Meanwhile, Wanda Maximoff - the Scarlet Witch - tossed and turned in her sleep as the Voodoo drums beat through her skull and shifted her dreams.
"Only room for one gypsy witch around here," the Gypsy Queen said, "so let's make you something else."
Dreams of writhing serpents and the dead rising from their graves and figures dancing uninhibited around bonfires. Letting the loahs enter them, letting them fill them with power and joy.
Wanda's hands slid between her legs and she thrust deep into her snatch, letting the sensual power fill her.
"Yesss. Yessss. Yesssssss."
And as the power entered her, it entered the Vision as well, the energy crackling around him.
* * *
Wanda slowly opened her eyes.
"Ohhh, mah head."
"Mistress?"
She turned to see the Vision standing there, dressed in a tuxedo.
"Are you well, mistress?"
"Where am ah?"
"New Orleans, of course, mistress, in your mansion."
"Mah mansion?"
Wanda looked around at the opulent bedroom, and then down at herself, at the black skin.
"Mah body! What happened?"
"You have been transfigured, Mistress. You are now Wanda Laveau, the Scarlet Mambo, queen of New Orleans, half black and half gypsy."
"Scarlet Mambo?"
Then Wanda moaned. Yes, she could feel the power in her. The Voodoo power. The power to raise the dead as her slaves, to toy with men and women's thoughts and release their inhibitions, to draw the gods into her body and the bodies of others.
"Shall I pleasure you, my queen?"
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