Chapter 14
Thursday is a whirlwind. Gramps spends the day preparing for his first debate with Mike Dupree and retreats to the third floor as soon as he gets home.
When I catch a glimpse of his face, he looks haggard.
I try to bring him dinner, but he refuses to eat.
The enormity of the election weighs heavily on his shoulders.
Orion doesn’t come home at all. His read receipts tell me that he’s at least still alive. I swallow down my disappointment, but the bitter taste still lingers. He’s wasting the little time we have left together drowning his sorrows in partying and booze. It makes me sick to my stomach.
Every now and again, I open up Joelle’s contact and stare at her number. I’ve practically memorized it at this point. I should text her and dig into her past further, but my own rising tide of responsibilities is threatening to bury me beneath the surf.
I use my time off work to read more coven history. Grandma Rose mentions the Hightowers in her journal several times.
That white coven is dangerous.
They came to us begging friendship, an alliance of sorts. It seems they got run out of Salem back when they hung witches. Their Matron says they’re here to stay, and she don’t want no trouble.
But something’s off about her. The way her eyes are a bottomless pit with no end. The ancestors told me she’s got no soul. They said she sold hers long ago.
I scour through all the books, searching for any specific mention of a family crest, but find nothing.
From the internet, I discover that the tree I saw on the crest is a blackthorn, sometimes known as the “witch’s tree.
” That leads me to believe that the crest must belong to the Hightowers.
I’m sure I’ll find definitive proof soon.
Hopefully, before someone else loses their life.
Friday, after finally giving in and taking my car to the shop, I arrive at the building where the debate is being held.
I decided to put my best foot forward and make a good impression, so I’m burning up in a blazer and slacks.
But the temporary discomfort is worth it to help Gramps win this race.
He’s presenting himself as a family man and a servant of the community.
It isn’t a show for him because that’s exactly who he is.
I want these people to see that his family loves and supports him, too.
I strap my crossbody bag around me and reach up to grasp my amethyst pendant. Gran gave it to me as protection from negative energy, but I find that it also clears the static in my mind. When I wear it, I don’t feel so anxious.
The crystal is warm beneath my fingers. It roots me firmly in place.
“Mikaela!”
Orion and Malik stroll toward me, dressed way more casually than I expected, in jeans and sneakers. Malik wears a baseball cap, and Orion’s hair has been freshly twisted since the last time I saw him.
I tug on the sleeve of my brother’s T-shirt. “Neither of you owns a polo or anything that could masquerade as nice?”
Malik, for his part, ducks his head, but Orion waves me off. “Chill out. It’s a city council debate. We’re not meeting the president or anything. Not like I’d dress up to meet him, either.”
I sigh and turn on my heel to head inside.
The crowd is smaller than I expected, but I spot a member of Gramps’s campaign team setting up an Instagram Live and a photojournalist from the local news station.
I can’t help but be disappointed at the turnout.
Most people only pay attention to presidential races and national news, but they don’t realize that local changes can sometimes affect their lives the most.
Near the entrance, a table is set up for Sweet Dreams Bakery, the new place opening up near our shop.
Britney Dupree stands in front, handing out plastic-wrapped cookies and small boxes of cupcakes.
Behind the table, Britney’s boyfriend, Tyler, stands deep in conversation with a cherubic blond woman wearing an apron.
As soon as Britney spots me, she waltzes over with a handful of cookies. “Well, well, well, are you ready to watch your grandpa crash and burn?”
I’m taken off guard by her approach. Despite her cheerful smile and voice, her words are laced with venom. She’s wearing a thick sweater despite the heat and a full face of makeup.
Orion bristles at my side. “This bit—”
I grip his arm and narrow my eyes at Britney. “What’s the point of insulting us and then turning around to offer us baked goods?”
She shrugs. “I figure they’ll make a good consolation prize. Besides, don’t you want to support a local business?” She nods back toward the table. “Tyler’s mom has worked really hard to get where she is.”
I scoff. Yeah, sure she has. By having Mike Dupree buy out Miss Louise’s jewelry shop.
Britney holds the cookies out to us, but neither my brother nor I reach out to take them.
Instead, Malik grabs them, mutters thanks, and heads to find a seat. Orion shakes his head and follows at his heels.
Once we’re alone, Britney takes a step forward, and her smile melts. “There’s still time for you to convince him to drop out of the race. Do you really think he’s prepared for how cutthroat politics can be?”
“You want to talk about cutthroat? Gramps was a defense attorney working to protect Black men from being swallowed by the justice system. He knows how to fight and, most importantly, how to win.”
Her eyes glint. “I hope you all don’t come to regret going up against my family.”
“We won’t.” I brush past her. “Tell your dad good luck. He’ll need it.”
I leave her seething at the table and find Orion and Malik at their seats. The cookies sit on Malik’s lap, untouched.
“Throw those away,” I tell him. “You can’t eat the enemy’s food.”
“I’m not.” He smirks. “Chris’ll eat anything, and he’s got the worst sweet tooth of anyone I know.”
I roll my eyes. If I liked Chris as a person more, I’d argue harder for Malik to throw the cursed things away. But we all have to pick our battles.
As the last of the crowd drifts to their seats, Gramps and Mike Dupree take their spots behind two opposing podiums. The moderator welcomes the audience and wastes no time in getting started.
“Mr. Dupree, could you expound a bit on your qualifications and your general vision for the city?”
Mike Dupree is a hulking man, standing over six feet tall with a ruddy face and ash-blond hair.
He wears a black suit with a bright red tie and an American flag pinned to his lapel.
He grips the podium and takes a moment to sweep his gaze across the crowd.
His eyes seem to linger on mine before he begins.
“My father, Timothy Dupree, was a prosecutor for the city of New Orleans for over twenty years, so my family has a long history of public service. I hold a business degree from the University of Alabama and have worked in real estate, serving this community both in private and public capacities. I have received the endorsement of the governor of Louisiana, who believes my place on this council will help better the lives of the people of this city.”
The moderator opens his mouth to speak, but Mr. Dupree continues.
“I believe this city has been bogged down in red tape for far too long. The city government has been allowed to overstep its reach for some time, and what we need is less regulation and more freedom. We need to be tougher on crime and reduce the epidemic of homelessness. As councilman, I would work to trim down the bloated budget and lower taxes.”
Around me, some people nod in agreement, but Gramps’s frown only grows deeper.
“Mr. Broussard,” the moderator says, “it’s your turn to introduce yourself and your vision for the city.”
Gramps clears his throat and stands tall.
He looks sharp in a purple bowtie and white button-down.
“Many of you in this crowd likely already know me from my years of public service as a court-appointed attorney. For those of you who are unfamiliar with me, my name is Ezekiel Broussard. My vision for this city is simple: to create opportunities for everyone to thrive. I have a keen focus on those who have historically been marginalized and cast to the fringes of society. My opponent talks about the ‘epidemic of homelessness’ in the same breath as crime, as if being unhoused isn’t a fate that could befall any of us.
I believe we need to provide more opportunities and ensure the health and safety of our community. ”
Gramps turns to stare down Mike Dupree. “Less regulation isn’t always a good thing. Just ask communities that have had their air and water polluted by greedy corporations.”
“A business’s main priority is to generate income by providing needed services,” Dupree snaps. “It seems Mr. Broussard would rather tie their hands behind their backs until they can’t function, thereby damaging our economy.”
“Now, now, let’s be civil,” the moderator says. “There’s an order to this debate.”
As my gaze passes over the room, I find Britney already watching me. She doesn’t look away; instead she folds her arms over her chest as a slow smirk stretches across her face.
It’s clear that Gramps has a battle ahead of him, and he can’t afford to split his attention in so many different directions. He’s been responsible for the coven since Gran passed, but in the end, it isn’t his place. It’s mine. I’ll go after the Hightowers, and I’ll put an end to this mess.