by Unknown
“Oh my god! I am Sabrina The Teenage Witch in the flesh, only freakier!” I knew I was overreacting and a tad bit dramatic, oh well. I had been through a lot recently. The expression plastered on Mama’s face said that she didn’t have the foggiest clue as to what I was referring. It wasn’t like they had television out there in the middle of nowhere. Hell, even electricity was at a minimum and I thought they were creating their own with a generator, although, I hadn’t cared enough to check into it. The wheels in my head just kept turning and knitting together all of these tiny bits of information that didn’t seem to fit together, yet they somehow did. Suddenly, a moment of complete clarity smacked me like a ton of bricks.
“Marie Laveau!” I shouted. Realization dawned. My exclamation hung in the air, neither of us saying a word of acceptance or rejection. After a moment, I explained. “Marie Laveau, she has to be my French speaking ancestor that was my spirit guide speaking to me. You said if I had dreamt about her then I must be her direct descendant, right? And they were speaking French in the dream that I had, fluently, and from everything I’ve heard or read she must’ve been extremely powerful to have held the position of the Voodoo Queen of all of New Orleans.”
“Now you are opening your eyes to the truth of voodoo, child. You’re as smart as you are pretty.” I blushed, I really couldn’t take compliments well. It wasn’t that I thought I was ugly or anything. I knew I was decent though, I was much more plain than some girls, with no outstanding features that set me apart from the rest. The old woman continued, “She was very powerful. Strongest priestess we have eva seen, ‘fore or since. Madame Laveau practiced da blood magic of our people. Her blood is runnin’ through your veins. You da only one since her that had da gift.”
“Gift?” I asked.
“Marie was the last priestess in your line who was born with the gift of light blood magic.”
“What is light blood magic?”
My curiosity had been piqued. The idea of light magic had conjured curiosity about what black magic was and what it all entailed. Everyone had heard of black magic in stories. However, nobody thought that it was real or at least not people that society deemed as sane individuals.
“It’s an inborn gift, runs in ya blood. Da Loas and spirits anoint certain people with these gifts to lead da other practitioners. We draw our power from da earth and from our ancestors to heal and protect.”
Moonbeam’s loud purring interrupted my thought train. Absently stroking her head and back, I gathered the courage to voice my interest.
“Protection from what exactly? The Bacalou? Are there more of those things?” I shivered remembering the feel of his hands around my throat. My arm began to burn with the freshness of the lacerations and stitching renewing themselves as the numbing solution wore off.
“We protect ourselves, our families, and the rest of mankind when we can. It’s all to do wit’ da black magic.”
“What does black magic have to do with all of this? I mean, is there a huge difference between light and black magic?”
Mama got up and walked to the counter of the small kitchen. Peering around, she grabbed up herbs from their perches where they hung from the ceiling. She dug a square of fabric out of her pocket and threw them into it, making a tight bundle. She tied the bouquet up and tossed it into the large pot upon the stove top. Yansa poured water over it and lugged the hefty pot towards the large hearth. She placed it on the iron rack over the fire to boil. She didn’t speak a single word as she went about her work, making whatever it was that we would be having for dinner.
Patience.
She had made a point of saying it before, she was trying to teach me patience by withholding the information I so desperately craved, leaving my mind high and dry like a wrung out sponge in the middle of the desert. There had never been a point when I had been a particularly patient person. Even as a child, I had snooped, trying to find my Christmas presents early. My personality was in stark contrast with the typical personality of southerners who were laid back, taking everything at a leisurely pace, and laissez les bon temps rouler.
About ten minutes later, Rhys strode through the door with a downright determined posture, carrying a sopping wet burlap sack and leaving a trail of water in his wake. Placing the sack on the counter, he turned and peered directly at me. It was not the heated looks that had been exchanged earlier, in fact, it wasn’t really anything. He had locked down any type of emotion that he might show, coming off as entirely indifferent. Fine. Whatever. Two could play at that game. I might not be able to actually shut feelings off, but I could damn well act like I was a cold hearted bitch. After all, I had learned that act from a professional bitch. I had watched Angie do it in retaliation since she was twelve years old and got her heart broken by one of her many childhood crushes.
Movement out of the corner of my eye caught my immediate attention. The burlap sack was moving slightly without anyone touching it. Taking a few steps forward, I paused about two feet away from the counter and stretched my neck to try and peek inside. The phrase about curiosity killing the cat ran through my head, further ratcheting up my anxiety level. Major life events leave no one unscathed and I had already wounded my arm, but I found it highly unlikely that I would be able to get through all of what was to come and get Angie back without a nasty stomach ulcer to show for it. Mama Yansa swung herself around me, and snatched up the burlap with much more nimbleness than a woman her age should be able to muster. She dug the string out from the small opening and peered inside the bag, eyes twinkling in delight.
“Ooowee! Boy, I sure missed havin’ you home! It’s been a long while since Mama had a good haul of fresh mudbugs! We’re havin’ gumbo for dinner tonight!” Mama said, extending the sack my way so I could get a good glimpse of the bag full of crawdads. She was right, there had to be at least five pounds of them in the bag. Was Rhys that skilled at crawdad fishing? If he was, well, you could color me impressed. He hadn’t been gone that long so he had to have gone out last night and laid some traps then gone out and collected his prizes that morning.
Mama slapped the bag back down on the table and disappeared into a tiny room I hadn’t noticed off the back of the kitchen. She returned with several links of some type of cured sausage. The mystery room must’ve been a pantry of sorts. What else could it be? It wasn’t like they had a refrigerator. She sliced up the length of sausage and dumped it into the pot before snatching the bag back from the table and dumping all of the crawdads into the pot with it to boil alive. This type of meal, boiled crawdads, was traditional in those parts of Louisiana, yet I hadn’t ever partaken. Dad had a bad shellfish allergy so it was quickly becoming an eye opening experience for me.
Mama returned and plopped down, seemingly ready to resume our conversation. Rhys settled himself into the corner. He leaned against the wall to listen to our conversation, despite maintaining his air of indifference.
“Everything that’s been happening is because of da black magic. Some people crave power, always been that way and always would be. People not born with da gift of light magic and da ones that are, but crave ever more power, get it by sacrificing a soul to da Baron Samedi. Bought and paid for with the life blood of their victims.” Having lived in New Orleans for most of my life, I had heard about the Baron Samedi and seen his likeness many times. Voodoo was woven into the very fabric of New Orleans just like our very long history of ghosts, vampires, and cannibalistic natives.
“Seriously? You actually mean they murder innocent people over magic from a Loa? What kind of crap is that? Has anyone ever seen one of these ‘Loa, gods’ or whatever you want to call them in person? How do you even know they’re real and not made up like so many other worshipped figures?” The questions flew out of my mouth before I could filter what I was saying on the off chance that I might offend someone.
The idea that there were people out there murdering because they are jealous, greedy, and power-hungry downright pissed me off. I’m not entirely sure why. It was
a common practice throughout history in every culture, although having to come face to face with it slapped my ass back to reality and opened my eyes to the absurdity of the entire concept. We were dealing with people’s lives here. Living, breathing people that knew no different than what I did less than a week ago. Wow, so much had changed. I had changed. My world had been shaken up and I had to manage which way was right for me. There was a part of me that was still questioning if I had made the right choice by agreeing to come out there. I could’ve just as easily rushed to the police and demanded help getting Angie back.
“Oh, they’re real, child. Real as you or I. Even seen ‘em with my own eyes. And to answer your question, yes, they murder for more power. Don’t act like that’s such a shocking concept for ya. It’s been done since da beginning of time. Black magic must be paid for in blood, lots of it and it usually ends in much more blood being spilled than what it took to achieve that kind of magic,” Mama explained.
“You’ve seen the Loas in real life? What were they like?” Mind blown!
“Yes, I have. They are just like any regular person and that is exactly what they want you to think. They can’t very well go around looking like da way history has portrayed them in paintings and such. Truth is, they usually only show up when they want something or if they have a stake in da way things pan out. Fickle creatures they are.” Mama paused in her explanation as Ayida slid up the old woman, wrapping her coils about the priestess’s shoulders and settling in like she was interested in the conversation. The serpent’s reptilian slit eyes settled on me and continued to watch me unerringly for a moment. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up despite the sweat beaded over the surface weighing it down. I squirmed in my seat, uncomfortable with the attention I was receiving from the reptile.
“I imagine they’ll be lookin’ for ya real soon. In fact, I know they are. Da Bacalou are spies workin’ for da Baron Samedi. Collectors might be da better word for what it is they do. If they have been following ya then that means da Baron Samedi wants ya. He may show up himself when his spy doesn’t return.”
“What could he possibly want with me?” I threw the question out there, yet I wasn’t exactly sure that I was ready or wanted to hear the answer.
“There ain’t no tellin’ with da Loas. They tend to play their cards a bit close to da vest,” Mama said absently, while she stroked the serpent’s head.
I eyed Rhys, who hadn’t moved even an inch from his spot in the corner of the kitchen. His intense expression of complete inattention to me had lessened slightly, warmed. Was I mistaken or did I see a hint of sympathy on his face? He was seemingly at war with himself, however, he must have made a decision because he spoke the first words to me since the kiss and it made ice run through my veins in sheer terror.
“Your friend, Angela? The man that abducted her has been busy.”
My stomach dropped, knots threatened to choke me as they filled my throat. I was not ready for the news that I was absolutely sure he was about to tell me. I couldn’t. Not Angie. If I lost her I wasn’t sure what I would do. She was my anchor holding me steady as if I was a ship in a storm threatening to break loose from my moorings.
“Angie, is she...?” My voice trailed off. I couldn’t finish the question and bring myself to say it aloud. Tears began welling up in my eyes. Rhys crossed the space separating us, his carelessness completely gone and cocooned me within the expanse of his large muscular arms.
“There’s been no word on her condition yet. No one has seen her.” He kept his voice low. The dam broke, letting tears fall freely and I no longer cared to keep it all in check. I cried, sobbed actually, for several moments before the debriefing of the information he had collected earlier in the morning continued. I stayed there soaking up every bit of comfort he was willing to part with.
“Angie hasn’t been found, but that guy, Brad, has been busy. The police have found six more bodies scattered throughout the city with similar voodoo markings carved into them. All of them have had their throats slashed and are missing their hearts,” he finished his explanation gravely.
“Six more? All those people! This guy is insane, Rhys! We don’t have a choice anymore, we have to call the police now.”
“We can’t. It’s not that simple, Maya. There’s more going on here than you know.” He looked to Mama Yansa for some input on the situation. I was borderline hysterical, not knowing if I would ever see Angie again when I knew the kind of man that had her. Mama interrupted our exchange, demanding answers of her own questions.
“How many dead already? Are they da markings of da ritual?” Mama said, completely serious.
Rhys nodded. “Seven dead so far. There’s no telling if there are more or not, but he’s moving fast. Each one has been in a different location, scattered along the oldest parts of the city in hot spots and no one has seen anything.”
“So, it has begun. We don’t have much time before da full moon rises and they can complete da sacrifice.” Mama turned to address me. “You must learn fast for we don’t have much time before you must face da one who has set all of this in motion.”
“Woah, woah, woah! What the hell do you mean I have to face the one that set this in motion? I can’t face anyone!” The panic was painfully clear in my voice. So much for trying to not show any weakness. I was scared shitless and didn’t have much of a hope in hell of trying to hide that fact. Rhys coughed, choking on his own shock at my outright refusal to accept the task put before me.
“You must. You are da only light magic voodoo priestess who has da gift to dismantle their plans. We could gather all of da priestesses in Louisiana and still not be able to accomplish what you can do on your own, Maya girl.”
“What about Angie?” I shouted. “She was the only reason I even agreed to come out here! So we could get her back! I didn’t sign up for some crazy magical battle with the gods…”
“Maya, this all has to do with Angie. I promise you,” Rhys said reassuringly and continued, “The guy Brad, Angie said he wasn’t a bad guy, right? Well, maybe he isn’t. Maybe she was right. You two were talking about him the night we met. He didn’t act like he knew who Angie was at all like he had never seen her before that night when he had spent several days with her before then.” He was right, Angie had said that he was being an ass hat for not acting like he knew her and then hanging all over that poor Carly girl. He had acted like he genuinely hadn’t known who she was.
“Yeah, so? He was just a really good actor. He had gotten what he wanted and moved on. Typical man,” I said, letting the venom of the statement hang in the air so Rhys could get that I was referring to his kiss and dismiss bullshit he pulled only an hour ago. Okay, perhaps, the heat was getting to me a little bit and making me a tad bit bitchier than I would have been otherwise, damn it, he was acting like a douchebag. Kiss me then ignore me like nothing happened before turning around and asking me for something right away. That was all it was, more people wanting things from me. Well, I’d had enough of it.
“I don’t think he was acting, Maya. I think he was, in a way, possessed. I think someone had hexed him, placing a malevolent spirit inside him to do their dirty work. Whoever is running the show needs thirteen people to be sacrificed to the Baron Samedi. It’s an old ritual, never practiced, called the Sacrifice. This ritual would grant unimaginable amounts of power unto the practitioner who would, in turn, be serving the Baron himself. The Baron siphons small amounts of magical energy from those who serve him as his price for helping and bestowing them with the powers. The negligible amount taken wouldn’t affect the user but it keeps the Baron at full strength.”
Holy shit! This crap just got more complicated by the hour.
“So you think that Brad isn’t actually Brad? That he’s some kind of possessed zombie that is murdering people and not a psychopath?” It would explain a lot about the way he had acted at the Spotted Cat, however, it didn’t put me at ease with the situation Angie was in.
“What about Angie the
n?”
Mama and Rhys peered at each other as if trying to gauge how to respond to the innocent question I posed. After Mama nodded to him, Rhys spoke up, even though he was very reticent to do so.
“We think that he wasn’t after Angie at all.” He seemed sad as he said it, and remained quiet as he waited for my response. I sat there wondering to myself, if they didn’t want Angie then why take her? What was the point and what good was she to them unless they made her one of the thirteen they sacrificed for their ritual? A moment later, the truth of it all dawned on me. They took Angie to get to me. They wanted me and took the only person I cared about to get to me. They knew that I loved Angie like family and would do anything to ensure her safety. I cast my gaze to the pair that stood across from me, side by side, with my wide eyes welling with renewed tears. I think they understood everything that I was feeling in that moment.
“Will they kill her if I don’t go to them soon?” I asked, my voice sounding thick with the dread that was growing in me by the second. And I think, in that moment, despite the fear within me, I was okay with my decision as long as I knew that in the end, Angie would be okay. Rhys and Mama Yansa, both of whom I had come to care for like family, would be alright after I was gone.
Mama walked over to me, and placed her time weathered hand upon my shoulder.
“It is likely that that is da course of action they are prepared to take. You have a few days before they will resort to that though. In da mean time, you must learn. Learn everything and become a master in this craft, for then, and only then, will you be able to save your friend and yourself from the abyss that will surely await us all should you fail.”