Bewitching Belle

by Debra Kristi

  Her father. My mother. I can’t help but sympathize. I reach forward and touch her elbow. “I can help you. I likely have all the ingredients you need. And coming fresh from my garden, they will bring more strength to your spell than anything you could possibly buy in a store.”

  “Ohmygoddess. Thank you so much.” She clasps my arms. Pauses, drops her gaze to her hold on me. She releases, steps back, and hugs herself again.

  “Tell you what…” I step over to the counter and ask the clerk for a piece of paper and a pen. He obliges. I scribble my name and phone number on the paper and hand it to her. “I’m located in Algiers, and if you are serious about this spell or your craft, I’ll do my best to help.”

  She takes the paper and stares at my number. Smiles slightly. “Belle is a pretty name,” she says, then tears the paper in half.

  My mind clouds and I jerk back. If she didn’t want my number, that’s fine, but she doesn’t need to be so rude.

  She grabs the pen from the counter and starts writing on the blank half of the page. When done, she hands it to me. I gaze at her delicate handwriting. Her name is Luna, and she has given me her phone number in exchange.

  James fakes a cough. I turn toward him, and his face is pressed into a horrible attempt to hide his expression—a grimace. He points to his watch. I glance at my own. We need to get moving if we are to be on time for our meetup with his brother John.

  I grant Luna a meek smile. “We have to go right now, but if you give me a call later, I can probably get you the items you are looking for.”

  “Really? Thank you so much. I can’t even tell you what this means to me.” She heaves a breath.

  “It’s nothing, really.” I motion to James that I’m about ready to go, and then a thought jumps to the forefront of my mind. “You know, our coven meets once a week on Mondays after school. Maybe, if you are serious about developing your skill, you might want to join us?”

  “That would be amazing! Thank you.” Her smile brightens her features.

  “You really should,” James says, stepping back into our circle. “Because, girlfriend, your skin…” He drags his palm down the side of his face. “And your…Mmm, mmm, mmm…” He waves his hand in the air, indicating her form. “Fashion. You have got it going on. We could use some of that goodness in our little coven.”

  “Gee, thanks.” She bites the edge of her lip, tapering an otherwise wide smile.

  “I just speak the truth.” He wraps an arm around me. “Now, I hate to bring this beautiful moment to an end, but Belle and I have someplace we really need to be.”

  “Oh, yeah. Sure.” Luna grabs his hand and shakes. Shakes my hand next. “Thank you, again.”

  “Let me see this.” James grabs the paper from Luna’s hold and writes something somewhat lengthy, then returns it. She studies what he wrote and smiles, nods.

  We say our goodbyes and head out the door. Outside the shop, a man leans against the nearest post. His intense stare appears to follow Luna when she walks down the street in the opposite direction. I glare at him, and he shifts toward me, glares back.

  “You’re not welcome here,” he says with a hiss.

  Chapter Three

  I like to be easy going, but I don’t care for being pushed around, and I do not take kindly to people telling me where I do and do not belong.

  “Guess it’s a good thing, then, that I am leaving,” I say and tug James close, walk away.

  “You know what I meant, little witch,” he hollers behind us.

  His message sends a shiver through my system, but I refuse to glance back. Won’t give him the satisfaction.

  I find it funny… odd… that he used the same term for me that James’s brother did, though. I wonder if I should actually find that concerning.

  The rain picks up just enough that our umbrellas are needed. Popping them open, we make our way to the restaurant known as Mother’s. John hasn’t yet arrived, but we grab a seat, to secure our spot, and wait. Turns out, we don’t need to wait long. Five minutes and he strolls through the door like a glowing orb of confidence. He drops into the seat beside me with a thud, and tosses James a couple of twenties.

  “Get us some grub, willya?” John says with a sharp rise of his chin. “You know my preferred.”

  James glances at me, a nervous twitch at the edge of his lips. “What would you like?” he asks me.

  “I’ll just have the special, and a Coke,” I reply.

  He stands, hesitates, then steps away from the table and heads for the order line. John leans toward me. “Tell me what’s going on that my little bro thought my help was necessary.”

  I rub my hands down the top of my legs, spare a fleeting glance to James, and then lock my attention on John. “I thought she was suffering from depression or something, but none of the healing spells I’ve performed have made a bit of difference. Her moods are like night and day. She’s her somewhat-happy self on workdays, and an I-don’t-know-what on her days off.” I release a settling sigh. “Maybe she’s bipolar or something. But even then, shouldn’t the healing spells make some sort of difference?”

  John scratches his jawbone and scrutinizes me in silence. My skin itches and I want to wiggle in my seat, but I don’t.

  James drops a tray of food on the table and takes a seat. “I got us a couple of fries to share.” He hands me my special and a Coke, snags a drink and a turkey po’ boy off the tray, and pushes the fries and remaining meal to the center of the table.

  John grabs his drink, sucks down a big swig, then retrieves his sandwich. “Mmm-Mm.” He smells the meat before taking a bite. “Most satisfying after the week I’ve had.” He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” James prompts.

  “Not even a little bit.” He smirks at James, snaps his stare on me. “Caleb may have been sent away for his supposed ‘crime…’” he whispers and uses air quotes around the word crime. “But he has many ‘friends.’” More air quotes. “And this here is New Orleans. You can’t keep a man like that down. He still has his claws deep into your mom’s psyche.”

  I jolt back and suck in a deep breath. Blink.

  “You know who I am? Who my mom is?”

  “Who doesn’t? The connected magickal community in these parts knows all about your family and its deep roots.” He chews a bite and swallows. Wipes his thumb at the edge of his mouth. “Your mom, she ain’t no big deal, except for her connection to you and your siblings. But what she let happen, how she let your sister interfere with Caleb’s working magick, well…” He sets his sandwich down and glues his gaze on me. “He takes issue with that, and he ain’t letting it slide.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I press my palms to the table and lean toward him. “That guy is out of our lives for good. How can he possibly be manipulating my mom?” I hope he rots in that jail cell of his.

  John’s talking about my mom’s ex-boyfriend, and the night he tried to turn my family to cinders by locking us in his burning house. Anyone with an ounce of self-preservation would have tried to do the same as we did—get clear of the fire. And we did. We got out. We didn’t die. Miri might be the most powerful of the group, but she wasn’t the only one interfering with Caleb’s curse. Our combined magick broke through his spell holding us hostage. And our common sense helped us get free of the fire.

  If Caleb takes issue with Miri, then he needs to take issue with Mom and me, as well.

  John glances around the restaurant and shifts closer. Presses his arms to the table’s surface. James does the same.

  “Caleb likely bound your mom with his magick before he was taken into custody,” he says in a low tone. “I’m guessing some sort of control spell. And given the fact you say your mom has been suffering some nasty mood swings, I’m also guessing he has her programmed to read or recite some list of commands or something on a timed cycle. Sort of a trigger or recharge.”

  “That’s black magick!” I press deeper into the table.


  “That it is. And that is exactly the kind of magick Caleb is known to dabble in.” John sits straight and takes another bite of his sandwich.

  “If what you say is true, what do I need to do to break her free?” I ask.

  “Hard to say.” He scratches his forehead. “Word is your sister managed to break the binding your mom placed on her. Maybe your family can help.”

  “You think so?” James interjects. “Aren’t we talking about different potencies of magick here? One was put in place by a mediocre witch, at best, and the other, the one we are currently discussing, cast by a man who was close to a bokor level?”

  “A bokor? Seriously?” I’d never taken Caleb as the voodoo priest type. Boy, did he have me fooled.

  “True.” John sits back in his seat and nods. Presses his lips together and appears to mull over the situation. All the while, his gaze drifts over me, scrutinizes me. I sense my potential magickal ability is being measured. The front door announces the arrival of a new customer, and John’s eyes pop wide, his face washes of color, and his body stiffens.

  I glance at James, then direct my gaze to the front door. A tall, bald man approaches the register. He’s easily distinguished by the inconstant pigment of his skin. Patches of light splatter his otherwise darker tone.

  Two men, looking every bit the man’s lackies, follow close at his heels. He takes in the establishment in one sweeping gaze, pausing on John. His lips barely register an upward tick, but his brows arch with what I take as deep curiosity. He doesn’t approach our table, nor does he say a word to any of us or the men at his back, but he makes direct, prolonged eye contact with John, and then me. Clearly our presence together hits some sort of nerve. What kind of nerve, I’m not sure.

  The man steps up to the register, turning his back on us to place his order.

  “This has been fun, but I gotta go.” John pushes his chair away from the table and stands. “Who is that guy?” James and I ask in unison, lowering our voices and leaning into the table.

  “He is the bokor.” John reaches out his hand and curls his fingers inward, twice. “Change.” He chances a fleeting glance at the guy. The bokor still has his back to us. James shoves his hand into his jeans pocket and produces the change from the lunch money. He drops the bills and coins into John’s waiting hand. “Thanks, kid.”

  “Wait.” James reaches across the table and grabs his brother’s hand before he can retract. “Is that the bokor Caleb was studying under?”

  “One and the same.” John yanks his arm free and shoves the money into his pocket. “See you around, bro.” His attention shifts to me. “You might live longer if you stay out of the Quarter.”

  “So I’ve heard,” I mumble.

  John turns away from us and approaches the man at the register. Slaps him on the back. “Hey, man.”

  They exchange words, most of which I can’t hear. I only manage to pick up "brother, silly kid trouble, and break. Possibly, break over. Their conversation is short and within moments, John is heading out the door, tossing us one last glance before he disappears.

  “You done?” James asks about my meal.

  “Yeah. I kind of lost my appetite.” I shove my sandwich toward the tray at the table’s center.

  “We should probably go, then.” James shoves a fry in his mouth and piles all the unfinished meal bits onto the tray. On our way toward the door, he dumps the trash and deposits the tray in the return zone. Steals a glance at the bokor.

  Outside Mother’s restaurant, we head toward the river and the ferry. James has his hand shoved deep into his pockets, and his face is tight with thought. We walk in silence for the first few blocks. When we are in line, waiting to board our ride across the waterway, back to Algiers, James leans over me, dropping his lips to my ear.

  “Sorry we didn’t get you answers with regards to your mom,” he whispers and presses his lips together.

  “Don’t be sorry.” I pat his hand resting on my shoulder. “I have information I didn’t have before. Now I can start looking for a better suited solution.”

  The line begins shuffling forward, and he follows at my back. “Glad I could help, then. Incomplete as it may have been.” He sighs. “My brother’s crowd is kind of scary, but knowledgeable.”

  “It’s a start in a new, more hopeful direction,” I say and make my way onto the ferry.

  “Glad you are taking a positive approach to a possible dark situation.” He swings past me and leads me into the cabin. Quickly finds us a seat. “Speaking of positive things,” he continues. “That girl at the shop today was something else, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Yeah?” I twist toward him and shoot him a playful grin. “You find her cute?”

  “Oh please.” He waves his hand before us as if to clear the air. “You know she’s not my type. But she could be an interesting addition to the coven. A little more people power.” He shakes flat-palmed air brackets at the side of his head.

  “Yeah, well.” I tilt my head. “She seems like a serious novice. She’d require a lot of guidance.”

  “Not a problem.” He waves off my comment. “Between the three of us, we’ve got this.”

  “Belle, honey, is that you?”

  I spin toward the sound of my name and spy my mom moving in my direction. She rushes forward and presses her palms to the side of my head.

  “It is you.” She smiles wide. “Goodness gracious, child. What are you doing this side of the river?”

  “Just spending time with my friend.” I tilt my head ever slightly toward James. “You remember James, don’t you?”

  James jolts to a stand, ruffles his hair, and thrust his hand forward. “Mrs. Roussard.” He bows his head. “Good to see you again.”

  “Put that away.” She knocks his hand down and throws her arms around him. Hugs him. “Of course, I remember you, boy.” She releases him and steps back. “I simply adore you.” She pinches his cheeks.

  “And I you,” he replies.

  James and I exchange a glance. Mom shimmies her body onto the seat between us and slaps her knees. “Tell me all about your day.”

  The chance to talk about any coven issues or healing steps for my mom just bolted like a witch on a broom. James and I indulge her in small talk for the short voyage, and once we are back on land, Mom and I walk home together, sharing my umbrella. We live in a nice little duplex fairly close to the ferry terminal. Because of the short distance, mom often chooses to walk and take the ferry to work, rather than use the gas to drive across the river. Mom and I wave our goodbyes to James before heading inside. He still has a few more blocks to walk before he reaches his destination.

  Since Mom is working one of her better personalities today, I clip a few fresh herbs from the back garden, and we cook up a hearty soup. I don’t tell her I already ate. We talk about my school and her work, keeping the conversation uplifting and light.

  My mind wanders, and I consider the information John bestowed on me. The suggestion that my mom has been reprogrammed or mind controlled by Caleb.

  “Do you have any regular rituals?” I ask, shifting the conversation.

  “What kind of rituals? Surely you don’t mean the average morning and night rituals,” she says.

  I shake my head. I don’t want to hear about her hygiene habits. “Like a mantra, prayer, poem, or something?”

  She shrugs. “Sometimes I read from my self-help journal.” She pats my hand. “You have to know, I want to be the best possible mom for you.”

  “I know.” I drop my free hand on top of hers and squeeze. Make a mental note to seek out the self-help journal and search for any programming notes from Caleb. “I have a bit of homework to finish, so I am going to take it back to my room and get it done before I crash.” She nods, a cheerful look on her face. I grab my backpack from the back door where I left it right after school, before James and I took to the French Quarter. I didn’t want to lug it around all afternoon.

  Retiring to my room, I spread my bo
ok and papers out over my bed and get to work. I answer a few science questions, complete my history reading and an entire activity log in math. In the kitchen, the phone rings. Mom picks up the extension in her bedroom and exchanges a few words with the person on the other end of the line.

  “Belle,” she calls. “There’s a young lady on the line. She’s asking for you. She says her name is Luna.”

  My shoulders jerk straight. Luna? The girl from the shop? She must really be anxious about this spell of hers. I slip off the bed and head for the kitchen. Retrieve the phone from the wall cradle and cover the receiver. Holler to my mom that I have the phone and then listen, wait for her to hang up. After a moment, a soft click signals the third line has been disconnected.

  “This is Belle,” I say and stretch the cord so that I may take a seat at the table.

  “Sorry to call so late at night,” Luna says. “I just. I wanted to know if this was a good number… and I also wanted to thank you for being so kind to me today.”

  “You think I’d give you a fake number?” My mouth drops open.

  “No. Not really.” She falls silent and I wait, not wanting to be the one who speaks first. “You just made me feel… I don’t know… not alone. Not ridiculous. And I guess I wanted to talk to you again.”

  “I’m flattered, but you should never feel ridiculous. Just because some people don’t understand or believe in magick doesn’t mean they have the right to belittle you or make you feel like less than you are.” I press the phone between my shoulder and chin, freeing my hands so that I may fold them across my chest.

  “Thanks.” Her voice is soft and lacks conviction. I’m guessing she has issues with self-confidence. “Before you and James, everyone I tried to talk to about the subject got weird on me and refused to talk.”

  Curious. Knowing what little I do about the Quarter, the reaction Luna is getting could be based on something other than a lack of belief in witchcraft or magick. I’ll probably want to tread softly, carefully, with this girl.