Voodoo Queens of New Orleans - Vol. I | ✓

Chapter 2: Did You Hear That?

I stood by as the three of them exchanged animated conversation in French—Cajun-French, to be specific. Older folks speak it more fluently than the newer generation does, which is why I couldn't understand a word they were saying; Mama would do that a lot when her topics were too sensitive for me to know about. I hated it when I was thirteen, and I hated it then when I was twenty-four, being brought back to my teenage self who couldn't understand anything my mama said.

I poured myself a bowl of cereal when I knew I wouldn't be brought into the chit-chat anytime soon. I dug my spoon in, took a bite, then two and three more. They were still talking by the time my bowl was filled with nothing but a puddle of flavored milk. Mama's voice was raised an octave when I was putting my bowl in the sink. She spoke English then, like the language prior couldn't properly convey her anger or frustration to the extent she wanted.

"His fate and Yusur's should have been the same!" she yelled at Qadira. "That's what I said but none of y'all had an inkling of sense to listen to me!"

Qadira and Mambo Nene looked at Mama like children being disciplined. It wasn't until Mama met my eyes that their expressions weren't so guilty anymore. Mama tucked a loose braid into her headwrap and tried to smile at me like everything was alright. I knew it wasn't; she knew how I was. I didn't know exactly what was going on, nor did I know who "Yusur" was at the time, but I knew that it was grave, what they were speaking about.

"I'm gonna go on and get dressed," I told her coolly, like I was deaf for the last five minutes. "I was thinking of doing some shopping or something today."

"That's good," Mama replied. "Matter of fact, why don't you take Imani with you? She don't get out much."

I knew I couldn't say no to that suggestion. I didn't dislike Imani, but I didn't know her, either. She seemed nice enough, but she was still the woman who found my vibrator. I don't think I could spend an entire morning and afternoon with her after that nightmare. But truthfully, it wasn't like I had much of a choice; Imani walked into the kitchen right when Mama finished her reply.

"Good morning, Madam Dumont," she said. "Good morning, Priestess Qadira, Mambo Nene."

"Good Morning," they all said. I just nodded to Imani and adjusted my glasses higher onto my nose.

"Should I open up shop?" she asked Mama. "Or do you want me to wait for the other associates to arrive?"

"Actually, I was thinking that maybe you should join Lisa for the day. She was thinking of doing some shopping. Right, Lisa?"

"Yeah, I was. I'll drive if you want."

The look on Imani's face made it seem like she didn't have much of a choice, either. And knowing the tight spot she was in, she agreed to join me. It was clear that Mama preferred us both out of the house; I was more curious than the cat who was killed by it. Nonetheless, Mama knew I'd try to eavesdrop my way into their conversation, English or not, because of the unsuccessful talk we had the day prior about the book I wanted to write. But Mama wasn't smart in the small fraction of her plan she'd think I'd overlook.

"When y'all get a chance, give this seal to Tía Valeria," Mama said. She ran up to her study and came back down with a blue velvet box tied shut with yarn. Imani took it from Mama without question; I had to hide the smile surfacing on my face from everyone in the room. Tía Valeria was the youngest of the Coterie—about twelve to fifteen years older than I was. She was also the only Hispanic member, and the softest spoken one, too. If anyone else from the Coterie were to fall victim of my incessant questions, they'd be sure to let Mama know. But not Tía Valeria—she was too soft to tattle on me. If I was going to go on with this book, Tía Valeria would be the best person to convene with.