Healing the Bayou (7 page)

We patiently waited in line to get to see the memorial of my great-great-grandmother, whom was evidently a very popular figure for those remotely interested in Voodoo.

A few of the other graves had a number of visitors, but most of the tourists were here to see Marie Laveau. The way her followers carried on made for a good show. One woman placed her hand on the marble marked with graffiti and rolled her eyes back as though she was going to faint. Of course she didn’t—she wasn’t quite that committed to the charade.

A tombstone with a large plaque stood out among all the others.

Marie Leaveu

This Greek revival tomb is the reputed burial place of this notorious “Voodoo queen.” A mystic cult, Voodooism, of African origin, was brought to this city from Santo Domingo and flourished in the 19th century. Marie Laveau was the most widely known of many practitioners of the cult.

The foot of the marker was littered with candles, beads, coins, and cigarettes. Triple Xs were drawn all over her crypt, and the disrespect infuriated me.

“What, they couldn’t hold onto their crap long enough to find a trash can?” I snapped.

“They are offerings,” Aunt Vivian informed me. “The tradition among her followers has been to write XXX, present an offering to Marie, and make a wish.”

“So, they think she can grant their wishes from the grave?”

“With all their hearts they believe it. Your great-great-grandmother was both feared and respected in her day, and still is by anyone who knows Voodoo today.”

I shrugged. “To me it seems to take away from her legacy. It’s almost as if she is on display in a museum, and these leaches are coming by trying to disturb the peace she could have in death for nothing more than the sake of being selfish. She’s a tourist stop. I obviously don’t know anything about her, but I have to believe she deserves more than this.”

Aunt Vivian looked over her sunglasses at me and leaned in close. “That’s what we thought too. So we moved her.”

It was a surprising revelation but it was also a huge relief.

“So then, why are we here if she isn’t?”

“The elders and I spoke about you last night. We wanted to be sure you were trustworthy enough to know her true burial place. Come on. Let’s go meet your ancestor.”

We casually strolled out of the circus and made our way a few blocks down the road to another larger cemetery called Saint Louis Cemetery No. 2.

When we stepped inside the black metal gate, a chill ran down my spine. Right in front of me stood the giant oak tree from my dreams, and it scared me no less in the daylight. It was watching me, memorizing every step I took. To my far right I caught a glimpse of two slabs of concrete. I imagined the mutilated goat on one with myself on the other and became so uncomfortable I had to convince myself not to turn around and leave.

Aunt Vivian guided me to a modest, unmarked headstone and without her needing to tell me I knew it was our destination. Underneath my feet was a woman that shared my blood and my powers, and I was in awe.

Out of respect, I brushed away the cobwebs covering the marker. Aunt Vivian knelt to place a small hemp sack on the ground, closed her eyes to pray quietly, and I joined her. Once the respects were paid, she sat on to the grass and bid me to do the same.

“May I ask what is inside?” I gestured to the offering.

“Sugar cubes,” Vivian chuckled. “She had quite the sweet tooth, I’m told.”

“Hmm. My dentist thanks you for passing that trait on to me,” I teased the earth. “My father’s wallet, not so much.”

Aunt Vivian reached into her mouth and pulled out her top dentures to show that she, too, suffered from a sugar addiction, and we both snorted the same ungraceful laugh. It was so nice to be able to feel so easy around someone. This was a welcomed change. Deep down, I knew I belonged here with these people who were so welcoming to me. Next week I would miss them all when I returned to Florida.

“The widow Paris,” she began once she caught her breath, “was the last truly great Voodoo priestess. There has never been another as powerful as she was. The white men feared her abilities and called her everything from a fraud to a witch. But she is a figure of sainthood to those who know the truth. She healed anyone who wanted it and gave charity to those that needed it.”

“But she practiced Voodoo?”

“She was the Queen of Voodoo, my child. And she was the only true one since. You can walk the streets of New Orleans and find shops that say they will sell you authentic Voodoo potions and charms, but it’s all a fake for the tourists that come by wanting to dabble in the dark magic. You’ll even find a few ladies around that claim to be priestesses themselves, but real Voodoo isn’t about making a few dollars to deceive somebody. Marie Laveau never charged a cent to save a soul.”

“The plaque at the other cemetery called Voodooism a cult.”

“Of course they called it that! Voodooism and Christianity have been at odds for many years, and since the Christians have the numbers they can call us anything they want to and everybody will just take them at their word. But if they sat down and studied our religion, they could see for themselves we worship the same people as the Catholics do. We just call them by different names. You know, the woman right here”—she pointed to the ground—“called herself a Voodoo Christian. She went to Sunday mass, and the church called on her to perform a great many exorcisms on their behalf. They respected us then.” She pointed an angry finger into the dirt for emphasis.

“What changed?” I leaned forward, engrossed in this powerful tale of my ancestors.

“Well, once great-grandma died there wasn’t anyone powerful enough to keep us at odds with the Christians. They feared the magic we held in our hands and quite frankly, I suspect they were jealous of the miracles we could perform. They outnumbered us, and we were forced into hiding.”

“But what about the dark magic? You don’t think it was that they were afraid of? That is a lot of power to trust to someone.”

“Somewhere along the line trust became something you have to prove. It wasn’t terribly long ago that one’s word was enough.”

“Maybe it was when the bad started outnumbering the good.”

“You’re very wise, Eliza.”

We sat quietly for a moment, both of us deep in thought. I was trying to drink in everything I had just learned. I understood what it was to live in hiding. Because of my condition I never did attend school the way other children did. Instead my parents thought it best to homeschool me so I wasn’t found out. I had a couple of cousins that lived nearby, and they were the only friends I ever enjoyed until I went to college.

I graduated high school two years early, and attending the University of West Florida was the first fight for freedom I managed to win with my parents. They wanted me to go through an online college, but I insisted that no matter what my career choice at some point I would have to come into contact with people.

I had spent the last eight years slowly inserting myself into a seminormal early adulthood, and I must have been fairly successful because they didn’t fight me on my decision to get a graduate degree. I chose psychology because secretly I believed my abilities were nothing more than an extreme manifestation of some kind of anxiety disorder.

The analyzer in me was beginning to rear its head. I observed Aunt Vivian frowning as she stared out into the distance, afraid to ask the question that was beating down on me. But if I was going to be staying with her I needed to know who she was.

“Aunt Vivian, do you practice dark magic?”

She welcomed the distraction from whatever was going on in her mind. “Of course I have at one time or another, but I don’t make a habit of it.”

She said it so nonchalantly it was a little troubling, and I didn’t have any desire to learn the details of her past. What if she had hexed someone? Everyone had heard of Voodoo dolls and I’d bet she’d used her share.

“Did my mother practice as well?”

“Your mother was the Queen!”

“What does that mean?” She had used the term along with priestess, but she hadn’t elaborated.

“She led our community. Once she died I took over as matriarch, but I was never announced as the new Queen. I was training Camille to take over my position, and it killed me to take the role outside of the family. But now I don’t have to do that. And with the amount of power you have, you’ll be Queen in no time.”

Surely she wasn’t suggesting I convert into her world of magic? I tensed at the expectation, but her eyes looked so hopeful I knew it would break her heart if I chose not to.

“Aunt Vivian, I have to return to Florida next week.”

Her brow creased and her smile faded. “But you’ve only just gotten here!”

“I know, but I have to start school again in the fall.”

“It’s barely June. You can stay a while longer, can’t you?”

“I…I don’t know—”

“Eliza, stay a few weeks. Learn about your history and about the religion you were born into. It’s almost Saint John’s Eve and a perfect opportunity for you to see what kind of life you could have here. No other day is as powerful. At the end of the summer if you still want to leave, then you can. But there are colleges here too, you know.”

I sighed heavily. I wanted to learn about this world. I belonged here, I could feel it. But I was also terrified of what was under the surface of it all. There was a reason the true members of the religion stayed so hidden, and if my dream was any indication of what it was all about, there was no wonder. I needed to think about it all, but it didn’t make any difference whether I thought about it here or back home.

“All right, I’ll change my flight,” I caved.

“Wonderful!” Aunt Vivian jumped to her feet with excitement. Why was she was so limber today when just yesterday she couldn’t bring herself to her feet without assistance? Perhaps she had taken one of the healing baths she had drawn for me last night. It really was remarkably relaxing. Of course what aches would a twenty-four-year-old have in comparison to Aunt Vivian?

The sky was darkening, and we made our way through the maze of crypts back to Aunt Vivian’s house. I kept my distance from the frightening tree until I noticed someone standing behind it.

I stopped. Did the Voodoo community still have enemies? The thought spiked my adrenaline. Maybe the person was going to jump us when we passed a quiet alley? My aunt was their leader. If there were enemies to speak of, she would be an ideal victim.

A surge of protectiveness came over me, and I charged over to the tree, paying no attention to the features that had once made me uneasy. Whoever it was would have to look me in the face if they were going to hurt the only family I had left.

“Eliza!”

Aunt Vivian called me from where I had left her, but I ignored it. She tried to follow me as I closed in on my target, so I turned to motion her to stop and wait. I sprinted to run around the trunk to the other side.

There was no one.

“Are you following me?”

I jumped when Samuel appeared from behind me and questioned my presence.

“Don’t be stupid,” I spat, sore from the startle. “Aunt Vivian and I were visiting, and I thought I saw someone watching us.”

“And you thought you’d take him on all by your big-girl self?”

My jaw dropped at the insult. How dare he suggest I wasn’t capable of taking care of myself?

“Yes, as a matter of fact. Despite what they teach you boys in gym class, women don’t require your protection. We can defend ourselves.”

His lips twitched as he tried to bite back a smile but it broke through anyway. I was proud of myself for being the one to crack the shell.

“I must’ve been cutting the day they taught that. It doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Shut up,” I teased. “What were you doing out here, anyway?”

“We should go. It’s about to rain.”

I rolled my eyes at the way he was always so vague. Ominous clouds were beginning to build. I brought my attention back to Aunt Vivian, whose fists were planted firmly on her hips in irritation. I decided to leave the pressing alone for now, but I had officially made it my little project to get this man to open up to me.

Chapter Seven

Tossing and turning in bed that night, I was unable to sleep with everything running through my mind. Was I really going to stay with a woman who admitted to practicing black magic? I was starting to regret having gone through with changing my flight reservations once we got home, but Aunt Vivian insisted I do it immediately. She said she didn’t want me to forget but I think she just didn’t want me to have the opportunity to change my mind.

I wished with all my heart my mother was here. She always knew what to say to make me feel better about my choices the way all mothers seem to. I wiped a tear that fell down my cheek and tried to think of something else.

What would she have to say about Samuel? A small, involuntary smile curved from my lips when I thought his name. Surely he couldn’t hear me all the way in here, could he? I don’t know what it was about him, but even in my dreams I couldn’t pretend I didn’t want him. I knew nothing about him, not even his last name, but ever since the first time his face was shown to me in my sleep I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I remembered what Marcus called him earlier: My keeper. What did that mean?

Deciding I was going to find out, I got out of bed. I walked to the door and caught a glimpse of my reflection in the hanging body-length mirror to my right. Thank God it had caught my eye. I was a mess in my dad’s old Baltimore Ravens T-shirt and my raggedy gym shorts. My hair was a frizzy disaster. There was no way I would be caught dead looking so disheveled.

I changed into a silk pink camisole that was laced with white around the bust. It purposefully showed of my large breasts and narrowed in the waist, giving the illusion I was a size four instead of a size six—an edge I would need if I was in competition with the slender Miss Camille.

Chastising myself for the pettiness, I squeezed into a pair of much too tight black jeans that complemented my bottom just perfectly. After putting on a deceptive layer of makeup that looked completely au natural, I pulled my hair into a pretty pony. Admiring myself in the mirror for a minute, I decided I was as good as I was going to get and made my way to the door.