Jean burst into laughter again, the sound rolling through the crossroads like thunder. "Partly, yeah! Gotta test da mettle, boy. See if you got da backbone to handle a little pressure. But mostly?" He leaned in closer, his grin turning mischievous. "Because it's fun. Can't be da trickster spirit without a little fun, eh?"
Alex glared at him, his fists clenched at his sides. "So I'm just some kind of cosmic joke to you?"
Jean's expression softened, and he placed a warm hand on Alex's shoulder. "Non, cher. You're more than dat. You got potential—da kind dat can change da world, or maybe even da worlds. But dat choice? Dat's all on you."
The weight of his words settled heavily on Alex's shoulders, and he felt a pang of uncertainty. "Do I have to leave now?" he asked quietly.
Jean shook his head, his tone gentle. "Non, mon ami. You got time. Semester starts in one month Standard School Time. Dat's 'bout three days where you're from. But if you decide not to come..." His hazel eyes darkened slightly. "Den dis? All of dis? You'll forget. Da magic, da mystery—gone like a dream. You'll go back to your life, none da wiser."
Alex swallowed hard, the thought of forgetting this strange encounter filling him with an inexplicable sadness. "That's it? No second chances?"
Jean's gaze was steady, his voice firm but kind. "Crossroads only come once, cher. But somethin' tells me you ain't da type to turn away from destiny."
Before Alex could respond, Jean's form began to dissolve into the shadows, his voice lingering like a faint melody. "Good luck, Alex," he called, his words carrying the faint scent of tobacco and earth. "We'll be waitin' for ya."
And then he was gone, leaving Alex alone beneath the vast, empty sky.