by R. L. Wilson
Silence hangs between us for a while. “Once we get more information, I will inform you.” He extends his hand. “And please let me do my job.”
I give him a half-ass handshake and a half-ass smile. He had no sense of urgency or conviction he would find Momma. I wonder how long he has been a cop. I need someone with gray hair and a gut who has some damn experience.
And finally, the wind blows and the leaves rustle. It lasts all of three seconds.
“Nice meeting you,” he says.
“Likewise,” I smile.
“Morgan!” I yell.
She had her back turned to us, watching the dudes throwing the football.
“What?” She jerks and turns around with her sunglasses down on her nose to get a better peek at the guys.
“Let’s go.”
“Oh.” She pushes her glasses closer to her eyes. “Thanks, uncle.” She gives him a hug.
He walks to his car with a slow limp. It must be a Southern thing or those damn boots are too heavy for his feet. In this heat, I would have on sandals with my uniform.
I pick up the pace to the car. I need some air conditioning. The people of Louisiana walk around in the sweltering heat. This is heat stroke weather. It’s too damn hot.
“What did you find out?” Morgan asks.
“Nothing. He said it’s an open investigation so don’t go snooping.” I twist and give her a side-eye.
Morgan giggles. “Yeah right, you don’t go snooping. He has a better chance at winning the lottery.”
I’ve always been nosy. Curious is what I like to call it. No use in me stopping. I’m going to put my snooping to use.
Before we make it to Morgan’s car, we’re surrounded by a gang of people glaring at me and Morgan. I’m sure they notice we are foreigners. I shudder at the amount of people. There’s at least two dozen. Mostly women, only two guys. Shit, my heart falls into my sock. I will have to fight this mob. Morgan pulls her hair back and throws her sunglasses to the ground.
Morgan’s uncle left a couple of minutes too soon. Where are the police when you need them?
I grab for the box cutter in my purse. My lips part to speak, but nothing comes out. My head tingles. I shouldn’t have spent the last few weeks chilling instead of working out. I’m not physically fit for this shit.
“Who y’all be?” a guy with a gold grille in his mouth steps forward and asks. I barely comprehend what he’s saying. His golden teeth have me mesmerized.
Who we be? Who the hell is he? We’re minding our business, trying not to die from heat exhaustion.
Morgan eyes the scenery, and she grabs my hand. Her hands are wet and clammy. She’s terrified and I’m nervous. We are out of our element.
“Relax, nobody here is going to hurt you.” He puts his hands up. “I’m curious, who are you? You’re not from this neck of the woods, so where you from?” He talks so fast, I can’t get a word in. His skin is so dark it’s scary, like necrotic tissue. But I suppose if you live in this type of heat, you get a permanent tan.
I exhale, elated they don’t want any trouble. They are mobbed up like they are ready to fight.
“No, we’re from Detroit.”
“What are you trying to find down here?” He has a mean stare and his nostrils flare.
I’m not sure if it’s his normal appearance or if he’s mad. I don’t want to piss him off. I better lie and say we are here visiting Momma.
“I’m here visiting my mother. We don’t want any trouble.”
A Southern accent tears through the crowd. I can’t make out what the person is saying. It’s a bunch of gibberish. With a pang of exhaustion and fatigue from the humidity, I don’t have the strength to fight.
A lady makes her way through the crowd and closer to me. She has a yellow shirt and her eyes match. She grins then covers her mouth. She has to be near my mother’s age. And I don’t disrespect my elders unless I have to protect myself.
Is she crazy? She extends her hand like she will grab me. Sweat lines my palms and I take long, deep breath. I concentrate, dipping down into my magic. I will use it if I have to.
“Harmony!” she screams. “Welcome home.”
Chapter 7
My home is in Detroit. There’s no way I’m from this hot Southern town. I blink repeatedly, trying to take in my surroundings. My eyes rest on the lady in my face with the gleaming yellow eyes. Her hair is jet black with deep curls reaching her shoulders.
“This is Harmony?” a husky voice from behind me says. I never turn to acknowledge the voice. I’m focused on this lady scowling at me and Morgan. She’s amazed to see me and she won’t stop staring. An uncomfortable ache washes over me. Her aura isn’t dark, but it makes me uneasy.
“I’m Andrea, and these are all our family members.” Her eyes peruse the crowd. “We’re all witches.” She’s hard to understand, thanks to a deep twang to her voice.
Family? I’m an only child. They’re no family of mine. They resemble a pack of misfits. Some have tattoos and others have several piercings, even on their eyebrows. They are different, but if they’ll help me, I’m open for a discussion.
“You’re not alone, us witches support each other. Whatever you need,” Andrea adds.
I’m slightly confused. How does she know I’m a witch? I will play it off and see where this goes.
An elephant jumps off my back. Is this true? I have other witches here to support me? Never had witches’ support before. The witches back home are part of the Red coven. I’m not a part of the coven. I’m the outcast.
I pause. “You’re not trouble.” I grin and let Morgan’s hand go. “This is my best friend, Morgan.”
I try stepping away, but she throws her arm around me for a hug. The aroma of her cheap perfume wafts through the air. I’m surprised she has a fresh scent in this hot air.
The rest of the group softens up and smiles, except a couple. Not everyone is happy I’m here. They need not worry, I’m not enthused either, and definitely not trying to steal anyone’s spot. Once I find Momma, I’m getting the hell out of here.
She eases her grip from around my neck.
“Let me show you and your friend around town.”
Bourbon Street
Andrea takes us to Bourbon Street, and it’s like no other. Morgan is in heaven, amazed by the bright lights and the big men. She could stay here forever.
The mix of Latin, African, and other nationalities roam the town. Live bands play music as people freely walk the streets. Hardly any cars in view.
The aroma of thick spices marinate through the heat. I can almost taste gumbo and jambalaya sizzling in my mouth.
“We have several bars and restaurants,” Andrea blabs as she flits her eyes between me and Morgan. “Where do you want to go?”
“The strip bar,” Morgan says as her gaze meets a group of guys entering the club.
What the hell are we going to do in a strip joint? I can’t find anything out about Momma in there.
“Sure,” Andrea says. “Can I have a word with you in private first, Harmony?” Her bangles clank as she points toward the woods.
We walk off while Morgan stays behind talking with the rest of the coven. She’s in good hands, I hope, but the group seems genuine. I can’t judge covens solely on the Red coven, those bitches.
“I know your mom,” Andrea says.
My head snapped in her direction, then my glare grows more intense. She has my attention. I don’t want to do this tourism shit until I know Momma’s at home safe.
“I’m an old friend of Jeanette’s. I held you in my arms the night you were born.”
I take a step back as fear creeps into my chest. How was she there? I was born and raised in Detroit…at least I assumed I was.
“Andrea,” a monotone voice called. I’m trying to wrap my head around her statement. I was born in Louisiana? Can’t be.
“Hey, Mel and Chris.” Andrea says. She greets seven more people before explaining they’re all witches.
&nb
sp; “Everyone, this is Harmony.”
Shit, how many damn witches live here? Chris doesn’t smile, but he moves closer toward me. I prepare to shake his hand, but he pushes me. Now I’m on defense. What the fuck type of welcome is this? I concentrate. I grab him and send a small electric shock down his arm. It’s a warning pulse. There’s more where that came from. I don’t like this dude.
He shifts his weight from foot to foot as he gets ready to charge. He lunges toward me and I grab him and sling him across the road. I jerk my hand back as small sparks of fire jump from his shirt.
“Okay, hold it,” Andrea says. “Chris is a hothead, he doesn’t mean any harm.”
Morgan comes racing to my side. “What the hell is going on?” she barks.
“Where I’m from, shoving someone is a threat.” I roll my eyes. “I don’t take threats kindly.”
Chris pops back to his feet. He is one strong ass with a spark of fire to him. It burns like hell.
“He’s one of my strongest defense witches,” Andrea says.
Chris now stands beside me. “I’m welcoming you to New Orleans.” His face is slim with a pudgy nose. He’s suspicious. He needs to know I don’t play.
“It was nice meeting you all, but I’m melting in this heat; Morgan and I have to go.”
I’d better go before I have to fuck Chris up.
“Wait, what about the strip club?” Morgan says.
“Morgan, we will go to the strip club tomorrow,” I whisper in a lower tone. She nods, getting the picture. I’m ready to go.
“There’s one more thing I want to show you, Harmony,” Andrea says. She pushes her curly locks back behind her ear and walks toward the woods.
I follow behind Andrea’s flowing multi-colored skirt, intrigued by what’s so important it couldn’t wait until a later day. A cooler day when my breathing’s better. I have on black ripped shorts and a tank top. My pasty skin is turning all kinds of red from sunburn. I need to get to Momma’s house. And take a cold shower.
We get over to a large tree and stand in the shade. She grabs a book from the large brown purse she brought along. Judging by the peeling leather and the faded spots, the book is pretty old. A picture of a faded tree is on the front. It’s wrapped in a yellow ribbon.
She extends the book in my direction. Heart pounding and gazing at the book, I reach in to grab the book. As a breeze flows from the book, I pause, narrowing my gaze at Andrea’s yellow eyes. “What is this?”
“It’s your—it’s our family tree,” she says as her cheeks turn a rosy red.
It can’t be. Are we blood-related? I grab the book and untie the yellow ribbon. I flip through the pages, seeing hundreds of names. This chick is crazy. She told me she is Momma’s friend.
“You’re on page eighty-seven,” Andrea added.
I pause, then flick the pages until I get to eighty-seven. The words whirl around on the pages. Once they settle, there’s Jeanette Adams, born to my grandparents, then below my mother is my name. But wait…all this is written in ink.
Oh my God, they scratched my father’s name out, but his name started with a P. What the fuck is going on? I’m in a twilight zone. This is some bullshit; this lady is a fraud. My face warm, I grip the book with my hands and glare at Andrea.
“How do I know this is real?”
“I’m on page seventy-seven,” she says.
“Who is my father? Who scratched out his name?” I keep glaring at Andrea, waiting on an answer.
“Jeanette kept your father a secret. I promise I’m not sure who your father is.” She never changes the tone of her voice even though I’m getting louder. Not a good beginning.
“My father’s name was Carl Adams. He was a great man,” I scream.
“Carl, she dated once she moved to Detroit, but he can’t be your father.”
How the hell would she know? Maybe she should mind her own damn business. I continue flipping through the pages and Andrea’s name is on page seventy-seven like she said. I guess we are third cousins.
“We’re related?”
“Yes.”
I have to calm down if I want answers from her, and I guess this is not her fault.
“If I was born here, how did I end up in Detroit?” I question, since she knows so damn much.
“Your mother was unwed and left a little after you were born.” Her hands fidget, grabbing at her skirt. Should I trust her or not? But why would she make this up? If Dad ain’t my daddy, who is? Funny thing is, Momma never mentioned she had a cousin Andrea.
“I have one more question for you.” I hold up my right index finger.
She shakes her head. “Sure, ask me anything."
“Is Prentiss my father?”
Chapter 8
“Prentiss, yes, the name rings a bell.” She sighs with a flash of despair across her face. I realize she knows more information. I pressure her to tell me more about Prentiss. Although she is apprehensive, she slowly reveals more pieces to this puzzle.
“Prentiss Darby?” Andrea expels. Saying his name made her tremble. “He grew up with us.” The rise and fall of her chest becomes more rapid. As if she is afraid of him.
“We all hung out together in high school as kids,” she says.
My words tangle in my throat. I scoff at the impossibility. Momma knows Prentiss, sure. I squint at Andrea while trying to prevent the sweat from entering my eyes. I’m perspiring more profusely thanks to this bunch of shit she is unloading on me. My armpits are wet and sticky.
“You are saying Momma knew Prentiss since she was a teen.”
She blinks and nods slowly. “Exactly what I’m saying.”
A sharp pain shoots within my belly, causing me to grab my abdomen, dropping the book to the ground. I lean against the tree.
“Are you ok?” Andrea asks.
“I’m fine just need a little air,” I pant, my lungs getting smaller by the second.
She bends and picks up the book. “I don’t want to upset you. We can talk about this later.”
“No.” I grab her arm and stare in her eyes. “I need to find out everything about my mother and Prentiss.”
“You should talk with your mother about this. I’m sure she’ll be willing to tell you everything.” She hurries and grabs the book from the ground while trembling.
I swallow hard. “She can’t tell me.” I shake my head. “She’s missing.”
Her eyes widen as she shivers. “Missing, what are you talking about?”
Saying my mother is missing sends goosebumps up my arms. What if I never find her?
“I came here because she told me Prentiss was after her, and he took her.”
“Taken…” She slips the book in her purse then puts her hand on her forehead. Her eyes dart around the forest. Her breathing increases. “Are you sure?” She walks over to the picnic table and takes a seat.
I follow and take a seat across from her. “Yes, I’m sure.”
“Sorry, I got a little dizzy,” she mumbles. “I usually know everything happening around here. No one told me about Jeanette.” She slams her hand on the table.
She’s concerned about Momma, after all they are cousins, but it’s weird Momma never mentioned her before. She talked about her family in spurts, reminiscing on all the fun she had growing up, the family parties and barbeques. But she never mentioned anything about Prentiss, even after he showed up at her apartment in Detroit.
“Will you help me?” I question.
“Sure, let’s go to the headquarters. I will tell you everything.”
We walk into an ancient castle. It’s huge, with several large rooms and doors. All with French hand-carved fixtures. Morgan walks around the place admiring the large drapes with beautiful colors. You’d never see such a beauty in Detroit.
“This place is beautiful,” Morgan says as she runs her hand across the mantel, then stares up at the chandelier.
“Harmony, look at this!” Morgan yells from the back of the castle. Her voice travels sharply to
the front of the house.
“In a second,” I say to Morgan while I admire the Persian rug in the main room. The cool air is giving me life. The air conditioner must be on max. If I lived here, I’d never leave.
The rest of the coven witches take seats on the huge floral-upholstered furniture. There are at least fifteen witches here. I’m sure the coven is even bigger and Andrea is the leader.
“Let’s talk in my office upstairs,” Andrea says. Her footsteps creak up the wooden stairs to the top floor.
The aroma of baked goods floats through the air, making my mouth water. It’s the scent of Momma’s sweet potato pie. They must have the same recipe.
There are even more doors—to bedrooms and bathrooms, I assume—but all the doors are closed.
She walks to the double doors and slides them open to a sun-drenched room with sheer curtains. A desk sits in the middle of the floor surrounded by a sea of windows. This place is magnificent. And elegant, unlike Andrea. How did they make money to pay for this place?
She must be important in this organization, to have such a huge office. She walks over to her desk and plops down in the chair before opening a desk drawer. What will she pull out? Hopefully not another family tree; I’ve had enough family reunions for one day.
She pulls a book from the drawer then slides it across the desk. “Your Momma and Prentiss’s yearbook pictures are in there.” The year 1998 is in gold letters on the front of the book. Momma was a senior. I flip to the senior section and there she is. I snicker at how young she was. She had the brightest smile. And the prettiest long silky hair. Who’d kidnap such a beautiful soul?
“Prentiss was a senior, even though he is a year older than your Momma.”
I glare at Andrea. Darkness crosses her face. My instincts rattle, telling me not to open the book. But I have to see. With my trembling grasp, I flip the pages and get to the section where the last names start with D. A part of me hopes he isn’t there. It would explain why Momma didn’t tell me about him.