2. Prologue 2
Prologue 2
Genevieve (Evie)
I place white lilies in the black decorative metal vase I had attached to my mama and gran’s family crypt in the cemetery, then kiss my hand and place my fingers over their names.
I sit and tell them about this last week of events, just like I have every Sunday since they each passed.
“Christmas was a bust. I jacked up the bread pudding, but the turkey actually came out great this year. It was just me and Emily again. I had a vision about a guy. Something is coming, but I can’t figure out what, or who he could be. If he means me harm. I just don’t know. All of the images I have been getting are fuzzy right now. I wish you were both here to help me make sense of it all. Someone has been following me. I can feel his eyes on me. I see them constantly. Blue green like the ocean. I know you said that I would know when it was time to open your letter mama, but how in the hell am I just supposed to know?”
I tell them everything, from the new hot neighbors who moved in next door, who Emily and I think must be gay, to hiring Brook Haleigh, the head of our old coven’s daughter, to help run the store.
I find myself asking questions that I know will never receive answers, just as I always do. It's a ritual that brings me a small semblance of solace, despite knowing that they are always with me in spirit and already understand everything. Their urns rest above my mantle, a constant reminder of their presence, and I know that a small portion of their ashes lies in the crypt, though it feels odd since I never consecrated them here.
I always feel them, but when I’m in the cemetery, I swear I can still hear my Gran telling me to harness my gift and use it for good. Sometimes, I catch a fleeting hint of her scent—lavender mingling with patchouli and a whisper of magnolia. It always brings me a pang of longing.
Gran was my anchor, the one who always knew how to lift my spirits no matter the trial. I cherished my mama deeply, but Gran was the one with whom I shared all my secrets, the one who truly understood me. Losing her has left a void that nothing seems to fill.
They know what I have been doing the last two years.
You can’t hide from your ancestors and be a witch. They know everything you do and will make sure you stay on track.
If you don’t, they will make you suffer one way or another. Unless they choose to cast you out, which for most is worse, but we made do without the coven.
When my mama passed away, I stumbled upon some old forgotten items in the attic, buried beneath layers of dust and cobwebs. What I discovered only deepened my sense of confusion and loss. Among the clutter, I found what I believe to be my father’s grimoire. It’s bound in weathered leather, with worn leather strings holding it shut, and marked with the initials M.B.
No one will tell me who my father is, leaving me to piece together fragments of his existence on my own.
In a shadowy corner of the attic, hidden inside an old black trunk, I also found a small purple crystal. It’s odd, fragmented shape suggests it might have once been part of something larger.
The trunk contained various artifacts, many of which I couldn’t decipher. The few items I did manage to explore only brought forth dark, unsettling images that filled me with a deep, gnawing fear. I didn’t dare hold them for long, overwhelmed by the intensity of the small glimpses I was able to get off of them.
I was told that my dad was cast out of our coven before my mama and gran were, being accused of using dark magic for personal gain against another member of the coven.
They decided to go after my mama and gran when they wouldn’t hand him over. I know my mama and gran would never, but it all happened before I was even born, so all I get told are the lies the head priestess, Beth made up, or the lies my family told me.
I know they are all lies because all the stories differ so much that the truth has to be somewhere in the middle, or it could be out in left field.
Beth will pay for what she did to my family, one way or another! She is the one who went after every single one of my family members and friends, casting them out like trash when they wouldn’t bow down to her wicked ways.
I have been diligently keeping my abilities hidden for as long as I can remember. The idiots have no idea what I am capable of. The ancestors have always been with me, guiding me, telling me to keep them hidden.
They know I can see things but no specifics. They all believe I don’t even practice anymore and that the ancestors shunned me ten years ago like everyone else.
I’m just a loony tune with a master’s degree in Botany who likes to play with plants all day. Which is exactly what I want them to think.
They will all face retribution for their sins and their blood will be the price. The ancestors have spoken, and their demands are clear.
Ancestral magic comes with a heavy cost. Well, all magic does, but I have heeded their warnings and tried to maintain a glimmer of light, even amidst the darkness that has consumed my every thought for the past two years.
I sense their approval in the way I’m dealing with the witches. Much of what I’ve done has been guided by their will; I’m merely the instrument of their justice.
I’ve removed those they’ve singled out, following their instructions precisely. They’ve revealed why the coven covets my gift, but they only disclose what I need to know, leaving the rest shrouded in mystery.
My mother was the high priestess of our coven until my father, along with my mama and gran, were all cast out.
They haven’t been able to, or had a reason to, shun me yet. I have never given them a reason to.
I was able to learn as I grew up like the other witches in New Orleans. My friends, when I was much younger, all chose to not be affiliated with any of them. I honestly don’t remember much about them.
We all just went our separate ways, I guess. It happens in high school.
Once I figured out who was behind my family getting shunned, I chose to shun them. I was thirteen the last time I set foot in the cemetery with another witch other than Emily, my mama, or gran.
I had to make a choice, and I chose my family. The ancestors warned me, and I got out. I have been missing my childhood best friend lately.
We were just kids and didn’t know what we were getting ourselves into. I know Cami, like me, has a gift they want. Her mom was able to protect her, more than mine was able to protect me.
It’s funny that I can’t remember the last time I thought of Cami before the ancestors gave me a vision of her when I was looking at property that I had been thinking about moving my store front to.
It’s next to a new bookstore that says, opening soon. I tried to open the door to the new bookstore, instead of the open space, and was hit with all these images of Cami when we were kids playing in the cemetery.
I know the ancestors will bring us back together when the time is right, until then, I will continue to listen and do what is asked.
The ancestors wouldn’t give me the visions if it wasn’t what they wanted me to do.
I stand up from the pretty stone bench that I had placed close to my family so that I wouldn’t have to stand or sit on the ground all the time.
James, the security guard for St. Louis Cemetery No. 1, helped me get it in and where I wanted without too much persuasion. He loved my gran just like everyone else who had ever met her did.
I kiss my hand and place it on the cool limestone covering both of their names.
“Blessed be.”