BLOODLUST

by Phoenix Daniels

  “Where are we going?”

  “Church,” she clipped.

  She made a sharp right turn. Without parking in a proper spot, she stopped abruptly in the middle of the empty lot. When Elmira jumped out of the car, Enola sat, confused. Why would she bring her to church? Not to mention... it was Thursday.

  Elmira walked around and pulled open the passenger door. Enola tucked her purse behind the seat and reluctantly got out of the car.

  “You’re were raised Catholic, right?” Elmira inquired.

  Enola nodded.

  “But you started going to a Baptist church when you were a teenager.”

  It wasn’t a question, but a statement. Enola squinted at the younger woman, wondering why her religious affiliation was relevant. Even more so, she wondered how she knew anything of her religious practices. Elmira reached out and placed her hand on Enola’s shoulder.

  “It’s important. You’ll understand soon.”

  With a nudge, Elmira ushered her toward the entrance. Although she was hesitant, Enola soldiered on. As she and Elmira made their way down the aisle, she noticed that the church was empty but well lit. Once at the altar, Elmira dropped to her knees and tugged Enola’s hand, encouraging her to do the same. Enola pulled her hand away. She was there, but she didn’t know the point. Elmira had just pulled her away from some much needed time with her husband to pray. She could’ve prayed at home.

  “Join her.”

  Enola startled at the voice from behind. She turned to find, not one, but three black women in white clergy robes approaching. Baptism was the first thought that came to mind. Enola’s anxiety spiked at the sight of the women, apparently clerics, approaching. She had become ill at ease with religion as of late.

  “You’re too late. I’ve already been baptized,” Enola joked nervously, taking a step back.

  “Oh, God, would you relax? What is wrong with you?”” Elmira fussed. “Scared of some preachers,” she scoffed. “What could you possibly be afraid of? If you wanted, you could burn this whole church down; with them in it.”

  Of course, Enola knew that Elmira was right. She knew the power she had. And it wasn’t the clerics that filled her with fear.

  “God,” Enola admitted in a whisper. “I fear God.”

  “As you should as a Christian,” one woman said.

  Elmira stood and looked Enola in the eye. With an air of sincerity, she said, “That’s why I brought you here. Enola, your family needs you. We all need you. These witches are killing all of our elders, the only ones with the knowledge to teach us. We need you to invoke the power of the ancestors. And to do that... You need to get right with God.”

  Enola’s cheeks warmed and tears welled in her eyes.

  “How? How do I get right with God while practicing Voodoo?”

  One preacher moved closer and placed her hand on Enola’s arm.

  “Child, Voodoo, like Islam, Judaism, and even Christianity is a religion. Our West African ancestors practiced this religion and carried it with them in the bowels of slave ships to this land, which was once a French colony. Although Voodoo has been greatly infused with Christianity, it is still the religion of our ancestors.”

  She raised her hand to Enola’s cheek. Her expression was serious, and her words were passionate when she added, through gritted teeth...

  “And it is not evil.”

  MARGO

  When Margo circled the driveway, her mother was already out front waiting for her. She threw her car in park and hopped out of the driver’s side.

  “Okay, I’m here. What is it?”

  Margo knew that her tone was teetering on insubordinate, but her evening had gone nowhere near the way she’d planned. She finally got rid of Bishop, only to be summoned by her mother.

  “Get back in,” her mother instructed as she hurried over to the passenger side.

  She tried to pull the knob, but the door was locked.

  “Open the door,” her mother blustered.

  Margo frowned and used the key fob to unlock the door. Her mother opened it and dropped into the passenger seat. Margo returned to the driver’s side and looked over at her mom. She was noticeably irritated.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Margo question.

  She looked over at Margo with a scowl. “I don’t like your tone!” she spat. “It’s disrespectful and unnecessary. And you’d better watch it!”

  Margo was mistaken. Her mother was not irritated, she was pissed. She lowered her head and responded the only way she could.

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry.”

  As a child, Margo was taught to respect her elders, especially her mother. And she knew better than to test her when she was angry.

  “I apologize,” she repeated.

  If she was waiting for her mother to gracefully accept her apology, it was clear she’d be waiting a lifetime. So, she sat quietly, waiting for further instructions. Finally, after a moment of uncomfortable silence, her mother told her to drive.

  Margo shifted gears and hit the gas. She was almost afraid to speak, but her mom offered nothing. She had no choice.

  “Where to?” Margo asked.

  Her mother sighed as if her anger had dissolved.

  “The earth is sacred,” she began, which only added to Margo’s confusion. “In Voodoo, rituals are imperative. It is not always practiced or understood by your younger generation, but it is of vital importance.”

  Margo was driving, with absolutely no idea where she was going. She slowed to a crawl. Luckily, they hadn’t made it past their property line.

  “When Louisiana was a French colony, certain slave masters afforded their slaves a day off. On Sundays, the enslaved would gather in certain places, where they would socialize and commune with traditional song or dance.”

  She turned to Margo as if to make sure that she was paying attention. With a nod, Margo confirmed that she was.

  “Are you talking about Congo Square?” Margo asked. “I’ve heard of Congo Square.”

  Her mother exhaled in a way that showed disappointment.

  “Although, it is a part of our history, Congo Square was mostly for entertainment.”

  “Oh,” Margo acknowledged in a whisper.

  “Turn left.”

  Margo turned left as instructed.

  “Some other traditions included certain rituals,” her mother added.

  Now, the word, “ritual” got Margo’s attention. They often spoke of history, ancestors, spells, and magic, but rituals didn’t come up much.

  “What rituals?” She had to ask.

  “Blood magic,” her mother responded plainly.

  “What?”

  “Blood sacrifice.”

  Margo nearly drove off the road, and her mother had just gone off the rails. The words escaped her lips like it was no big deal, but Margo didn’t understand what they meant. Was she talking about sacrificing a person? Her mother had just gone way beyond chanting, potions, and spells. She sounded horror movie voodoo crazy. It suddenly occurred to Margo that she might need some back-up from her family to talk some sense into her mom.

  “Where’s, Nola?”

  “Church.”

  Margo’s mouth flew open. What in the world was Enola doing at church?

  “Turn right on Lafayette Road,” her mother directed before she could ask.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  ENOLA

  After an hour of intense prayer, a forty-five-minute drive, and a 10-minute walk through the woods, Enola and Elmira were approaching a clearing that was lit by a bonfire. To her surprise, waiting around the bonfire was not only Margo and her Aunt Ruby, but Madame Belfour and Madame Bennett’s children, Grace and Stephen. They were all dressed in some kind of white frock.

  Enola didn’t have to be told where they were. She knew the second they arrived that they were on sacred ground. As she moved closer to the fire, thoughts of the last time she was there flooded her mind.

  “This is where we killed the priest,” En
ola reminisced out loud.

  “It’s so much more than that,” Ruby corrected. “This land was consecrated with the ash of Auriette Moreau, and it is where you’re going to invoke your ancestors and consume their power.”

  Madam Belfour stepped forward.

  Child, you are the descendant of Marie Roux, Marie Laveau, and Auriette Moreau; three of the most powerful priestesses that have walked the earth.”

  Enola shook her head. Everyone seemed to miss the obvious.

  “So is Vivienne. We share ancestors.”

  Ruby placed her palm to Enola’s cheek and smiled.

  “Je déclenche le feu sur vous tous!” she recited. “Those were the words of Auriette Moreau. Chéri... you were chosen- the curse of fire.”

  “Put this on,” Elmira said, tossing her a white frock.

  Enola looked down at the jumpsuit she was wearing and figured it would be easier to throw the garment over her clothing. Elmira apparently read her mind. She shook her head and pointed toward an enormous tree.

  Enola’s ears perked from the sound of wolves in the forest. She smiled at the thought of her husband being nearby and went behind the tree. While the others waited, she hurried out of her clothes and into the flimsy white garment.

  The sound of crackling dry leaves prompted Enola to turn around. It was Margo peeping around the trunk. The apprehension in her expression was concerning.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  Margo moved closer and spoke in a whisper.

  “Do you know what’s happening here?”

  “I think so. We’re about to invoke the ancestors, right?”

  Margo’s knitted brows said that there was something she was missing.

  “What?” Enola asked impatiently.

  “Did anyone mention blood magic to you? We’re about to perform some blood ritual. I have to cut myself.”

  On the way over, Elvira described the ritual. She didn’t give many details, but she knew there would be an invocation with the blood of their lineage. She said they would have to shed blood.

  “It’s gonna be okay,” Enola assured.

  Margo gave her a wide-eyed glare.

  “Does a blood ritual that involves a sacrifice sound okay to you? I’m telling you now if they try to sacrifice me, I’mma compel that Bennett dude to beat they ass.”

  Enola laughed at the silliness of her suspicions.

  “Girl, ain’t nobody gonna sacrifice your dumb ass.”

  Margo smacked her lips.

  “I’m just saying...”

  “Come on, fool,” Enola urged with laughter.

  Enola grabbed her wrist and pulled her toward the group.

  “Just do as your told. Don’t fuck up and leave me in some spirit world.”

  Margo shoved Enola toward the bonfire.

  “Let’s get this over with. This shit is fucking weird.”

  Well, she wasn’t was lying about that. Just a short time ago, voodoo, witches, and vampires only existed in books and movies.

  “Gather around,” Madame Belfour instructed.

  Stephen Bennett grabbed a small drum.

  “We’ll form a circle. Enola, you’re in the middle,” she continued.

  Enola and Margo didn’t move. Instead, they looked around, gauging everyone else’s demeanors.

  “Please, now,” Madame Belfour insisted.

  Though hesitant, Margo joined the circle. Enola moved to the center. Benjamin joined her. Enola looked on with confusion as he placed a cage in front of her. She didn’t know he was there. After some thought, it made sense. There was no way he could’ve worked for her grandmother all those years and not know what they were into.

  Enola looked in the cage and saw a chicken. She glared at Ruby.

  “Wha- what is this? What am I supposed to do with this?”

  “You know what to do. Let’s get on with it.

  Ruby’s voice was annoyingly calm.

  Benjamin offered a knife to Enola. She looked around, waiting for someone, anyone, to object. But they were silent. Even Margo. She was probably grateful she wasn’t the one being sacrificed.

  “I- I can’t do this,” Enola announced to anyone that would listen.

  “Hey!” Elmira blurted. “It’s that chicken or all of us!”

  Enola threw her hands up. “What do y’all want me to do?”

  “Cut its neck. Then, let the blood fall to the earth,” Ruby replied.

  Enola gulped and accepted the knife. She was prepared to do what she needed to for her family and what was left of her tribe.

  Benjamin lowered to his knees and took the chicken out of the cage. He waved for Enola to join him in the dirt. So, she took a deep breath and got down. As soon as her knees touched the ground, she heard the drum.

  Madame Belfour and Ruby began to chant in Krio, the language of slaves taken from Sierra Leone. Enola learned the chant on the way there, but she didn’t know the exact meaning of each word. She did, however, know it translated as a plea to her ancestors for strength and knowledge.

  Benjamin held the chicken toward her. Having never held a farm animal in her life, Enola was nervous. She didn’t know how to handle a chicken. Would it attack? Do chickens bite? She’d soon find out.

  “Hold it by the neck,” Benjamin advised.

  Enola nodded and slowly replaced Benjamin’s hand around the chicken’s neck. Without releasing the animal, he lowered it to the ground. The frantic flapping of the bird’s wings made Enola jump.

  “It can’t hurt you,” he assured. “Hold it here.”

  Enola put the knife down. She put her other hand over its wings and held it to the ground. When Benjamin nodded and left the circle, Elmira, Grace, and Stephen added their voices to the chant. In perfect rhythm with the beating drum, they called upon their ancestor in their ancestral tongue. When Margo chimed in, their pleas grew loud and passionate.

  Enola released the lower half of the chicken and picked up the knife. The bird’s wings flapped with desperation as if it knew its fate. With a shaky hand, Enola put the knife to the bird’s neck. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and cut. She held it to the ground. When it was still, she opened her eyes and let it go.

  Enola looked down at the dead bird and waited to feel remorse. She didn’t. Maybe it was because she ate chicken at least three times a week and it occurred to her that someone had to kill them.

  Margo and Ruby moved closer, still chanting in their ancestral tongue. They lowered to their knees in front of her. Ruby moved the chicken to the side. With a different knife, she sliced her hand until it bled and allowed the blood to drip where the chicken bled. She handed the knife to Margo. Though she continued to chant, Enola saw the fear in her eyes. Her hands trembled when she repeated the actions of her mother and shed blood where her mother had. Margo handed the knife to her and clutched her bleeding hand.

  When Margo and Ruby returned to their positions in the circle, Enola felt alone. It was all on her now. She placed the knife in the center of her hand. After a deep breath, she pushed the blade to her skin and sliced until she drew blood. She dropped the knife at her side and held her hand over the blood of her family.

  Enola chorused the mantra as she bled on the earth. Together, they repeated it over and over, louder and louder. Enola cried out feverishly for help from her ancestors, but she was getting nothing. Just when she thought the ritual wasn’t working, the beat of the drum took her. Her body moved involuntarily. It was as if the drum was inside of her, echoing her heartbeat. The compulsion to move with the rhythm was strong; too strong to resist.

  Enola threw her head back and raised her hands to the sky. Her hips gyrated as she experienced a sense of freedom she’d never had. It positively was tantric. Then abruptly, and without warning, her body jerked to a stop. She was frozen; completely paralytic. It was dark and totally silent. Enola wondered if the ritual had killed her. Suddenly, she was submerged in a gray fog.

  Out of the haze came a figure. Enola couldn’t ma
ke out who or what it was. Yet she wasn’t afraid. When two additional silhouettes came into view, Enola struggled to see through the fog. When they were close enough for her to see, she couldn’t believe her eyes.

  Enola’s face burned and tears welled in her eyes. She reached out, suddenly able to move.

  “Gran,” she called out breathlessly. “Oh, my God! Gran, is that you?”

  It instantly reminded her of the pain of losing her grandmother. As the other figures moved closer, tears streamed down her cheek. One figure, Enola didn’t recognize, but when she saw her mother, she was utterly and completely inconsolable.

  MARGO

  The drumming stopped and chanting ceased when Enola hit the ground. Margo ran over to help her, but her mother screamed for her to stop.

  “Don’t touch her!”

  Margo stopped. There were tears in her eyes when she looked back at her mother.

  “Is she alive?” she asked her.

  Margo was horrified when she didn’t answer right away.

  “IS SHE ALIVE?”

  Her mother opened her mouth to speak, but Madame Belfour interrupted.

  “She’s somewhere in between.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  Margo frowned when the women shared a look between them. She needed a better explanation. What she saw was terrifying. Enola was convulsing and jerking around like she was having a seizure. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head, turning completely white. She looked like she’d been possessed, and Margo wanted to know by what.

  “Fuck this!” Margo cursed, moving toward her cousin.

  She dropped to her knees next to Enola. When she went to touch her, she heard, Don’t! She’s fine!”

  Margo looked up. It was Gideon. He was shirtless, buttoning his pants. He sat next to Enola and crossed his legs. As protective as he usually was, his calmness stunned Margo. Seeing as how his wife was in a coma.