Voodoo Academy

by Theophilus Monroe

  “Can’t eat just one?”

  “Honey, my appetite is insatiable… especially when it comes to things fruity.”

  “We’re still talking about Skittles, right?” I asked.

  “Yes, I’m addicted to Skittles, too!” Paul said, pinching his side. “But I can almost feel the love handles growing from my side with every bite. It’s disgusting!”

  I shook my head. “You have like three grams of fat on your whole body. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

  “That’s always how it starts,” Pauli said, sighing. “One skittle… next thing you know I’ll be the size of a walrus.”

  “You’d make a fabulous walrus,” I said, grinning.

  “Flab-ulous, honey. At least in my college I’d have extra rolls to keep my snakes warm at night.”

  “That’s the most disgusting image I’ve ever pictured in my mind.”

  “What can I say, except, you’re welcome?” Pauli sang, doing his best impression of a Tiki god.

  The door to our classroom swung open, and Nico came busting through, clearly frustrated. Sauron followed closely behind. Ellie was already in the room, sitting in the front row, her pen in hand, ready to scribble down whatever our teacher might tell us. Philosophy of the Arts… Ellie looked nervously over her shoulder as Pauli and I, sitting in the back row, bullshitted about our morning experiences. It was like she wanted to interject something but was too shy to let whatever was on her mind fly.

  When Nico came in, though, any pretense of her being anything more than a wallflower went out the window.

  Nico and Sauron selected seats in the middle of the room. In truth, if every class here had only five students, it was a bit odd that a classroom would have so many seats to choose from.

  “She’s a fraud,” Nico said to Sauron. “Not half as powerful as he would have been.”

  Sauron just shrugged. “Your college has presided over each of the last three years’ classes. She can’t be that bad.”

  “You don’t have any idea,” Nico said. “Half the morning was spent talking about how dead people are people, too… I mean, I thought half the point of raising zombies was so that they could be your slaves, do whatever the fuck you want them to do. What is this aspect good for if I can’t even do that?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Well, would you want someone raising your corpse postmortem and forcing you to be their slave?” I asked.

  Nico turned toward me, staring at me as if death itself filled his eyes. Given his aspect, it probably did. “Who are you to speak? Aren’t you a Mulledy?”

  “What of it?” I asked, feigning ignorance over the relevance of his question.

  “Your family ran the harshest plantation in New Orleans, everyone knows it.”

  “I’m not my ancestors. You don’t know me at all.”

  “It’s in your blood,” Nico said, looking me up and down. “And based on your appearance, you’re still benefiting from great-great-granddaddy’s wealth. The money he made on the back of people like me. Face it, you don’t belong here.”

  Anger bubbled up inside of me. I wanted to rip his face off. I was chosen to be here… and no one hated my family’s past more than I did.

  Let it go…

  When I get angry enough that Isabelle can feel it, you know it’s intense. She can’t read my mind, but she can certainly feel the heat rising to the top of my head when I get pissed.

  I turned and coughed twice over my right shoulder.

  “The cold never bothered me, anyway,” I said, grinning. I couldn’t help but follow up Isabelle’s comment with an obvious Frozen reference… in spite of the fact that I was well aware no one else in the room would get it. After Pauli had effectively serenaded me with a Disney song already, I was primed to follow suit.

  Nico looked confused. “What a weirdo,” he said, nudging Sauron, who obediently chuckled as though she were obliged to conform to Nico’s dick-headedness.

  “The past is in the past… let it go,” I blurted out, trying to make some sense of my comment by quoting more of the Disney number.

  Nico turned around, daggers in his eyes. “Let go of your trust fund, and I’ll see what I can do.”

  Pauli put his hand on my arm. “Just ignore him, he’s not worth it.”

  I nodded. Though a part of me was irked by the truth of what Nico said. Was I benefiting from my ancestors’ wealth? Money they’d accrued through slavery? I mean, not technically. Most of that money was lost a century ago during the Great Depression. Still, my grandfather had benefited from the family name and went to medical school… used his money earned as a surgeon to invest in tech. That’s where most of the family’s wealth came from today. Still, I’d never really thought about it that way. If my family hadn’t owned the plantation, would my grandfather have ever been in the position… I mean, it isn’t like he didn’t work his way through medical school and make a smart decision on his own. Suddenly I felt pangs of empathy for Nico. I didn’t know his background, I didn’t know why he was so bitter. I suppose there’s no excuse for acting like a dick. At the same time, I didn’t feel guilty about being a Mulledy. You can’t control what you’re born into. And I’d had my share of sorrows in life, too. No trust fund could compensate for the loss of my parents… the loss of my childhood.

  Pauli is right, Isabelle said. He isn’t worth it. We don’t have to be victims, you know. Because we choose not to be.

  I couldn’t reply to Isabelle audibly. Instead, I grabbed a pen and jotted down my thoughts.

  “You don’t blame me? For what my family did to you?” I wrote.

  I don’t even blame them…

  “But you would be justified if you did,” I wrote.

  If I did that, I’d still be a slave to my anger, to my resentment. They’d still own me.

  “But you’re still not free. Trapped in my head.”

  You might see it that way. Everyone has limitations. And liberties. It’s our choice which ones we allow to define us. Look at Vilokan. You can see the handiwork of creative people all around, in the buildings, in the art on these school walls. Doesn’t look like the work of slaves.

  “But they were. Food doesn’t grow down here. They still depended on their masters and worked the plantations.”

  Sounds more like a people who found a way to be free, in spite of it all.

  I quickly turned the page in my spiral notebook as the door swung open. A stout middle-aged man burst through the door, huffing and puffing as though he’d just ran a marathon. “I am Hougan Asogwe Jim,” the man said, the curls of his black-and-gray mustache fluttering around his lips. He wrote the name “Jim” on the chalkboard, as if any of us would have difficulty with the spelling of his name. If he’d spelled the other part—Asogwe—it might have been helpful. “Welcome to Philosophy of the Arts. If you learn nothing else as aspiring Hougans and Mambos, then learn this: the primary goal and activity of Voodoo is to serve the Loa. In turn, they will grant you health, protection, and favor.”

  I rolled my eyes and immediately flipped open my notebook and took pen to paper: “What did you just tell me, again, about these people not being slaves?”

  Chapter Twelve

  Isabelle seemed to enjoy the general education classes. I found it almost impossible to focus. My mind was always spinning after my morning sessions with Oggie. I couldn’t wait until each afternoon when I’d get to practice what I’d learned with Mikah. In the meantime, even the classes that sounded interesting proved dull. Candles and Oils involved little more than memorizing the processes of what certain oils did, what they did when added to candle wax, and how they might interact with summoning rituals that none of us had even learned yet. That’s because Summoning 101—a course that sounded more interesting than it proved to be—had heretofore been little more than a series of warnings about what not to do when summoning a Loa. Dollcraft… again, so far it was just a bunch of moralizing about how Voodoo dolls should be used for healing, to benefit people—not for torture. And the History
of the Loa… well, it was a history class. It was interesting, during the brief intervals between my noddings off.

  But Isabelle… she was eating it up. Good thing, too. She’d ensure that we passed all our tests. What’s the point of studying, myself, when my soul-bound familiar relishes in it and can give me the answers at a moment’s notice? I suppose being polar opposites, personality wise, isn’t always a recipe for conflict. Sometimes it means we can complement each other’s weaknesses. She basically does my studying and homework, and I make sure she has a great view of Oggie’s chiseled rear during our morning sessions. How could a girl complain about that?

  Isabelle found a way…

  He’s your teacher. It’s not appropriate!

  “But isn’t that what makes it so much fun?” I’d asked in response. “It’s the thrill of the taboo!”

  In truth, I suspected Isabelle had crushed on Mikah. Not that he’s a bad-looking guy, but I didn’t find him particularly attractive either. Just kinda… blah. And the kid had no sense of style. As I walked into our afternoon practice session, I almost busted my gut when I saw he was wearing pinstriped pants with a plaid shirt.

  Plaid with stripes?

  No… just no.

  I could see why Isabelle liked him. I mean, apart from Oggie, he was the only one in this whole school who even knew she existed.

  “I think your problem,” Mikah said through his thick Ethiopian accent, “is that you and Isabelle can’t maintain focus well enough together to wield your soul blade.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If I let my mind wander, for even a second… start thinking about something random… my blade disappears every time. You said that your blade was forged in the ether by a combination of elementals, right?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “The earthen element had gravitated toward her. It was also the first one to approach us.”

  Mikah shrugged. “I mean, I wield an earthen blade myself. It’s a very stable element. It requires a sure footing, a clear sense of purpose.”

  “That certainly describes Isabelle,” I said.

  “But not you so much.”

  I shook my head. “We’re soul-bound, but definitely not soul-mates.”

  Let me try… allow me to take the reins.

  I cringed.

  “She is talking, isn’t she?” Mikah asked. Apparently, when she speaks, my eyes have a tendency to wander. It was a tell he’d picked up on quickly.

  “She wants me to allow her to take over,” I said.

  “You can do that?” Mikah asked.

  “Yeah, but it means I have to relax, and an awful headache follows after, once I’m back in control.”

  “It’s worth a shot,” Mikah said. “Not to mention, if you’re the only one practicing, it makes sense that she wouldn’t be able to attune her will to the blade.”

  I chewed my lip. He had a point… even though I didn’t want to admit it. I wasn’t some kind of control freak. In truth, I didn’t mind it when Isabelle was in charge. If anything, she was more responsible with our body than I was. In truth, I felt bad for her… always watching, never doing. Allowing her to take over from time to time helped assuage my pangs of conscience. I hated the idea that I was keeping her in a kind of mental prison. She had lived as a slave in her earthly life. The last thing I wanted to do was limit her freedom now. I just hated those damn headaches. They usually put me out of commission for a couple hours. They were so intense that I couldn’t even see straight… my vision was blurred. It also took a while to regain my composure. I was incredibly clumsy after I’d resumed control. Not to mention, it was hard to prevent my mind from seizing the reins. Any intense emotion, and my body would thrust me back into the driver’s seat. We weren’t sure why. Probably just because my body had been made for my soul… they “fit” together right, genetically, DNA-wise, or whatever. At least that was my working theory.

  “All right,” I said, nodding resolutely. “We’ll do it. This is the last thing on my schedule today, so I suppose I’ll survive the headache.”

  Mikah smiled widely. “So how does this work?”

  “I just need to relax… but that’s easier said than done.”

  “One second, I have an idea,” Mikah said, jogging toward the far wall of the gymnasium. He reached into his backpack and pulled out a bottle. Practically skipping back toward me, he handed it to me.

  “Drugs? Seriously?”

  “It’s not illegal,” Mikah said. “An herbal concoction I threw together in class. Helps with my anxiety.”

  I looked at him incredulously. “You made this?”

  “Mostly passionflower and valerian root. Nothing complex.”

  “I know nothing about any of that,” I admitted. “How many should I take?”

  “Two usually does it for me.”

  I nodded, gently shaking the bottle until two makeshift capsules landed in my left palm. “You’re sure this is safe?”

  “Completely. I mean, I don’t think you’re supposed to take these herbs if you’re pregnant.”

  I cocked my head sideways and shrugged. That certainly wasn’t an issue. There was more action in most old folks’ homes than I’d had in the last several months. In fact, as I understood it, there was more action in most old folks’ homes than there was in the French Quarter on a Saturday night… so I guess that wasn’t necessarily an effective comparison. Still, the pregnancy risk was exactly zero.

  “One second,” I said, jogging toward the water fountain on the far wall of the gymnasium. “I can’t take pills dry.”

  You don’t have to do this… if you don’t want to.

  “No, I do,” I said, tossing the pills into my mouth before guzzling a mouthful of water from the fountain. “Not to mention, it’s worth testing this herbal idea out. If it works…”

  Could come in handy… if we need my abilities.

  “Worth a shot,” I said. “Just behave yourself with Mikah.”

  What do you mean? Isabelle asked, acting as if she had no idea what I was talking about.

  “I know how you feel about him… not like I understand it. Not that he’s ugly, just…”

  Isabelle giggled. He’s cute!

  “Yeah, in the Steve Urkel kind of way…” We’d recently binged the first season of Family Matters on Prime. A part of my overall obsession with the 1990s—something Ashely never quite understood. Still, she begrudgingly sat through the first few episodes with me.

  Urkel is cute! Seriously! Look past the character. Just look at him!

  “You get my point,” I said. “Just behave…”

  Before I could finish my thought, an overwhelming rush came over me… not an energy rush. Like the opposite. I took a deep breath… and Isabelle exhaled.

  “It worked!” Isabelle said.

  I suppose it did, I thought, somehow hearing my voice echo back to me within the ethereal chamber of my mind. Just remember that… I paused, interrupted by my echo. How the hell do you deal with this echo?

  Isabelle laughed. While she used my vocal cords, technically, my voice sounded very different when she spoke. “Focus on listening through our ears, not through your consciousness. The echo won’t go away entirely, but it kind of helps me ignore it.”

  I wanted to nod… but couldn’t. Instead, I felt my feet leave the ground as we skipped back toward Mikah. I hadn’t skipped in years… though I suppose if I hadn’t had any control over my legs for a while, I couldn’t rule out the possibility that I might if I were in Isabelle’s situation.

  “Mikah!” Isabelle shouted. “I’m Isabelle!”

  Mikah smiled widely. “I guess it worked!”

  “It did!” Isabelle said, not even pretending to hide her excitement.

  Play it cool, girl! I urged. Not like I wanted to encourage her to garnish Mikah’s affections, but I didn’t want her to annoy him completely, either.

  “I can tell… just by looking at you,” Mikah said.

  “What do you mean?” Isabelle asked.


  “It’s in your eyes, kind of crazy.”

  “It isn’t the first time I’ve been in control,” Isabelle said, as I felt the corners of my mouth curl upward. “Our eyes don’t change.”

  Mikah squinted slightly. “It isn’t the color. More like a different kind of sparkle. Less squinty and cynical. More doe-eyed innocence.”

  I’m not squinty! I protested.

  Isabelle ignored me, her attentions squarely fixed on Mikah. I could feel a warmth fill our cheeks.

  You’re blushing… No, don’t blush!

  “Ready to practice summoning your soul blade?” Mikah asked.

  Isabelle nodded.

  “Okay, Annabelle, if you can hear me…”

  “She can hear you,” Isabelle said.

  “Good. Annabelle, focus just like you did before… if you can. Try to remember what it felt like when the blade formed in your hand.”

  I wanted to roll my eyes, but I didn’t have any control over them. What made Mikah an expert on summoning soul blades forged from multiple elementals by dual-souled bodies, anyway? Still, I had to admit, there was no harm in trying.

  Isabelle extended her hand. “Beli!” she shouted with more vigor than I would have. That girl has no idea how to keep it cool.

  I could feel the blade form in our hand. Again, pink and green energies swirled around it. This wasn’t the hard part… I’d managed to get this far myself. The challenge was holding onto the blade long enough to do something with it. Before, as soon as I tried to move the blade at all, the thing would dissipate back into the ether.

  “Good,” Mikah said, extending his hand. His own blade, a broadsword of sorts, formed in his hand. It was larger than my blade. He gripped it with his second hand. His blade glowed with green, earthen magic. I wanted to chuckle at how ridiculous his massive blade looked in the hands of such a skinny guy. But I needed to focus…

  Isabelle slowly moved the blade. I could hear it almost hum through the air and felt a strange resistance as she moved it.

  “You’re doing great,” Mikah said, now swinging his blade in a figure eight. “Follow my pattern.”