Raven Maid: Out of the Darkness

by Erik Schubach

  An involuntary smile split my face when a familiar sweet voice with a heavy Cajun accent answered, colored by age and the experiences that only a long life can influence, “Desirada's, how can I be helpin' ya today?”

  I felt like a little girl again as I scrunched down and smiled warmly at the phone. “Hi MawMaw, it's me, Adelaide. I have you on speaker with a friend.”

  She exploded into Cajun French. “Lizzy! Ma beau petit bebe! Comment allez-vous?”

  I replied, “Je vais bien, MawMaw. English please, gran, I have a guest.”

  Shannon waved me off. “I can speak some French, two years in college, though I don't think I've ever heard that accent.”

  I cocked an eyebrow in approval and then made the introduction. “MawMaw, this is Shannon Kingston. Shannon, my grandmother, Desirada Boudreau.”

  Shannon nervously waved in the air and said, “Hello ma'am.”

  My mother's aunt replied, “Pish posh girl, you can be callin' me Desi.”

  Then I wanted to fade into black when she added brightly to me, “Lizzy, you finally done found yourself a girl.”

  By all the gods in the heavens, why did she insist on me finding someone, and then to embarrass me to the extent I was actually blushing.

  My cheeks burned as I whined, “MawMaw, it's not like that.”

  Shannon was no help at all as she was grinning in extreme mirth over on her side of the table. It wasn't anything a swift kick under that table couldn't fix.

  She blurted, “Ow!” as I kicked her. She still looked overly amused as I shook my head at her.

  My grandma saved me from my embarrassment by asking, “And how are you findin' that fancy college of yours, chere?”

  I lowered my voice, sounding like a child embarrassed by her parents. “Gran, please. It doesn't even start until Monday. I called to umm...” How was I going to approach this without letting her know I may or may not be as crazy as a loon.

  Shannon offered, “Get some advice about a, umm, school project involving cultural idiosyncrasies of external belief systems when introduced into a preexisting indigenous culture? Desi.”

  I covered my face with a hand and shook my head. On cue, MawMaw groused out, “Soc Au' Lait, Lizzy girl, why is your friend just babbling on about nonsense, especially when you just done said classes haven't started yet? Speak plain, now I know you hidin' somethin'.”

  Nope, my gran is many, many things, but stupid isn't one of them.

  I muttered, “Way to go, Einstein,” to the honey blonde girl blinking innocently at me.

  She mouthed, “Lizzy?”

  As I tried to figure out how to broach the subject matter at hand. I shook my head at her, this wasn't the time for her to make fun of my nickname.

  I tried a different tact. “Gran, what do you know about people seeing the dead? Is there anything based on Voodoo mythology that would explain something like that?”

  There was a long silence, I would have thought she hung up if not for the sound of the slow jazz playing in her shop in the background. Then she was asking in a voice just above the whisper losing a lot of her Cajun Creole accent, “When did the visions start child?” She paused again and then asked with a pained tone, “Is that why ya'll left home? Oh chere.”

  My mind was reeling, she was speaking as if she knew about this like it was expected. Then she was saying, “Mebbe you call when you are alone. There is so much you need to know.”

  I shook my head and shot a look over to Shannon. “She knows gran, she saw. Did you know about this? What is it and why haven't you ever said anything? I thought I was going insane, MawMaw. I ran half way across the country to get away from it, but it followed me.”

  I cringed at the hurt in my voice. But if she knew, the one person I trusted more than anyone, and she kept it from me? I felt like my whole world was being stripped away from me.

  She said in a voice full of emotion and apology, “Your mother and I hoped it had skipped a generation. She wasn't gonna tell ya until you started showing signs. Then she done vanished. I didn't see any hint of your sight waking. Marinette preserve me, I'm sorry chere, I should have.”

  I exhaled long and deliberately, centering myself, Shannon was just looking at me with her own hazel eyes full of questions and... curiosity. I asked, “What skipped a generation?”

  She asked, “What ya'll know about Raven Maids?”

  I shook my head as I went through everything she and mother had taught me about Voodoo practices and deities, I couldn't place Raven Maids. Ravens and crows had all sorts of symbolism in Voodoo culture, but I wasn't familiar with the term, but so did other birds like screech owls who were closely associated with the Loa spirit, Marinette.

  My silence had her explaining. “Their existence is closely guarded to all but the Voodoo high priestesses. They be akin to the Valravn of the Danish.”

  That one I knew, not from anything she or mom taught me, but because I had to do a paper on Danish folklore in one of my classes. Maybe that's why she brought it up. I nodded to myself as I tried to remember. “Ravens were the harbingers of death. And the ravens that ate the hearts of the slain on the battlefield became war ravens, Valravn. They would send the soul of the slain to their reward, and then could attain the shape of a man, or sometimes half man, half raven...”

  I trailed off at the memory of the feathers I know I hadn't imagined creeping past my hair the past few times I have seen the spirits, revenants, or whatever they were. Was I... I blurted, “You're not saying I'm a Valravn?”

  She was quick to say, “No, chere, no. But you are akin to them, a Raven Maid. You, like your mere and grand-mere, exist to lead the dead upon their path once Danbala or Marinette have passed judgment upon their immortal soul. I'm so sorry, ma petite bebe. I had hoped you to be spared the nightmare which burdens your line. I was the lucky one that the curse of Marinette's 'blessing' had skipped. My sister, your grandmother, was not so lucky. Nor your ma.”

  I glanced over at Shannon who was just staring at me now, then she asked toward the cell, “So Adelaide is what? A reaper?”

  The patient laugh I was so used to as I learned about everything in the shop and the Voodoo beliefs as I grew up drifted from the phone. “I can see where parallels could be drawn. In effect, yes, but she does not bring death, nor does she bring judgment. It is hers to make sure the dead do not lose their way. She brings the righteous and pure of heart to the peace of what comes after, and those with souls of black, it is her lot to drag them to the hell of their own making.”

  We both shuddered at the description, and Shannon said, “This Marionette sounds like she can be a real bitch.”

  This got my MawMaw cackling and then she supplied cheerfully, “There is that. There is that, girl.”

  I exhaled forcefully then asked a question I had a feeling I didn't want the answer to, “How... how do I get rid of it?”

  The long silence that ensued told me everything. Then she finally spoke, “I'll be there as soon as I can, chere. There are many things you need to know.” Then she simply hung up, and I was left staring at the phone.

  I was knocked out of my thoughts and the dark spiral they were taking me, by Shannon asking, “So... Lizzy?”

  Chapter 3 – The Risner Scholarship

  That was two days ago, I smiled at her reaction when I told her that Lizzy came from my middle name Lisette. My late grandmother's name. Then we ate a mediocre faux jambalaya since I didn't have any decent seafood to put in it. I really did appreciate Shannon's humor, as it pulled me out of the darkness which was threatening to consume me.

  We spent most of Saturday at my place, researching what little we could find about Raven Maids, which was next to nothing, verifying MawMaw’s assertion that it was a highly guarded secret of the culture.

  When the blonde left for the night, she promised to show me where I could get obtain some decent fish and seafood for my kitchen, after my meeting with Collette Risner about my Scholarship the following day.

  I
was loathe to try out some of the Cajun shops in Seattle that I found on the internet for ingredients, I was afraid they wouldn't be authentic, and I'd be disillusioned with this new city.

  I was in a really good mood, seeing the spirits of the dead aside of course. At least I knew I wasn't going crazy, even though seeing the dead is sort of crazy in itself and has no basis in science. I was usually all about the facts and what is provable and never really bought into the mysticism and spirituality my MawMaw did.

  I hesitated, hell, maybe I was crazy, and my grandmother was just on the same crazy train as me. No... Shannon had seen it too. Unless it is catchy. I wasn't built for this supernatural shit.

  I grinned at the fact that at least the cute coed was in the same passenger car as me and she seemed to take it in stride better than me. I could see us becoming good friends since she was already calling me on my bullshit. I paused at that thought and wondered why I hadn't made an effort to make any friends after high school? Was it because I was pushing myself so hard in pre-med? I drifted apart from the girls I hung out with as I grew up, while I dedicated myself to my studies.

  I muttered, “Because you are a stick in the mud Adelaide.”

  I checked my all black “interview suit” the only professional looking clothes I owned. Then looked one last time in my little mirror to check the tight braid I put my hair into, so it didn't look like I was some sort of curl farm gone horribly wrong.

  I said, “Good morning Mrs. Risner, Adelaide Oliver,” and mocked a handshake. By all the gods in the heavens, was I really that awkward? I smoothed the black blouse and grabbed my things as I headed to the door.

  I absently wondered why most of my clothes were black. Was it an emo phase I was going through or something?

  I shivered as I got into my car, the early fall mornings certainly were chilly here. The mid-sixties like this were the extreme coldest days in winter back home.

  When I first got here, it was so refreshing to feel cool without running inside to air-conditioned comfort everywhere I went, but that got old fast as I realized that my wardrobe wasn't suited for Seattle weather, though according to the internet, their summers are comparable in heat if not humidity. But their winters? I needed a coat... or three.

  MawMaw's camelback house didn't have any air conditioning at all. We had to settle for ceiling fans and the breeze flowing through the shotgun-style row house that had a second floor in the back. That was pretty much how all the old houses were in the Big Easy.

  I wanted to make a good impression on Mrs. Risner to let her know she made a good decision by awarding me the first Risner Scholarship. I snorted as I hit a small pothole and my car sounded as if it were going to shake apart. Maybe I should park in the back of the lot when I get there if I want to make that good impression.

  I didn't have far to drive, the Risner Institute was just west of the University District next to Gas Works Park.

  I had seen the park when I first arrived in Seattle, trying to locate the University campus. It is the site of the former Seattle Gas Light Company, with the remnants of the sole remaining coal gasification plant in the United States. The rusted pipes and containment vessels are the centerpieces of the park on the north shore of Lake Union.

  What? I like odd facts.

  I found the Institute right next to the park on the water. I felt a little more at home with the water and old docks jutting out into the lake. The map on my cell showed this as the old Seattle Police Harbor Patrol compound, but the space was dominated by a new modern office building in the middle of older support buildings. I could see the remnants of the Harbor Patrol's presence in the old metal sided maintenance shop with a faded SPD logo painted on its side, and the dilapidated helipad outside of it.

  It was an odd mix, a modern building in the middle of mid-century structures that showed the same ravages of salt water that many of the dock buildings in New Orleans shared. I absently wondered if they were going to raze the old support structures to continue modernizing the Institute grounds.

  I parked in the lot, where there were only three other vehicles parked up front. I felt suddenly bad that I was meeting with Mrs. Risner on a weekend as it didn't appear her offices were open. I hoped she hadn't made a special trip just for me.

  I grinned at myself. So much for hiding my car in the back of the lot. The other vehicles included two high-end black Cadillac SUVs that looked like they would be at home on the Secret Service motor pool roster. I watched far too much television. The other car was a gorgeous piece of German engineering, a silver Mercedes with an AMG Sport emblem on the back.

  I'm not a car girl by any means, but dayum, that was one sexy automobile for sure. I again felt a bit self-conscious as I got out of my green Metro. I smoothed down my blouse again and took my notepad and tablet with me and headed for the office building.

  It was a three story tall steel and glass structure. The entire front was glass that looked to wrap up and over, forming a glass roof that extended over the inner lobby. I could see balconies inside on each level that looked down into the lobby.

  I found myself absently wondering again what the Risner Institute did. I couldn't find much about them online except that they seemed to have real estate investments all over the country.

  When I stepped up to the door, I heard a buzzing. I grabbed the door handle next to a keypad on the large glass door and opened it as I looked up to one of the two security cameras above the doors. They were obviously waiting for me.

  I stepped inside and looked at the big empty reception desk which sat beneath the upper balconies, then turned at the sound of high heels clacking on the marble floors.

  A pale middle-aged woman, dressed in an impeccable business skirt suit, with her frosted blonde hair pulled back in a severe ponytail, was striding purposefully toward me, her arms crossed over the leather portfolio binder she had clutched to her chest. Her eyes were focussed on me as she took me in, though she seemed... distracted. Something felt oddly off about her.

  Before I could open my mouth, the woman simply said before reaching me, “This way please, Mrs. Risner is expecting you.” Then she turned on a heel and started walking toward a set of stairs at the end of the building which matched the stairs on the other side.

  Well then, I guess I'll be following her.

  I glanced around the lobby. It was immaculate, almost sterile. Besides the Seattle Seahawks banner that seemed to be the obligatory decoration in any building in this city, there were no signs, mission statements, or indications at to what the Institute was. It was sort of like an intrigue, and I found myself having a little fun with my imagination.

  The woman walked precisely, no variance to her stride. The term fembot from Austin Powers came to mind, and I had to stop myself from grinning as I scurried after her.

  We went up to the third floor, my calves reminding me that I needed to find a gym or something while I was here, I could stand a little exercise. I smirked at a short corridor that led to the elevators as we walked past them. I found myself wondering if they were locked down on the weekends, or if Miss tight-gams was just taking me to task for interrupting her Sunday.

  She led me to a set of doors, with two men the size of skyscrapers standing beside them, their hands behind their back, like the men were standing at military rest. Thy were obviously heavily muscled under their very expensive looking dark suits, Was that a shoulder holster strap I saw under one of their jackets?

  One saw us coming and brought a hand up to his ear and said something under his breath before retaking his position. Very James Bond.

  He was a large handsome white man in his mid to late thirties, with dark hair and piercing blue eyes. If I swung that way, I'd have thought him a nice specimen but I could still appreciate a pretty man.

  The other man was a fit black man, his rich skin tone not as dark as MawMaw but not nearly as light as my own. And he had a shiny shaved head. I admit that I do have an irrational compulsion to run my hand over the heads of beau
tiful black bald men. It wasn't sexual, but it did look good.

  They were like chocolate and vanilla ice cream standing side by side, and any straight girl would want a scoop of each.

  They both towered over me as my guide stopped us in front of them. Mr. Vanilla moved in front of me and said in an authoritative baritone, moving his arms to the sides to indicate he wanted me to spread my arms, “Sorry miss, I need to pat you down before you see Mrs. Risner.”

  I blinked and sputtered, “Umm... ok.” I held my arms wide, and the man ran his hands along my arms and down my sides, moved to my legs, then he ran his hands around my waist. It was all very professional and efficient, he didn't try to cop a feel anywhere he wouldn't be welcome.

  This was something entirely new for me. I wondered why a business woman need this kind of security?

  He stepped aside, and the two men opened the doors for us to step inside. I shot an inquiring look at Mr. Chocolate, but his face didn't show any emotion nor give me any indication as to what to expect. I followed the receptionist, her steps as precise as before.

  I'm really not sure what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn't what I saw in the conference room we stepped into. The walls were full of pictures and artifacts, and there were display cases sprinkled about the room at the perimeter. It reminded me of a museum.

  Standing behind the conference table between another set of imposing men, was a gorgeous fit black woman no older than myself, and she had a beaming smile on her face. She was dressed in a professional skirt and blouse that just screamed money. I had no doubt the ensemble cost more than I made in a few months working at Desirada's.

  The two large black men on either side of her had that same military bearing Mr. Chocolate and Vanilla had, but they seemed to be distracted, like my guide. They had that same sense of wrongness about them as the receptionist, but I just couldn't put my finger on what it was. Maybe it was simply the fact that this businesswoman needed four bodyguards for some reason.