Chapter Ten
Ophelia pressed her body deeper into the damp ground on the creek bank. She would be muddy, but she didn’t care. She was calm again and ready to organize her mind. She needed to understand the events that brought the tiger into her life.
Delphine’s death had corresponded with her dream of the tiger, where she pulled out her father’s revolver. The tiger must have been warning her of the danger nearby. Then, with the attack all those years ago, the tiger was her rallying cry to fight.
Aside from the Exodus verse, she couldn’t think of another connection between the perpetrators.
They couldn’t be the same person. Her attacker was dead.
A year after her attack, she saw his lifeless body on a sterile gurney under the fluorescent lights of the Office of Chief Medical Examiner in Crown Heights, Brooklyn.
After the incident, NYPD looked for the perpetrator for a year. Eventually, her case went cold. It didn’t matter, though. Ophelia continued to call Detective Lewis religiously. Ophelia was unwilling to let him forget about her attacker.
When NYPD found a dead man in a Brooklyn park that fit the description of her attacker, Detective Lewis asked if she would be willing to come in and identify the man.
She wanted to see that monster’s lifeless body, so she could rest knowing he was gone from this earth.
Sure enough, it was him. She didn’t even ask for his name.
She didn’t want to know. He was dead, and that was all that mattered.
But there was a thought forming, floating just out of reach on the periphery of her own understanding about the serial killer and her attacker. They were connected, she was sure, but she needed more than just the Bible verse to confirm it.
Ophelia got up from the ground, brushed off the sticks and leaves clinging to her, and made her way back to the Pine House.
Mawmaw sat in her wingback chair in the treating parlor, impatiently waiting for Ophelia’s return.
“Well, where is my sweet tea?” she asked as Ophelia entered. Mawmaw groaned with impatience as she tried to stand by herself. Her grandmother really could turn on a dime with that mercurial nature of hers.
“Guess I’ll get my own damn iced tea,” she grumbled.
Ophelia steadied her arm and positioned the walker for her. Ophelia followed her slowly into the kitchen, grabbed two glasses from the cabinet, and the pitcher from the fridge.
“Sit down,” Ophelia told her. “Here.” She placed the glass of iced tea in front of her on the kitchen table. “How exactly do they protect?” she demanded as she sat adjacent to Mawmaw.
“Goodness,” Mawmaw said, exasperated. She paused to take a sip of the tea and wipe the ring of condensation left on the table.
“They just do. The spirit always protects their owner, which is why they appear when danger is near. It’s like the protector casts a shield over its owner to ward off evil.
You know, my sister, your great-aunt, had a tiger as a protector too. ”
“Really? What was she like? I’ve never heard you talk much about her.”
“She asked too many damn questions, just like you. Surprised her protector wasn’t a stupid parakeet.”
“Ha, ha. Are you done being sassy now that you have your drink?”
Mawmaw heaved a sigh. “I suppose.”
Ophelia decided not to elaborate on her tiger showing up right before Delphine’s death. Her grandmother may act like a hardass, but Ophelia knew that Mawmaw loved her deeply, and she’d worry too much.
“So…magic is real,” Ophelia stated. She was still skeptical, but it did make sense in a way. The logical side of her brain was struggling to believe it, though.
Mawmaw hummed in agreement.
“Am I allowed to talk about it? What about being a Traiteur? Can I tell the family? Can I tell my sisters about the magic part, too? Let them know it’s more than just Catholic prayers?”
“Oh, Lord. Okay, you are very much overthinking this.” Mawmaw paused and took another sip of tea.
“How do I put this? I grew up not knowing about magic. Just treating. As I got older, I met more people, and the scope of my little world widened, and I met people who were clearly…different. With my Traiteur gift, it just slowly made sense to me that others may have gifts as well. It was never this big unveiling, like it may feel to you. Also, my world is Oakdale, hun. I didn’t grow up in a big city or connected to the internet like you.
It seems that it’s become more of a tangible secret.
I always understood that not everyone knew or believed in magic. ”
“Okay, so there’s not some secret society of witches and wizards that govern us?” asked Ophelia in jest. Sort of.
Mawmaw guffawed. “No. No. Definitely not. People with gifts are just that, people with gifts. Everyone has a touch of magic. Some choose to recognize it and hone it, and others don’t.
As for your family, tell them what you want.
But tread lightly. You don’t want to just tell people you have magic. They’ll think you’re loony.”
“True.” She could definitely talk to Jade about this when she was ready. If any of her friends or family had magic, it would be Jade, and even if she didn’t, she’d still understand.
Mawmaw tapped a rhythm with a bony finger on the kitchen table.
“Ophelia, dear, there is so much to teach you, and we have very limited time. But the first thing you need to understand is that treating is about sensing. Trusting your instincts, your gut, as they say these days.” Mawmaw held her stomach as if it were a weapon.
“So, while you do have much more than that to learn, you should regard it as the foundation of treating. Second is learning how to clear your mind. Some call it praying or meditation. Call it what you want, but you must master it.”
They moved back to the parlor to practice.
Once they were seated in their chairs, Mawmaw instructed her to close her eyes again, and she began to guide Ophelia through the how-tos of clearing her mind.
Mawmaw explained that this was always the first step before treating.
Clearing the mind allows the Traiteur to tap into their gift, their magic, and identify the type and location of the patient’s pain.
The Traiteur then pushes their healing magic to that area, letting it treat.
Ophelia was exhausted after thirty minutes of attempting to clear her mind. It was incredibly difficult for her not to let extraneous thoughts take her down a rabbit hole. She had just learned that magic was real and that she was somehow connected to a serial killer. No big deal.
But each time her thoughts began to wander, Mawmaw would notice and make her start over again.
“You need to work on clearing your mind more. Practice every day,” said Mawmaw sternly. “Next, you’re going to learn how to pull your magic up and out through your hands. Laying your hands on the sick is key to treating.”
Ophelia nodded.
“Let’s try. I’m going to guide you through this process, too. Since you don’t have the gift yet, the gift won’t feel as strong, but you, my dear, have it in you. I can feel it. You just have to tap into it. Now, place your hands in mine.”
Ophelia laid her hands palm down upon her grandmother’s.
“Close your eyes. Clear your mind. Imagine that there is a string tied to your soul. Maybe your soul lives in your chest, perhaps your head. Wherever it is, pull on that string. Bring forth that energy and place it into my hands.”
Ophelia envisioned her soul as an ethereal light inside her heart. Twine wrapped around the steadfast bloody organ, and she mentally tugged on it. Her soul, that ethereal light, responded to the pull and began to slowly twist around the string, traveling up and through her arms into her hands.
“Good,” whispered Mawmaw. “Very good. What does it feel like?”
“If you could feel a wind chime’s music or feel light twinkle across water…it would feel like this,” she said with a sigh.
Mawmaw let out a low but sweet chuckle. “You’re a poetic one, that’s for sure. You can open your eyes now.”
Ophelia did, and the tingling sensation retreated effortlessly into her body. She smiled at her grandmother in complete awe at what she just experienced.
“That is what you need to practice over and over again. I’m shocked you got it this first time since clearing your mind has been such a challenge for you.”
“The visualization really helped. I imagined the whole thing happening within my body.”
Mawmaw hummed in understanding. “Once I pass the gift to you, you’ll be able to seek out another’s pain by placing your hands on them.
Only with their permission, of course. That’s another code I live by.
You never want to take away pain from someone who wants to keep it.
You’ll find that some people’s pain is an important reminder for them. ”
“In a weird way, I completely understand that.” Ophelia thought back to her darkest days in New York. At times, she had wondered if she liked the pain that depression brought—without it, she would have been wholly numb.
“Good. So you lay your hands on them, clear your mind, pull on your magic, and push it through them to their source of pain. That pushing part comes very naturally. At least it did for me, my sister, and my mother. I wouldn’t worry too much about that piece now because you can’t even practice it till I pass the gift on. ”
“Got it. I can’t believe both you and your sister had the gift.”
“It’s rare for there to be two in one generation, but maybe that’s why the gift skipped your mom and Susan.”
Ophelia nodded. It made sense to her, and she mulled over what her sisters would think about her being the next Traiteur.
It would have been nice to share it with one of them.
Mawmaw interrupted her thoughts. “I know you have your feelings about the Catholic Church and God and whatnot, but I still want to teach you some of these Traiteur prayers. They are passed down orally from generation to generation. You don’t need them to treat, but to me, they are special. I hope you find some value in them.”
“I’d love to learn them, Mawmaw.”
Mawmaw clapped her hands together. “Excellent. If anything, they could help you clear your mind. You could use them as a…” Mawmaw paused, thinking of the word. “Oh, you know what I’m talking about? What do those hippy-dippy people call praying?”
“A mantra?”
“Yes, yes, that.”
Ophelia rolled her eyes and laughed. “Please never change.”
“Don’t worry, I’m too old to do that.”
Learning the prayers was a strain on Ophelia’s already exhausted brain, but she managed to retain most of them as they followed a specific pattern for each ailment.
There was one for warts, one for coughs, one for rashes—the list went on.
They would come easier and easier with time and repetition, Mawmaw promised.
The day passed quickly. By dinner time, they were both spent.
“You’re eating with me,” Mawmaw ordered. “Lucille put leftovers in the fridge. She’ll be over in a bit to help me get ready for bed, so let’s eat now.”
“I guess I can stomach your company a little longer,” Ophelia joked as she pulled out the leftovers and fixed their plates, heating them up in the microwave.
Ophelia and Mawmaw sat at the circular table in the kitchen, eating leftover jambalaya with green beans, bread, and milk. They sat in comfortable silence as they finished their meals.
Ophelia placed both hands on the rickety table. “I’m not drinking a full glass of whole milk with dinner, Mawmaw. I only have it in front of me ’cause you drink it. So where do you keep the booze?” she asked, sliding the offending milk out of sight.
Mawmaw let out a raspy laugh that sounded as if it came from the bottom of her belly.
“You are catching on,” she said, shaking a finger. “Go to the treating parlor and look under the altar all the way to the back.”
Ophelia walked to the unlit treating room, using the light emanating from the gold altar to guide her way.
She pressed a hand on the cool surface and caught a glimpse of her reflection.
It was barely there with the darkness in the room, but there she was.
At this point, with everything she learned, uncovered in one day, she was utterly exhausted and confused.
But she had that right feeling. That feeling she only got when she was doing something that made her soul sing.
And this…it felt right. Ophelia searched under the altar, pushing aside cloths and various instruments, and found a crystal decanter holding a caramel-colored liquid.
Ophelia walked back into the kitchen. “What’s in this bad boy?” she said, patting the side of the decanter.
“Cognac.”
Ophelia brought down two glasses from a kitchen cabinet and filled them with ice. Sitting back down, she carefully poured the dark liquid into the glasses and looked at her Mawmaw, raising her glass.
“To Traiteurs,” Ophelia said with a proud smile. The homophone didn’t go unnoticed by Ophelia. Surely many had thought that the practice of treating was traitorous from their narrow view of life.
“To Traiteurs,” Mawmaw echoed, clinking their glasses together.