Padre Tuti Arranga and Xavier keep a silent vigil on the body of Dorotea, inhabited by another spirit. At the same time Carmen and Carolota rifle through chests and sacks of riches. The Padre has come to realize it is not an evil spirit, thus leaving him impotent and clueless on how to answer the request Xavier made for an Exorcism. The Padre has taken to preparing Holy Water, Candles, Rosaries and his worm-eaten copy of The Roman Ritual, the source of all Catholic wisdom on The Rite of Exorcism.

The Witches bodies gurgle and twich, spasming in death throes while bones crunch and Lions fight over entrails. Haunting stillness breaks as the fire pit pops and cracks. This doesn’t seem that odd but it makes the room feels like it has an unseen presence. A scrawl in blood was scratched into the wall. “Hecate!” Padre Tuti crosses him self looking at the contents of the room. Bones, fleshless heads of every creature that lives in the marshes here. Seeing a cauldron with blonde hair and a young girl’s unmistakable sweet cherub-like face boiling among sticks and gourds. Some vile incense like skunks in heat burns the eyes.

Padre Tuti whispers “Palo Mayombe.” Xavier doesn’t know what this means. Padre says in a hoarse voice that catches in his throat, “Cuban Torture Magic, they feed the evil spirits of anger with suffering. Its rare, not something you want to find in dark tunnels beneath a Circus of Vampiros y Muertos Vivientes who feed on the flesh and souls of the innocent. Something deeply unholy lives in this forgotten place. Matamoros and Playa Bagdad have a reputation for Satanismo. Warlocks, Sorcerers and Brujos, Caníbales hiding in Sepulcros y Mausoleos marred the Undead. Nothing I have ever believed in or experienced has prepared me for tonight. I lost my faith years ago, but now I don’t know… Maybe Santa Muerte or the Virgin de Guadalupe is our only hope now. God save me! I don’t want to die down here. If we survive tonight Nuestro señor Jesucristo I will never sin or drink Tequila again.”

Almost sub-consciously within seconds he breaks this pact with God. Liquor streaming down is quivering chin. Padre Tuti’s eyes scan the horrors in this menagerie of filth. He sees mummified hands, eyes on fish hooks and pickled human spinal cords hang from strings like watchers on a mournful vigil. An evil shiver in his spine makes Padre want to burn the Witches still mumbling curses and incantations even while torn into several pieces, Padre shrieks “¡Madre misericordiosa, María, guíanos!” shaking violently while clutching his crucifix with his eyes closed.

Chasing the Lionesses away, Padre Tuti takes a glob of lard from the cauldron with a laddle and strikes the Witches torn apart bodies alight. Xavier kicks over the Palo Cauldron laying bare the stark atrocity within, ritualistic child murder. Padre Tuti says “¡Dios nos ayude en este tiempo de oscuridad!” in a whimper before taking a hearty chug of a flask concealed in his vestments. The beams above shudder under some supernatural weight. Sounds almost too high pitch to hear make both men recoil. Pressure in the air builds, Padre Tuti tries to run and Xavier has to dash after him.

A sudden wind blows out the candles. Creaking boards and gasps fill the blackness. They keep thinking they hear an ugly music coming from the Catacombs. Its low and easy to fool ones self that it could be echoing tides, or hooting birds, an owl. But there is something haunting about it. A baritone, a cruel violin, chaos of symbols and flues clashing like a whisper of the dying far off, out of this maelstrom of sound the horrific wailing of the Witches makes it unmistakable as not just ominous but threatening of some demonic war band coming for them from the depths of these crypts.

This has a direct impact of Ozma’s spirit and Esma. They have an instinctual revulsion towards this cacophony of violence. Ozma in Dorotea’s body has broken out in sweats, she jumps violently at Padre Tuti. Seizing his neck with a snarl, then like nothing happened begins twirling and dancing like a ballet, hurling herself into walls while her eyelids flutter, making sounds not of this world. Xavier and Padre Tuti push Esma back, who is unconsolable. The Holy Water was smashed. Padre must bless a new container full of Holy Water. In Spanish he prays over bottles of rainwater streaming from above. Making the sign of the cross. Dorotea’s siblings hold hands around her, tears in eyes. They try to smile at each other assuringly, repeating the sermon Padre Tuti reads aloud.

“Dios, que para la salvación del género humano hiciste brotar de las aguas el sacramento de la nueva vida, escucha con bondad, nuestra oración e infunde el poder de tu benedicón sobre ésta agua, para que sirviendo a tus misterios asuma el efecto del la divina gracia que espante los demonios y expuse las dolencias y así, al ser rociados, tus fieles sean liberados de todo daño; que en sitio que será asperjado con ésta agua no residan los espíritus del mal y se alejen todas las insidias del oculto enemigo; haz que tus fieles manteniéndose firmes por la invocación de tu santo nombre sean libres de todas asechanzas. Te lo pedimos por Christo nuestro Señor, Amen.”

“Dios todopoderoso, fuente y origen de la vida alma y del cuerpo bendice ésta agua, que vamos a usar conde para implorar el perdón de nuestros pedados y alcanzar la ayuda de tu gracia contra toda enfermedad y asechanza del enigma. Concédenos, Señor, por tu misericordia, que las aguas viven siempre broten salvadoras, para que podamos acercarnos a ti con el corazón limpio y evitemos todo peligro de alma y cuerpo por Jesucristo, nuestro Señor, Amén”

“San Miguel Arcángel, defiendas en la lucha; sé nuestro amparo contra la perversidad y asechanzas del demonio. Que Dios manifesté sobre él su poder, es nuestra humilde súplica: y tu, oh! Príncipe de la milicia celestial, con el poder que Dios te ha conferido, arroja al inferno a satanás y a los demás espíritus malignos que vagan el mundo para la perdición del las almas. Amén.”

To begin the Rite of Exorcism. Padre Tuti gives Xavier instructions to bind Dorotea’s hands and feet loosely. Enough she cannot assail them with violence or allow the demon to attempt suicide, but not so tight she will break her own bones going into convulsions. Chanting rhythmic Latin and Spanish verses and anointing Dorotea’s forehead with holy water and sacred oil. Padre begins the Latin verses of the Roman Ritual for Exorcizing Evil Spirits. Dorotea gnashes her teeth and to keep her from breaking them a wooden crucifix is placed in her mouth to prevent the demons from biting off her tongue while she spews curses and incantations of Hecate. The Padre raises his voice over Dorotea’s babbling, booming sacred words of power into life. In Latin he recites…

“Prínceps gloriosíssime coeléstis milítiae, sancte Míchael Archángele, defénde nos in proélio et colluctatióne, quae nobis est advérsus príncipes et potestátes, advérsus múndi rectóres tenebrárum hárum, contra spirituália nequítiae, in coeléstibus. Véni in auxílium hóminum; quos Deus creávit inexterminábiles, et ad imáginem similitúdinis suae fécit, et a tyránnide diáboli emit prétio mágno. Proeliáre hódie cum beatórum Angelórum exércitu proélia Dómini, sícut pugnásti ólim contra dúcem supérbiae lucíferum et ángelus éjus apostáticos; et non valuérunt, néque lócus invéntus est eórum ámplius in caélo. Sed projéctus est dráco ílle mágnus, sérpens antíquus, qui vocátur Diábolus et Sátanas, qui sedúcit univérsum órbem; et projéctus est in térram, et ángeli éjus cum íllo míssi sunt. En antíquus inimícus et homicída veheménter eréctus est. Transfigurátus in ángelum lúcis, cum tóta malignórum spirítuum catérva láte círcuit et invádit térram, ut in ea déleat nómen Dei et Christi éjus, animásque ad aetérnae glóriae corónam destinátas furétur, máctet ac pérdat in sempitérnum intéritum.

Vírus nequítiae suae, támquam flúmen immundíssimum, dráco maléficus transfúndit in hómines depravátos ménte et corrúptos córde; spíritum mendácii, impietátis et blasphémiae; halitúmque mortíferum luxúriae, vitiórum ómnium et iniquitátum. Ecclésiam, Ágni immaculáti spónsam, vaférrimi hóstes replevérunt amaritudínibus, inebriárunt absínthio; ad ómnia desiderabília éjus ímpias misérunt mánus. Úbi sédes beatíssimi Pétri et Cáthedra veritátis ad lúcem géntium constitúta est, ibi thrónum posuérunt abominatiónis et impietátis suae; ut percússo Pastóre, et grégem dispérdere váleant. Adésto ítaquae, Dux invictíssime, pópulo Dei contra irrumpéntes spiritáles nequítias, et fac victóriam. Te custódem et patrónum sáncta venerátur Ecclésia; te gloriátur defensóre advérsus terréstrium et infernórum nefárias potestátes; tíbi trádidit Dóminus ánimas redemptórum in supérna felicitáte locándas. Deprecáre Deum pácis, ut cónterat Sátanam sub pédibus nóstris, ne últra váleat captívos tenére hómines, et Ecclésiae nocére. Óffer nóstras préces in conspéctu Altíssimi, ut cíto antícipent nos misericórdiae Dómini, et apprehéndas dracónem serpéntem antíquum, qui est diábolus et sátanas, ac ligátum míttas in abýssum, ut non sedúcat ámplius géntes.

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Exorcizámos te, ómnis immúnde spíritus, ómnis satánic potéstas, ómnis infernális adversárii, ómnis légio, ómnis congregátio et sécta diabólica, in nómine et virtúte Dómini nóstri Jésu Chrísti, eradicáre et effugáre a Dei Ecclésia, ab animábus ad imáginem Dei cónditis ac pretióso divíni Ágni sánguine redémptis. Non últra áudeas, sérpens callidíssime, decípere humánum génus, Dei Ecclésiam pérsequi, ac Dei eléctos excútere et cribráre sicut tríticum. Ímperat tíbi Deus altíssimus, cui in mágna tua supérbia te símile habéri ádhuc praesúmis; qui ómnes hóminess vult sálvos fíeri, et ad agnitiónem veritátis veníre.

Ímperat tíbi Déus Pater; ímperat tíbi Deus Fílius; ímperat tíbi Déus Spíritus Sánctus. Ímperat tíbi majéstas Chrísti, aetérnum Dei Vérbum cáro factum, qui pro salúte géneris nóstri tua invídia pérditi, humiliávit semetípsum fáctus obédiens úsque ad mórtem; qui Ecclésiam súam aedificávit súpra fírmam pétram, et pórtas ínferi advérsus eam númquam esse praevalitúras edíxit, cum ea ipse permansúrus ómnibus diébus úsque ad consummatiónem saéculi.

Ímperat tíbi sacraméntum Crúcis, omniúmque christiánae fídei Mysteriórum virtus. Imperat tibit excélsa Dei Génitrix Virgo Maria, quae superbíssimum cáput tuum a prímo instánti immaculátae suae conceptiónis in sua humilitáte contrívit. Ímperat tíbi fídes sanctórum Apostolórum Pétri et Páuli, et ceterórum Apostolórum. Ímperat tíbi Mártyrum sánguis, ac pia Sanctórum et Sanctárum ómnium intercéssio.

Érgo, dráco maledícte et ómnis légio Diabólica, adjurámus te per Déum vívum, per Déum vérum, per Déum sánctum, per Déum qui sic diléxit múndum, ut Fílium suum unigénitum dáret, ut ómnis qui crédit in eum non péreat, sed hábeat vítam aetérnam: céssa decípere humánas creatúras, eísque aetérnae perditiónis venénum propináre: désine Ecclésiae nocére et éjus libertáti láqueros injícere.

Váde sátana, invéntor et magíster ómnis falláciae, hóstis humánae salútis. Da lócum Chrísto, in quo níhil invenísti de opéribus tuis; da lócum Ecclésia Uni, Sanctae, Cathólicae, et Apostólicae, quam Chrístus ípse acquisívit sánguine suo. Humiliáre sub poténti mánu Dei; contremísce et éffuge, invocáto a nóbis sáncto et terríbili nominé Jésu, quem ínferi trémunt, cui Virtútes caelórum et Potestátes et Dominatiónes subjéctae sunt, quem Chérubim et Séraphim indeféssis vócibus láudant, dicéntes: Sánctus, Sanctus, Sanctus Dóminus Déus Sábaoth.”

Xavier strokes her hair trying to smile while Padre Tuti becomes more and more intense. Struggling to keep candles lit as if a great hurricane batters them from the Catacombs. Strange cruel light flashes in the dark corridors beyond as if lightning is contained with in this unholy place. The Padre has a look of terror in his eyes, all involved curl their fingers so tight they rip nails backwards and draw blood from their palms. Dorotea’s sisters wail and Esma looks deflated, dormant as if reliving every horror she has known.

Dorotea’s body, inhabited by Ozma jumps to her feet, smashing Padre Tuti in the mouth with a balled fist, kicking Xavier in the chest, slamming Carmen and Carolota’s heads into a wall across the room. The Possessed body of Dorotea shakes as she holds Esma by the neck choking the life from her. Ozma is not alone in Dorotea’s flesh. Digging her nails into Esma’s arm! Ozma screams, “Mother something is wrong! A horrible spirit is pushing me out!” She kicks her feet and goes into convulsions. Both gasping as they hear something guttural in Dorotea’s body.

Persephone in her Manifestation of Hecate thrashes behind Dorotea’s eyes, filling her veins with hate, her belly bulges and her arms and legs thrash so violently they can barely hold her down to keep her from breaking her own bones in distress. Dorotea’s eyes burn with hostility, her jaw is dislocating and splits down the middle like an Insect as she screams incantations in forgotten tongues of the Mycenaean and Phoenician ancients. Dorotea tries to blind her self with savage slashes at her own eyes. It takes the combined effort of all to keep her from permanently injuring her self.

Beyond the Exorcism Carolota and Carmen dash to find some vessel of power or magical fetish to aid in the operation. Opening box as large as a coffin they both turn to the shrill final scream of Dorotea and ominous silence before they look inside. Something grotesque slithers to life in the coffin sized box. Dorotea goes limp as Esma screams and cradles her head. Whispering things only a mother speaking to a dying child should ever say or hear. To her this is not Dorotea’s body, but that of her sacrificed daughter who was taken by Barstowe’s necromantic corpse magic.

Carmen and Carolota don’t have time to react before a corpselike hand reaches out to them from within the box. They shudder and crawl away as a corpse sewn together of 100 missing children sits up wearing a flower decorated hat that screams out, “Mother!” The Sisters scramble away, cowering near Dorotea’s lifeless body, that also snaps back to life. Horrified both recoil into an alcove where Barstowe and his three accomplices, the Djinn-Magi Shapeshifters, stand holding knives.

The Patchwork Corpse runs into Esma’s arms. While Dorotea sits up dazed saying, “I come back to life from the void.” Barstowe has a nasty crooked smile, stepping into the candle light. Dorotea too startled to fully digest the sight, sees the hateful 8 foot tall corpse of Sorsos The Sorcerer lurking on Barstowe’s shoulder. His Djinn now have eyes of fire while their Damascus Steel daggers sparkle in firelight. Xavier who left to gather guns and wood to make stakes turns a corner and sees Barstowe and his Sages enter the room with his family, he sends the Lions forward and charges behind with a heavy belt fed machine gun ready for a fight.

As he reaches the room Xavier sees the Lions ripping into the Turbans of the Djinn Sages. Barstowe catching hell from the Patchwork Corpse who has leapt on his back poking his chest with a knife. Carolota and Carmen are knocked back as the Djinn Magi grabbing Barstowe. Fleeing in a move like a shadow streaking by. Every one is startled and silent as the Lions streak by in pursuit.

There is silence. Just the sound of water dripping into deep pools echoing in endless tunnels, chittering of bats flying by and the squeals of rats rolling off floating logs and discarded jugs. Collecting their weapons and what treasure they can carry, they move deeper into the blackness. Entering flooded tunnels above their ankles, every step sounds like horses galloping.

The tunnel bleeds into an endless chamber with statues covering the walls in alcoves with eyes peering from behind saints and christian figures hewn in marble. Rosita stands before them with her arms out like Virgin Mary, wearing a white night dress. Mouth scarlet of blood and eyes glowing like gold coins in candlelight.

From behind them Freaks, Clowns and Carnies emerge from laying in wait. Pancho, standing beside Carolota and Carmen has had enough. Demanding Rosita come to him. She obliges and they embrace. Her grasp tightening until Pancho panics, pulls his pistol and shoots her in the armpit trying to peel himself away.

Carmen and Carolota jump on her, putting a stick between Rosita’s teeth and pulling her fingers backwards. Rosita shoves Pancho onto the flooded chamber knee deep floor, grabbing her sisters and disappearing in flight.

As the Carnies, Freaks and Clowns attack there is a deafening sound from above. An impact that knocks the wind from lungs and fills the chamber with white hot flash of light before a wave of powdered brick and sharp stone rushes into fill the vacuum. Dynamite shatters the roof letting in the dawn light. As the stone roof tumbles down on them they hear the US cavalry trumpets blaring “Garryowen,” a song of the US Cavalry. While the Sisters flash into the dark side of the sky.

Pancho grabbing Xavier says, “Come on Cabrón! We cannot afford to be taken alive.” Rushing back into the tunnels. Giving a half hearted farwell the Soldada Commander Martiza waves and follows her guerrilla compatriots. In the aftermath of the Massacre, ropes are thrown down to the survivors. Dorotea, Esma and the Patchwork Corpse. Being pulled form the Tomb they see General Pershing and the Punitive Expedition who has Barstowe bloody and in chains.

Smiling General Pershing says, “Lord Hiram Tiberus God-damn Barstowe. Why the hell are you still alive to vex me after we were all so glad to hear you had died? You British swine!” Barstowe glowers, he looks over his shoulder at the red rising Sun and his exposed skin catches on fire. Like some strange magic Barstowe’s chains drop while a black shape streaks like a comet into the body of General Pershing… Like breathing in ashes in a fire, while erasing its self from the onlookers minds and memory.

No one notices right away The Magi and Dead Girls were never taken alive. Turning to mist in the shadows and finding some deep pools of darkness to wait for the night. Dorotea, Esma and The Patchwork Corpse who is Ozma are not even interviewed. With dirty faces and grubby clothes they melt into the Mexican peasants who came to see the end of the battle where the Americano’s showed up just in time to set up cameras and stage photos and did none of the dying.

With a last look Dorotea sees the Carnival Henchmen being hanged against the sunrise. The tunnels beneath the Barstowe European Circus smoke from fiery pits where unknown horrors in crypts and catacombs wither piles of strange and deformed corpses. Dorotea hopes the Witches of the Song stay dead and give the region peace and quiet.

She feels an urge to hunt with a bow and play the harp. Things outside of her life experience up to this point. She wonders if this is the talents of one of her Holy Guardian Angels. She feels like a new dawn is coming and she feels good about the choices she made, but maybe she should have shown more mercy to those that did not show it to her. In the future she plans to take the more temperate path of wisdom, love and light. Her only wish is that those suffering are healed.

Questions linger in her heart as to the true nature of her friends Hermes and Mercury and what became of Persephone? Where is the evil magicians Sorsos and the devilish undead occultist Barstowe? Most of all she wants to know where her Sisters have gone and if Xavier and Pancho Villa truly escaped the roving bands of vengeful American soldiers in the tombs beneath Playa Bagdad. What of Aries and the fiend Mithras? Why does she feel like every thing she accomplished could unravel at any moment? Most of all, would Ashtoreth and Demeter be proud of the woman she becomes?