Voodoo

Shortly after I finish preparations, while I'm thinking of getting my pumps out, I get a notice from the ‘Adam’ in my head, ‘Reflective Hide is Active.’

A moment later, I see a scene. Three African women, very dark skinned, naked save for some white paint on their bodies and collars around their necks, huddled around a big iron pot full of murky liquid, that steams slightly without a fire under it on the dirt. One of the women looks to be barely of legal age, one looks like she's in her forties, the third is bent over with gray hair. I don't recognize the language they're using, but the Tongues spell lets me understand it well enough.

“Why aren't we seeing anything?” The voice of a John Smith comes from outside my viewing angle.

“The results are strange…” the youngest of the three begins.

“The spell worked,” the middle one continues.

“But another power twisted it,” the Crone finishes.

“Hmm. Well, something like that happened last time, and he could be dead…” he pauses, “What do the bones say about Dan?”

My view follows the three women as they walk over to a tent, and pull out a leather bag, which they pour out in the ground; an entire separated skeleton pours out as the Adam in my head speaks, no dice this time, ‘Your divine knowledge of the Animal world identifies the bones as those of a grown rabbit; your divine knowledge of magic, as a variant Commune spell. Mind Blank is active.’

“Interference indeed,” the Crone begins.

“This one is more straightforward,” the middle aged woman continues.

“The spell is simply blocked,” the youngest finishes.

“Which means he's alive again,” the meat puppet's voice returns, still offscreen, “Little reason to ward a dead man. Proceed with the execution: Let's find his limit.”

My view follows the three women as they use a strand of hair to bind some sticks into the shape of a man, using some moss for actual hair, painting a face in with mud, and otherwise working it into a likeness of my prior form. They take it to a plastic picnic table where they have a little candle (already lit), a ceramic bowl of water, a nine volt battery, a hammer (a modern one, steel with a fiberglass handle), a stone knife, and a few other odds and ends.

The Crone begins, “Fire did the job last time…” and puts the doll in the candle flame.

The Adam in my head sounds almost smug, ‘Reflective Hide is active.’

As he says that, the old woman bursts into flame, screaming… dropping the doll, and the flames on her body go out as soon as the doll leaves the candle flame. The old woman's hair is gone, and her skin looks a bit red, but she stands up without complaint.

The Matron picks up the doll, “If not fire… water?” and places the doll, head down, in the bowl of water.

The Adam in my head definitely sounds smug, ‘Reflective Hide is active.’

The Matron's hair is suddenly soaked as she starts ****, coughing up water, unable to take a breath, stumbling back from the table.

The Daughter picks the doll up out of the water, and the Matron can breathe again, gasping for air. A very pained look on her face, the youngest grabs the scissors… and cuts just the doll's hair.

The Adam in my head sounds almost smug, ‘Reflective Hide is active.’

The youngest woman's hair falls to her feet, and she sighs, relieved, “This is beyond us,” she begins.

“Our power is turned back,” the Matron chokes out, her breathing a little ragged.

“We cannot do as you command with this one,” the Crone finishes, cringing in pain from her burns.

The Scrying effect fades out as I hear a sharp intake of breath from off screen, but it doesn't matter: I've seen the area. One Swift action duplicating Greater Teleport via Fractured Dimensions, and I'm looking at the place with my own eyes. Three women, a grass hut, a John Smith, and a white van.

“So we have a Zeus, then,” the John nods, face still expressionless, “Pity. Using the Heine is…” he pauses, “...a last resort for a reason.”

I quietly walk over to the van, look through the window, and use the Warp Sphere to get inside. The Mind Sphere to put the operator to sleep, and Extradimensional Torpor to get rid of him. I then put a Conjuration Sphere summon into the rig, and Warp back out.

Then of course, I start controlling the strings of the meat puppet by ordering my minion to give orders via the John. First up: “Another Mythic will be using their power on you to attempt to put the three of you briefly to sleep shortly. Please suppress or drop any wards you have that might prevent that from working, and let me know once that is accomplished.”

“You never,” the Daughter starts the conversation as she rubs some of the paint off of her head.

“Said please,” the Matron continues the sentence as she does the same.

“Before, ever” the Crone finishes as she too, removes some paint.

Then all three, in unison, add “Done.”

Great. I have my hijacked puppet continue, "Thank you. The Mythic will now put you to sleep. Please do not resist.”

Their eyes go very wide as all three, again i unison, parrot back, “‘Thank you’?” before my magic puts them

[under.

At](http://under.At) which point, I collect their collars, and cancel the Mind Sphere sleep effect, and toss a Dawn spell at them for good measure (all it does is wake people up).

“Sorry for the orders,” I begin as they slowly stand, using my own voice, “I hate doing it… but I hate those collars more. I understand the collars would have made you resist removing them, so…” I shrug, not that anyone can see.

“I'm free? No,” The Daughter begins.

“Not entirely, yet,” the Matron continues.

“Our samples are still on file,” the Crone keeps up the chain.

“The other covens could pull an us on us…” the Daughter cringes.

“We can fix that…” the Matron cringes as well.

“I'm not looking forward to it,” the Crone shudders.

“We've done it before,” the Daughter points out.

“Mind bringing me up to speed?” I'm getting a little creeped out talking to these three.

“There's only really one of us,” the Crone actually smiles.

“Despite the three bodies,” the Matron chuckles.

“And that gives us a form of immortality,” The Daughter completes that sentence.

“When one of us dies,” the Crone continues.

“Another gives birth,” the Matron picks up.

“And we sort of shuffle around,” the Daughter completes.

“So if I die,” the Crone starts.

“Then I become the Matron,” the Matron continues… apparently I have the labels wrong? I guess she's the Mother.

“And I the Mother,” the Daughter keeps it up.

“While the newborn becomes the Maiden,” the Crone finishes another sentence.

“If we do that three times,” the Daughter - or rather, the Maiden as I just found out - begins what I so HOPE is the final sentence.

“Then we have three new bodies,” the Mother continues.

“And their samples are invalid,” The Matron grins.

They speak so casually of dying… I suppose I'm one to talk… “Sounds unpleasant.”

“It is,” the three of them… or rather, she… says in unison.

“I have an alternative,” I begin, deliberately continuing before they respond… it's creepy… “a warded space outside space where I'm keeping other rescued Mythics until I can gut the BMM's ability to remote kill us. Most magic simply fails outright there, which should keep them all safe.”

“That's why it wasn't working…” the Matron nods slowly.

“Thank you for protecting them…” the Mother continues.

“We have enough blood on our hands,” the Maiden completes.

“Thank you, but no,” the Matron answers the actual question.

“We'll use the tried and true,” the Mother continues, shuddering.

“Because we ARE magic,” the Maiden cringes.

“What happens to ME,” the Matron breathes in slowly.

“If your wards stop my connection,” the Mother continues.

“To myself?” The Maiden asks.

“I don't want to find out,” she says in unison.

I'm glad I didn't handle it like I did on the raid… “So how long will your method take?”

“Three hours,” they respond simultaneously as the Mother walks over to the table and grabs the stone knife… then promptly slashes the Matron's throat.

I start to walk over to fix her up, then pause: That's what she said she'd do. She's fine. Probably.

“It has,” the Mother says as she starts growing older.

“Begun,” the Maiden says as her belly starts to swell.

I stick around and watch in morbid fascination as the Maiden gives birth while the Mother ages into the Matron, and the infant grows into the new Maiden as the old Maiden ages into the Mother. As the new Maiden carefully paints herself up, they then repeat the ‘****’ twice more, to the same

[effect.

In](http://effect.In) the end, I can't help but notice that the three painted women have subtle differences from their prior bodies. Slightly different shades of eyes, moles in different places, that kind of thing. They have a very strong ‘family resemblance’ to the first set, but they're clearly different… and we're standing over the seemingly murdered corpses of three old women out in the middle of nowhere.

“I suppose you can't stay here, can you?” I ask rather rhetorically, “I can set you up with some accommodations elsewhere, and I would love to have you write down everything you know about your prior slavemasters.”

The three of them pause, and then just the Maiden answers, “You find the distributed voice disturbing?”

Busted! “A bit, but I don't want to ask you to NOT be yourself.”

“It's no trouble,” again, just the Maiden, “We were mostly doing it because we wanted the slavers to be creeped out - people treat a chained lioness better if she still has her claws and teeth. As you're the reason the chains are gone, we'll take a lot of lip from you.”

“It doesn't hurt that you have us exceptionally outclassed based on how round two went,” the Mother chuckles, then pauses, “and probably round one as well, in hindsight. We were sure we killed you. How did you trick us?”

“Don't answer that,” the Matron reconsiders, “if we get collared again, better that we don't know.”

“Okay,” I nod, not that they can see.

“Regardless, you want to know what we know?” The Maiden sighs, “Can't say it's much. He brings a hair or a tooth, sometimes a little blood, and has us either look for the Mythic or kill them. Always the same face. Used to be he'd come in a horse drawn wagon. Now it's a van.”

That gives me pause, “How long has it been?”

“Oh, he collared us in 1566,” the Matron shrugs, “after killing Agnes at trial. Standing orders for us to collar the infant before we can grow our way out.”

I nod, “Always with a large vehicle nearby, and for centuries at least…” I consider, “Did you pay attention to the man behind the curtain?”

“The pilot?” The youngest portion asks, “Before we were ordered not to, yes. The puppet never strayed more than…” she pauses, “I think a quarter mile from the wagon. Hard to be sure, we couldn't pay attention to it.”

How old are these ladies? I suppose I just witnessed their form of immortality… "Do you know anything about their bases of operations, how they get funding, and such?”

“We've never been much interested in money,” the very naked Matron shrugs, her wrinkled and withered body on display, save for some paint that hides nothing, "We do know that they were sponsored by the British Crown in 1406, and the Vatican was paying them at the same time.”

So they're old and international… I take a moment to wonder, looking around at the wasteland this entity calls home: Nothing by dry plains as far as the eye can see. “Where are we?”

There's no dice in my head, and ‘Adam’ gives me an answer, ‘Your knowledge of geography and wilderness navigation tells you you're in Mali, Africa, well outside any city limits.’

Simultaneously, the Mother speaks up, “I think it's called Mali? We don't pay that much attention to the warlords, and they tend to leave us alone.”

I nod, “Do you know how many other such covens need rescuing?”

“At least two, based on how many times they forcibly bred us,” the Mother cringes, “Which is, admittedly, difficult to do. The same man needs to sow his seed in all three of us during the same blood moon.”

“Not many men want to bed me,” the oldest of the three bodies cackles.

“And few have the strength for all three even if they have the desire,” the Maiden shrugs, “it results in three seemingly normal pregnancies: Nine months of swelling wombs, several hours of childbirth… all at the same time… and then three seemingly normal daughters, that are linked to each other as we are, and have the same powers once they grow to the age I was when I ascended.”

“So there's at least two more sets, probably more,” I take a slow breath, “Okay. Let's get you three evacuated…” I use my ring to cast a few spells to give them a suitable demiplane, and transport them there.