Magic Interferes In New Orleans [FICTOID]

Some rat bastard brought the Mardi Gras floats to life.

One moment they were ordinary if gaudy displays, the next they sprang to life as puzzled giants, frightened dragons.

A big battle erupted in the middle of Carrollton and Canal, with drunken spectators on the balconies roaring with approval and pelting them with brightly colored bead necklaces.

Their cheers turned to screams as the dragons breathed flames and the clown giants smashed windows.

Fortunately Prof. P. K. Poultain was on hand to put a stop to it, a professional exorcist / ghost hunter / de-hexer hired by New Orleans to put the kibosh on anybody who tried to spoil Mardi Gras with hoo-doo or magic.

It took him only a few minutes to figure out the proper counter-spell and revert the floats to their inanimate forms again.

Figuring out who did it proved only slightly more difficult.

“This is the sort of thing that’s impossible to determine on an empty stomach,” Prof. Poultain said loudly to the grateful krewes cheering him.  “Besides, my throat’s sore from shouting spells.  Let me pause for refreshment before tracking down the culprit.”

He looked around as if wondering which restaurant to choose, then settled on one seemingly at random, a family run beer-and-clam joint.

The matriarch came over with a sour glare.  “We’re closed!”

“I don’t want much,” said Prof. Poultain.  “Just microwave a side of raspberry toast with some vinegar on it.”

The matriarch frowned:  Prof. Poultain knew the secret ingredients to her potion.  “What do you want?”

“An apology to the people of New Orleans,” said Prof. Poultain.  “Then payment for all the damages.”

“Never!”

“Then you’ll spend the night in jail.  I promise you it won’t be pleasant.  Your cellmates will snore.”

The thinly veiled magical threat forced the matriarch to back down.  “How did you figure it was me?”

“Easy.  Your place was the only one undamaged on the street.”

“Don’t you want to know why I did it?”

“No.  I only want you to fix it.”

© Buzz Dixon