Chapter 2
For many tourists, a cemetery tour is smack-dab in the middle of a New Orleans itinerary.
There are plenty of guided tours that will take you through the most historic cemeteries in the city.
People have a morbid fascination with how we lay our dead to rest—aboveground, to protect them from the ever-present wrath of nature.
I can’t deny the beauty in these quasi palaces we’ve erected for the dead. That’s what the tombs have always reminded me of. In our cemeteries, we surround our dead with breathtaking art—intricate stone crosses and elaborate statues of the historical figures and saints who built this city.
I stopped seeing the beauty in the cemeteries the day they placed Gran’s ashes in the mausoleum.
On a day like today, the sight of tourists bumbling around the cemetery with their tacky shirts and massive cameras fills me with unbridled rage.
To me, this place isn’t a photo opportunity or a tourist attraction.
This consecrated ground is my grandmother’s final resting place.
It’s been exactly one year since we lost her. Safe to say I still miss her as much as I did the day she died. Maybe even more. Surrounded by all this death, my blood pressure plummets and my head spins. Grief wraps itself around my neck like a noose and squeezes tight.
I pause, gripping the wall to catch my breath. Orion appears at my side, takes my hand in his, and stares at me behind dark sunglasses that cover nearly half his face.
“Are you gon’ make it?”
The scent of alcohol on his breath tickles my nostrils. I can’t help but curl my lip in disgust. “Seriously?” I ask under my breath. “Day drinking at the cemetery?”
He releases me. “Fine. Pass out if you want.”
Down the hall, Gramps notices that we’re not behind him. He turns on his heel and calls, “Stop messing around! Get over here.” Then he makes a right and disappears down a different hallway.
“See what you did?” Orion snaps.
I grip his elbow and shuffle along after him. The floor still feels unsteady beneath me. “I didn’t do anything. You’re the one who showed up drunk.”
“It’s called liquid courage for a reason. We can’t all be perfect like you, Mikaela.” He sighs. “I’m trying here.”
Not hard enough, I think. He showed up today, but he isn’t around when it really matters, like last night. I want to fuss, but I keep my mouth shut instead. This isn’t the time or the place. Besides, he’s right. We may be twins, but that doesn’t mean we’re coping with Gran’s death the same way.
We turn the corner and catch up with Gramps. He stands before the wall, hands placed over Gran’s name, head bowed. I don’t need to see the engraving to know what it says.
Adelaide Broussard
Beloved Wife, Mother, and Grandmother
She Lights the Path
My eyes burn. God, I miss her so much I can barely stand it.
This past year has been the hardest of my life.
She missed our seventeenth birthday, and in a couple of weeks, she’ll miss our eighteenth.
It was only last weekend that Orion and I walked across the stage at our high school graduation, and that I gave my valedictorian speech.
She wasn’t here for our entire senior year, so I don’t know why I was surprised at how much her absence stung.
Once it was clear I had the grades for it, she desired for me to become valedictorian. Gran was my cheerleader, but she never got to see me achieve our goal.
While most of my peers spent the fall submitting college applications, I couldn’t bring myself to submit even one. If she knew I wasn’t going to college this year, she’d scold me until the cows came home. And honestly, I would give anything to hear her give me a good ear-licking just one last time.
Gramps and Orion are silent, but they don’t have to speak for me to know they both miss her dearly. I can see it in the stiff set of Gramps’s shoulders and the slight wobble in his lower lip. It’s clear in every single action Orion takes.
Finally, Gramps turns to look at us and frowns at Orion.
“Take those sunglasses off, boy. Show some respect.” When my brother hesitates, Gramps shakes his head.
“I already know what you’ve been up to, and so do they.
” He points his finger toward the heavens.
“No use hiding it. Besides, I can smell it on you from a mile away.”
Orion mutters something beneath his breath but removes the glasses. Just as we all thought they would be, his eyes are bloodshot.
Gramps shakes his head and lifts his gaze to the names above Gran’s—the other two missing pieces in the puzzle of our family.
Arielle Broussard and Mitchell Guillory
Mom and Dad.
Orion and I never got the chance to know them. When we were only two months old, another vehicle struck their car in the middle of a torrential downpour. They’d been on their way back home from their first date night after having us.
It was a story that our grandparents made sure we knew.
A cautionary tale, so to speak, about the tragedy of youthful invincibility.
According to Gran, our parents were twenty-four years old and assumed they knew everything about the workings of the world.
She and Gramps had begged them to wait out the storm at the movie theater, but they couldn’t wait to get back to their babies.
Gran always spoke about them with a mixture of incredible sadness and overwhelming anger.
Losing my parents is a different kind of grief.
It isn’t all-consuming like what I feel for Gran.
Her loss is a tsunami, while my parents are small ocean waves on a windy afternoon.
I never knew them, but sometimes I’m desperate to, like when I look at old photos of my mother and see my own face reflected back at me.
I wonder sometimes what they would’ve been like or how my childhood would’ve been different.
“Let’s say a prayer for your grandmother’s soul,” Gramps says. He extends both his hands, and Orion and I each take one. We bow our heads as he speaks.
“Ancestors, we call to you today to thank you for bringing Adelaide into our lives. We ask that you protect her in her journey through the Afterlife and provide us with the strength to carry on without our queen.”
“Thank you,” Orion and I murmur.
We’ve been blessed with the guidance of our ancestors for untold generations.
Covens throughout history have been destroyed by jealous mortals who seek to tear them down.
Through the ages, we’ve survived and thrived, thanks to our ancestors.
Very few witches are able to communicate with them.
Gran was the only one in our coven who could.
Now our link to the Afterlife is fractured.
Gramps’s phone chirps. He glances at it quickly before stuffing it back into his pocket. “That was your aunt Roberta. They’re cooking at the house right now.”
Gran’s death hasn’t only been hard on our family but on the coven as a whole.
Gran was our Witch Queen, a title that has been passed down through our family for ages.
Gran’s bloodline is descended from the strongest Queen in our history—an African woman whose name has since been lost to time.
Her power has persisted, though, only strengthening as it descends from mother to daughter to granddaughter.
I have a theory that the power ended with Mom. When she died, she must have taken it with her. That’s the only explanation I have for my own magical woes. I can’t heal the sick or speak to the ancestors.
Ever since Gran’s death, the coven has been without a formal leader. Gramps has stepped into the role unofficially, at least for now.
Gramps turns his back on the niches and extends his hands toward us. “Quickly, let’s shore up the defenses before Roberta calls, breathing down my neck.”
The three of us hold hands, standing in a loose circle.
One by one, we close our eyes to heighten our other senses.
I reach out to touch their auras, reassuring myself with their presence.
When I reach out further, I feel the low thrum of the wards we placed six months ago—magical spells to protect this place from evil intentions.
I clear every other thought from my head, focusing on the task at hand.
Orion and Gramps squeeze my hands in a rhythmic fashion as we each pour our magic into the structure of the building.
In a sense, these protective wards are more for our benefit than Gran’s and our parents’.
Their ashes may rest here, but their souls are elsewhere.
But this is no different from any other ritual society performs for the dead. It’s more for the comfort of the ones left behind than anything.
There’s a brief burst of light behind my eyelids as the shape of the wards flashes. When it disappears, there’s only darkness once more. It’s done. The steady vibration beneath my feet is strong. We won’t have to renew the wards again until the end of the year.
A sigh escapes my lips, and I open my eyes to meet Gramps’s and Orion’s gazes. I’m struck by how haggard they both look. The mask has fully slipped, and our collective grief is on display for the entire world to see.
Once we break the circle, Orion slumps against the opposite wall and buries his face in his hands. I have the urge to do the same, but I remain upright under Gramps’s watchful stare.
Between saving Marian’s life last night and reaffirming the wards today, I’ve stretched my magic thin. I say as much to Gramps, who narrows his eyes and glances at Orion.
“Where were you last night?” he asks.
Orion slips his glasses back over his eyes and crosses his arms. “I was…out.” He looks between me and Gramps. “Why? What happened?”
“We could’ve used your help,” Gramps scolds. “We were visited by an evil I’ve never seen before.”
“That explains nothing,” Orion quips. “I’m still lost.”
I roll my eyes and quickly fill him in. Orion’s mouth drops open when I reach the part about Marian’s magic disappearing.
“I don’t understand,” he says. “It’s not possible to lose magic. It’s a piece of your soul. Right?” He looks at Gramps. “It’s for life. That’s what you and Gran have always said.”
Gramps remains silent. His eyes are focused on a point in the distance.
“That’s how I’ve always understood it,” I add.
Theresa and her daughter disappeared into the night shortly after everything was said and done. Gramps tried to call her this morning before we left, but it went straight to voicemail.
When Gramps speaks, his voice is low. Orion and I both lean forward to hear. “Something foul is in the wind. Can you feel it?”
Orion shakes his head at the same time as I nod.
“Suck-up,” he mutters.
“Pay attention for once,” I retort.
“Kids,” Gramps snaps. “Stay focused. Whatever this is, we don’t know how it works or its source. So, you need to be vigilant. Both of you.”
“How are we supposed to do that when we don’t know anything about it?” I ask.
He rests his hand on the smooth stone of the wall. “Just keep your eyes open and your mind clear.”
I don’t like this. Gramps is supposed to know everything. That’s the way it’s been our entire lives.
Orion crosses his arms. “Maybe it’s a one-off thing.”
My brother, ever the optimist.
“Listen, I don’t want a word of any of this to make it back to the coven and the Witch’s Council.
Do you hear me?” Gramps takes a moment to stare into both of our eyes.
His expression is deadly serious. “I’ll tell them once we know more about what we’re dealing with, but I don’t want to give them any reason to worry. ”
A tingling sensation runs down my arms, leaving goose bumps in its wake. “But doesn’t this seem like the sort of thing they should know about?”
“It’s politics, Mikaela. Let me handle it.”
I don’t quite understand what he means, but Gramps has dealt with our coven’s Council for way longer than I have. If he thinks it’s a bad idea to tell them, then I’ll go along with whatever he says.
While the Witch Queen has the final say in all matters of the coven, the Council of Elders is meant to provide guidance.
The rest of the coven look up to the Elders and treat them with the same reverence as the Queen.
Gramps is probably afraid that the Council will want to share the events of last night with the coven, but we don’t have any answers yet for the questions they’re likely to ask.
No matter how this election for city council shakes up, he’s already a politician through and through.
“You ain’t gotta worry about me saying anything,” Orion says. “I don’t know enough to tell anyone.”
“Maybe you would if you were more present.” Gramps shakes his head and walks past us. “Finish your goodbyes to your grandmother. I’ll be in the car.”
As I look back up at the wall of names, I can’t help but wish Gran were here. The Witch Queen would know what to do about the evil that’s arrived at our door. But she would also know how to soothe my fears in a way only your grandmother can.
Like Gramps, I press my palm to the stone. There’s no electricity, no aura, no anything. Her magic has disappeared along with her. She’s gone.
Orion touches my shoulder. “You okay, sis?”
A tear slips down my cheek before I swipe it away. “Yeah, I’m good. Give me a minute.”
He hesitates like he wants to say something, but the moment passes. He nods and heads back down the hallway after Gramps. When they’ve both turned the corner, I press my palm to my mother’s name and close my eyes.
Are you there, Mom?
Speaking to the ancestors takes skill and practice. It’s a sacred act, so Gran only ever spoke to them in private. The only time I witnessed it was when she thought she was alone.
I was eight years old and had just crept up the stairs to the third-floor loft. Gran was kneeling at the edge of the bed with her back to me. There was a shimmer in the air next to her and a low buzz that crackled in my ears. Her voice was barely audible, so the only word I could make out was Mama.
Ever since that day, I’ve tried reaching out to my own mother, but she’s never answered me. I don’t even know what I would say to her if she did.
Actually, that’s not true. I know exactly what I would say to her.
I love you. I wish you were here.
But I’m alone, like every other time I’ve reached out before. My mother won’t answer. Or maybe I’m not strong enough to reach her.
I leave the mausoleum to join Gramps and Orion in the car. We leave behind the cemetery and our grief for today. At the house, the coven awaits.