Chapter Thirty Two
There was no one crazier, bolder, more maniacal than Jolie Rose Oubre. In the Oubre family, Ophelia was the leader, Evangeline was the sweet one, and Jolie was chaos incarnate. Their poor mother had had her work cut out for her during Jolie’s teen years.
Once, Jo’s friend, Lana, had given her the alarm code to her house so Jolie could feed her Yorkie while Lana and her family were on vacation. Jolie hosted a rager at Lana’s while they were out of town. Police were called. “Whoops,” said Jo after. It was always whoops.
Spray-painting random buildings, carving vulvas next to all the penis drawings around school, the occasional act of arson in the woods behind their house, crashing their mom’s minivan into her ex-best friend’s new VW Beetle.
Whoops.
As an adult, Jolie had discovered healthy ways to deal with her destructive streak, like frequenting the local ax-throwing bar and creating beautiful hand-thrown clay pieces, but Ophelia knew that Jolie would still be up for a challenge, so to speak.
Perhaps a way to tap back into her inner child.
As Ophelia sat in her rocking chair on her front porch, she called her middle sister.
“Sup, hoe?” was Jolie’s greeting, along with the smack of gum.
“I need your help.”
“Are you okay?” Jolie could sense the anxiety in her voice.
“Yeah. I need you. Can you come over sometime today? Um, preferably now?”
“Your wish is my command. But, O, you’re worrying me. Are you actually okay?”
“Yeah, yep. I will be.”
“Okay, I’ll be there in twenty-ish.”
Jolie lived a little over three miles away, Uptown, and arrived on a bike. As she dismounted, Ophelia noted Jo’s familiar Jansport backpack—the same ratty purple backpack from high school. Jolie liked to remind everyone that it had a lifetime warranty.
“All right, mama’s here,” said Jolie, plopping down on the rocker next to Ophelia. She opened the backpack and pulled out an already opened bag of sour cream and cheddar Ruffles, salt and vinegar Zapp’s, and a box of Girl Scout thin mints that appeared to be thawing from the freezer.
“Tell me your problems, child,” she said, offering Ophelia a thin mint.
“You’re seriously the best. I know you know that, but you are.
” Ophelia smiled and shoved a whole thin mint in her mouth.
Once she swallowed, she dove headfirst into her story.
She recapped it all—from the NYC attack to the Cutthroat Killer to Mawmaw to becoming a Traiteur to Mateo’s statue.
It all came tumbling out of her, and Jolie surprisingly sat there without interruption.
When Ophelia had finished her story, Jolie stared out from the porch, lost in thought as she sucked cheese powder off each crusted finger.
“So you’re telling me that this motherfucker molested you twice, tried to steal your soul twice, made a nude statue of you that he plans to showcase to all the fancy art people of New Orleans on Thursday, and he may be involved with the serial killings?”
Ophelia’s mouth thinned. “Yup. He’s a real winner.”
She tilted her head in curiosity, and a flash of understanding flitted across her face. “Aha, so you don’t need me to comfort you at all, do you?” Jolie raised her eyebrows and looked at Ophelia mischievously before laughing. “No, no, you don’t.” She stood up and started pacing.
“Oooh, girl!” Jolie yelped. “Let’s destroy the motherfucker.”
After Jolie finished her verbal tirade on Mateo, she calmed down and asked for a gin and tonic. Ophelia went inside to make a drink for both of them, and when she returned to the porch, Jolie’s demeanor had shifted into something more somber.
“Here you go,” said Ophelia, handing the rocks glass to Jolie. “You okay?”
She took a deep breath. “Well, I guess it’s my turn to share something.”
Ophelia felt a jolt of nerves as she waited for her sister to continue.
“I’m so glad you are our family’s Traiteur, Ophelia, truly, because it means I can now share something with you.” She took a deep breath. “I also have magic.”
“You do?” exclaimed Ophelia.
“Yeah, I can turn things to stone—well, technically, solid earth matter, and don’t you dare compare me to Medusa.”
“Oh my God,” said Ophelia under her breath.
Ophelia always knew Jolie was special. Jolie had this elegance about her, the way she moved like a ballerina.
The juxtaposition between her physical grace and her snark reminded her of Mawmaw.
She made everyone laugh and smoothed over all awkwardness because she didn’t have any.
Ophelia truly wondered if Jolie had ever been embarrassed in her entire life.
Jolie was so open about everything, and she had kept her magic a secret from her, potentially from everyone.
“How long have you had this gift?”
“Since high school. It kinda just came out of nowhere. Remember when I replaced all of Mr. Newman’s desk supplies with clay models?”
Ophelia recalled instantly how Mr. Newman had lost his mind when he found that all his pens, pencils, notepad, scissors, and glasses had been replaced with clay replicas. “Oh yes, I do.”
“That was the first time it happened. I just got so upset when he kept interrupting and talking down to me every time I tried to explain my writing analysis to the class. Then, when he went for lunch, I stormed into the classroom with the intention of hiding his shit in a closet or something, but when I touched the stapler, it turned to hardened clay.”
“Wow. How did you navigate the gift all on your own for all these years?”
“Poorly at first. At the beginning, it seemed to happen mainly when I was upset, so I became very afraid of myself and emotions. I tried to hide it as best as I could. I pulled my sleeves down over my hands and tried to control my anger as much as possible. But…you know how I am. So when I was a junior in high school, I drove in to New Orleans and went to your neighbor’s old Voodoo shop. ”
“You went to Delphine’s?”
“I did. I don’t know if she remembered me later, but I only ever saw her once on your porch when I was stopping by, and she waved at me. Anyways, I asked her what to do, and she helped me. I figured if anyone knew about bizarre shit like turning things to stone, she would.”
“What did she say?”
“She told me it was a blessing and that I shouldn’t be ashamed or scared of my gift, but to figure out a way to use it for good. So I did. That’s when I started getting into pottery and interior design.”
“Jolie, that’s amazing. Wait…Did you make the marble slab for my desk?”
“Yeah.” Jolie smiled. “That was actually one of my first attempts at marble. Now, of course I do it often.”
“Does work know?”
“Nah, they still buy all the marble stone. I just manipulate the pattern on the stone sometimes to make it fit what I’m looking for. I don’t want them to know about my gift. I don’t think they’re magical, and besides I’d be putting their supplier out of business.”
“I wonder if Evangeline has magic,” Ophelia wondered.
“Same. I wondered if you both did for so long, and Mom and Dad. But I figured we would all find out about each other eventually when the time was right.”
“It’s sad to me that magical people have to keep all of their gifts a secret,” mused Ophelia.
“Yeah, but the alternative is being thought of as crazy.” Jolie sighed. “New Orleans is a good place to be, though. I’ve slowly become more connected to other magical people here. There’s a community of sorts. It’s how I knew Avery before you moved here.”
“Do you —” Ophelia paused, considering her words “— know about Jade?”
Jo shook her head. “I’m guessing she has magic?”
“I’ll let her tell you. Not my story to tell.”
Jolie swirled her glass. The ice cubes clinked together in that telltale sign of an empty drink. “How about you make me another one of these, and we come up with a plan for putting this ass wipe in his place?”