A/N: This tale started as an anything-goes tale for National Novel Writing Month: a mash-up of several different fandoms. Because of this, the story reads a bit split-personality.
The characters of Frank & Joe Hardy, their dad Fenton and Aunt Gertrude and the town of Bayport belong to Simon & Schuster. Those characters as portrayed here are from the 1970s TV show, "The Hardy Boys Nancy Drew Mysteries", created by Glen A. Larson. This tale is based on the episode "Voodoo Doll", original teleplay written by Stephen Ujlaki, Mark Griffiths, Michael Sloan & Christopher Crowe; the characters of Orrin Thatcher, Doctor Duvee (Dove), Claire, & Josette are from that episode, though the re-interpretation of them is my own. All the other characters & situations not mentioned or referenced above are my own creations & fault.
Quick tour for those not familiar with the show: Bayport's in MA, Joe never dated Iola, Laura Hardy is dead, Aunt Gertrude lives with the family to help raise the boys, and the supernatural is treated as real.
Also, the original episode is extremely disrespectful & inaccurate concerning Voodoo as it is practiced in New Orleans; the Hardys' attitude in this tale is directly from the episode. I've tried to correct matters. A huge thank you to Jerry Gandolfo of The Voodoo Museum in New Orleans for his assistance with terminology, religion, and culture.
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New Orleans, LA
Josette sat fidgeting in the back corner of the bar, a small hole-in-the-wall off of Bourbon Street. Nothing unusual for New Orleans, but on stage, oh, on stage…
She watched this Doctor Duveé go through his gimmicky voodoo act: silk cloths into doves, fire breathing, nothing that a dozen other stage magicians weren't doing in similar bars. But Josette's sister had worked here. Her sister had written a glowing account of what she was learning from a "doctor" she had met in this bar, and then nothing.
A scant trail, but it was the only trail Josette had.
"Now, for the most feared of all…" Duveé held up a large voodoo doll, a cheap souvenir sold by the thousands throughout the French Quarter. With a shout and a spurt of flame from the braziers behind him, he stabbed a pin through the doll's head.
Blinding pain lanced through Josette's temples. With a cry, she staggered up, only to feel hands on her, soft gentle hands that lead her away and a familiar voice telling her not to worry. All around Josette, others laughed — just part of the show. She couldn't react to that familiar voice. She wanted to ask what was going on — but she couldn't move, couldn't fight, as if a soft blanket enveloped her limbs and the pain faded…
…and then she knew nothing, only blackness.