Myths and Magic: An Epic Fantasy and Speculative Fiction Boxed Set

by K.N. Lee

  “Eliza! Eliza!”

  Ms. Vivian shook me hard and when I could finally open my eyes, I was staring at the ceiling. My forehead was soaking wet with perspiration, and I had to blink hard to chase away the double vision.

  “Oh thank God!” Vivian shouted.

  She knelt over me and placed a wet cloth on my forehead. When I tried to sit up, she pushed against my shoulder.

  “Stay still, sweetheart. You need to let yourself recover. Oh honey, can you forgive me? I didn’t think it was so bad. Honestly, I thought you were just being a little wussy about it.”

  I had to chuckle at her candid confession. At least she was being honest.

  “I wish I was only exaggerating,” I said.

  “You have more power than you realize. The stronger the reaction, the stronger your effect. I haven’t heard of a healer so gifted since the original Marie Laveau.”

  “Who?”

  “Your great-great-grandmother. But that’s a long story. One that will have to wait. You need to purge yourself or you’ll be sick all day.”

  I scrunched my face. “I need to what?”

  She looked concerned, “You’re telling me that you’ve never purged?”

  “I didn’t know I was supposed to.”

  Hell, I didn’t even know what I was until today!

  “You need to purge your spirit. All the negative energy you just took in needs a host to thrive. It will tear your soul apart if you don’t banish it.”

  “How do I do that?”

  “I will teach you another time when you’re feeling more up to it. You will need a thorough cure all to rid yourself of everything that is surely built up. I will do it for you this time.”

  I wasn’t going to argue. Anything she tried to teach me while my mind was this clouded would be gone in a few minutes.

  She disappeared for a minute and returned with an herb that smelled like mint. She held it in front of my mouth, and I opened without being asked. It tasted bitter, but she motioned to chew and swallow, so I did.

  As she held her hands together to pray I closed my eyes, listening to the words even though I could not understand them. A peaceful warmth bubbled in my chest and spread to my limbs. For the first time I could remember there was nothing inside but an incredible peace. I almost completely forgot the torture I had just been through. This was a high I could get used to.

  “There now.” Vivian’s voice interrupted my tranquility. “Don’t you feel better?”

  “Much better. Thank you.”

  I sat up and relished in the fact that there was no stiffness and no aches to be consumed by. Samuel sat on the couch watching us with apology written all over his face. I reached out to comfort him but thought better of it. I was finally feeling better and I wanted to enjoy it a little while longer.

  “Samuel, would you mind drawing a white bath for Eliza? I want to have a minute of girl talk with my niece.”

  “Of course, Ms. Vivian.”

  “No,” I protested, “that won’t be necessary, but thank you. I can take a hot shower when I get back to the hotel.”

  “I had Samuel collect your things from the hotel,” Vivian informed me. “They are already waiting for you in your room.”

  “Oh, Ms. Vivian, I wouldn’t want to impose. I’m really just fine at the hotel.”

  “My niece does not stay at a hotel,” she said with finality. “The room you’ll be staying in was your mother’s. It’s been empty since she died. I thought it only fitting you be the first to make use of it.”

  Realizing there was no use in fighting back, I gave in. “Well, thank you for the hospitality.” Vivian nodded to Samuel, and he excused himself. I moved myself to the couch again. Vivian sat beside me, clutching my hand in between hers. The way she looked at me I knew we were about to have a very personal discussion, and I wanted to run for the hills.

  “Eliza, is it that intense when you…are intimate?”

  I flushed hot and giggled as if I was a schoolgirl. “Ms. Vivian!”

  “It’s Aunt Vivian to you, Miss Eliza.”

  “Yes, ma’am. The truth is, I don’t know what that would feel like.”

  “You mean you haven’t ever?”

  “Aunt Vivian, I haven’t ever even held hands with a man. Contact always hurt too much to even consider having any kind of intimacy with anyone.”

  “Oh, you poor thing! Sweetheart, it’s an entirely different sensation when happiness and lust are involved.”

  “I don’t understand. What does the mood have to do with anything?”

  “It’s really very simple. Happiness can’t be cured. Love has the ability to mask even the darkest of energy. The feeling of falling in love, that excitement in a first kiss, the passion that comes with lovemaking. It’s all enough to make a person’s heart forget there was any turmoil inside to begin with. At least temporarily. Oh, and you’ve missed out.”

  Embarrassed by the information I had just revealed to this woman I hardly knew, I fidgeted. I’d never even tried to let happiness in.

  “Excuse me ladies.” Samuel showed himself at the end of the staircase. “Ms. Eliza, your bath is ready.”

  “Go on, you will do well to get the relaxation.”

  The way he was so formal with Aunt Vivian made it look as if he worked for her. Perhaps he was her butler or caretaker? Vivian waved me away and told me the potions mixed in the bath would help heal me further, and I needed no more convincing to take her up on the offer.

  “Eliza,” Vivian called to me just before I left the room. “I think it would be good for you to learn about Marie Laveau. It would help you better understand who and what you are. Would you come with me to the cemetery in the morning?”

  “I would love to!” I said with excitement radiating through my body. To see my great-great-grandmother’s resting place would be a wonderful way to learn about my heritage, and I was honored she asked.

  I followed Samuel up the stairs and once we were out of sight, he stopped abruptly and turned to face me.

  “I hope you understand I really don’t mean to eavesdrop on your thoughts.”

  I bit my lip, sifting through my mortifying thoughts to find the one he was referring to. “I understand. I think.”

  “Well, you should know I think you have plenty of life ahead of you and you shouldn’t be too worried about lost time. Puppy love is kind of lame, anyway. You didn’t miss much.”

  I didn’t have to be able to read his thoughts to know it was a poorly crafted lie he spouted just to make me feel better. But I did not miss the good intention behind it and he knew as much.

  “Thank you.” I smiled, and he turned to walk down the narrow hallway.

  “This is the room I stay in.” He gestured toward a closed door as he walked by, moving to the next.

  “You live here? Do you work for Vivian?”

  “No. The Voodoo community is very close knit. I stay here with a few other younger members. She mentors us. Camille from the diner, she lives here too.”

  I had to keep myself from frowning. They lived together which probably meant they did a few other things together at least on occasion.

  He read my thoughts again. “I’m not interested in Camille.”

  He opened the door next to his, and we stepped inside. The room was beautifully decorated in pastel colors. The soft green carpet was luxurious under my bare feet. A pink canopy draped over a king-size bed with an eggshell blue comforter. Next to a hand-carved dresser was my black luggage that stuck out and looked terribly boring in comparison to everything else in the room.

  “This is where you’ll be staying. The bathroom is just across the hall. Do you need anything?”

  “Um, no. I think I’m all set.”

  “OK, well if you need anything just think it,” he teased, and my heart quickened. He knew what he was doing, and he was enjoying doing it. My body reacted to him without permission, and I was powerless to keep him from knowing about it.

  6

 
Aunt Vivian woke me up early the next morning, and after a delicious breakfast that highlighted Samuel’s exquisite cooking skills, I had some time to socialize with the other housemates. We all gathered around the dining room table drinking coffee and becoming acquainted.

  Camille was the same delightful ball of sunshine that I had left at the diner, and another young man named Marcus thanked me for Camille’s new attitude. He told me how she had been impossible to live with the last few weeks—she’d just broken up with her boyfriend and was making everyone else pay for his infidelity.

  Marcus was much smaller than Samuel but only a few inches taller than me. His blond hair was long and unkempt, and he had that California surfer look. The comedian of the group, he amused me with wisecracks about Samuel’s stoic demeanor. It was something I appreciated since Samuel hadn’t spoken to me all morning. I almost thought I had upset him somehow, but apparently he was just the strong, silent type.

  The glares that came from Samuel’s end of the table frightened me a bit, especially when his face hardened even more with each dig Marcus made. He didn’t as much as flinch at Samuel’s silent threats. He was eighteen and invincible in his own mind. Or, just maybe, Samuel wasn’t as dangerous as he looked.

  “Look, his face is turning as red as his shirt,” Marcus teased.

  “I think it’s cute.” Camille winked.

  I chewed at my lip to bite back the mounting unwarranted jealousy. Clearly she was on the rebound, and I couldn’t blame her for turning her attention to a man who was as sexy Samuel. I tried to chase the thought away before he caught it. Nervously, I shot him a glance, and his expression told me I was unsuccessful.

  “You all need to leave my boy alone now,” Aunt Vivian warned.

  Marcus reached up high and dug his knuckles into his friend’s hair. “Oh, he can take it.”

  I held my breath, preparing for how Samuel might react, relieved when the two started wrestling like a couple of high school jocks. Of course it didn’t take long before Samuel’s superior size won out and he had Marcus in a head lock, begging for mercy. I liked his playful side much better.

  “Eliza,” Marcus breathed heavily, “you have a hell of a keeper. You lucked out for sure.”

  “That’s a conversation for another time, Marcus,” Samuel said.

  “What do you mean, keeper?” My interest was piqued, especially when Samuel’s gaze intensified at the mention of it.

  “Samuel is right, Eliza,” Aunt Vivian stated with the same unwavering conviction. “Come with me. I have something for you.”

  Aunt Vivian led me to her room and gave me a very classic-looking black dress that came down to my knees to wear on our outing to the cemetery. She wore a matching one along with an oversized hat with a brim that nearly covered her entire face.

  As we were readying to go, I glanced out the window and caught a glimpse of Samuel leaving the house ahead of us in a hurry. My heart sank with disappointed. He wouldn’t be coming with us.

  When Aunt Vivian brought me into the city of New Orleans the next morning, I had no idea what to expect. The Saint Louis Cemetery Number 1 was thrown in the middle of one of the busiest parts of the tourist district, and there was a monstrous gathering of some of the strangest people you’ve ever met piled behind the gates of the resting place of hundreds of souls.

  Even without the other visitors it would have been crowded, given the number of crypts standing from one end of the graveyard to the other with barely enough space to walk between them.

  We patiently waited in line to get to see the memorial of my great-great-grandmother, whom was evidently a very popular figure for those remotely interested in Voodoo.

  A few of the other graves had a number of visitors, but most of the tourists were here to see Marie Laveau. The way her followers carried on made for a good show. One woman placed her hand on the marble marked with graffiti and rolled her eyes back as though she was going to faint. Of course she didn’t—she wasn’t quite that committed to the charade.

  A tombstone with a large plaque stood out among all the others.

  Marie Leaveu

  This Greek revival tomb is the reputed burial place of this notorious “Voodoo queen.” A mystic cult, Voodooism, of African origin, was brought to this city from Santo Domingo and flourished in the 19th century. Marie Laveau was the most widely known of many practitioners of the cult.

  The foot of the marker was littered with candles, beads, coins, and cigarettes. Triple Xs were drawn all over her crypt, and the disrespect infuriated me.

  “What, they couldn’t hold onto their crap long enough to find a trash can?” I snapped.

  “They are offerings,” Aunt Vivian informed me. “The tradition among her followers has been to write XXX, present an offering to Marie, and make a wish.”

  “So, they think she can grant their wishes from the grave?”

  “With all their hearts they believe it. Your great-great-grandmother was both feared and respected in her day, and still is by anyone who knows Voodoo today.”

  I shrugged. “To me it seems to take away from her legacy. It’s almost as if she is on display in a museum, and these leaches are coming by trying to disturb the peace she could have in death for nothing more than the sake of being selfish. She’s a tourist stop. I obviously don’t know anything about her, but I have to believe she deserves more than this.”

  Aunt Vivian looked over her sunglasses at me and leaned in close. “That’s what we thought too. So we moved her.”

  It was a surprising revelation but it was also a huge relief.

  “So then, why are we here if she isn’t?”

  “The elders and I spoke about you last night. We wanted to be sure you were trustworthy enough to know her true burial place. Come on. Let’s go meet your ancestor.”

  We casually strolled out of the circus and made our way a few blocks down the road to another larger cemetery called Saint Louis Cemetery No. 2.

  When we stepped inside the black metal gate, a chill ran down my spine. Right in front of me stood the giant oak tree from my dreams, and it scared me no less in the daylight. It was watching me, memorizing every step I took. To my far right I caught a glimpse of two slabs of concrete. I imagined the mutilated goat on one with myself on the other and became so uncomfortable I had to convince myself not to turn around and leave.

  Aunt Vivian guided me to a modest, unmarked headstone and without her needing to tell me I knew it was our destination. Underneath my feet was a woman that shared my blood and my powers, and I was in awe.

  Out of respect, I brushed away the cobwebs covering the marker. Aunt Vivian knelt to place a small hemp sack on the ground, closed her eyes to pray quietly, and I joined her. Once the respects were paid, she sat on to the grass and bid me to do the same.

  “May I ask what is inside?” I gestured to the offering.

  “Sugar cubes,” Vivian chuckled. “She had quite the sweet tooth, I’m told.”

  “Hmm. My dentist thanks you for passing that trait on to me,” I teased the earth. “My father’s wallet, not so much.”

  Aunt Vivian reached into her mouth and pulled out her top dentures to show that she, too, suffered from a sugar addiction, and we both snorted the same ungraceful laugh. It was so nice to be able to feel so easy around someone. This was a welcomed change. Deep down, I knew I belonged here with these people who were so welcoming to me. Next week I would miss them all when I returned to Florida.

  “The widow Paris,” she began once she caught her breath, “was the last truly great Voodoo priestess. There has never been another as powerful as she was. The white men feared her abilities and called her everything from a fraud to a witch. But she is a figure of sainthood to those who know the truth. She healed anyone who wanted it and gave charity to those that needed it.”

  “But she practiced Voodoo?”

  “She was the Queen of Voodoo, my child. And she was the only true one since. You can walk the streets of New Orleans and find shops that say
they will sell you authentic Voodoo potions and charms, but it’s all a fake for the tourists that come by wanting to dabble in the dark magic. You’ll even find a few ladies around that claim to be priestesses themselves, but real Voodoo isn’t about making a few dollars to deceive somebody. Marie Laveau never charged a cent to save a soul.”

  “The plaque at the other cemetery called Voodooism a cult.”

  “Of course they called it that! Voodooism and Christianity have been at odds for many years, and since the Christians have the numbers they can call us anything they want to and everybody will just take them at their word. But if they sat down and studied our religion, they could see for themselves we worship the same people as the Catholics do. We just call them by different names. You know, the woman right here”—she pointed to the ground—“called herself a Voodoo Christian. She went to Sunday mass, and the church called on her to perform a great many exorcisms on their behalf. They respected us then.” She pointed an angry finger into the dirt for emphasis.

  “What changed?” I leaned forward, engrossed in this powerful tale of my ancestors.

  “Well, once great-grandma died there wasn’t anyone powerful enough to keep us at odds with the Christians. They feared the magic we held in our hands and quite frankly, I suspect they were jealous of the miracles we could perform. They outnumbered us, and we were forced into hiding.”

  “But what about the dark magic? You don’t think it was that they were afraid of? That is a lot of power to trust to someone.”

  “Somewhere along the line trust became something you have to prove. It wasn’t terribly long ago that one’s word was enough.”

  “Maybe it was when the bad started outnumbering the good.”

  “You’re very wise, Eliza.”

  We sat quietly for a moment, both of us deep in thought. I was trying to drink in everything I had just learned. I understood what it was to live in hiding. Because of my condition I never did attend school the way other children did. Instead my parents thought it best to homeschool me so I wasn’t found out. I had a couple of cousins that lived nearby, and they were the only friends I ever enjoyed until I went to college.