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I've been summoned to the crossroads. The real one.
Not a metaphorical meeting or a spiritual negotiation—the actual convergence point where the mortal world and the divine realm intersect. It's like being called before the Supreme Court, except the justices are ancient gods and the courthouse exists in four dimensions simultaneously.
My crime? Disrupting the natural order. Breaking deals. Encouraging mortals to read the fine print. You know, doing my job.
Papa Legba is technically on my side—I'm his crossroads demon, after all, and my success reflects on him. But even he's getting pressure from the other lwa to "manage" me. Baron Samedi is supposed to testify against me, presenting evidence of every deal I've disrupted, every contract I've challenged. It should be simple—we're enemies, after all. He's got plenty of ammunition.
They've given me an ultimatum: take a case that proves I can serve both mortals and gods fairly, or lose my position entirely. The case? A priest who made a deal with Damballah, the serpent god, to bring rain to his drought-stricken village. The rain came. The crops grew. And now Damballah wants what he's owed: the priest's faith. All of it. Every prayer, every devotion, every moment of spiritual connection redirected to the serpent god alone.
If I win, the priest loses his calling. If I lose, I lose everything.
Baron's testimony is devastating and precise—and completely useless to the prosecution. Every "disruption" he describes, he frames as clever legal maneuvering. Every challenge I've made, he calls "creative interpretation." The other lwa are furious. Papa Legba looks shocked. And when I catch Baron's eye across the convergence point, something passes between us that has nothing to do with death or deals or divine politics. Later, he corners me in a space between worlds and tells me I'm making everything complicated. I tell him he's the one who just committed perjury for me. He says gods can't commit perjury, only selective truth-telling. Then he kisses me like he's been thinking about it for months, and I kiss him back like I haven't been lying to myself about wanting exactly this.
We don't talk about it. We can't talk about it. Because this case isn't about the priest—it's about whether a crossroads demon can exist who actually serves mortals instead of just processing their souls.
My grandmother must have known this moment would come. I wish she'd left me better instructions than "trust your instincts and never negotiate on an empty stomach."
Though in fairness, both pieces of advice have proven surprisingly useful lately.
Genre: Mystery
Not a metaphorical meeting or a spiritual negotiation—the actual convergence point where the mortal world and the divine realm intersect. It's like being called before the Supreme Court, except the justices are ancient gods and the courthouse exists in four dimensions simultaneously.
My crime? Disrupting the natural order. Breaking deals. Encouraging mortals to read the fine print. You know, doing my job.
Papa Legba is technically on my side—I'm his crossroads demon, after all, and my success reflects on him. But even he's getting pressure from the other lwa to "manage" me. Baron Samedi is supposed to testify against me, presenting evidence of every deal I've disrupted, every contract I've challenged. It should be simple—we're enemies, after all. He's got plenty of ammunition.
They've given me an ultimatum: take a case that proves I can serve both mortals and gods fairly, or lose my position entirely. The case? A priest who made a deal with Damballah, the serpent god, to bring rain to his drought-stricken village. The rain came. The crops grew. And now Damballah wants what he's owed: the priest's faith. All of it. Every prayer, every devotion, every moment of spiritual connection redirected to the serpent god alone.
If I win, the priest loses his calling. If I lose, I lose everything.
Baron's testimony is devastating and precise—and completely useless to the prosecution. Every "disruption" he describes, he frames as clever legal maneuvering. Every challenge I've made, he calls "creative interpretation." The other lwa are furious. Papa Legba looks shocked. And when I catch Baron's eye across the convergence point, something passes between us that has nothing to do with death or deals or divine politics. Later, he corners me in a space between worlds and tells me I'm making everything complicated. I tell him he's the one who just committed perjury for me. He says gods can't commit perjury, only selective truth-telling. Then he kisses me like he's been thinking about it for months, and I kiss him back like I haven't been lying to myself about wanting exactly this.
We don't talk about it. We can't talk about it. Because this case isn't about the priest—it's about whether a crossroads demon can exist who actually serves mortals instead of just processing their souls.
My grandmother must have known this moment would come. I wish she'd left me better instructions than "trust your instincts and never negotiate on an empty stomach."
Though in fairness, both pieces of advice have proven surprisingly useful lately.
Genre: Mystery