Punished (8 page)

“Yes, Aunt Mae,” I said, as I lowered my gaze. I didn’t want to mess with her; she was pretty scary when she got angry. Plus, she could try to drown me again. “Well, do you have any of Louis’ things like clothes or a picture, at least?”

Aunt Mae shook her head furiously. “No, the few belongings that he did have were all taken by Marie after she left Darkwood. I managed to dig up dirt from his grave, but that was well over forty years ago. His body was buried in that old slave cemetery next to the swamp. However, each queen needs to collect her own dirt otherwise any type of uncrossing spell won’t work.” Her tone was compellingly ominous which made me all the more curious.

“Well, if you have dirt from his grave that means you should be able to get some sort of reading from it, right?”

She nodded. “Yes, in theory, that is how it should work. However, I haven’t gotten any type of reading from the dirt. For whatever reason, the spirits haven’t allowed me to make a connection. They don’t allow just anyone to obtain knowledge they aren’t supposed to.”

My mind raced. Dirt from his grave. I had to collect dirt from Louis’ grave. “Then I have to go there, I have to collect graveyard dust, so I can feel him, understand him.” I rationalized.

“In time, my child,” she said, as she stood up. “You’ve got to learn how to get along with the loa first. Without their guidance, you won’t have a chance. Now, enjoy the rest of your bath. I’m off to bed. I take it you’re still interested on working here and I’ll see you at seven am sharp?”

“Yes,” I mumbled. “If you don’t try to kill me again.”

“Excellent.” She gave me a small wink and turned to leave.

After she left, I stayed in the bath for a few more minutes and reflected on what she had told me. My dream had been about the swamp; maybe going there was the key to everything. The slave cemetery was somehow critical to understanding more about Louis, the curse and how I could help Lucus.

 
Aunt Mae expected me to believe blindly and with unwavering conviction that there was this gigantic plan set out for me by Erzulie. As I sat in a bathtub full of rancid red brick dust, salt and red oak leaves, it all seemed surreal.

A few more minutes spent in mindless obsessing passed when I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer. I grabbed a large white towel from the stack and wrapped it protectively around me. As I passed familiar rows of white doors, my original intent was to head straight to my room, but something stopped me. Instead, I found myself outside of Lucus’ door.

I bit my fingernails and thought of what I would say. I gathered the last bit of courage that remained within me for the night and tapped gently on the door. After a few more taps, I decided to open it.

Dim candle light illuminated the enormous room and highlighted Lucus’ sculpted cheekbones. I inhaled the fiery scent of cinnamon and cayenne pepper, as I stood over him fully aware that what I was doing crossed into alarming stalker territory. Watching someone while they slept was the lowest one could go. Honestly, I had no idea what I was doing there. I sat down beside him and listened to his steady, rhythmic breathing.

I took his hand and thought about him singing to voodoo dolls. I wondered if anyone had ever sung to him. I remembered the song grand-mere used to sing to me every night when I was a child. I began to gently hum even though I was an atrocious singer.

Just saying this/Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you/sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you/But in your dreams whatever they may be/Dream a little dream of me.

A hint of a sleepy smile started to form on Lucus’ face. I panicked. Scared that he would wake up, I abruptly stopped singing and ran out the door. What the hell was wrong with me?

Chapter 8

Red chrysanthemums

Early morning sunlight slipped through the lace curtains and kissed my greasy face good-morning. Sabrina’s snores snapped me out of my mindless slumber. My focus immediately drifted to Lucus. Waves of worry washed over me. I hoped that he was okay and that he hadn’t heard my pathetic attempt at singing.

I stretched my arms and was surprised to find that I was pain free. Maybe that nasty red bath had been worth it.
 
I eyed my hand in wonder. The seven dagger stabs had healed like Aunt Mae had said they would. I was beginning to get it, every time I offered my blood to Erzulie the wound from the offering would heal faster than a normal cut. However, the problem was for larger trades she needed more blood, blood that I didn’t have. That meant I needed to learn to work with the other spirits and understand how I could make them happy.

 
I glanced over at Sabrina as she carelessly drooled and dreamed. She managed to stop snoring long enough to mutter, “No Lucus, I want the Harry Winston one, not Cartier. Cartier is so cheap.”

I still hadn’t figured out how I was going to tell her about what was going on at Darkwood and about Lucus. I had no idea how I was supposed to act around her when she would inevitably throw herself at him. Should I pretend that I was okay with it? Should I tell her how I felt about him? But how
did
I feel about him? Did I just pity him or was there something more? I didn’t understand it myself. How was I supposed to make her understand?
 

Fueled by a powerful hunger for chocolate and the need for caffeine, I finally managed to drag myself out of bed and stop my obsessive ‘what-if’ thoughts. I looked around and realized that our room was horribly messy and disorganized. The floor was littered with clothes, shoes and other random unidentifiable items.

As I glanced in the oval mirror, I was horrified by my tired skin, puffy eyes and wild hair. Apparently, spiritual baths couldn’t heal lack of sleep. I did my best to conceal my shocking state by slathering on some make-up, but I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to wear. Was I supposed to wear that the hideous Darkwood uniform, so I could pretend that everything was normal, and I was just the summer help? I guess. After getting dressed, I scribbled Sabrina a note explaining that I changed my mind and was staying after all. I grabbed the LaRue family spell book and headed downstairs.

The heavenly smell of breakfast greeted me with an enormous cuddle. It was enough to make me almost forget what had happened last night. It all seemed like a distant nightmare even though it had occurred only a few hours ago. The kitchen was bursting with the comforting aroma of pain perdu, beignets, fritters, breakfast grits, creole hollandaise, oysters, English muffins, corn calas, creole pancakes and to my surprise, buttermilk drops.

Bakers and cooks buzzed around the kitchen pulling out fresh batches of rolls and scones from the oven, frying beignets, chopping vegetables for omelet’s, mixing countless pitchers of Creole Bloody Marys, Ojen Frappes, and Brandy Milk punch. Thin beads of sweat dripped off their foreheads already, and I could tell that it was going to be another unbearably hot day.

For a second, I felt a pang of jealousy. They were all so busy and joyfully ignorant of the eerie spirits that lingered around the plantation. It was the kind of bliss that I would never know again.

I grabbed a buttermilk drop and shoved it hungrily into my mouth. I felt a thin arm wrap around me as I made a dash for a nice and greasy beignet.

“Good morning Arelia,” said Henri. He gave me a lively smile and a light kiss on the forehead. His crisp white shirt looked impossibly bright against his wrinkled, dark skin. “I had Pierre whip this up for you since you don’t seem to like plain old café au lait.” He handed me an iced chocolate coffee.

“Thank you.” My voice was muffled through mouthfuls of beignet, as I took the coffee from him.

He studied me carefully with his kind old eyes. “Did you sleep well?”

“I guess.” I shrugged. How much did he know? Did Aunt Mae tell him what happened last night? I wondered if he knew any voodoo/hoodoo, but I was too shy to ask. I didn’t know Henri that well, even though he was my great-uncle, and making small-talk wasn’t my greatest strength. I never knew what to say.

“I know it’s difficult Arelia,” he said after a long pause.

“What?” I asked, as I practically inhaled my coffee.

“I know that this world is difficult, the world of Les Mysteries.”

I was hesitant to ask. “Do you hear them, too?”

He shook his head and poured himself some café au lait. “No. Over the years I have learned the way of the herbs from Mae, but the loa still refuse to speak to me.”

“Why did you choose to be a part of it?” I asked. “I mean being married to a powerful voodoo queen, can’t be easy.” I reasoned.

He sipped his coffee and gave me another bright toothy smile. “No, it’s not.” He admitted. “There are still days when I fear the worst for her, there was a time I wanted her to turn her back on it all and live a simple life, uncomplicated by rituals and constant danger.”

“You did? I can’t imagine Aunt Mae ever agreeing to that.”

“Huh, she told me that if I couldn’t accept all of her, then we shouldn’t be together. Being a queen isn’t something that she could just turn off.”

“Now that sounds like her.”

“I suppose, what I’m trying to say is, that the people who truly love you will always accept you.”

I took in his words and thought about Sabrina. “I’m not so sure it’s that easy.”

“It won’t be easy to begin with, but things always have a way of working out. Trust me.” He gave me a small wink. His puppy dog brown eyes made me believe every word that came out of his mouth. “I assume you’re still interested in helping out with the guests?” he asked, as he eyed my uniform.

“Yeah, for sure if I get a raise for all the craziness.” I half-joked.

“Great, I’m gonna go on now and make sure the tables are all ready for breakfast. As for the raise, I’m sure Lucus would be open to negotiation.” He gave me a cryptic smile as he left.

What did that mean? I grabbed another buttermilk drop and carried it into the small garden next to the kitchen. Outside, the early morning sun illuminated the delicate white-wire table and chairs making them seem impossibly shiny. The red chrysanthemums bellowed in the light breeze and filled the air with their haunting odor. I bent over and smelled them. I had no idea why I was so infatuated with them. They had some sort of magnetic charm that I simply couldn’t resist.

“Good morning queen Arelia.”

I cringed as the smell of cigarette smoke hit me. “Go away, Ivan.”

“I thought we were friends now,” he said, as he leaned against the wooden door.

I glanced over at him. His crumpled grey t-shirt with armpit holes coupled with his messy blond hair and bloodshot eyes made him look homeless.

“We are not friends, we’ll never be friends. Go away, you’re a stalker, and I’m beginning to think you’re secretly in love with me since you obviously can’t stay away.” I was still furious at him for last night. If it weren’t for his stupid games and riddles, I could have gotten back to Lucus much faster. He was a sadistic ass with severe emotional issues.

“You wound me with your words, queen. So much misdirected hate.”

“You just don’t get it, do you? You repulse me.”

He ignored me and took another drag. “What’s with you and the flowers?”

I shrugged. “I like them,” I said, as I turned my attention back to them.

He walked over to the flowerbed, got down on his knees and sniffed them. “You do know what they represent, don’t you?” he asked, as he studied my face.

I rolled my eyes. “Death, everyone in New Orleans knows that.”

He plucked chrysanthemum from the earth and held it up in the air. “They’re Papa Ghede’s pom poms when he cheers on souls to the afterlife. He waves and madly flings them in the air. Death is no more than a colorful shepherd with a top hat, cigar, and a twisted sense of humor.”

His voice was wistful and passionate. He took another drag before continuing. “Do you know what happens when souls don’t cross over?”