Bewitching Belle

by Debra Kristi

  These next thirty days, I‘ll shift my attention toward Miri’s coming union with Philip. To their possible blooming family. And, to the protection and health—mental and physical—of all my family members.

  James taps me on the shoulder, and I twist my view to him. He stands over me, smile bright, holding a white candle for the taking.

  “Thanks.” I accept the candle and push to a stand.

  James hands Jeanna a candle, and we each walk to separate locations in the yard. At three different and distant spots in the small outdoor space, we have our own unique and simple altars. I place my white candle on my flat-topped stone shrine. Using the edge of my sleeve, I wipe down my ritual space. Brush any dirt or dust away.

  Kneeling beside the stone, I meditate on the choices I’ve made for the coming month. I cover and light my candle, thank the universe, and meditate some more.

  When we have completed our new moon meditation, we retreat to the house and gather around the kitchen table with refreshed mugs of tea. James hands out towels, and we dab at the dampness of our hair. Raking his fingers through his bangs, he fluffs his messy, frosted curls.

  “My sister is getting married next month,” I say matter-of-factly. “I’d like to give her a special string of beads to bless her union… and possible expected baby.”

  “Birthing beads?” Jeanna asks.

  “Blessing beads, more than birthing beads,” I reply. “Though, nothing says they can’t serve a dual purpose. Anyway, I’d love it if each of you would contribute a few endowed beads.”

  “Consider it done.” James leans into the table. “Any sister of yours is a sister to all of us.” He sits back and wipes his hand down the front of his sweater vest, a sincere grin tugs a lift to his lips.

  “What he said.” Jeanna jabs her thumb toward James.

  “Thanks.” My chest warms with the blessings of friendships. True-to-the-core bonds I know I can count on, lean on. The rest of our time spent together falls into light discussions bouncing between school, and future spells we wish to explore. We help each other with our homework and I head home before seven o’clock.

  The house is oddly dark when I return home. Every light within is turned off, and zero moonlight shines in through the windows. In the front room, Mom sits on the sofa, unmoving, staring at a blackscreened television.

  “Mom? What are you doing sitting in the dark?” I close the front door and turn on the overhead light.

  Her head snaps up, her eyes narrowed.

  “No!” She jolts upright and rushes at me.

  Chapter Two

  “Mom!” I jolt back and throw my arms up, grabbing her before she’s able to tackle me. Her hands claw at me, and her hissed accusations pin me as Miri.

  “Your fault,” she says. “Your fault, Miri.”

  “Calm,” I whisper my programmed spell at her ear, and her body falls slack.

  This is not the first time Mom has snapped and gone off on Miri. Her wild personality swings have been a problem ever since the fire at Caleb’s. And they are probably the reason I haven’t been able to find a magickal cure for her depression… because it isn’t depression Mom is suffering, but something else. Something I have yet to figure out and understand.

  Mom now stands in front of me like a nonresponsive zombie. “Come on, Mom. Let’s get you to bed.” Wrapping my arm around hers, I turn her toward the hallway and lead her to the bedroom. I help her undress and slip into her night clothes. Lay her back on the bed and pull the covers up over her, tuck her in. “Goodnight, Mom.” I kiss her forehead.

  Tomorrow is a workday for her, so she’ll likely be back to normal… normal for her, anyway. Oddly enough, how her personality swings usually only happen on her off days. When she has to check in at the casino for a shift, she almost always has her stuff together and moves through the day with a perky attitude.

  I need to get to the root of her problem.

  The phone rings, pulling my attention from Mom. I glance at the phone set on her nightstand and decide to take the call down the hall.

  “See you in the morning,” I say and leave the room, head to the kitchen and grab the receiver from the phone on the wall. My nerves are tense, like a stretched rubber band. Mom’s condition has a way of doing that to me.

  I place the receiver to my ear. “Hello?” A sense of wariness slithers through my blood.

  “Hey Belle, it’s James.”

  My muscles relax and my heart slows. I move across the room and take a seat at the table, stretching the curly cord across the distance.

  “Hey James. What’s up?” I lean into my chair, stretching my legs long.

  “I was thinking about the stuff you told us, and I think I might know someone who can help,” he says.

  “Really?” I perk up. “That’s great!”

  “Don’t get too excited just yet,” he says. “We haven’t been on the best of terms this last year.”

  “Who is it?” I ask, leaning into the table.

  “My brother,” he replies.

  “Oh.” My shoulders straighten. James’s mother kicked his older brother out of the house shortly after I moved here. I’ve only met him a handful of times. “I’m sorry you and your brother are having problems.”

  “Yeah, well. He can be a real dick sometimes.” The edge of James’s tone hardens.

  “Is it because of the stuff that got him kicked out, or… you know…” I hesitate and wave my hand, as if the action will help my words flow. “He found out you’re gay?”

  Telling one’s family can sometimes be a difficult task. Too many harbor hardened thoughts on the topic of love choice. I don’t know how my brother or mother will react when I eventually tell them about me, but at least Miri seems to be cool with it and doesn’t treat me any differently. She seems to understand that we are all physically made the same and none of us can control what we feel. We simply feel what we do. We can follow our emotions or pretend to be something we aren’t. I’d prefer to follow my heart and be happy. I’d also prefer to be able to share that part of myself with my family without fear of backlash.

  “No.” James’s response is firm. “I don’t think he cares much about that. It’s my choice of magick practice that bothers him.”

  “Seriously?” My head jerks back a smidgen. Prejudice over magickal practices? I’m not sure how I would handle that. “What’s wrong with kitchen magick?”

  “My point exactly. I like the warmth and sense of wholeness it brings me, but he’s all about bigger, stronger magick,” James says. “Anyway, I think we have a better chance of getting him to help us if we show up at his door.”

  My eyes widen. “Um, alright.”

  “Can you meet me after school tomorrow? We’ll ambush him at his place of work.”

  “Do you think that’s a good idea?” I ask.

  “Less chance of him throwing a scene if we are someplace public,” he answers.

  “You would know best.” I rub the underside of my chin. “So, let’s do it. Tomorrow works for me.”

  “Okay, then. See you after school. We’ll be taking the ferry to the Quarter, by the way.” He hangs up.

  I pull the receiver away from my ear and stare at it. Tomorrow should be interesting. I haven’t spent much time in the Quarter since we moved here. If I find myself there, I’m usually passing through on the way to Grandma’s house.

  The next day, after school, James and I take the ferry to the French Quarter. The sky is grey, heavy with clouds, and the wind whipping off the Mississippi river, chilly. Our umbrellas are held at the ready, prepared to explode open and shield us from a coming rainfall at a moment’s notice. We jump onto the Riverfront trolley and take it all the way to Ursulines Avenue, walk the rest of the way. When we reach the shop where James’s brother works, the place is closed.

  “Maybe we should have called, checked first,” I say and sigh, a frown permeating my entire demeanor.

  “It’s fine,” James assures. “They close all the time during norma
l business hours.” He bangs his fist against the door.

  “Why would they do that?” Confusion presses into my forehead.

  “Because they don’t need the touristy traffic. In fact,” he says and bangs the wood barrier again. “They don’t want it. They cater to the serious practitioners and those people know when to find this place open.”

  I nod, a slow up-and-down motion of my head.

  The door cracks a quick open, and the bony, pocked face of a guy appears in the sliver of space provided. “Whatcha want?”

  “I’m looking for John,” James says, shifting toward the opening.

  “Yeah?” He lifts his chin. “Who you?”

  “I’m his brother, James.” James shoves his hands into his pockets and shifts his weight.

  The man swings his scrutinizing gaze over James, then me. “Minute,” he says and shuts the door.

  James turns to me and grimaces. “They’re not the most thoughtful bunch.” His gaze drops to the ground, and he scuffs his shoe against the cement.

  “I don’t mind. If your brother is able to help heal my mom, I’ll put up with all the rudeness New Orleans has to offer.” I crack a half-smile.

  “You say that now, but just wait…”

  The shop door swings open, cutting James’s words off sharp and fast.

  “What are you doing here?” John holds the door halfway closed and fills the open space, blocking any view of the store beyond with his body. His face is stern and his eyes narrowed on his brother.

  “We need your help,” James blurts. “My friend here…” He motions to me.” Her mom has some sort of problem we haven’t been able to heal or pinpoint and I thought…”

  John pushes the door all the way open and steps out onto the street. My gut reaction is to take a step back, but I hold my ground. Where James is warm and inviting with his fashionably relaxed hair and clothing in soft, warm tones, John is a bit intimidating with his black leather jacket, black t-shirt, and silver chain pendants. His hair is cut tight to his head, just like his mustache and thin beard. “You thought my magick might succeed where yours has failed.”

  “You don’t need to be harsh like that.” James’s chin thrusts back into his neck.

  “But I’m right, aren’t I?” John crosses his arms.

  “It’s more like, I thought you might recognize the true issue…” James shrugs into his shoulder. “I don’t think we know what it is we’re actually dealing with. Because of that, we’ve been trying to treat the wrong thing.”

  “It’s her mom, you say?” John’s attention shifts to me, and his brow arches. “Your kind are not smiled upon here, little witch. You’d be better off to find a different playground.”

  I swallow hard. Grandma warned me and my siblings against the French Quarter. Miri told me she experienced issues, but this is the first time anyone has said something directly to me.

  His chest heaves, and he releases a heavy sigh. “Tell you what.” He looks at his watch. “I’m getting kind of hungry and am craving a juicy po’ boy, but I still have things to do here. Why don’t you guys meet me at Mother’s in ninety minutes?” His gaze shifts between me and James.

  “Thanks, John,” James says with a quick nod. “We really appreciate it.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” John waves a dismissive hand in our direction. “Now stop loitering in front of the shop.” He steps inside and closes the door between us.

  James spins toward me and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Well. That’s a start. At least he has agreed to meet with us.”

  “Yep.” I glance up and down the street. “So, how would you like to kill time in the interim?”

  His lips torque to the side, and his eyes raise, as if looking directly for an answer in the dark recesses of his mind. With a jolt, his body perks, and a smile spreads across his lips. “What do you say to checking out the herb shop that opened last year? I’ve been meaning to go and have yet to do so.”

  “Sure.” I shrug into a follow.

  Despite the dreary weather, the crowds are a tad thick. Many Mardi Gras tourists and visitors are already present and getting acquainted with the Quarter. We make our way several blocks to our intended destination. The doors to the shop are propped open, and the bewitching aromas of herbs and spices spill out onto the street.

  James shivers, grabs my hand, and rushes us inside.

  “Isn’t this fabulous?” His voice spikes. He pauses, closes his eyes, and inhales deeply. Smiles wide. “What I wouldn’t give to have a shop like this closer to home.” He drags me down the first aisle, taking in the goodies on either side of us.

  “That would be cool.” My feet shift in quick motion to keep up and not trip. “But I grow a lot of my own herbs and spices.”

  “So do I, as you know,” he says, a hint of offense in his tone. “But one can only grow so much in tiny spaces.”

  “This is true. But it’s not like this place is overflowing with products.” The shop is small, and the only reason there is an aisle is because the shop owner shoved a rack down the center of the store.

  James stops and I bump into him.

  “Oops. Sorry,” I mumble. He touches my arm to tell me all is okay.

  He picks up a bottle and reads the back label. I shift across the aisle and begin investigating all the options available. I move past the teas and candles and make my way toward the collection of incense sticks.

  The store hosts a meager selection of herbal products. Not so much that it’s overwhelming. Maybe, someday, should the store survive its first few years of business, it will boast many, many more products. For now, the place is fun but not my go-to for all needs.

  “Do you have any Elderberry or Goldenseal?” A young woman’s voice asks.

  I glance toward the register. Standing in front of the counter is a girl with forever-long, straight, ink-black hair. She rubs her fingers, squeezes them tight, and chews on her lower lip. The clerk simply shakes his head. She sucks back a breath and leans forward. “Do you know where I can find them?”

  “Listen lady, we got what we got. Sorry if it ain’t what you be looking for.”

  “Right. Sorry.” Her gaze drops to her feet and she shivers, glances toward the door, and then to the space at her back. She steps away from the register.

  My nose wrinkles and I fight the desire to jump into the situation. My muscles tense and I shake my head, reminding myself it’s none of my business.

  The girl studies the collection of dried herbs hanging on the wall, and she obviously isn’t finding what she’s looking for. She turns to leave, but James steps into her path.

  “Pardon me,” he says. “I hope you don’t mind, but I may have overheard you were looking for something in particular.” He peers over her shoulder to me. Smirks. “I may know someone who can help you.” He lifts his chin, motioning to me.

  The girl glances back at me, looks to James, then me again.

  “Well, come on.” James swings his arm at me, calling me forward.

  The girl turns her attention to me, pressing and twisting her weight into the pad of her left foot, turning her knee inward. Her black thigh-high boots are to die for, and her mod dress is reminiscent of the 1960’s, or possibly Posh Spice. Plus, she’s got the whole shiny raincoat thing going on. She clearly embraces her own fashion whimsy, versus following the trendy crowd. I get the sense I’d have fun raiding her closet.

  “He’s right. I can probably help you. Depends though.” My gaze shifts from her open expression to James’s smug grin.

  “Depends on what?” she asks.

  “On what you need the items for?” I reply.

  She jerks back and shakes her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”

  A smile, clearly born from nerves, inches across her face. It’s beautiful. A moment of silence passes between us, and she stares at me, waiting.

  “Um…” I shake my head. “What are you doing?” I ask, my peer piercing through her innocent-girl facade. I swallow hard, and
the center of my chest feels like burning coal. I’m not sure if I’m asking about the spell she’s planning or the spell she appears to be casting over me.

  Her attention drops to her hands. “It’s silly, really. You’ll think I’m foolish.”

  James raises his chin at me and arches his eyebrows. Tilts his head as if to say, “you go girl.” He stands at her back, so she doesn’t see him. He turns and steps away, leaving me alone with the girl. I heave a breath.

  “Maybe. Maybe not.” I lean forward. Lower my voice. “Why don’t you try me?”

  She glances at the clerk, then over the other customers. No one is paying us any mind. She blinks at me and grimaces. There’s a touch of charm in her unease. “I want the ingredients for a spell,” she whispers.

  “Obviously,” I say. “It’s the nature of the spell I’d like to know.”

  “Really?” Her dark eyes widen, and her entire body posture relaxes. “You don’t find spell casting crazy or foolish?”

  “Of course not. You do know you’re in New Orleans, don’t you?” I don’t wait for her response. I keep talking with barely a pause. “James and I are both witches and belong to the same coven. I grow a lot of my own herbs, elderberry and goldenseal, included.”

  Her hands clasp to her chest. “You’re like the first witches I’ve met. I’m in serious need of guidance. Do you think I could pick your brain?”

  I snicker. “You can’t be serious?” Her shoulders droop and my gut twists. “What I mean is, you are here in the French Quarter, a place rich with practitioners. I find it unlikely that we’re the first witches you’ve met.”

  “I’m kind of new to the craft,” she replies. “Just, sort of, stumbling my way through the learning curve.”

  My lips press together and I nod. “Well, I may be able to help you, depending on the nature of the magick you seek.”

  “Nothing dark, I promise you.” She grabs my hands, and my gaze snaps to our clenched hold. She quickly releases, wraps her arms around her body. Whispers an apology. “I’m attempting a healing spell for my father. He hasn’t been well lately, and I am concerned.” She sighs and gazes at the floor.