Chapter 3
No one speaks during the drive back to the house. We’re all deep in our own heads, mulling over our separate thoughts. As I fiddle with the buttons on my dress, I can’t help but think about last night and how unsettling it was.
We’ve been called on to heal members of the coven before, especially when Gran was alive. There were certain sicknesses that even her magic couldn’t touch, like cancer, but for the most part she could bring someone back from the brink of death.
Gran would allow me to watch as she worked her healing magic.
The key was removing the impurities from the person’s body, but the problem with cancer is that it’s your own wayward cells that are attacking you.
There’s no way for the magic to distinguish which parts of you are helping and which parts are hurting. In the end, it’s all you.
When Gran got sick, I knew we wouldn’t have much time left with her. The cancer progressed rapidly and aggressively. There was nothing we could do but watch her become a shell of herself.
In the year since she died, Gramps has done most of the solo healing work for the coven.
Minor injuries like deep cuts and broken bones, he can fix.
For more serious cases, multiple witches have to work together.
There are a couple other members of the coven who can be called upon to assist. Last night was the first time I’ve ever had to do it.
Looking back, a tiny sense of pride runs through me. I helped save Marian—without Orion’s help. I’m not sure if I could do it again, but hopefully I won’t have to.
Our tiny street is crammed with more cars than usual. Even though there’s a streetcar stop about half a mile down the street, it seems like quite a few people drove. At least they were respectful enough to leave Gramps’s usual parking spot open.
He squeezes the midnight-blue Cadillac into the space and turns the key. Without the rumbling of the engine, we can hear the music drifting out from the backyard. A white-and-blue banner is strung up along the fence with Ezekiel Broussard for City Council printed on the front.
Gramps shakes his head as soon as he spots it. “That’s your aunt’s work, I’m sure,” he grumbles. I catch a glimpse of a smile as he turns away.
It was Aunt Roberta’s idea to host this dinner for everyone at the house; it serves dual purposes, as a remembrance celebration for Gran and a fundraiser for Gramps’s campaign for New Orleans City Council.
Aunt Roberta is not only Gran’s younger sister but also her best friend. With no children of her own, she practically helped raise us. Orion and I spent many days after school at her house while Gramps tended to his occult shop on Royal Street or Gran worked her job at the bank.
My great-aunt took Gran’s death as hard as we did, maybe even harder. With Gran’s loss, every member of her immediate family is now gone.
A few weeks ago, she floated the idea of hosting a party at the house to celebrate Gran’s life and officially kick off Gramps’s campaign.
Gramps complained about it because he wanted all the attention on Gran, but Aunt Roberta insisted. “Adelaide would want us to celebrate her life, but she would also want us to support you, so that’s what we’re gonna do,” she’d said. Her tone left no room for argument, so Gramps relented.
He only decided to run for a seat on the council a couple months ago, after the Democratic incumbent died unexpectedly.
When the Republican Party set their sights on taking over the city government, Gramps decided enough was enough.
The rise in right-wing extremism throughout the country and in Louisiana alarmed him.
“They’re tryin’ to take us back in time,” he said one night while watching the news. “I’m not about to let ’em.”
With his ties to the community, his experience as a small-business owner, and his twenty-year career as a public defense attorney, he won the primary without a fight. Now he’ll face his Republican challenger in the fall, and he’ll need money—a lot of it—if he’s to have any chance of winning.
Orion slips away at the first opportunity, heading around the house to the backyard, where a plume of smoke rises from the grill.
As Gramps rests a hand on the gate, I lean into his side. “Are you all right?” I ask. “I know today is a lot.”
He sighs. “Those first few months, it was nearly impossible to cope with the loss of your grandmother, but it gets easier with every day that passes.” He wraps his arm around my shoulder and squeezes. “Adelaide wouldn’t want us to suffer. She’d want us to endure and thrive.”
“I miss her,” I say softly.
“So do I.” The rusty hinges of the gate squeal as it swings open. “Come on, everyone’s waiting.”
I suck in a deep breath and follow Gramps up the walkway.
I’ve always loved this house. It’s an old Victorian with a double gallery—a covered balcony running along the front of the second floor. The houses on either side are painted in bright, gaudy colors, but I’ve always thought ours looks statelier with its white paint and wrought-iron fence.
This house is my safe place. Before my bedroom was mine, it belonged to my mother, though there’s no trace of her left, and she wouldn’t recognize it if she were alive.
I covered the walls with lilac paint and hung sheer purple curtains and soft twinkle lights.
It’s my space now, but knowing that she once slept within those four walls brings me a small bit of comfort. It’s the closest I’ll ever be to her.
The sound of laughter pulls me from my thoughts. I watch as a few members of the coven spill out of the front door onto the porch, including my friends Lizzie and Chris.
Even though the coven is like one big family, not all of us are related.
Our coven has its roots in the period following the end of slavery, when a group of five magical families joined together to protect and teach one another.
Our numbers have grown over the years as we welcomed more Black witches who were new to the city.
Lizzie’s and Chris’s families are some of those newcomers, although Lizzie’s family has been here since her maternal grandparents moved to New Orleans as newlyweds.
Chris has always been more of Orion’s friend, but Lizzie is one of my closest. We kissed once in her backyard shed a couple years ago, sparking both our bisexual awakenings.
We quickly realized that we’re better off as friends, though.
She and I haven’t had the chance to spend much time together lately now that she and Chris are in a flirtationship.
God, that word makes me want to vomit. I wish they’d get on it with it and ask each other out already.
A hush falls over the entire group when they see Gramps climbing the stairs. They nod at Gramps with deference and respect. Gran was treated much the same. One wrong move and you would feel their disappointment tightening around you like a vise.
“Hey, y’all.” Gramps pats Chris’s back as he passes and waves to everyone else. Once he’s through the front door, the mood relaxes again.
“Mikaela!” Lizzie calls out as she pushes through the throng to grasp my hands. “Girl, where did you get this dress? I swear you’ve got some secret fashion conjuring spell, because I’ve never seen you wear the same thing twice!”
“Oh.” I look down at the black fabric. I’m wearing a pinafore dress I bought the other day with a white three-quarter-sleeve top underneath. Compared to everyone else, I’m dressed way too formally for the occasion. “I thrifted it.”
“Well, it looks good on you!” She holds my gaze for a beat, practically daring me to say something self-deprecating. Lizzie’s my hype woman, even when I don’t feel my best. In this instance, though, her words send a thrill of pride through me.
Fashion is my shield from the outside world. If I look good, then no one can tell that I don’t always feel confident in my skin.
“Lizzie, come on!” Chris calls, ignoring me completely. There’s only one girl he’s got eyes for.
“I’m coming!” She turns back to me and winks.
I stand on the porch and watch them disappear down the street toward Chris’s car. This is a regular coven hangout for them, but for me, Gran’s death dangles over my head like an axe. Maybe one day, the wound won’t be so fresh.
Inside the house, every seat is occupied. The TV blasts a rerun of Family Feud while pots and pans clang in the kitchen. It’s so loud in here, I have to resist the urge to cover my ears.
A clear plastic box with Gramps’s face taped to the front sits on a table by the door, filled to the brim with dollar bills and coins. Aunt Roberta’s serious about this whole fundraising business.
As if she could sense my presence, the woman herself pokes her head out.
Her gray-black hair is flat-ironed and pinned back with a gold-and-ruby barrette.
A flour-streaked apron shields her crimson floral dress.
Unlike the younger witches, my aunt is dressed in her Sunday best. She dries her hands on her apron and rests her fists on her hips.
“Well, well, well. I thought you’d run off with the other youngins.”
“No.” I glance down at my dress. “I need to change my clothes first.”
“Not so fast.” She hooks her finger toward me. “Come have a chat with your auntie.”
Oh boy. I can’t imagine what she wants to talk to me about. I’m not under the delusion that this will be an innocent conversation. Aunt Roberta’s a woman on a mission. She always has something to say.
“But—”
Despite my protest, she arches her brow in a way that says, Don’t test me, girl.
“Yes, ma’am,” I mutter, following her into the kitchen.
Sweat immediately beads on my temples from the heat of the oven.
Uncle Larry, Aunt Roberta’s husband, stands at the stove stirring a huge pot of gumbo.
At the counter, eighty-five-year-old Miss Connie is chopping tomatoes for the salad while her granddaughters frost cupcakes at the island.
They all smile and shout greetings over the hubbub.
Aunt Roberta takes my hand and tugs me toward the doors leading to the back patio.
I peer out to see Lizzie’s dad manning the grill.
The younger kids are playing soccer in the grass.
Someone shouts as one of them casts a spell to send a gust of wind straight at the ball.
It’s enough to send it soaring into the goal.
The rest of them begin to argue over whether it was an illegal move.
My aunt clears her throat, dragging my attention back inside. “Have you decided when you’re going to college yet, girl?”
Straight to the point. I can appreciate her tenacity even if it makes my life hell.
I hold back a sigh. “I’m taking a gap year. I thought I told you.”
“You did. And you’ll remember that I didn’t agree with that decision then, and I still don’t agree with it now.”
“Aunt Roberta—”
She stabs her finger at my chest. “You are too smart of a girl to let that brainpower go to waste. Adelaide would be rolling in her grave right now if she knew you weren’t going to school this fall.”
“It’s too soon. I’m not ready.” I keep my gaze trained on the floor. “And besides, who’ll help Gramps run the shop if I’m not here? Orion?”
“Why not? The boy could use some responsibility.” In a gentler tone, she says, “No one said you had to leave New Orleans, baby. There’s plenty of schools round here. Tulane and UNO. I’m sure if you put in an application now, you can get a spot for the spring semester.”
“No,” I say, and Aunt Roberta narrows her eyes at me. “It’s my decision and I need a little bit more time.”
I’m well aware that I’m likely the only valedictorian in my high school’s history not to head straight to college. But without Gran here, it doesn’t feel right. The person I wanted to make the proudest isn’t even here to see my success.
There’s always next year, but for now, my focus is my family. Or at least, that’s the story I’m going with.
Aunt Roberta sighs and reaches for my hand. “Just promise me that you’ll go to college eventually.” Her gaze softens. “I think it would be good for you, Mikaela.”
I can’t make that promise to her, not right now. Deep down, I’m afraid that maybe this is all I’ll ever be: the late Witch Queen’s granddaughter who works in her grandfather’s magic shop. So instead of answering, I nod.
“All right,” Aunt Roberta says, patting me on the back. “Go, run along. The food will be ready soon.”
I quickly make my escape before she can change her mind.