Authors: Heather Hamilton-Senter
Gesturing for me to precede him into the back room, he fell in step with Ava. Even though fear raised the hair on my arms, I walked into the dark. When my eyes adjusted, I saw the narrow staircase.
“Go on up,” he urged.
At the top of the stairs was a small landing which gave Ava and Michel a good excuse to stand close. Rapping on the door twice, he called out, “Auntie? Can I come in? There’s someone here who needs to speak to you.”
I couldn’t help myself. I reached out and gave the door a third knock. Michel glanced at me but didn’t comment.
There was no answer, but a small click indicated the door was now open.
The young man made a flourish with his arms, the whites of his eyes gleaming in the dim light. “After you, Maiden.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
As I opened the door and walked in, I expected something as exotic as the store below with maybe a few shrunken heads thrown in for effect. I didn’t expect Swedish modern. The loft space encompassed the top floor of not just the store below, but at least two others beside it. Everything was blond wood, stainless steel, and cool stone. The only splash of vibrant color in the room was an abstract painting filling the entire length of one wall. It was all a little modern for my taste, but I appreciated the elegance and simplicity of the design.
I focused on the small woman seated at the glass dining table and she stared back. She was lighter skinned than her nephew, and while her hair was cut just as short, it was shot with grey. Dressed in a tailored, cream-colored pantsuit, she crossed her legs and revealed arch-achingly high stilettos. She looked more like the queen of realtors than of Voodoo.
“It’s a good thing for you that I love my sister, Michel.”
“Yes, Auntie.” For all his talk of flaying, he didn’t seem afraid. “These girls say they have an important message for you. And they know who you are.”
Narrowing her strangely light green eyes, she gestured for us to approach. Inspecting Ava briefly, the woman flicked her French-manicured fingers towards the sectional in the center of the room. “You. Go flirt with my irresponsible nephew over there.”
I nodded at Ava and she obeyed. Michel seemed happy to follow. I was happy to notice Ava had her weighted handbag with her, just in case.
Adelaide gestured again. “Sit.”
I sat down across from her. Tapping the glass with one long fingernail, she narrowed her eyes. “You run to plumpness, but have recently lost weight. And blood too, if I’m not mistaken.”
Irritation filled me, but I forced my lips into a small smile and didn’t respond. Five or ten pounds heavier wasn’t exactly plump.
She raised one eyebrow. “No? I’ll tell you something else then. The vapid milk of your complexion tells me you’re a Northerner. The lines around your mouth say that you smile too much and for little reason. There’s a mind behind those eyes, I think. When you’re old, you’re going to have a line of dissatisfaction between you’re brows. And you’ll be fat, most likely.”
One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three. Smiling, I mimicked her movement, tapping my finger against the glass until the urge to smash her face into the table passed.
Leaning back, Adelaide sighed. “Ah, I’ve made you angry. Why do you cast a spell to erase your own feelings? Don’t you know that rage is powerful?”
I pressed my hand flat against the glass. “What spell?”
She looked down pointedly at my hand.
Gasping, I jerked it away, but the faint black mark on my wrist was already fading.
“Who are you?” Adelaide demanded. “And be assured the answer had better satisfy me or you and your friend will never leave this room alive.”
“Auntie . . . ,” Michel protested, but she pointed a long finger at him and he was silent.
I shared a glance with Ava and she pulled her bag closer. “My name is Lacey McInnis. I’m the Maiden,” I said simply.
Adelaide frowned. “Then the Crone . . . ?”
“Is dead. I was her apprentice. She made me her heir.”
The woman’s sudden laughter was startling. “You Celtics, always taking things so seriously, so sure you’re the possessors of original magic.” I knew she wasn’t talking about the basketball team. “I’ve heard about this King Arthur awakened from endless sleep, and the Horned One now calling himself Merlin. I’ve even heard he has a daughter with a strange power.” She laughed again. Standing suddenly, she walked over to a window and pulled open the blind. “Come over here. What do you see?”
I joined her at the window. “The street, some tourists, a few cars . . .”
“You see the world. Those beings who came from Avalon made themselves gods over it, but there is magic that is deeper and more ancient than any petty Roman god, or Norse hero, or Celtic king. The magic of the loa—the spirits—has existed since the beginning of time.”
The woman threw her arms around my shoulder, suddenly motherly. “Let’s eat, chère. Michel is an excellent cook. Truly, it’s the only reason I don’t send him back to his mother.” As she guided me back to the table, Michel stood and they shared a long look that I couldn’t read.
Finally, the young man looked down. “And I’m grateful, Auntie. Jobs are hard to find in the city.” She made an airy gesture with her right hand and Michel went to the kitchen.
Ava joined us at the table. Michel brought out four glasses and poured lemonade into them. The tart liquid cleared my throat. “I have a message for you,” I began, but Adelaide shushed me.
“Manners, child. Not until we’ve eaten.”
The lunch of pork medallions in peppercorn sauce was delicious. I watched Ava and Michel through my lashes, an ache beginning in my chest and spreading down my arms. They looked like they were really interested in one another. Why was it so easy for some people? What was wrong with
me
that the guy I loved couldn’t see me, even though many others would have happily lined up to take his place? The ache turned hot. How could Peter be such a fool? How could he love
her
?
I jumped at the clatter of Adelaide’s fork as she dropped it on her plate. “I see the rage in your face again. That is the power of the Maiden.”
“I don’t have any power.” It was becoming my mantra.
The woman waved her fingers at me. “Do you think Maiden, or White Lady, or Queen of Voodoo, are just colorful titles? The Crone’s power was of winter—cold, resentful, and full of revenge. She was the Crone for so long that the power of the Maiden and the Mother are almost forgotten in the world. The power of the Mother is the contentment of the fading summer and the plush fulfillment of fall. She is conservation, protection, and benevolence. But the power of the Maiden is warm spring and the hot flare of early summer—the power of growth, and violent beginnings, the frenzy of first love, and the aching yearning to become.”
Her words assaulted me, threatening to undo the casing of my skin so that my very atoms would explode into the air. I reached for something to calm myself, but I couldn’t remember numbers, or cuts, or rituals. I had no power. I had never had any power. At the end of everything, there was only Stephen, my little brother, lying dead on his bed, clutching his favorite toy. I couldn’t save him. No matter how smart, popular, or strong I made myself, he was still gone.
Screaming silently, my mind flew apart, following him.
A warm hand was on my shoulder—Michel’s. It calmed me. He seemed about to speak, but then he looked at his aunt.
She was regarding me thoughtfully. “You have an expressive face, Maiden. It’s a liability. You must learn to hide your feelings from the world. I can see clearly that the Crone tainted you with her winter somehow.”
Taking a shuddering breath, I nodded. “She used me as a receptacle for the power she wasn’t strong enough to hold.
The woman’s eyebrows shot up. “I wonder where she learned that trick. I didn’t even know it was possible.”
“Lacey?” Ava whispered.
“I’m all right.”
The girl looked afraid. “Your eyes rolled back in your head and you started to shake.”
I tapped the glass three times before I could respond. “I’m OK.”
Adelaide leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “There’s a balance to all the power that exists in the world. Good and evil. Light and dark. Young and old. I suspect the Crone upset that balance with what she did to you. You’re a very dangerous young woman, Lacey McInnis. The power of life, even violent life, is incompatible with a love of death.”
“I don’t love death. I hate it.”
She tapped the glass three times, mocking me. “Do you?”
Without warning, the woman’s face changed completely, and she looked hesitant, uncertain. “Michel?” Her voice quivered as she reached for him. He helped her stand and she clutched his arm, hunched over and shaking. When she looked at me again, there was a gleam of insanity in her eyes. “I’m tired! Give me the damn message and then get out of here!” Ava and I stood in surprise.
Michel bent forward to murmur a few words in his aunt’s ear. Straightening, he said, “It’s time to go. The queen’s patience is fading.”
The hairs on my arm stood up and static electricity filled the air. I tried to take a step forward, but it was like trying to push through the winds of a hurricane. A roaring rose in my ears and I had to scream to hear my own words. “This warning comes from the White Lady who received it from the Seer of New York. Someone is stealing the bones of witches to open the Gates of Guinee! They have Marie Laveau’s already. They want yours!”
My hair whipped around my face and everything was blurred as if rain was falling sideways between us. Even through the roar, I could hear Adelaide cackling. “As if I’d be stupid enough to trust a message from the White Lady! Take this message back to that witch. Ask her how many innocent men she chased to their deaths to avenge the death of her daughter!
Though your sins be as red as scarlet, they shall be white as snow
!”
There was a flurry of motion and sound I couldn’t grasp or comprehend. The world went briefly blank, and then everything was silent.
I looked around. Michel, Ava and I were standing on the other side of the Queen of Voodoo’s closed door.
“Follow me.” We followed Michel down the stairs and back into the shop.
Ava’s eyes were wild. “What
was
that?”
The young man smiled gently. “Adelaide is very old. Sometimes she forgets herself. It was for her sake that I removed you, not yours.”
“You did that?” I asked.
He shrugged again. “Are you surprised that the nephew of the Voodoo Queen is a
bokur
?”
“Bokur?”
“I don’t know what you would call it in your world. A male witch? A warlock?”
Ava laughed abruptly. “New Orleans is just chock full of witches, isn’t it?”
I looked down at my hands; they were shaking. “What did she mean about the White Lady?”
Michel shrugged. “There are two factions of witches in New Orleans—those who practice Voodoo and follow my aunt, and those who follow the White Lady. I don’t know for sure why they call her that, but the rumor among Adelaide’s followers is that it concerns a folktale from the 1800s. The White Lady was a woman whose daughter was raped and murdered by a local farmer. Mad with grief, she threw herself into a lake. Her ghost supposedly wanders the roads at night dressed in white, looking for her child, and terrorizing passing motorists. Other versions of the story say she murdered the farmer and any other man who had ever dared to even look at her daughter.”
“Are you saying the dean of our school is a two hundred year old mass murderer?”
He ran his hand over his head. “I don’t know. Like I said, my aunt’s mind isn’t what it used to be. It could be true. Depending how we use our magic, we witches live much longer than mundanes. But that’s not important right now. Tell me everything you remember about this warning. When Adelaide calms down, I’ll make sure she understands.”
While Ava related the details of the message Bel and Chloe brought from Morgause, and the attack on Claire Benoit, I wandered around the store. A small object on the back of a shelf caught my eye. It was a plain little doll made of cloth. Unlike the skull-headed versions, this one had no face and smelled like it was filled with herbs. I recognized it immediately.
“Why do you have a
fith-fath
in the store?” I asked.
Michel came over to look at what I held in my hands. “What did you call it?”
“A fith-fath. Someone made one for me once, but I didn’t take it. It was supposed to mask my presence from other magic users who wished to harm me. I was stupid to refuse it.”
“I’ve never heard it called that before.
Ava gasped. “I know what it is. It’s a Voodoo doll! People stick pins in it to hurt you.”
The young man laughed as he took the doll and waggled it at Ava. She took a quick step back. “Don’t worry. That’s just in movies. This is gris-gris—talisman based magic. You use the pin to put a picture or name on the doll to focus your spell on that individual or to call on a spirit. Then you petition it to help you with love, power, luck, or an uncrossing.”
Michel tossed the doll on the shelf. I picked it up again, feeling strangely protective of it. “An uncrossing?”
“If someone wishes you bad luck or has cast a spell on you, you use this to undo it.”
I shook my head. “It’s so similar.”
“It’s what my aunt was trying to tell you. I know all about Taliesin, Arthur rising, and the Horned God Cernunnos now called Merlin. They think that magic came here with the creatures that left Avalon, but I believe it has always been here.”
“What do you mean?”
His dark eyes were intent, but he didn’t respond. “It doesn’t matter. Take it. If you wind some of your hair around its neck, maybe it will protect you the same way your fith-fath was supposed to.”
“Thank you,” I murmured, slipping the doll into the pocket of my sweater.