The young woman sitting at the scarred, crowded table, looking far less uncomfortable in these strange surroundings than she had on her previous visit, has been watching for their hostess. Elizabeth had believed it only a matter of time until Tia Dalma appeared, and she is glad not to be proved wrong.

Not that she shared this expectation with anyone; she has kept her own counsel for at least a quarter hour, poised on the edge of her chair like the coiled snake across the room.

She stands, unfurling herself from the chair with surprising speed, and plants herself in the woman's path.

"Tia Dalma," is her only greeting.